We had this beautiful, busted buck
in our neighborhood this week
beautiful and busted eight points in velvet
back left leg horribly mangled
dark, dangling, infected
no longer a leg, really
just a useless
dead
and dying appendage.
Bad news.
Whilst I rung hands
googled, *smart*phoned
swiped; what to do?
an answer:
duh/nothing
nothing can be done
no water, no harbor
these things can only fuck you up nothing or only the one thing
A fast flying chunk of dense matter
and all its inertia, the only grace.
meanwhile
he limped off down Washington St.
problem solved?
A few days later he was back again
working his way
painfully? to be sure
down Tillman Lane the other way.
He must be dead now.
we're all meandering to the same place guess.
But maybe not?
won't be surprised to see
him limping by my window
this cervine ghost/zombie tomorrow;
We/I lost our/my best poet yesterday.
I drove down his old street
twice
saw a Giant Swallowtail
nectaring on a butterfly bush
a rare treat
fuck.
Let's schedule that video chat.
Technology is crazy.
We were having problems with "root maggots."
It's as gross as it sounds.
I thought a better title for this poem was.
Perfect makes practice.
But then this empty title was in the drafts folder.
And I was like.
It's easy to have poetry blog.
It's rare to have a poetry blog.
It's dumbt o have a poetry blog.
I'ts simple to hvae a potry poloeg.
Its ragte to hvae a gpofte ryos.
Itys psooe to have a post swosts.
a bot.
This is a screen capture from Terrence Malick's film Badlands.
In liberal arts school I learned you were supposed to write it like this:
Terrence Malick's Badlands (1973).
I was a dutiful student and checked out Ways of Seeing on reserve from library as was recommended for students in this class and let me tell you:
If I thought that I had seen before, trust me, I had not, not really.
Terrence Malick's film Badlands (1973) features several weird animal encounters, starting with the first scene. Which. You know involves a dare to eat a dead dog, which triggers a debate about the breed of said, dead, dog. Which. Said, kinda, squishy taxonomies permeates
Terrence Malick's film Badlands (1973):
I guess the point I am after being. That iguana is not like a native plains faunal element and in that seconds-long cut to the lizard the whole edifice of the film comes crashing down and you are only fixated on what a neotropical iguana is doing on the high plains for the rest of the film including the subsequent car chase and shootout because you are just like wtf is that iguana doing there!?
