Excerpts from Petroglyph
A view from the window, to see only the backs of houses. Prehistory
and we cut it like this. To move from house to house. A change in
view. A burial urn in a neighbor's yard. Elephant grass. Blue
spruce. Weeping willow. Clover meadow, Dodge Dart, garbage
dump. Staccato in the change of views. Segue and continuity.
To move from window to window, from the window a view of the
roof. Broken suitcase. A cat leaps window, roof, eavestrough,
tree, and settles as the eye moves on. The view doesn't change.
The view keeps changing, breakpoint in the missed connection.
Because we sketch we work the room, water to complement fire.
Give up the great sad eyes, the rose of time, the calendar of stone.
Water yields to rock as time yields to fire. A woman has only to correspond. A mind seemed filled, yielding to engagement,
incontestable connection in a landscape of sand and ashes.
We proceed within the appropriate costume, mine substance
within exposition, warm fire after supper in the longing for
Jerusalem. We yearn for yield within investment, combine
cappuccino with communion. We are the accidental pagans
within a post-christian discussion. We advocate litigation,
radiant in our own defense. We reside within the asylum
of public discourse, accumulate credits within the periodicity of publication. Because we reveal desire we exercise discretion.
We solder the joint because we plumb the depth. We switch
lovers within the object of gratification. We are the smooth
aggregation beneath these sheets. No vision in a stained glass
window, transparent object in a single fix. A lake beneath trees
and she pulled him in. Calm assurance to break the fall.
Put down the music and the music stops.
He practiced husbandry within the discipline of agriculture,
attention focused on the color green. He dreamed of her air,
her setup file, her rapacious boundary, her sense of camp
contrasted to his feeling of the hand. In the desert sand, she
pulled him into her resonance, her sense of water contrasted
to his feeling of tent. In the breakdown of pressure, she pulled
him into her control, emerging weather. The host drive states
the dream, an error message contained in type. Type the word,
assert the critic. Take back the cave. Persistence identifies voice,
records the compromise, negates the street. In the breakdown
of tension, she pulled him into her great sad eyes: soup, vision,
funnel, sophomore try outs, charged electrons. A change in
figure. Stained glass window. Broken contour, to save the file
as warmth breaks down. Enter the mind to update history.
From the cave a view of the opening field, the silent armies,
frozen trees, blinding snow in a landscape of sand and ashes.
He dreamed of her sleep, her sad simplification, her terrible
current, her sense of scenery contrasted to his feeling of
segue. Reptilian vision driven from yearning to suits. A
change in fire within the musty book. Broken sunset.
A cat leaps: leather, steel, bronze, stone. Attention
focused on obedient gaze: to leap the ethical distance.
Broken knowledge in the meditation, a single solitude,
attention focused on the tent. Broken tribes. A breakdown
in the bus north: condom, territory, heaven, Greyhound. Deadly slaughter in a broken cube. Predatory streets, no blueprint.
No sense of formula contrasted to his feeling for verse. Angry
monogamy: snake, bridge, breaker, as the eye moves on.
Disconnect destruction, abandon inspection, embrace the
adolescent darling, scales lost in a dream of reptilian solitude.
A change in unit. A cat leaps the distance: innocence to
invention, female friends, broken demands; she pulled him
into her ruins. A change in venue, bed - bound economy.
Broken repair. He dreamed of her ambivalence, her sense
of the moon contrasted to his feeling of time. A breakdown
in the bus north: copper, rock, oppression, earth. Put down
the music and the history stops. A focus on the deposition.
He dreamed of her despair, her sense of information contrasted
to his feeling of the creeps. Go home to clouds, abandon range,
embrace potential. Broken authority in a busted pot. Circular
motion in a view from the window, islands of kindness,
campfires followed into night. Shadows before the fire.
Beyond the broken road, a broken wall, desert madness, no fix
in the transparent, no music to stop the music. From the cave
a view of the opening field, frozen trees, silent armies assembled
before the Bering Strait. A resonance in her sense of water.
Emerging weather. She pulled him into her vision, simplified
the distance, eyes locked into circuit. In the breakdown of
pressure, she pulled him into her control. The host drive
states the dream, an error message contained in type. In the
breakdown of tension, she pulled him into her broken
contour, her contribution to the hard drive, blinding snow
in a landscape of sand and ashes. He dreamed of her sad
simplification, her terrible current, her sense of scenery
contrasted to his feeling of segue. Reptilian vision
driven from yearning to suits. A fire within the musty book.
Broken sunset. A cat leaps: rage, bread, measure, breakpoint.
A change in years. Blue spruce. Broken order. A breakdown
in the bus north: wire, forest, connection, extinction. Attention
focused on obedient gaze. Broken knowledge in the meditation.
Broken tribe. Deadly slaughter in a broken cube. Predatory
monogamy on an angry street, scales lost in a dream of
reptilian solitude: female friends, broken demands, innocence
to invention, and she pulled him into the ruins, clouds,
shadows, a mind filled, yielding to engagement,
incontestable connection in the desert madness. Attention
focused on the color green, take back the cave. A cat
leaps the ethical distance. Not even the brainwashed think like
we do, to follow color in a single solitude, consolidate command
within the tent. We push an object down the poem's throat.
Deadly slaughter in a broken cube. A breakdown in the bus
north. We enter the text just to fool around, regulate desire,
hang out, then go home for dinner. A cat leaps within the
party platform. Disconnect the scale, embrace the adolescent
darling. Dispatch the resonant chestnut. Caress those
thighs within the object of accentuation. We rebuild the idol,
blatant in our adoration. Refresh the page within the outline
of deviance, broken demands. Go home to clouds, abandon
range, embrace potential. Broken arrow in a broken barrier.
Isolated courtesies die before the fire, a dream in the arms
of breakdown, a vision to simplify the distance, a figure
locked into the meditation. Water to complement fire in the
incontestable yield, the breakpoint, the longing for Jerusalem.
