________________________________________________
If you                           kill hambone   
two more will rise in his place.                
but      kill                    kill hambone...
________________________________________________

(Best                  taken                with"Oud"
________________________________________________
                                                
wide as a field                                 
crossing katydids                               
gentle murmurs                                  
the sweet grass smell                           
                                                
bent but whole                                  
scorched by June                                
the crab in the apple                           
the slow stew of things                         
baking a little in the heat                     
                                                
bent but whole                                  
abandoned by blood                              
to a glorious pallor                            
rotting in the ravine                           
reconsidering the sky                           
                                                
bent but whole                                  
dreamt for dust                                 
dry frost crusted                               
a little sad at night                           
like it's not worth it:                         
                                                
wide as a field                                 
crossing katydids                               
gentle murmurs                                  
the sweet grass smell                           
________________________________________________

________________________________________________

Quilting in Japan with long bolts of  confidence
guiltless and  guileless and  gleeful and  glad,
solar powered,     child powered,    self aware,
surrounded by generations of calligraphic surity
listed by strangers, monitored by oddballs,leper
lemur lover of this: brittle glyphs breaking off
for life, love, free joy, careless play, and all
that is       needfully       left        behind
________________________________________________

________________________________________________
                                                
Reading is a buff's  game,                      
             done         for fun               
             like                 frank talk    
             over                               
sketches and                                    
         the                      giddy         
promise of a grid    cranked down tight         
enough to harness    all the potentials.        
                                                
hell hell hell hell hell hell  hell  hell  hell 
    ,    ,    ,    ,    ,    ,     ,     ,      
    students shouldn't like their teachers      
    but milk them like cows until they're  bone 
bone    bone           bone                bone 
    dead    and dry wit    free. You missed  the
        feast          full                of   
hallowed     temperment,   kept  your blood  in-
        side            so       none,noone  can
        starve your    life out, harmlessandroid
________________________________________________

------------------------------------------------
    I remember      a whirlwind of butterflies  
      painted      the   sky   with  wings,     
                                                
    I remember      a   lady                    
                        singing a     hymn      
           in the alley.                        
                        Some          hard time 
           let her go.                          
                                                
    I remember     poems and songs              
              among               friends.      
A      rhythm                            skipped
 as  if       I     were         dreaming       
a                       scratched        record.
Could it      ever  be           real     enough
          to              dream      again?     
                                                
          twisting a sad rag of hymns           
 to  swing           some            wings      
            across    the       moon            
                  into   eclipse                
------------------------------------------------

                       Ghosts of Arco                    
(To be considered while listening to "Ghost of Arco"   on
Blue Nebula's second CD                 Sightings       )
---------------------------------------------------------
           A slow,                                       
             white                                       
             storm of crystals,                          
fresh powder from the sky.                               
                                                         
(   raced in snow shoes,                                 
  dragged each 's sleds,                                 
   packed all the snow in the driveway to                
    uncer                                                
         tain forms.)                                    
                                                         
                    (  made muffins,                     
              wrist deep in streusel,                    
   wondering if  'd done something wrong,                
             if  'd overlooked an ingredient             
         or stirred  the batter too long.)               
                                                         
(  broke in a new pair of slippers with    negative space
                 up and down the stairs.)                
Is this    life?                                         
                                                         
                 drank hot chocolate                     
             and smiled at each other                    
through all the sweet impressions                        
                   'd been assured                       
                           of                            
                        by wise men.                     
                                                         
                           Jeff Boughner                 
           hops from shadow to shadow:                   
           hot lava     in the sunlight,                 
          cool promise  in the shade:                    
                                    ?                    
                        child's play:                    
     to stab that lance of attention                     
   into the world however it lays   .. ? ..              
                                                         
(  got the car washed for the showmanship:               
                           brushes slapping              
          black clods from the undercarriage,            
                            the thrill of it.            
                                What a blast!            
                                            )            
No spool rewinds,                                        
the tape rains down                                      
                                 (why pause?)            
         records to the floor                            
   in a brown         and sure                           
                      catastrophe                        
                      chrysanthemum,                     
                    a slender shush:                     
                 some swampy splash of hips              
        or something true like arch                      
                                aeo                      
                                 logy                    
                       trying its charms                 
                                     among               
                                      braggarts          
      everything in proper proportion:                   
                                      just               
                     "happy to be here,                  
whatever                                                 
                      bluster stands between             
.":                                                      
                    the list of moments,                 
              every word                                 
     the negative                                        
                space of some                            
       burst of sadness                                  
the impressions shatter                                  
            and                                          
                rewrite.                                 
A ghost lingers                                          
              off the tail                               
of a powerful hook:                                      
                                                         
      Take a drink,                                      
      take a drink,                                      
fall                                                     
           on                                            
                  the floor.                             
                                                         
      Take a drink,                                      
      take a drink,                                      
fall                                                     
           on                                            
                  the floor.                             
                                                         
There are no lies                                        
   or compromises to the dark down here.                 
                                   Hear                  
a voice echo from the ear                                
                                  -th,                   
without sadness or knowing,                              
                                   sing,                 
to the blue nebulas if   must.                           
                               (I) dream                 
    of blue nebulas as well.                             
     It's a knot at my heel,                             
    a sharp pain in my knee,                             
         a hunch in my neck.                             
    I grow old with this                                 
                 on this                                 
    deer trail over sand dunes,                          
               the water looms                           
                  (in the ear                            
               before the eye.)                          
                  for the love                           
           of the fog                                    
      and the sparrow,                                   
         blue nebulas in infinite space                  
                 (singsongstonobody)                     
               like insects                              
       dappling the water's surface,                     
     straddling their own reflections,                   
nearly one with the dawn                                 
   in some                                               
             too far gone Summer.                        

------------------------------------------------
Get      rich       Natalie       Get       rich
   wealth    workout       finance   freedom    
                    * LOVE*                     
Get      rich       Natalie       Get       rich
   wheels     GOOD          TIME    full-time   
                    *LOVE *                     
Get      rich       Natalie       Get       rich
   wonder    finance       finance    wonder    
                    *LOVE *                     
Get      rich       Natalie       Get       rich
   wealth      earn         earn      wealth    
                    *LOVE *                     
Get      rich       Natalie       Get       rich
------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------
If you were sitting next to me, I would kiss you
                  pale and wash                 
hurdles of grammar             from my tongue to
                  taste you pure                
I  speak  for  the  lack  of  you  most  of  all
with   such torn eyes  arounded this  darkness I
am green  for  the  fist   -  ful  hung with day
lillies and dreams        of        magic acorns
------------------------------------------------