So in addition to all of those things that Frances mentioned,
I'm also very ill, just with the flu, nothing to worry about.
But sometimes I'm prone to coughing fits in the evening,
so I have cough drops, and tea, and stuff.
I just wanted to warn you, I might cough.
I'm supremely pleased to be reading here,
I'm very glad that you all came, and I'm
extremely thankful to Frances, my dear friend,
for organizing this event.
Going to read primarily-- can everyone hear me?
Yeah?
Even people who aren't sitting in the very front?
OK.
I'm going to read primarily from three longer series.
The poems that are all in sentences
is from a series, called Sentiences.
And then the others--
one is the long poem, called Tendency,
that I wrote for Kathy Acker just after she died,
and the other is a series of letters.
The denotative sky through its frame
is sky, through its sky is sky.
There is a boat in the distance.
Curvature makes this possible and collapse.
How many ways there are to pause,
lifting our necks to sound.
I'd ask, how are you?
I would not refrain.
How the fast, small birds do not shatter,
how it emerges only to emerge again.
I would infuse.
We've resurrected the small words.
It's a small boat, it's gone.
Color is what lingers.
There's a distance in the distance.
Flying against the sky, they form a habit.
I would say those clouds form a reference, not a pattern.
Those birds nominated your eyes, and what your eyes see,
and what--
Escaped mourning dove-- she went downstairs.
All the birds were on paper.
The sky is a piece of blue paper,
or the sky is like a piece of blue paper,
was aware of herself.
All green is outside or to afford a house with windows.
More than one window as a manner of scintillating the air back
and forth as a she.
The air is the absence of a piece of blue paper,
or the air is like the absence of the piece of blue paper,
or a love song to the air by royal trucks, grass
on the bottoms of her feet, hot coffee, hot day,
which licked telephone asked without inflection for a 2000
mile taxi, or perhaps slightly less.
Slightly, the cat orange would verb clawful
across her being a middle floor librarian's
desires with wingless, it in hand,
over mindful ever numeric, yet so flusterful to remember
a kind of door.
That real tree, which is a kind of window,
hung with real apples, glossy, up yours,
in particular wonderful, who reading might violet, steady,
steadily, towards a source of light,
if source light has, if light was the question, being
in red gloves, boxed in a Canadian love song, which
geographically speaking, knew not in terms
of whether all of the above.
What hollowed out never ceases, insectoid, to amaze,
remain yet bothersome, why, marooned to repeat, vehicular,
as if unbearably singing, delightfully useless,
into the ear of ear-less mispronunciation
as unconfirmed in a phone booth, or more specifically,
more Pacifically, in a bar called the phone booth, hello.
A shadow by a plumb is, hello, hello, created
equal, though soundings indicate underfoot monthly untested
delicacies.