Beyond the wall, a lake beneath trees and she pulled him in.
Take back the cave. Persistence identifies the voice, records
the compromise, negates the street. In the breakdown of
tension, she pulled him into her sophomore try outs, a change
in figure beneath a stained glass window. Broken contour,
a change in time. Blue spruce. Broken order. A change in
venue: bed bound economy, copper, rock, oppression, earth.
We maintain an alien aesthetic. We accelerate the generation
of protocol. We accept the check because we are abundant.
We clamp sutures at the splice. We defile the substance because
we limit compromise. We follow the aerialist because we walk
the wire. We admire completion completely. Parking completes
the garage. We will understand completely when we have
finished school. The host drive states an error, assurance in
the missed connection, breakpoint in the empty street.
We calibrate the common, reveal metaphysics beneath
sheetrock, imply paste beneath a scrapbook photo. We test
a line within the stanza: broken sunset. We burn trash
because we don't know how to cook it. A change in heat
within the musty book, Walt Whitman breaks a sweat.
A change in heat from contour to figure. Broken knowledge
in the petroglyph. Broken order in the absolute. Young friends
can't take the city and can't take a joke. We cohabit the senior
dorm spread out upon the page. We hone the stanza to industry standards, cohabit the absolute, sweat along with Walt.
We are animals and this is how we live, the disjunction or its
alternate. Projected on a screen, the spirit which leaves us as
a Florida vacation leaves a Kodak Carousel. Abulia by the beach.
Florio: "Fifteen nights and never once was it the same."
The will fragments ab intra: the past, a spoor, a petri dish,
and memory. Ab initio: the voices caught & held, the protein
congeals, the "sea in its season." Abiogenesis. A ringing
frozen in the head. And then to move and to keep moving,
all machinery automatic, no credit, no brakes, no phone to
smooth it over, to move from room to room in the dry charged
air, the gathering storm, the opening field, all fuses blown,
utilities down, no counting treetops in the acceleration of
landscape. We open the object within desire. Erotic fantasy of
the great collapse, the day the market falls, love in the ruins, etc. Generation X will probably just want to go out and get drunk.
Rough passage precludes a better plan. These two thousand
years will have been quite enough, thank you, and maybe
you'll want to look at the world through clear eyes.
Great catastrophe sometimes does that to people. A flood will
change one's mores more than a weekend on the left bank.
An era you'll enjoy to the fullest. An earthquake that will be
more fun and personal, will turn more heads than your red
boots. Sit back, enjoy the view, seeing all those junkers
cracked up on the rocks. Spoil the scenery? Forget it.
Forget him or her and have a pleasant afternoon someplace
else. You endure the people or else you learn their names.
All romance is an arrangement of furniture. The events inevitable
and circuitous: the talk a lot of shit. Crossing America in a
westbound Greyhound, the bus stops at all the wrong places:
Chicago, Provo, Elko, El Paso. In a dream of reptiles, his skin is
green, he slips into the cool cave water and he's gone. Back in
San Leandro the Mutants were singing We Need a New Drug.
A postcard from Florida: blown fuse in the left flipper, a nasty
run-in with the leisure class, token economy, all lines on hold,
the figures add up, recreation is the wedge. Ten pins driven
between him and his dinner. Breakpoint in the missed
connections. Anxiety attack. Speed test. The ultimatum
which arrives too late. The phone which will not ring. The
phone which will ring, or else. A would-be friend's last friendly
letter. A knock at the door to break a trance. Scored low on concentration but got the job anyway. "It's how you present
yourself" was the boss's explanation. It's what made the
difference. It's what came in the mail. It's what the landlady
said about a lost deposit. It's what to think about things
once felt. It's what stopped the music. The disjunction or
it's alternate: the doggerel of youth in a letter from home.
$40.00 and an admonition regarding some lost sweetness
that was yours. Some focus lost in beer and blood. Attack.
Connection. Test. The creeps don't know the difference.
Hot brandy. New socks. The nickname "Dave". A list
of crises on a yellow tablet. Take the first, forget the others.
Cold shoulder, so what. Discarded pages marked "to do".
Eyes and motion fixed. Paper into machine becomes machine.
No struggle with gravity or density or universe. Yet persistence
of the event. Yet the bones. No exchange value in the theatrics:
object for object, the emotion is there. Snow covers the graves
and drives the hearse. Coffee holds the road. Transcontinental:
to make the trip again. In the ultimate homecoming, it all
gathers on the tires. Blood. Feathers. Fur. Asphalt through
Nevada in parallel bands. Eastbound and westbound lanes.
Reverse directions and the surface wears clean. Infinite time
in a landscape of sand and ashes. Route 80 in a continual metamorphosis: pure, immense, beyond habitation. A view
from the window: dark sky, a night in the forest, small
animals alert to our movement, and yet we are the ones
who wait and watch, record the detail. Segue and continuity.
Art and anthropology. No isolated tribes in a culture that
works. At the top of the stairs, the bed. A sexual impulse
and a state of reptilian grace. When the market fell, the
faithful wanted to jump off barns, flagpoles, and waterfalls.
A small body of water would not do. A house was too close
to home. Any sudden leap from the breakfast table would
be subject to rumor. Awkward postures on the kitchen floor.
No recourse but to prevail, but to endure the object of attraction.
Now her plans rang true. To replace intention with motivation,
direct the value within discretion. It was something they'd put
off far too often. He, too, had done some thinking regarding sex
and had become fond of the sound of the word. Taboos color
the object of longing. Mutation does not suit everyone's fancy.
He wanted to read the letters S, E, X, as the acronym of a secret
cult. Or was it S = E = X? That made the eventual enactment
(awkward postures on the kitchen floor, Post Toasties beneath
the kitchen table) a much more sobering matter. We guide the
tackle because we seek the fish. We fear the object of attraction.
