( Post 11.14.09. Illustrations. )

“That’s interesting. Now I understand. Everything is water,”

WITH EACH foot the burgeoning territories.

DO YOU SNORKEL? In the Galapagos my did we snorkel.

“Now, don’t imagine for a moment that there is nothing but bare white sand on the bed of the ocean; no, the most fantastic trees and flowers grow there, with such pliable stems and leaves that the slightest motion of the water makes them move just as if they were alive. All kinds of fishes, big and small, flit in and out among the branches . . .”

“Down there a strange blue mist enveloped everything; you would sooner have thought that you were standing high up in the air, with only the sky above and beneath you, than that you were down in the depths of the ocean. When the surface was dead calm you could just faintly perceive the sun, looking like a crimson flower out of which a flood of light streamed forth.” ( H.C. Andersen )

(from M. Ondaatje, to dear Billy:)

As far as dress was concerned

He always looked as if 

He had just stepped out of a bandbox.

( wait wait wait)

BIGGER THAN you could heft in two arms, this gray ball, concrete, embossed with the silhouette of the contintents — through this ball passes a boundary that is hard to see but real enough see how these people this country call themselves after the equator. And it tears me apart how I am spreadlegged over the mystery, tugged where I am so south and tugged north an invisible string she tugs at me stop please continue.

other lines of note :

The ten foot length of a red-tailed boa which Rodrigo and I spread between us my end drooping it was that heavy.

The resolute forearm, paw curved, fried, unconnected to anything else was a guinea pig now an imaginary boundary on the table between my father and I and I have crossed it.

I am the Galapagos. And so can you!

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.”