After Nakayasu's Sunday by Sandy Florian

       heaven       hovers

                          all cake

                

                 & crag:

                                    formfoam

After Nakayasu's Translucent Ant Skin by Sandy Florian

catch

          an orange

          &

cast it

          to the ground:

                               poseplay

fragment 3 by sandy florian

After RO's Sophia Lethe Talks Doxodox Down

d: to split the soul, no the ends
sl: or just split (finally)
d: to dis-embroider the soulful edges
sl: circumcise the heart
d: no, to amputate the legs, no, the fists
sl: at the line on the wrists
d: no, at the shoulder, no, at the
sl: chim chiminey chim chim cheroo
d: chin, yes, the chin, no
sl: the sweep is as lucky as
d: the mou -
sl: lucky can be

New: Mutterbutterjinglemash

by Talan Memmott & Sandy Florian (based on Gertrude Stein's Advertisements)

click here: Mutterbutterjinglemash

New: The Warders of Eve

by Sandy Florian

By the subtle reminder of that small serpent walking, by the subtle reminder of homicide, of suicide, by the subtle reminder of that way to keep on, to keep that way just walking, I wake to a community of walkers and the warders of Eve, so ill-tempered, so ill-asleep, so ill-illumined by the shadows on the moon.

fragment 2, after Jen DIck's Intuition

by Sandy Florian

this eye between I and I
a gallon of milk
and a slurry blur
erring

fragment, after Jen Dick's ***

by Sandy Florian

looking for the instant that
seizes me, but it’s the author
of me that provokes me
to look away

New: AWAKENING by Sandy Florian

Awakening
another excerpt from The Tree of No

By Sandy Florian, posted 5 Oct 2007 & moved here as sample

I scarcely know whether I am awake or I whether I am asleep, and when I lie asleep, I see all his glory, and while I lay awake, I behold him, now wide awake, in the vision of my dear sleep, so that the flame preserved might still be kept alive, so that the flame preserved might still be kept unduly wide. So I, awake, fall to sleep just now begrudging my own rest to keep the world so broken, so tightly woken, just now begrudging my idea that such a consideration should impel me toward the novelty of attention. So I, asleep, awaken, like a wakening from sleep, like one half woken to half more trouble than half his dreams, like a sleepless lover, like a sleepless walker, just like a ghost just after six, so near his death, so near his dawn, where early morning’s early rays stand asking for invention.

A horn, a hymn, a wild bird's call, centered small in silent’s hall, Montgomery’s mire, a wook, a brook, down again we fall and fall. The king himself awakes himself to his own slow will untouched by will, to find himself devoid of sense, while captains wake the sun’s high hell.

New: THURSDAYS by Sandy Florian

Thursdays
By Sandy Florian
(Orig. Posted Aug 2, 2007 on another blog, moved here as a sample starter text.)

it's like poking my head out the window in some sort of monastic quarrel, like a yellow yoke, a rouge cheek, or an earing like a christmas ornament dangling from the leftish lobe, then it's like a rocket, or like a rocket launcher, like the way you roll down your window, with more glitz, more bang, and then the bomb explodes and there's a whole new world right about the time when you honk your horn around the tightest bend, then it's like a midget in the crown of the elephant falling flat as a crepe on the ground, the phone sits so close to me, and when it's like that, there's a bit of a septimal glow about it, my tits are hanging low these days, and there's a bigger way around the bend, and i'm looking bewildered on this bewildering stage blinking like a new born baby trying to wipe his eyes out, the phone sits so close to me, like a heavy bee all buzzed out