And yet, because we stage the play, we will perform. Forty years
had been a hell of a bender and he could not deny her that. A breakdown in the bus north: Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky,
Indiana. No more business and no more school.
Put down the bottle and the music stops. Put down the
glass and the room will lose its sparkle. Charlie Chan repeats
his greatest line, "I am convinced the murderer is in this room."
All the clues in a single cube, attention focused on a makeshift
screen. This is nothing but the language of familial obligation
in a shaky economy, fraternal ties in a humid climate, a
millennial year in an economy of lonely hearts and residential
developers. "I want to sleep now so please turn off that damn
TV." We align the antennae because we've overcome death.
We regulate the wheel of fortune, place the abacus
between God and man. When the market fell, he knew
that soon, he, too, would want to do what he could.
Everybody wanted to do what he could. Mutation
does not suit everyone's fancy. Nor does alphabet soup.
He wanted to cut off his left ear. She wanted to sober up
and go out for lunch. Together they wanted to have sex, to
crawl into the cool cave water, to have the lord return to earth.
Now rearrange some furniture. Get the flowcharts in order.
Open some windows and block off that door to the hall.
Get ready for an acceleration in events. Get moving: room to
room, window to window, step lightly but take control, take
a break, take out a wall or two. Ditch this body till the heat's off.
Stand right where you are and look back 3000 years. Now paint
by number a tentative memoir: a camera which moves from room
to room, no sudden death but slow mutation on a westbound
Greyhound. Reptilian vision in a view from the window and
a darkness by the rail there, leaning. No picture to entice
you back from home. No clearance to fly or to stop flying.
Just history and the facts which arrange themselves
accordingly: memory, time, all the impossible high school
crushes, the spiritual history of suburban development,
the living and the walking dead. This is the geography
of a world in which you might have lived and this is the
map and this is where we are now standing. Memory,
a sleeper, a string of time. Breakpoint at the trigger
word. When the market falls, they ascend the stairs,
to look into history as history breaks down. They stand
at the window as a dry wind scatters glass shards through
sleep. They take on the ways of the sleeper, creep through
grass, hide in trees. We watch from the rocks as they
slip into the cold cave water, as their skin grows green,
as the string is broken and the sleepers slip back in time.
We anticipate the familiar because we are familiar. We discover
the barrio within each street. Because we expand the thing we demonstrate expansion. We solder to derive connection. We
assume the alias within narrative: Rogers and Hammerstein
and Strunk and White. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers starring
in The Practical Stylist. We handle adoration because we are
adorable. We bear adversity because we are Les Miserables.
We reveal the pain because we are alive. We slam-dance because
we are seductive. Because we fulfill desire we set the agenda.
We bleed with the blood of the classics. We are the destination
within memoir. We are the French Academy and we've cloned
the voice of Jean Genet. We are the Polish admirers of Frank
O'Hara. We are the casual acquaintance of Franz Kafka. We are
the thought police. Because we spell we freeze vocabulary.
We are generation X and we consume adulthood as we
consume beer, in the manifestation of commodity. We
yearn for company because we've devoured our mates.
We compromise within the actual. We desire the object
within affiliation. We prime the pump because we thirst.
We work the crowd because we are anonymous. We break
the lamp because we radiate. We tint the glass because
we sense subtlety. We are the cliff from which you leap.
We are the theory of discontinuity. We crack the orchestra
because we know the code. Because we find meaning we invoke
trouble. We control the abundance of landscape. We complicate
the picnic because we are homeless. We allow the obvious to enter thought. We force accommodation because we are forsaken. We
trigger specific clarity within a vague catalog of weird vibes.
And then to wake, no physical woe, just the old familiar and a
bit mellow, dull sense of the head's connection to the body and
the body's more general connection to the empty house of
humming suburban machinery, pilots lit and the gears slowly
turning within paneled walls, everything out of sight, but,
unmistakably present, in the absence of human control, as if
the occupants could perish but the house would live on, ready
to present mutant squatters, three hundred years hence,
with fresh perked coffee, and the thirty thousandth episode
of Search for Tomorrow on daytime TV, playing non-stop
in the continuous sky of radiant trees, the wood like rock
(you couldn't cut it with an axe), electric rain, and long lazy
summer by the beach, which is always the same, but by then
we'll be up and out of here, green skin in some dark cave.
Record the detail: memory, a sleeper, a string of time.
Transcontinental: to make the trip again, room to room
in an occasional rave. Blown circuit, late letter, what
you were warned against. Complications in ideology
and a flaw in the machinery. Consider this a fuse,
romantic fantasy of the great collapse, love in the ruins.
Autres temps, autre moeurs, and parts to fit the order. You
can look through a lot of windows in, say, time between June
of '53 and August '99. Clothesline, vegetable garden, bird
bath, brick wall, back fence, neighbor's wall, breakpoint.
It all comes out in the wash. We stand at the top of the
stairs. The view doesn't change. The view keeps changing.
The roof of this house is covered with broken suitcases.
At night when we sleep they will all fill with cats.
We persuade the pedestrian because, we too, assume
the primitive. We pick up the phone because we are
great communicators. We modify behavior within the
acquisition of language. We harvest the hybrid known
for its yield. We position the Word between God and man.
We reverse the foundation of abstraction. We aren't the
only alligators in this swamp. Because we identify we
deliver. We assemble narrative because we believe the
facts. Because we survey we transmit location. We push
the ambulance because we are an extension of its emergency.
We outline the aboriginality within a vast continent.
Because we destroy lives we raise objection. Because we
pull we work. Because we yield we make the point.
We deliver the sermon because we are well-dressed.
