I revise

The hardened hand is my
hardened hand.

Where did I put it?
I put it in the freezer
where it froze on the Stoli.

I put it in a hole
up on Naticook Lake

past a frozen scrim
which broke my skin

and drew blood
as I drew out
the perch.

Every road in this town is a
cooling board for dreams
that don't die.

Ghosts everywhere
remain, they live
and breathe and
walk
like men.

They sing like wires
in the winter
wind.

I can't stop
listening.

I will do
thier bidding.

The Chinese bartender
slips the info to me,
scrawled on a
small square napkin:

All your gone friends
are imaginary and
New York City
is forever hell.

I said, OK, sir.
Now another Fogcutter,
por favor,

I've many miles to go
and it's a far cry
till dark.

raw times is good times

driving through these towns:
scouring my hidden mind for raw material
listening to Axis: Bold As Love by Saint Jimi Hendrix
deciding that I'll treat 36 as an extension of 35
affirming that this late bloomer is in bloom
doing not trying
committing to playing even more
shedding all past defeats: they are not entities anymore
driving through these towns
these blogs was ever named Extemporaneo
you have no idea how much material is here that is raw
there is no audience here but me
and this is as it should be
I need a real domain
I am that real domain
this is my year
this is my year

The Band of the Pines

He said,
I'll never stop.
I'll never give up,
I'll never give in.
It's not a cliche
to want to win,
just human.
Enzyme of
the lion.
Band of the
Pines.

the magus

Jonny Greenwood is the man.

duel. sad

There was nothing in his physiognomy to indicate any unusual imaginative or intellectual power.

reprise

I turn off
the Internet
because
it is my box
of distraction
I turn off
my
listlessness
because it makes
me nobody
I am
turned off
by my own
lack
of
fire
discipline
in
close quarters

ukelele

the rude harlequin cries blood,
playing terrible ukulele
in the dumpster of
the night