Tuesday, November 17, 2009



is a place

generated form
i've exasperated don
(which somehow secretly satisfys me)
i know i spelled that wrong
i'm somehow actively resisting form
and desperately trying to figure out how to get it back
it's not that i can't put pen to paper...it's that i wont

to dwell

i'm mystified...i admit...i'm trying to understand achim menges' postagriculture project

(thisisn'tit) this is a dead baby bird everyday i walk to school when it's spring there is a wall just before i get to school it is framed almost an alley (but not quite) and birds nest in the holes in the wall holes from beams (it's an old building) and from the nests fall baby birds who couldn't quite fly or who were blown out by cruel winds truely cruel not metaphorically really cruel

they lie. small. featherless. or featherlittle. on the grey pavingstones that are the necessary and natural ground plane on which sits our red school.

the domain of the school is marked by those pavers. stepping off them is leaving...

achim menges is much smarter than me

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