We classify taste, accessorize apparel within a parallel
universe. We splice film to deliver character. We define
distraction because we are alert to structure. We simplify
the vehicle because we are well-mannered, derail the train
on which we are the caboose. We join the party for the wine
and cheese. Because we limit taste we dislike nothing. We are
the affiliated network. We are the seven samurai. We charm
the dream because we are clever dreamers. Because we deliver
we replace. We partition the field then form the defense. We
go out into all kinds of weather. We represent the advocates
of representation. We construct art because we are not without
wit. We glue the prototype to the table, leave the room to avoid
offense. Because we travel we consume the map. We classify
geography, regard the river seductive, consider the desert a threat.
Broken measure: He dreamed of her reason, her touch, her
gray parked cars, the contrast in her sense of extremities.
To hear within the acoustics of audience rapport, to regulate
smoke within the mirror of reflection, to remember the place
in which they first knew verbs, a woman has only to correspond.
A mind seemed filled, yielding to engagement, incontestable
connection, a landscape of sand and ashes in the longing
for Jerusalem, warm fire after supper. The dreamlife to
strengthen a natural deviation, her sense of river contrasted
to his feeling of terminal. The hare is game, press enter.
Emerging weather, an error message contained in type.
Type the word, take back the cave. Persistence identifies voice,
records agreement, asserts her sense of line. Broken contour,
a change in figure, to enter the snow as the file shuts down.
Familiar bestiality in a change of trees. Broken order begins
the dance. We weep within these objective assessments,
we politicize the Amazon, consume its young within the privacy
of our own kitchen: forest, connection, extinction. We leap the
ethical distance, broken knowledge in the meditation, attention
focused on a tent of broken tribes. We serve the forest because
we pay our dues. Because we modify we locate. We feel the
caricature because we are ashamed. We discover the macramé
of a lost continent, disconnect the miscreation, abandon the
help, embrace the objective. Take back the plane and leave the
fruit behind. Return to customs, water in the tent. Circular
motion in a view from the window, campfires followed into
night. In the ultimate homecoming, we mutate. We swim
back, tempt the pure because we are mere flesh.
We memorize the route from Telegraph to Dwight. Barren
trees yielding to engagement, incontestable connection in
the longing for Jerusalem, 40 years to wander in the desert,
no water in the tent, a breakdown in the dry charged air.
She pulled him into circuit. A broken contour in the breakdown
of control, ambivalence in the abandoned range, shadows dead
before the fire, a resonance to simplify the distance. Take back
the spirit. Exit the cave to enter sin, absolution within the
Berkeley Public Library, to seek the unrequited passion of Dante
within the spontaneity of an erect nipple, blinding snow in a
landscape of sand and ashes. We shield our eyes from phantom adversaries. We forgive postponement because we were once
cursed. Heaven in a broken cube, original sin, to enjoy the
choir beneath their robes, Bay Bridge, Beatrice westbound.
We close up shop within the apathy of initiation. Because we contemplate we simplify. We become whole within a broken
sunset, a flowchart, a longing for sand within abstraction. We
repair the ancient detail of a familiar frieze. We anticipate
the sequel. Because we lust we sample wine and cheese.
Because we covet we inspect. Because we destroy we replace.
Because we desire we critique. We reconstruct accounts to
render debt: wire, forest, connection, extinction. We avoid
seduction because we seek freedom. We honor France
because we are the three protagonists. Because we drill we
control the tool, generic voices of breathless projection. We
invoke the serendipity, swim back to the blear-eyed mistress,
no domestic dispute but a little trouble in the laundry.
We leave the hamper behind: copper, rock, oppression, earth.
We control the acrimony because we work here. Go home to
clouds, abandon range, circular motion in a view from the
window, thorns and petals beneath a broken wall, rose of time
beneath a broken road. Because we promise much we outline
little. We unite within the chemistry of abiogenesis. We excite
the convention with our dog and pony show. We force sleep
because we yield to the ancient dare of sacrament, aimlessly
fused to the extinction of doubtful temptation. She wanted to
finish her work, reconstruct the class requirements, to see only
the worry of acceptance in a single solitude, attention focused
on the tent. He wanted to take back the spring semester,
relive the season's romance, no addiction at the mid-term
breakpoint. Select another option. His was the sense of
play, what they call degenerate. No gauge to response time.
We accept erosion as we enlarge the plan. He dreamed
of her oleander, her ramdrive, her concentration during
start-up. We gauge ambivalence in order to say "maybe".
Because we funnel data we memorize info. We command
endorsement because we connect education to identity. We
define decadence within the limits of personal memory. This
is the history of the unblushing response. Because we are
sitting we locate chairs, confident in their subjective support.
We appreciate extenuation because we can see links.
Intransigent, to kick the copper in the macro. A longing for
format, the sea in its season, her dedication to the crown.
Go home to water. Disconnect the empyrean, abandon sunlight,
embrace the customary: tires, formulas, unlit joints, wonton
embrace in a text file conversion. Animal husbandry.
No more holy land and no more exile. Because we relegate we
occupy. We persist in the pilgrimage because we are capable
of occupation. We consult the occupant regarding restoration
of the frame, tear out the sheetrock and start over. No vision
in the desert madness, transparent object in a single fix.
Broken water to break the fall. We are the fish and the
stream in which it swims. We are the market for Paradise
Lost, ephemeral pubescence in a plaster figure. From the cave
a view of the cliff, an assembly below. We estimate the distance
to the trees, reverse the tool within our hands, anticipate
glass because we are transparent. Take back the ephemera,
the demand, the universe within a sermon. Take back
the animal. She pulled him into her Zion, her abandonment,
what remained of the trip, a destination cast in plaster.
