Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Crystal Balls, Or The Idea of Practice
Makes Practice Perfect

[for "you know who" or David McFadden or both]



indulging my weakness for prophecy
can see, for example,
there'll come a time when i disappoint you,
this is simple to see
more mere memory,
hasn't everyone disappointed you?
Speaking personally
i've disappointed everyone I could,
and everyone has disappointed me if they could,
if i disappoint you
right away, we could have that over with
and get right down to the funny business
get down to the refusal of eternity

get down to the calm determined practice

the frenzied practice?

the spontaneous regenerating practice
the heartwarming practice
the cold blooded practice

the practice of the ha ha
harmonious melodious ha has

the syncopated practice

simulated
interrupteddisappointing practice

the perpetual amateur and sentimental
practice of love, amateur love

unpracticed unrehearsed practice
poor paid highly ha ha practice
practice of now, pre-petroleum practice

the acknowledged stickum of the planet mama
the resonating rechargeable practice mama
piano practice fortissimo allegro practice
confluent incongruous boogie woogie practice

the inconsolable and consuming practice
the here again gone again practice

practice giraffe practice gingko tree
practice guffaws, practice spelling bee

practice sister practice brother
practice telepathy
hell reincarnation
play Possession Mama
spirit of the self gotten mama practice

mammal practice, four legged practice
sabre toothed practice
sewing practice teeth, rolling practice eyes
hair trigger rapid fire practice finger
jackhammer jalopy practice zippers and snaps

salmon sucking practice

thorough methodical practice

divine practice, imperfectable practice,
pre-season practice

post funny practice, intolerable, longwinded practice

just -can't-quit-this practice
until we're memorized
predictable or prophesied.

No comments:

cohen

cohen
the sweetest little song

st.ink

st.ink
his heart this big


Hornby Island by Goh Poh Seng (for Billy Little, who shared loved spots and fond friends)

Here on the headland by Downe's Point we case dreams to rise synchronous with eagles and gulls, all make-believe, egocentric, near to fanatical, else aim true to roam deep with Leviathan in the ocean's mind, free from perplexities and profundities such as bind the scheduled self Here is the arbutus grove whose trunks and branches tighten like nerves, twisted witnesses, victims of shapely winds which blow in always unseen, sweet from the south or coming cold from the north, from every direction the prevailing force of nature Wish I could emulate the arbutus slough off my thin skin as easily as these natives trees their bark from abrasion, disdain or design, unveiling the bare beauty of strong, hard wood beneath Over on Fossil Bay the rot of herring roe strewn amongst broken clam shells, dead crabs on dirty grey sand, exposed bedrock, thickened the morning air, but gave no cause for bereavement: these millions of botched birthings! And none also for the Salish, no open lamentation for a race almost obliterated without trace from their native habitat save a few totems, some evidences of middens, a score of petroglyphs of their guardian spirits carved a thousand years ago on smooth flat rock by the shore, of killer whales, Leviathans again, to guide their hunts, the destiny of their tribe. Having retraced them gently with finger tips, they now guide mine.

Halo by Patrick Herron (for Billy Little)

half of love plus half of half is halo and I don't believe in angels, no.