image caught

Seattle 1

Nothing left but the lines on the page the
surface of the yard or all the green that pops
up from the ground I’ve never seen so right
there’s nothing left but crossed wires the
firmament of gel or what I mean is jealousy
not gel it was a way to go get something the
lines in the skypage of this dream where did
that plane go the one whose tail the image
caught whose lives in these houses I only know
there are people there I don’t know anything
I see I don’t want to see I don’t care for
those things oh OK I understand all the lines
moving toward one another an emphatic bow
fixated on the powerhouse too far to leave the
image I only have the image it’s all I have and
the house house all the house houses in the middle
somewhere like a tongue and beyond that a bay with
boats with masts and a sail stuck in the back
hitting the flap it’s sadness that prohibits naming
it’s anger that demands naming I’d like what
we call each other to happen somewhere
the street in front of the house house slipping

Dream Come True

I’m supposed to be writing a book called Dreams, so today I searched my computer for “dream.” I typed out the names of all the files that apparently have something to do with “dream” and then I read the whole list. It took 18 min 59 sec to read the list and took a long time to type the names of the files. I wanted to type them so that I could read them as if I’d wrote them. (All the noise in the background is a fan.)