NC. Fall.

http://soundcloud.com/mid-century-music/talking-about-talking

 Talking about talking by Mid-Century Music

 Stray horn by Mid-Century Music

http://vimeo.com/30873935
Near Distance from Mid-Century Music on Vimeo.

Dumbwaiter Audio

http://www.mediafire.com/?9s83to5ymm9xjzu

Mimosa #2:  The Left, The Leaving

The innate

drive to delineate

shade cuts across—

indeed abuts—the basic

fact of the season—

whichever one you’ve chosen.

Of the many things I needed to be told,

that a cemetery is not a

multi-purpose facility

was another.  Face down, I

tried to find the secret life

distilled from underground,

but found my breath too shallow

to get at it.

Impenetrable,

what comes after.

Making a wrong turn,

I passed a playground, the swing set full,

four girls back and forth,

high in the air— their little feet

almost eclipsing the branches—

the trees were basking in it, waving

in the foreground.

 Some things are a flying buttress

for the heart—Chartres, stained windows,  undestroyed

along  the river, the red birds

lifted by the slightest

summer wind.

Mimosa tree, you have left me,

but that was not your doing.

Still, I have your image

extant in that spot in

my mind shaded

by your constant canopy— though now,

scoured clean by fractious autumn light—

I will expect your return much later

in the year—though I can't promise to be here--

a platform, a train—

a figure smeared and framed

against the night.

Mimosa #4

Mimosa #4

(After L. Niedecker)

You were my

 friend, mimosa tree, in that summer onslaught—when

there weren’t—when I needed—hotly flowered

you fanned out across

the gravel drive.

That talk turned to an invasive species

was to be expected.

Duly inspected, the dogwood  was pronounced

 dying at the scene in your shadow.

Thus the neighbors

cut you back somewhere across the

property line. 

 It must have been

too much for them, especially

the children, to see us so close.

Woe was I those overheated afternoons.

Though still, you kept me, despite

my inability to understand the root

of anything.

And now, in that all-subsuming,  glacial shift

 the sun stays low

and your spent seeds fall in the culvert

where no one goes.

There is little left.

Save something in the frenetic

twitching of the grey squirrel’s tale

astride your trunk, upside down:

Today, crack the exposed bone of the branches;

tomorrow,  gutter and scrape

the marrow.

Home 1 and 2

Blue Barn: 1/2/3

NC in the Fall, As it Goes.

Autumnal.

Charleston, Vertical.

Charleston.

Sky; hole lit

Charleston.

North Carolina 1/2

Lone Bather, Framed.

Lone Bather #2: Dearth

Lone Bather #1

Bench, Lone Sun

Half Wall, Half Lit

Trailer Park, Piece of Fence

Charleston, Down to the Waterline.

A Rejection of Emile Bernard’s Advice to a Lovelorn Friend

The trees let go

  the bigger leaves,

un-collected, collected into

staggering piles, the street long, windless.

I watch the sky turn to nothing,

lighter, lost definition, the

sun dropping, burning pure

hoar-frosted white.

And the birds do come flying

a leeward “V” nonetheless locomotive

across and over the bend

in the river, the given levee, the

flooded fields.

As the certainty of December is given,

a chill without sweetness here, the streets

abandoned as ever, so we are separate,

fifty degrees from months ago.

And yes, Emile,

the trees are losing their clothes.

But this is the time to let her go.

The Quiet Everywhere. Great.

http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?y394uv7ozqvm07j

The Dumbwaiter #1

Unasked,  the sun

came through the glass,

splitting the room.  Each branch

bifurcated the broken fence—

which could stop at nothing.

By early afternoon,

I can’t get my head around anything.

The birds must be dying of thirst—

though at least they keep quiet.

There must be a limit to this.

I was struck by insufficient things—

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you—

suffice to say I left most of what remained

in the scattered hands of a neighbor and god

knows what he did.  Though his wife

left some time back, taking

most of everyone else.

It falls to me to

post the upshot of what

never was.  It was ample,

owing more to the spoor

that leaked through the woods

behind.

I followed,  stood ready to find

whatever was.

Much to what I first believed

to be relief—

the trail forked—

later proved either way was incorrect,

and was left uncollected at an intersection

of flowering weeds.

I can’t completely recall

but the sun, at some point, fell.

Though we know it never went anywhere.

The evening wind picked up, an

oceanic swell through the skittering, serrated leaves,

laying waste to the

last of the summer trees.

Year of My Life in 2.6 Minutes. Music: Seafarer, by Tennis.

Someday, some restful sleep.

Amy Winehouse: Valerie

http://www.mediafire.com/?3t7zfc3k98ef87q

Sea Oleena

Ex-Fiery Furnaces. Great.

Eleanor Friedberger
http://www.mediafire.com/?dzb6c907ltpt07z

yard. firepit. dog.

Window.

Farm table, light, et al.

My House--In the middle of the street.

Charleston #3

Charleston #2

Charleston #1

Water, Uprising Buildings.

Therapeutic Model #1: Hotel, Dubai

You said something.  I

can’t remember.  It might

have been in bed.  Or when I

stood up, and the room

acutely tilted,  allowing me to

roll down the carpet, newly angled,

 and out the window.   At any rate,

the pool at the bottom would not have helped

at this height, and besides, so many poolside.  I would have

taken a number of them with me.

            You had to be right about something.  But

I can’t recall.  I remember  feeling lighter, as though gravity had

let me go, but my mind is just a place where what happened and what might

have occurred stay close, co-editors in the mind’s eye,  and they leave so much on the

   cutting room floor, pasting what else.   The picture

on the wall is unclear—perhaps it was a landscape—or nothing at all. There was a building

across the way, glass all up and down;  it showed where we left off

What is there left on earth to be sure of.  Love is darkly woven into

the heart of the world,  now sewn shut.

You know what happens when you pull the odd thread, hoping to get at it.

When it was time to leave, it was clear everyone had already turned in:

the pool cleared out, the hot and heavy wind.

Life is a Blur in Your Vision

Like a Serpent

4 Chairs, 2 Trucks, 1 Wedged-in A/C

Duct #2