Friday, September 30, 2022

Like the Tucked Sleeve of a One-armed Boy


W.S. Merwin

Nothing will do but
I must get a new flag,
I've buried enough under this one,

And then there are my 
Followers, mad for a bit of color.
Damn them,

And the end I suppose is not yet,
The way the trees come beating
Their horses, and the wheat is camped
Under its dead crow,
The rivers under themselves. And I'm not ready
To just sit down and let the horizon
Ride over me.

Maybe I thought
I could go on and on flying the same rag,
Like the fire,
But it's faded white and I'm 
Not the fire, I'll have to find
Something bright and simple to signify
Me, what an order.

What an order but I'll have to do something.
Up to now the pulse
Of a stone was my flag
And the stone's in pieces.


Born ninety-five years ago today, the above from 1963's *The Moving Target.* I agree with all of it but the damn my followers, laugh

Mentioned a while back my Merwin gene activated, not only still activated but hyperventilating. Working my way from start, *The Moving Target* his fifth, the two of you I-told-youing me insisted and as always, more often than not you're right, Merwin label enabled

Below from 1967's *The Lice,* holy the fuck



W.S. Merwin

When you go away the wind clicks around to the northThe painters work all day but at sundown the paint fallsShowing the black wallsThe clock goes back to striking the same hourThat has no place in the yearsAnd at night wrapped in the bed of ashesIn one breath I wakeIt is the time when the beards of the dead get their growthI remember that I am fallingThat I am the reasonAnd that my words are the garment of what I shall never beLike the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy

Thursday, September 29, 2022

Someone Who Spends His Life Drawing Profiles Will End Up Believing That Man Has One Eye



  1. For now fixed, this. I vowed years ago not to fuck with this blog's background and banner and kept that vow, I now vow that when next time this gag goes sideways I can in no way blame myself for fucking around where I don't know shit about fixing
  2. I've got six pounds of fentanyl disguised as skittles stamped with George Soros' face, what the fuck am I going to do with them now that Fox News broke the story and so now no cracker kids will trick or treat my house, and George... GEORGE! where's my money?
  3. Not lie about here: relief, no lie: not kidding or self-deprecating when I say this an important archive and memory palace, I need my memory palaces, this getting old shit
  4. *Lack of academic scaffolding I was told when told no by those with ample academic scaffolding,* I tweeted at a poet with a doctorate in not medicine but tags herself Doctor when poet complained about meter and rhyme Nazis
  5. DC political writer, cracker-beat, and long-time resident, someone, not SOMEONE, but someone, engaging in a twitter battle with a twooter with 350 followers, the fuck? even if said cracker said, You should come visit DC (or something like that, to go back and get it accurately would be research, fuck that, Reason #451 I don't have academic scaffolding)
  6. I did a lot of thinking in the Blog Big House, all I was made of was time, anxious not frantic, new and positive if ultimately confirming my compulsions
  7. Poet with academic scaffolding did respond with a heart so noted here to remind me how small I make myself large
  8. Dentist yesterday, entire jaw numbed solid, those three creepy minutes when novacaine fights for its life then dies, today in fine metaphors abounding
  9. Thank you to everyone who wrote, concerned, and thanks to those of you who answered the question about link-fishing, it will continue, just not today
  10. The new Lambchop album drops tomorrow! have a pre-released song



Anne Carson

A bad trick. Mistake. Dishonesty. These are
the view of Braque. Why? Braque rejected
perspective. Why? Someone who spends his
life drawing profies will end up believing
that man has one eye, Braque felt. Braque
wanted to take full possession of objects.
He has said as much in published inter-
views. Watching the small shiny planes of
the landscape recede out of his grasp filled
Braque with loss so he smashed them. Na-
ture morte
, said Braque.

Monday, September 26, 2022

My Cat Speaks One Word: Fo ur Vowels and a Consonant

Some of you can see this blog, some of you can't, some of you couldn't but now can, I could yesterday from my father's computer but still can't see from my work computer and personal laptop. Two people labeled as Diamond Product Experts at google forum are kindly trying to help, current theory is that my stupid turning off https fucked up the domain name certificate or something. Here's a helpful reminder on our imminent dystopia: "The bankruptcy of the liberal class means that those who decry the folly of permanent war and NATO expansion, mercenary trade deals, exploitation of workers by globalization, austerity and neoliberalism come increasingly from the far-right." I have eleven gmails associated with work, three emails associated with real life, all of them incestuously intertwined now with the blooooger fuck up. I will NOT! be baptized in the name of Trump as a condition for restoration of normal shittiness for this blog. All in all I'm handling clusterfucks macro and micro better than I expected!

