Friday, February 18, 2011

Snippets of Text From the Small Black Notebook: First Selection

1. Now the stern
father, winter
will not let us
  the table
until every mouthful
  of the season
is done.

2. On the way to work I imagine
the possum to be the issue of a marriage
between a rat and a dog.

3. No action on the playground but the melting
of the snow

4. Speaking of snow, this morning, tracks
on my back porch: nobody
but the racoon has such
  small hands.

5. Sometimes I need to get out of the way and let language have
its fun.  That's what i think the poet Eric Baus

6. Which little house makes you breathe?

7. The air as cold as a drawer of knives in an abandoned North Dakota cabin. The air as cold as
my handful of knives.

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