We develop skill because we like the kick, water to complement
fire. Take back protection, security within a moving camera, the
supermarket laid bare, denial beneath produce, a woman has
only to correspond. We concede translation because we are
humane. We arrive within repose, a plot stumbles into night,
a service connects utility. To lie beneath the wind blown clouds,
crave air within the anecdotal breeze, confront the actual within
the actual dream. Attack. Connection. Test. Water yields to rock
as time yields to gravity, a cold current to span the dim observant
heavens. Harmonic breakpoint: record the choir and the music
stops. Take back the great sad eyes: degradation burns the drive,
disconnects the afternoon. Water yields density to rock as time
yields light to darkness; embrace the bones: density, drainage,
temptation in the assertion of time. Sackcloth and ashes.
We ignite prehistory with our documented hunt, postulate trees behind
the hunter, silence behind the voice. Broken tribes apply style within
the kill. Because we've thrown the spear, we remain standing.
Go home to clouds, abandon range, embrace possibility. A change in
soul, a natural stem grown from the graft. Broken authority. Bison
leap, fault testing strain, separation at the point of emergence. Circular
motion in a view from the cliff. We enter the field, apocalypse, golden
light in a fluid motion, no shame or expiation, no second thought in
the infinite journey, endless grace in a circular rhythm. As if from night,
we stumble into light, shed tail and scales, take human form to leave
the cave. We leave the trees to contemplate the kill, hear pressure build
within a pot. We regard the curse because we know our own. Because
we move from rock to ridge, we expose the prey, survey the exhibition.
We approve the bread by instinct. We are not sure about the wine.
Destroy the abyss: a tempo to the years, water to complement fire, a
fuse within gender and no breaker. A cold current spanned the dim
observant heavens. A breakdown in the bus north: dead town, brick
wall, speed-ramp at the windbreak. Beyond the broken road, a
broken wall, desert madness, a lake beneath trees and she pulled
him in. No vision in a stained glass window, transparent object in a
single fix. Breakpoint in the harmony, a change of faith within a
satisfied spirit. The dreamlife strengthened her natural deviation,
her sense of river contrasted to his feeling of terminal. In the utility
of paint, a right click modifies the image. She pulled him into her
keyboard. Sunlight through every window, she pulled him into her
death, her blouse open beneath a plaster smile, transparent, a fire
in the arms of breakdown. Virtual charm in a dark embrace. To move
from history into night, frontier vision, the copper taste of theory.
Embrace the bones: density, drainage, temptation. Take back the fire,
the Zip drive, the great sad eyes within an isolated sacrament. From
the catacombs a view of the valley, breakpoint in the range of vision, Ann
Arbor in the assertion of time. Blue spruce. Broken order. He thought
often of the clouds, a hard-drive secure in its architecture: wire, forest,
connection, extinction. All the afternoon in a single impulse, obedient
gaze, blue sky, no special clarity just the predator's sense of the head's
connection to the cold cave water, the body's more general connection
to the ambivalence of frozen machinery. A cat leaps the angry ether. A
bison leaps the gorge. Broken knowledge in the meditation. She pulled
him into her position: a ray, a spark, a broken resonance in a view from
the window: snake, bridge, breaker, as the eye moves on. Wonder
growing at their isolation: predatory streets within a blueprint, a sense
of formula, virtual pattern within the hunt. They left the magic behind.
Broken knowledge stops at virtual magic. Abandon devastation,
relinquish desolation, embrace the adolescent darling. They plunged
into eros within the subsistence of diminishing returns. A change in
soul, a natural stem grown from the graft. Biological authority within
a spiritual evolution. From the window a view of the prize, blue
spruce broken at the point of cold beauty, circular motion in a view
from the window. We enter the field, apocalypse, no sacrifice within
the rhythm, endless grace in a circular journey. He dreamed of her
iconography, her resolution, her theological gravity within a feeling of
the street, her passion within the dream of lost humanity. Tranquil in
their absolutes, foundations formed a fetish in the summit. A people
incapable of sacrifice will give it all up, will give up meter within
machine, give up tools at harvest, give up the range of voice from
scale to scale. Theirs was the infinite longing and they gave it up.
Hers was the infinite longing, to give up the human in the mix of souls.
Wife yields to wife as a husband pleads no contest. Water yields to rock
as time yields to gravity, a woman has only to correspond. Relate resolve
to manners, a maid to occupy a mind, a mind yielding to engagement,
incontestable connection. Adversity to correct misfortune, breakpoint in
the gentle manner. Theirs was the sure thing, a match made in Elko, a
landscape of sand and ashes. Forty years to wander, then to start again,
to take back time, transgression, landscape, that book on the bedside
table. A notion of sin within casual detachment. Reverse to will, within
the will, as the timeless yields to church bells. Another fix in the
phenomena, a possibility within the holy. Now take another name, yield
pleasure to classification; this is what she likes, the ambience of
possibility. To seek the music because the spirit guides us, the desert
psalm, the longing for Jerusalem, expiation in the afterglow of sacrifice.
Theirs was the water on the island. Theirs was the congregation, the
tongue in the mind, the emotion called logic. We move from fire to fire,
abandon strategy beneath a bedsheet. The obvious eludes us and yet
we follow water, broken spirit on a bedside table, alarm clock on a bible,
contrition in a clumsy segue, salvation in a board game. What was
learned in Egypt was learned again on Haight Street. Sackcloth and
ashes. A pilgrim's calm persistence through trial, a grammar of the flesh
to glorify the sacred. A predator moved among them, and yet they feared
neither spirit nor the ashen dwellings. A cold current remembered in a
hymn. A bridge to span the dim observant heavens. Theirs was the
heartspace, the dream of habitation, a landscape of sand and ashes in
which they inhabit only each other. We see logos in the physical, the
missed connection, the contribution to the hard drive. In the
subsequent narrative, they mutate. The core won't yield to desolation.