Rarely Seen Hickory Horned Devil Caterpillar Found in Gaithersburg
All bops are castards. Every single one
A friend of mine who knows of what she speaks urges me and urges me to urge you when online to NEVER use the words P***CE, C**S, and P**S
She also said if you already have it's too late, there IS no statute of limitations on thought crimes, there never has been and never will be
Convincing people online stuff is free
The antitrust shooting war has begun
Class warfare foreverHow empires die
Legal journalism (all journalism) is broken
The best journalists are despised and persecuted
I was wrong to praise Patagonia's owner, my apologies
Flood, retreat, repeatFRESH HELL
Shitlords are stealing all of your savings
The EU is sleepwalking into anarchy
Maggie's weekly5 threats to rivers
There's a new Alvvays LP soon, new song!
RIP, Hilary Mantel{ feuilleton }'s weekly
Rest in Peace and Power, Pharoah Sanders

Friday, September 23, 2022

Our Tiny Boats Pass Like a Long History of Moons Reflected


Artist pushing his head in a grocery cart towards his execution, 2022 September 22

Some of you can see this shitty blog, many of you cannot. In an excellent metaphor, I've completely fucked up google, all six of my work related gmails, all three of my personal emails including the one associated with this shitty blog which now says I'm logged into this shitty blog but the shitty blog thinks it's logged in to my primary work email which doesn't think it's logged into blogger and is correct in thinking it shouldn't be. Google community forum is trying to help, I keep deepening the problem with each attempt at each suggestion they make

Portrait of the artist as a running red dog puking
Asked this question at the link above: I link fish for you cause I read what I catch and want to share but ever-worsening duh, do you need me to awooga it at you?
You work on the machine or you're the fuel for the machine
Maryland is "the 2nd happiest state?"
Capitalists praise Feudalism!
What will happen first: my google/blogger issues will be fixed or I'll be vaporized in a nuclear attack on DC?
The political theology of covid-19
God save us from the (emmeffing) queen
Three couplesSelfie death trip
Ian McEwan one view, another view
Robert Coover is 12-1 odds to win the Nobel?
Rest in Peace Hilary Mantel, she was 33-1 for this year's nobel
Fifty years of David Thomas's music!
Death, editing, and the European novel
Dan Bejar interview!New Guided by Voices?


David Baker

Small flames afloat in blue duskfall, beneath trees
anonymous and hooded, the solemn trees—by ones
and twos and threes we go down to the water's level edge
with our candles cupped and melted into little pie-tins
to set our newest loss free. Everyone is here.

Everyone is wholly quiet in the river's hush and appropriate dark.
The tenuous fires slip from our palms and seem to settle
in the stilling water, but then float, ever so slowly,
in a loose string like a necklace's pearls spilled,
down the river barely as wide as a dusty road.

No one is singing, and no one leaves—we stand back
beneath the grieving trees on both banks, bowed but watching,
as our tiny boats pass like a long history of moons
reflected, or like notes in an elder's hymn, or like us,
death after death, around the far, awakening bend.

Wednesday, September 21, 2022

O Height Dispersed and Head in Sometimes Joining These Sleeps


Yes, another new jeffhead. Some of you see this, some of you can't, I accidentally turned off https:// (which I was authorized to do in blogger) but can't turn it back on, I'm logged in but unauthorized (though I can post), there is no one on the planet who seems willing to help fix, blogger forums are dead, blogger help pages useless, google refuses to provide a human to help, more fart here

Will be fixed or not. I can see it via access from the dashboard so the poetry and music anthologies I build and keep are accessible to me, my first concern. I'm not going to start a new blog (though I may build a new private blog to back up the songs I play and poems I post here as safe house) nor do what I do here re: link/music/other poets' poems at pOj, that's not what pOj is for, found my collected Ceravolo last night looking for something else, woke up with Human Switchboard in my head


Joseph Ceravolo

O height dispersed and head
in sometimes joining
these sleeps. O primitive touch
between fingers and dawn
on the back

You are no more
simple than a cedar tree
whose children change
the interesting earth
and promise to shake her
before the wind blows
away from you
in the velocity of rest