I'd like to meet:
William E. Dudley
The following is writing I'm working on, it helps me to see it posted this way, have to look at each word, rework the HTML, etc. (feel free to comment if you'd like).
The Dentist
dressed in corridors, saw. . .
The small Mitterhofer typewriter keys
I have for teeth, the solitary
little train rolling across my tongue.
He says his first wife
got her thumbprints
from a crock-pot of cabbage soup,
I suddenly feel close to him.
We are both from a similar difficult town,
So, I ask if he knows a
three-legged armadillo
who crossed a local highway, where a couple
both on cell phones, drove over her.
The dentist says:
"I believe I have that armadillo's X-rays,
a bit of diary she left
on her bony appendages . . .
intricate complicated reading,
I'll email to you."
(I smile — distant nova, 1648)
As scars and cyclical thoughts,
run out across my face.
He asks me what happens if . . .
— where's solice if I can't sleep. I say:
"Abyssinia, alphabet pilgrims."
From My Neighbor's House,
"I'm ramshackle to live wild, tonight."
"Did you go to Sunday school?"
a tinted bit of songs written for Rumi . .
"My, I'm a coliseum again."
"God bless you" after
I sneezed, getting the newspaper at the
edge of my driveway.
"I'm so fall back, it leaves me impossible,
& it's going to rain—"
Each a separate second of verse.
"Are you ready?"
"I'm a live thought candle,
in a night filled with wizard hyenas"
I believe you dropped the Samuel Beckett"
"I blame her, I blame myself."
"Get that ocean mustard poet,
next door over here, unreasonable.
with strange silence as he may be. . ."
I'm Lake
wonted, usually
sparowlichen motionless . . .
The case is still
constant variance in
shaken rue phrases,
and rain, snow
fall with inventory,
fish move constant
mortally, Tibetan math grazing,
so rarely seen until
yanked out, with
ill-meaning hook,
for hacked by bent knife.
As They Stone Stephen
Outside the Gates of Jerusalem
His heavenly tongue
remains intact.
I'm off getting canceled around the
understanding of several towns
Because, well..
What's happening . . .
I realize I should far away come up
with a beginning to explain
this, this, & this.
And yet the stones are flying
as I order another
separation rose, possibly if I become a toothless character
or if I start foreboding in a bed far, far away..
I will remember to understand the
Beauty still remaining somewhere, today. . .
yet I feel it will never overcome my mind
that is multiplying
a ghost around . . .
Oh, Stephen.
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