faces
2007-10-08 12:01 a.m.

here is the last line of the 53rd poem in John Berryman's "77 Dream Songs"

We are using our own skins for wallpaper and we cannot win.

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so far two people have volunteered to keep me company when i run away from florida and start a new life (?) somewhere out west.

out west is a cliche. so is my haircut.

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there's a picture of a fat woman's fat face on the back of this book; how do you expect me to stay around here when clearly that is my future? back of the book, back of the newsletter. or no picture at all--readers will have to imagine the arrangment of my fat by the letters in my name in the local newspaper masthead.

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when wylie is working as he is working now his mouth gets completely straight. it's difficult to make a straight line out of all curves. try it. can you do it? maybe you can; maybe it's not special.

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not wylie: i have trouble understanding the layout of your face, how that all came together, what an impossible collection. but if anything were different, there would be an earthquake in my throat. i know your collected features like i know the loops of my own handwriting. that is the feeling i hope to catch and maintain.

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my temptations are boring. i miss when i was lusty. now i just want to connect. what a turd.

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merriam webster is missing a word or ten.

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sir pack your bags we are going to missouri to start a corn farm and to watch all the crows swoop down and pick that apart too.