A breakdown in the bus north: dead town, brick wall, speed-ramp
at the windbreak. No more clouds and no more weather. All the flowers
in a single pot. Attention focused on the next affliction. To move from
dissonance to desolation, it all comes out in the blood. A ram upon the
altar, fragrant offering beneath a desert sky. Abiogenesis in a
westbound Greyhound; they left the wreck to move as one, pure spirit in
a dream of redemption. Beyond the broken road, a broken wall, desert
madness, a lake beneath trees and she pulled him in. This was their
world and their longing, no holy departure, but slow regression in the
cold cave water, reptilian grace in a memory of Eden. All the cars on a
single freeway, no exit at the breakpoint, utilities locked in a single
breaker. No more cults and no more tabloids. No more race and no
more running. No vision in a stained glass window, transparent object
in a single fix. We move from shame to grace among the holy, attention
focused on the invocation.
Breakpoint in the harmony: record the choir and the music stops. She
pulled him into her support group, her critique, attention focused on the
image transfer, the rules of engagement. Calm assurance to break the
fall, a place on the chart to enlarge empathy. We cover the canvas or
get out of the picture. We scan the page to move among the dead. We
teach because we can explain, moderation represented in a script, a
continuum assembled at the keyboard. We stand enlarged upon the
stairs, stare into Exodus as Genesis breaks down. We crave virtue within
a new morality, a circle dance to bury the dead, a silent wolf to stop the
choir. A breakdown at the crossroads: deficiency, asylum, thorns, no
more road and no more commandments. Put down the music and the
music stops. Attention focused on the color green. All the rage in a
single animal, reptilian impulse. They entered the scale of the cave. They
left the cross behind, a hammer of dissonance in the garden of
She pulled him into her green foliage, precaution to limit the big
questions. Roof repair. Animal husbandry. The nature of good and evil.
He dreamed of her lever, her fire, her sense of invention contrasted to
his feeling of something deadly, out there, beyond knowing, beyond fruit
trees rooted in sand, water deep beneath a shifting surface, the source
of strength a dream of logos, completion in the act of language,
convergence in a dream of reptiles. From the cave a view of the opening
field, frozen trees, silent armies assembled before the Bering Strait. He
dreamed of her cool air, her setup file, her rapacious boundary, her
sense of camp contrasted to his feeling of the hand. Each fell into the
other's circle. They left the rivalry behind. The clouds break, the heart
ascends, the constant prey puts meter to the seasons, schedules the
gathering of wood, a lust for warmth within the fire, uneasy balance in
the grammar of design, a creator's angry serendipity, a breaker blown
before the fall.
In the desert resonance, she pulled him into her sandstorm, her sense
of water contrasted to his feeling of tent. They knew each other's loss,
secure in a growing need, their coupling, rising onto legs, stumbling
naked toward apocalypse. And to wake, linear objects, to see only the
arrangement of matter. It all comes out in the landscape. To move from
insomnia to the word, "conjure". A change of faith within a satisfied
spirit. From the tree an impression of the view, pilot down beneath a
broken oak, generic devil in the works, an animal whose injury requires
no healing. In a game they were testing the door, the bed, the stanza.
He thought often of her blade, her form asleep, the lion, the lamb, and
the clone, the rolling closeness of the undefined enlarged upon the
screen, the garden captured in a dream, a deviation in the dreamlife, her
sense of river contrasted to his feeling of terminal. In the utility of paint,
a right click modifies the image. She pulled him into her keyboard.
In the telemetry of phonesex, an animal shuttled between machines,
she pulled him into her death, her morning sun through every window,
her blouse open beneath a plastic file, transparent, a fire in the arms of
breakdown. She pulled him into her vision, simplified the distance, eyes
locked into circuit. He swam to her, fibers instructing optic impulse,
reading her memory of Paradise contrasted to his longing for Eden.
They reveled in a lost contract, a breaker blown before the fall. Emotion
lost in the law of method, delivered into the animal, the shuttle lost
between ice and flight. To embrace the erotic in the quiet interruption of
doctrine, we command dead center. To see only the close contact, take
back the burn. We protect the current because we set examples. The
hare is game, press enter. What happens to despair within landscape,
happens to her. He thought of her invention, no anger to the fire. No
angel to the file,
take back the joint. We knew what to think about things once felt.
We'd lost our script, our backdrop, our partition, and then our form. He
dreamed of her power back-up, her compressed drive, her absent Run.
Take back the forty years, the still stone dogs who guard the mouth. We
destroy the code because we need attention. In the breakdown of
pressure, she pulled him into her control, merging weather. Take back
the fog. We raise the flag because we work the street. The host drive
states the dream, an error message contained in type. Type the word,
insert personae, ego scriptor. Take back the cave. We build the particle
because we compromise the mountain. She pulled him into her fin de
siecle. Persistent myth equips the expedition. Take back the valley. We
strain the label because we fire the overload. We crash the bus of a high
school crush. We number the range from input to output. Take back
the riverbank. She pulled him into her sunflower. No magic, no devil to
complicate the manifest. Road notes in the reference menu.
Take back the door, the source of water. We format futures because we
knock. Debug suspicion, examine the intersection. He dreamed of her
pure entrance, her sense of opening, characteristically the clouds.
Persistence identifies voice, records compromise, negates the street. We
avoid America because we know corruption. They entered the beautiful
lie of the cave. They left gender behind, reduced the cluster, longing to
wring from words, authority. Troubleshoot biology in a new ice age.
