Working on a poetry manuscript: Last Days.
The endless catastrophe of words…
Excerpt from the title poem, “Last Days”:
The space cleaves me in two.
An impossible distance,
on the surface of a planet.
Can you believe it?
We walk on a planet.
Also working on:
- audio rips and remixes of the The Cascade, which I’m adding to my SoundCloud.
- deconstructing music videos. Because. Mad DJ. Watch for those here and on Vimeo.
- I’m composing and mixing sound pieces and experimental music with Ableton and Encore.
- audio recordings of Last Days (need a new Tascam, though)
- also revisiting notes from my poetry mentor, Thom Gunn, who died of an overdose in 2004. He suggested not all poems need Imagist-infusion; sometimes words are powerful as words. This new work bounces between image and syntax, the critical (clinical) and lush.
- always working with my firemen. I wonder about their last days…
Excerpt from “V-Fib,” part of Last Days:
Real end times
occupy liminal space
occupy corners of your street, a counter’s edge
partial thoughts and partial plates,
quiet moments between coffee and key-turn
sitting still and soft, moving lush and hard
sitting, wishing, dialing, watching.
Decision during a bowl of cereal,
flow of Richter scale garbage in vibration V-fib,
lost in the now-fallen, unimportant.
A drudge of dirty sock, windowpane sensibility,
that noticing last days are like seeing rainbows
and dog shit.
Excerpt from “Backroad Remaining,” part of Last Days:
it does not diminish,
heal-cutting, collapsing like
cross-fade TV recap,
these flash-back moments, missives
pause between touch and tingle