Tag Archives: Philosophy

index ii.

index ii.

 

weighted clouds

intersect morning

 

the will

weights them

 

abrupt relation

between earth’s

machine-hum

and the willpower

contained in a house

 

the day continues

to root

 

a corrugated

metal sheet

functions as barrier

and mirror between

houses

 

at the edge of

property

 

the neighbor’s

pallet collection

tidy and tethered

 

infinite layers

of projects and insects

 

all possible projects

dream in the sun

at this new hour

 

an infinite wellspring

of property and projects

of metal mirror walls

of pallets, weeds and chickens

of neighbors with projects

 

a pile of car parts

a metal container

“this end up”

 

whether to believe—an old house

accumulates debris

 

walls form voices

finger prints

cloud weight

 

to believe

 

the attractive substance

of a house

 

 

 

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index i.

index i.

 

to lay claim

 

 

one thousand entrance points

to the honeycombed wood

upright, in the sand, now

that the green rind

has died

 

 

 

a hallowed question—

what keeps us here?

flat roots

 

 

build a fence to mitigate

extreme area

 

 

even one millimeter of movement

the sand grains

 

over time, the foothold

undermined

 

 

*

 

through latillas–

face to the gap

air pushes through

vigor

of a secret

 

 

the barrier eternal

with an open place

 

remember this

 

 

 

*

stereoscopic

sand

sage

barbed

wire

 

a new house, empty

a dry willow

North

 

(it was days ago, I think—

 

five coyotes

purposeful,

paranoid

 

 

 

*

 

we may take our relationships

too seriously—

 

a jet flies overhead,

mundane,

detached, landless.

 

 

a whirling

whirligig,

air through the honeycomb,

 

or voices,

of thousands

who were here and wait.

 

 

 

*

cholla remnant

pulled from a trail

at high elevation, black

and wet with snow.

 

bones’ latent vigor–

decoration, an oddity

 

 

 

 

Note: latillas—are what we call fencing which are cut from young trees, here in New Mexico, with the bark left on the pole. They provide a textured fence line with an uneven skyline.They are all different heights and not perfectly straight. But, they are truly enjoyable to poets and New Mexicans.

A cholla is an upright, narrow cactus that grows throughout New Mexico and produces beautiful waxy flowers (cacti throw forth waxy, bright yellow or fuscia flowers). When the cholla cactus dessicates, the remaining material is woody, and hollow, with a honeycombed pattern.

 

 

alternate truth

alternate truth

 

 

the road through concrete

canyon cannot hold

 

 

a voice yells in an alley

candy wrapper

in the grating

wet cardboard box

cigarette

penny

reflection

 

 

all erodes

eventually

 

 

water,

air

find home

beneath asphalt

 

 

 

absent

ideology?—

 

 

“things as they are”

expands

 

 

*

 

 

less an antidote—

 

 

 

 

nourishment

 

*

 

 

algebraic confrontations

clog perception

 

 



Thanks Ms. Kellyann Conway for giving us “alternate facts” this morning. What a vein of gold you’ve given us. To the rest of us: fiercely protect the freedom of the press at all costs.

notions of distance

notions of distance

 

whispers

 

where the body hurts,

pattern experience

 

an attempt is only to live

as someone else,

to extend—

an outline of the unknown

 

you sound out the remnant

the brief

figure—

 

passing through the room

an apostrophe interlopes

an alphabet

 

the top curvature of a cloud

 

news breaks whether or not

 

arbitrary reading from left to right

and down

 

a distinct echo

 

hands and mouths,

layers of gods

 

lightning from behind the mesa

 

emergent

notions of distance

 

 

 

states of being

states of being

 

how is it

with you–?

 

declension

of midseason

variables

 

in the elements,

attach to storied lineage

as true

 

others, too wild

to hold their features

in memory

 

a long walk

in cold air

heightens

the illusion

 

certainty con-

tracts

 

if a dream is real,

it’s below,

in the arroyo

after the minus-y

 

in the saddle

of the parabola,

where all ends meet

 

where there is only ever after

 

 

winter method

winter method

 

sound wavers within the altitude

 

small grains move between here

and the horizon

 

locus of the principe

 

territorial boundaries

 

in the repeat story,

as canyoned as marrow bones

 

*

 

a conifer grows northward

toward an anonymous star—

only a percent

 

ultimate joys

imprint

 

these roots gently in leftover nebulae

 

*

 

too, a story of fog—

 

molecules

stand up, begin slow movements

toward the hearer

 

*

 

hoof beats absorbed in the sand—

the she-horse escapes

east, down the road

 

everyone waits outside

infinity

 

 

ritual objects

ritual objects

 

the histories appear—

 

collective want—

 

in the abstract is One, but

sitting there, spoon in hand

curvature of the known universe

tooth,

mouth,

private historical moment

 

*

 

wondered of dawn, as the edge of

something—

but where begin?

 

small creatures in nested holes

fortify entrances

 

*

 

tables rise through the dark

toward an all-encompassing

in-between event

 

ritual objects such as the Placemat,

words,

 

silence

 

ritual-objects

Bones observed in the San Pedro Wilderness, near Cuba, NM–and digitally celebrated (embellished).

curate

curate

 

at odds on the landscape,

between here and the wellpump

 

what have you

may be enough

 

*

 

 

unwrap the remainder—

how many years now?

descent

of the gift into

memory

 

*

 

 

the point in question was not—

outside of doors,

the home state

changed

 

not the Place,

 

the feeling

 

*

 

 

at the first snow fall,

lines on her hands

unreadable

 

it’s not the matter.

who curates the fixity?

 

directed from within

 

 

uncertain the fate

 

of these trees

three o clock

three o’ clock

 

 

a clean root system

for ease of transport

 

conversation

 

only short range

 

 

a longing–

for nectar of one

thousand years’ sleep

and dream

 

*

 

I walk from here

to the edge of indifference,

all the talk—diverged

to an abstract

 

to the sound—is–

the sound of small creatures

within the thicket

 

or–

 

harmonic

flexing of the wind

 

*

 

collided—

thought pulls at underlying meaning

 

 

now stacked and labelled

 

*

 

pre-reflective traveler

in the onset of winter afternoon

stands at a gradient

 

 

as the gender assigned to an hour

 

 

now in between where identity,

irrelevant

 

decisions draw on for hours

 

*

 

the fabric

beneath

the fabric

 

 

stone

within the stone

 

 

is where

 

 

to move