When the limits jump, take back the window, disconnect the afternoon,
value the craving beneath the sparkle, embrace the bones: density,
drainage, temptation. Take back the hold we have on nature: to move
from branch to branch, everywhere a camera which moves from dread
mourning to lips and genitalia, from death to life, no backward glance,
but the slow alienation of theology, a panorama of the opening field,
total abandon within the fire, the cave, black book within the great sad
We conserve resources because we cultivate fascination. Virtual excess
to charm the darkness, Levitic resonance within software as we tighten
control. A ram burnt upon the altar, connotation lost within corrupted
files. He dreamed of her craving, her system architecture, her sense of
touch within the darkness. He dreamed of her great romantic arias, her
sense of entrance contrasted to his feeling of fabric. They had known the
circular idea of good and evil evidenced in a witless people, a fabric of
nervous illness within suburban development. She wanted to junk her
SCSI ROM. He wanted to scan for a bad sector. Together they wanted to
host filenames in a macro of golden towns, frontier vision in an isolated
sacrament. Sparkling horizon in a help-file download, ancient doggerel
in the continuity of landscape. She wanted to congeal a dream. He
wanted to use the tools available, cover tracks, skip town. Together they
wanted to jump bones, to isolate sparks, to have desire return to art.
She pulled him into her painting, her sophomore try-outs, her charged
particle. We avoid the current because we are too close. We isolate
sparks in a cleansed ground, a recreational brook, a singular night.
She wanted to log on in safe mode. He wanted to reformat. Together they
wanted to find an executable utility, a condom on a hot night, another
road out of Elko. In a view from the pulpit, to see only the storm of
liturgy, it all comes out in the meditation. To move from history into
night. A change in figure beneath a stained glass window. From the
organ a view of the tomb. Subterranean passage and they left the
liturgy behind. From the catacombs a view of the valley, the silent
armies, frozen trees; breakpoint in the range of vision, to look into the
opening field, to look into night as night breaks down. And then to
wake: befuddled fumbling, bad wallpaper, diminishing returns, TV vice.
of her mark upon the painting. A beautiful lie recalls the warmth.
Save the file as warmth breaks down. Enter the mind to update history.
From the cave a view of the opening field, the silent armies, frozen trees,
blinding snow in a landscape of sand and ashes. A breakdown in the
bus north: tape, fuse, heat, magazine. No more fire and no more
faceplate. Put down the theory and the music stops. All the virtue in a
single courtesy, attention focused on a fixed color. He dreamed of her
sleep, her sad simplification, her terrible current, her sense of scenery
contrasted to his feeling of segue. He loved this sad force born of
allegory, her great red boots, her infallible ambivalence. What she
wanted was just beyond reach, an iconography of the melancholy, a
curricula beyond the scope of the Art Institute. She pulled him into her
opening field, her playful defense against a vain city of clanking frozen
armies. They sought dominion within color, shapes within shadows, a
fire to break
the wind, to enter again the cold cave water and water from a rock.
They wrote each other's lines secure in a common language. They left
the Word behind, reptilian vision driven from yearning to suits. A
change in fire within the musty book. From Nevada a view of the
postcard. Broken sunset: rage, bread, measure, breakpoint. A view from
the window, to see only the invasion of gender, it all comes out in the
plumbing. To move from conduit to overload, a change in years, sublime
Boulder in the assertion of time. From the contour a view of the
clearance, blue spruce in the objection. To move from parts to
disjunction, a transformation of good and evil in a bacterial culture.
From the sky a view of the damned. Broken order to the clouds, the
copper taste of abstinence. He dreamed of her door, her casual
assembly, her sense of entrance contrasted to his feeling of wall. They
drove into each other's theory, secure in their system architecture: a
storm at the horizon, blown snow, an unknown geography, a territory
within the primitive, wire, forest, connection.
All the afternoon in a single impulse, desire, a blessing returned to the
garden. No more memory and no more thirst. Put down the ethics and
the music stops. Attention focused on obedient gaze. And to wake, blue
wave, omniscient connection, frozen machinery. Medieval campfire
within the recreation: a camera which moves from plague to masque, no
pure color, distorted vision in a view from the instruments, a geometry
by the rail there, a voice which doesn't reach. She pulled him into her
mark. And to wake, relaxed, no air, just the eastern sense of the head's
connection to the body and the body's connection to the empty hand.
He thought of her voice, her vision, acronyms burned into the dream.
They would calibrate an alphabet of reference, secure in their approach.
A cat to leap the ethical distance. Broken knowledge in a meditation.
From the flagpole a view of the eye. A change in geography and it all
comes out in the asphalt: strategy, eternity, material, brandy. Broken
No more sunrise and no more steam. All the light in a single solitude,
attention focused on the tent. To move from bed to blood, to see only the
requirement of sacraments: humility, obsession, sleep-debt. Apostolic
vision in a view from the train, to move from temptation to estrangement.
She pulled him into her kitchen: condom, territory, heaven, Greyhound.
No more bullets and no more animals. Put down the gun and the music
stops, all the victims in a single grave. She pulled him into the hut. We
break the stem because we are quick. We invent apocalypse because we
are enough. From the lake of fire, a view of the primitive. Deadly
laughter in a broken cube. Beneath a trinity of voices, divine yearning for
works, theirs was an angry ether. She pulled him into her position: a
ray, a spark, a broken figure, a darkness by the rail there, a lust recalled,
resonance in a view from the window. To move from gloom to catalyst,
what comes out in the courtship. Entropy in the broken weather.
From the foot a view of the leg: snake, bridge, breaker, as the eye moves
on, a growing isolation in her sense of formula contrasted to his feeling
for verse, pain and pleasure, a winter lost, a garden through the eyes of
the fallen. Predatory streets. Overkill. Angry monogamy. Each night was
a lake of fire, an exercise in their connection to apocrypha, to patience,
to firmament. A change in allusion: pagan faceplate in a view from the
window, to see only the measure of greeting, a welcome in a wave file.
Take back what came with your CD-ROM. Now paint by number a Greek
variation: a camera which moves from featured artist to none of the
above, no credits but a slow finger on the pause button. If you see the
bed, shut the door. Self-denial goes too far. Unexpected know-how stops
at virtual magic. We slip into observation because we do this to the page.
Settlers followed the railroad of abstinence. Room and board above the
Wild Side West. No ill will but a bootless rumbling into night.
