Michael Farrell
soundra
s/he is downstairs in iceland the tapes of
self are slipping are emitting ah ba ca
with the friends s/he meets through reading theyre
ready resistances to the fore like a little
star ha ja ga s/hes an abbreviated prince/ss
the time is big like a square &
they are sharing the sensibility oh ko lo
remember not the internet but what was written
before 2004 back then the artists were in
groups with their recorders as if there was
ever a book without tap & bucket on
the downpipe pigeons technically but not colloquially doves
when you like i/t you run a finger
along i/t anything as a glass fence that
we sell at a moments chance wink tink think
i/t said s/he said that in a mode
of attention relaxed ie without a bathing cap
i/t wont mark writing or use red out
of respect when a change is on be
careful there are hundreds of exciting places coterminous
with forests of stasis s/he lies while others
thoughts stumble like a five hundred dollar bullet
you are worth it you are being literate
when the pop knows what colour i/t ism
butterfly
theres flexibility the word flies as if looking up history broke
but it was reminiscence but he was a kookaburra with no
sense of humour oh if anyone had had you in high
school your existence only planes & condors the rattling & whistling
of their beaks you are sentimental about what the chair asks
in the frame a frame a flapping & a smile sun
on the inside loaded butterfly the wind moves slowly like fridges
then life is out of your life & what is said
at nights suffocated sometimes the blue of the skys circa 65
cloudlike certainties a residue of names stats in a column to
transfer onion companions buoyed with a lightness that we lacked before
i wait like another wilde my butterfly knocking at my door