Next One, What One, This One

This MS I'm working on is a freak. That's all I can say with any reasonable accuracy. I have poems like this (5 or so) that seem to me to pretend at a kind of release from various obligations:

 

A thought arose like fresh

wooden shavings. A red car

arrived, its wheels wings,

the windshield flexible or

tender. Monks chorused and

strummed to a teenage moon

- life was new as life was

the same. I signed rightup

for an ordinal cruise. Hot

wires across bamboo leaves

- the incipient sparkings,

a book party. Shake it out

I am very happy with "ordinal cruise." Anyway, I have a few of these and though, quite reasonably I believe, that I was on a mission of cleansing. But, no, for a few of the following sort or variety appeared:

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 For this, I blame Litsa Spathi (and others) of Fluxus.

 

So one can have some of one thing and some of another and have a nice back and forth, presupposing two (2) points of reference. I mean to say, I know  am not simply fishing. 54 year-old Anglo poets do not fish. They plant and re-plant. But after working last night I have the constructive (3, so far):

 

It is time to write 3

poems. A shadow of my

friend the bird of my

doubt lifts a skirt 3

times in rhythm as my

poem takes form as my

tendencies No. 1 of 3

hatch or take hold my

hands carpet tacks my

interior eye called 3

 

And this sort of thing, of which I have only example, but which I fear will proliferate as somehow my mind views this assemblage as a current Acts (which another recent MS played up more  faithfully):

 

I make a point of losing my notes. Why.

Okay well I don’t take notes. Vacancies

- opportunities, okay. We come back all

the time. I’m here. You’re there. But I

am setting a table. I am establishing a

kind of platform. The one of occurrence

makes note-taking remedial, where there

is no illness to speak of. Look, happen

& heartbreak, where we want to be. Love

is not a problem, it is not a mystery –

we are the problem we are not a mystery

 

I just want to say that if you have made it this far, you are a better friend than I deserve.

 

So, okay, actually I'm glad this thing is headed this way, whatever that means for Ms. No. 22. I have learned to become a physician for my output, taking all analogies in stride. I'm not even printing this stuff out yet, or have a title anywhere near in mind, or conceiving a cover drawing - so I'd say nothing will happen to define a final product until I have 60 to 80 pages. I'm thinking to publish in December 2013. But, that could move up if I catch fire.