both ii

both

a warning

I am only
able to give you
this piece of bread
right now, but

be warned

that I have thought
of all of the thoughts
that keep
rising from this
crater at
our right
hand.

blue dome

Anselm Kiefer, Everyone Stands Under His Own Dome of Heaven, 1970, watercolor, gouache, and graphite pencil on joined paper, 15 3/4" x 18 7/8". Collection: Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY, Denise and Andrew Saul Fund, 1995.

green moment

a victory for art

Esthetics have devolved into rare types of stupidity. Each kind of stupidity may be broken down into categories such as bovine formalism, tired painting, eccentric concentrics or numb structures. All these categories and many others all petrify into a vast banality called the art world which is no world. A nice negativism seems to be spawning. A sweet nihilism is everywhere. Immobility and inertia are what many of the most gifted artists prefer. Vacant at the center, dull at the edge, a few artists are on the true path of stultification. Muddleheaded logic is taking the place of clearheaded illogic, much to nobody's surprise.

-Robert Smithson, 

ON THE OCCASION OF THE ART AND TECHNOLOGY SHOW AT THE ARMORY

types, like blooms

cave song poem
desert, or sand, poem
fur poem
sub, hematoma poem
glottal poem
hand poem
fern spore poem
second lung poem

wind(ow)

from "sea surface full of clouds" by Wallace Stevens

   IV

In that November off Tehuantepec
The night-long slopping of the sea grew still.
A mallow morning dozed upon the deck

And made one think of musky chocolate
And frail umbrellas. A too-fluent green
Suggested malice in the dry machine

Of ocean, pondering dank stratagem.
Who then beheld the figures of the clouds
Like blooms secluded in the thick marine?

Like blooms? Like damasks that were shaken off
From the loosed girdles in the spangling must.
C’était ma foi, la nonchalance divine.

The nakedness would rise and suddenly turn
Salt masks of beard and mouths of bellowing,
Would—But more suddenly the heaven rolled

Its bluest sea-clouds in the thinking green,
And the nakedness became the broadest blooms,
Mile-mallows that a mallow sun cajoled.