EMBERS. A FEW trampled grasses. Having left Orange County a ruin, my father and I must flee.

Have I never seen the jungle, truly, the jungle ? Will we reach it ? There might be a sea between us. There might be a quiet. Do not try to follow.

NA TO SA PI (Sun the Elder, Blackfoot)

“The final two syllables of the name mean grey or white hair of an old man. But they also aesthetically imply ‘to see’, as in to gain insight.” His bright rifle at his cheek nearly he brought down the sun he blinked it away he could see inside precisely what medicine I need.

UPON MY arrival was I greeted.

HARD – HITTING ADVICE for the hard hit, the hard of hearing, the herd hearteners :

Recognize. Look how ugly your baby and purple so tightly it’s carried. Whereas. The face across the car, that is a fine face, fine-faced, fire-winged and she has candy even for you. But don’t take it, it’s for the children, you jerk. Then join the club. It is everybody’s club but each must hold his own meeting and there is always an argument over who is responsible for taking down the minutes, who is responsible for providing donuts. On the agenda is only one item. Where you have caused a commotion, say sorry, say hello.

(optional)
If you wake with a shirt on which a sheeted ghost, his arms poking from his sheet, gives two middle fingers, you never have to wear it. It’s purpose is served. If the Austrian keeps you from sleeping on the subway platform, that is a bonus.

Sawdust. This picture of a bird belongs to someone else. If it belongs to you, please claim it.

OUT OF travel I built a nest. The road passing in strands and I took those strands. Wove a ring, curled in it. I carried one egg, still carry it. The photograph in the egg is albumen wet, becoming less formed, a dark lump — do not think of the fertilized egg that cracked in the sink shit still stuck to the shell what puddled surprise laid out on the stainless steel how quickly you turned on the tap to wash it away — think of this, the egg behind the ribs.

For the ghost of John with no skin on

EASE ON DOWN. Given up the meadow patches between the trees, given up the snow patches, patches of sheep, elbow patches, patch near the pocket of the down vest disintegrating where it catches on the fences, the patch of down down in the snow on the drive — No, not anymore. We are on. We are off.

GRAY through the trees through the window makes a nest for recollection. Is beatitude a memory ? A burrito ? Heavensent their expressions and now where are they ? You have this face. Remember.

MENAGERIE : a) title; b) Eddy, Prince Edward, our barker, geek; c) Bee, Beatrice, Beave, setter of meadows; d) Rotosaur, eater of cars and hardrock miners; e) X, X and X, keepers of the mystery; f) Bradypus, eater of the days, lookout.

DEAD BEET.

“THERE HAS ALWAYS been great fluidity of residence . . . In good times, old people might be able to stay all year . . . when people had to travel and were too feeble to carry them . . . Sometimes the house was simply pulled down as they lay on their beds; or . . . smothered (‘a soft death’) . . . They informed the deceased that he was now dead and should go away . . . Russian influence introduced burial in a plank-lined grave, marked by a cross and surrounded by a fence. In a little house above were placed the belongings of the deceased, especially his bedding, clothes, and the nail parings and hair combings he had saved.”

THAT’LL DO. Having abstained thus far, I broke, two weeks in — two, back to back to back. The only interval being the time it takes to switch videos.

Take home message. Dance for your pig dog and bring a music box for your wild pig child so that when in the desert, when the mohawks and the Austrian accents want to steal your gasoline, want to eat you, want you in chains and a leather thong, when you regret not having eaten that sweet, sweet pig because what have you or your blueheeler to eat now? a rusty can of dog food, dust — right then your wild pig child will sacrifice himself for you because my, what a looker that Mel Gibson was as a young man.

Not so far off, either. I found between Babe and Road Warrior there lies Australia, an Australian, at least, Dr. George Miller, who is responsible for both.

A PARABLE.

Let this be a truce with a folded field,  a handshake with light

WHAT PIECES of work, while I am whiling, pining in the spruce, these beavers. Sawing willow they moan to themselves. There is this other sound, though. Swatting the black pond THWACK and in answer the whole skim of ice swings on its hinge attached as it is to the bank.

A SPORTSMAN’S Paradise, or behind the Sportsman’s Paradise, is a small lake on which five swans sit. They cannot go anywhere, see the water is fixed. Still, they sit there, on top of the lake. When one is tired or flabbergasted, it stretches out one dark leg, stands on the water.

POWERED BY Engelbert Humperdinck (Best Of, 1980.)

HELP. Pre -dinner party panic. Do I cook it or bake it?  Is paella paella without any saffron? (I forgot to buy saffron)

MADAM, madam ? Biskoot chaiye ?

everyourwellwisher,