We block the craving because we strengthen parts of speech. Gimme a
shot of red eye or donnez moi un Dubonnet. Cut production or get a
job. We cut because we paste. Abandon sin, embrace the relics, fossils,
scales, backfence gossip. No more good deeds and no more dedicated
drives. Go home to cortex, disconnect desolation, abandon introspection,
embrace the adolescent darling. To move from pipedream to hangover. A
cat leaps the edges, a dynamo of power, a playfully allegorical rain in a
torrent of social action and virtual sleep-debt. She wanted to locate the
river within the cave. He wanted to add local color. Together they
wanted to go barefoot, to have drainage return to the field. A cat leaps
from case to cartridge. He thought of her photograph at the kitchen
table, her nakedness, her new-found modesty. Hers was the thermostat,
to wake warmed and in control. It all comes out in the smoke, a camera
moving from belly to breast to cigarette. Smoke and mirrors in a broken
She pulled him into her error, her young sense of diminishing returns,
dangerous nipples and Godly machinery. They packaged language good
and evil, hit the switch, pulled the breaker, and turned up the gas. He
dreamed of her excess, her tender extension, her sense of fact
contrasted to his feeling of responsibility. They played each other's
scales lost in a dream of reptilian solitude. To move from allusion to air,
to hear a clicking in the tracks, a change in unit. A cat leaps the
distance: innocence to invention, female friends, broken demands; she
pulled him into her ruins. It all comes out in the romance. We install
the fountain because we thirst. We jump the stairs because we are
covered. In a view from the window, we see only the story of rocks, a
change in venue, bed bound economy. From her heart a view of the
token. Broken repair. He dreamed of her ambivalence, her sense of the
moon contrasted to his feeling of time, an eros of subsistence, all the
classics in a single volume.
A breakdown in the bus north: copper, rock, oppression, earth. No more
libido and no more speeches. Put down the music and the trial stops,
attention focused on the deposition. He dreamed of her despair, her
sense of information contrasted to his feeling of the creeps. No more
predator and no more prey: a camera which moves from soul to soul,
amnesty to the humble, deus ex machina in the goad of knives. A cattle
prod behind the grace, growing wonder at the physical, dominion within
exhaustion, what the body could do. And to wake in the meaningless
breaker, no thermostat, just the spiritual particulars, the fleeting sense
of the head's connection to devotion, the body's bearing on the utility of
medieval machinery. A view from the bridge, to see only the declaration
of denouncement. Theirs was the window into hardware. It all comes out
in winter. To move from trouble to no objection, a change in soul, a
natural stem, grown from the graft. From the fabric a view of the bridge.
Broken authority. A cat leaps, fault testing strain in the biology of
response. His was the wrong picture, remembered in a hymn. The dream
of habitation and water from the rock. To move from island to volcano in
a spiritual evolution, broken warrior. Arousal evokes the icon, God's
creation and a view of the effort. We step into the picture because we are
sexual, leap ideology to doctrine as the eye moves on. From the window
a view of the prize, blue spruce broken at the point of cold beauty,
separation at the point of emergence. We sense light within the
ricochet, emergence electric in the left flipper, no thought and no denial.
She pulled him into her enactment, her private language, her sense of
the blood's circulation, effortless progress through a landscape of gentle
movement and soft breathing. Circular motion in a view from the
window. The idea of traffic parts at the plaza, encircles the idea of a
fountain. We enter the field, apocalypse, golden light in a fluid motion.
To enter a room in the emergence of eros, no shame or expiation, no
second thought, simply the infinite journey, endless grace in a circular
rhythm. Witness her limits, her iconography, her resolution, her
theological gravity. Her dominion was compassion and she pulled him
into her capital, her L.A. canyon, her cultural fetish, her paragraph, her
nimbus of desire. In the primordial reduction, no unified field, just the
white goose down and the head's connection to the book and the book's
more general connection to the sublime, the sea beneath the sky of
machinery, deliverance in a circuit of possibility, a chain of magic, a
clear sky ignited in prayer beneath the bed's canopy. We change clocks
but time moves at the same rate. We change plans but live the same
lives. We enter the past, or rather the timeless cavern of history, and
change nothing but our evening gowns, our suits and ties, deciding
against the formality of the occasion. Breakpoint in the missed
We're forty miles out of Elko on a weatherless day in a land of no
landscape. From the window a view of Provence, or the Bering Strait in a
landscape of sand and ashes. This is the history of manners, of propriety
lost within a foreign embassy. No greater dominion and no more sermon.
We dream of islands of kindness within a sea of devastation, unspoken
despair within the morning coffee, broken faith within the afternoon tea.
A vast economy of shame and expiation rumbles on without us, the
absent always in the wrong. And then to enter the cave, deep sleep, to
slip out of Elko, out of time, out of this cumbersome flesh, redemption in
the cold cave water, cold blood, green scales to rest upon the cool
smooth rock below the world. To move from grass to mountain, from
celebration to the fire's edge, from sacred stones to private sacrifice, from
the killing wall to the broken altar, to reconstruct the memoir, revise the
document, touch up the painting, destroy the evidence and move on.
A stony path reveals the heart, a dying campfire followed into
night. Barren trees lengthen into shadows, shadows die before
the fire. We follow darkness into light; two thousand years of
faded pigment, calendars of stone, these painted bison on
our wall. As if from sleep, we stumble into light, shed tail and
scales, take human form to leave the cave. And then to stand
upon the mountain's face, cold wind, a glint of sun off snow,
to stand above the opening field, above the soldiers of another age,
their tongues diverse, their shields of leather, steel, and bronze.
We watch and wait, stand witness to the field, encircled by a ring
of wolves, chorus in this dance to consecrate the end of time.
Two guards approach us from the pack, one to take each hand;
we spin above the battlefield, then take our stance, at rest among
these fossils, anchored now, arms stretched between two stones.