for Amy Wright
the egret says the house, it is something to eat or sunlight, the egret thinks, the house, it wills, is a subcanvas I can scribble, the egret moves or is awake, loving the familiar solution of loving, this explains the egret to the egret in the house to the house & sunlight, we become intelligible because the egret says elliptical, in beckettland or geography, in small mammals & planets no egret never not says elliptical, no elliptical egret mechanism well under a love, today, or today, does not increase elliptical, covered stand of egret then, the sunflower freezing in the egret's reason is spilling nutria, is an idea & affiliative, monthly, in egret pajamas, lolling, to merge with the sunflower, frozen in not freezing, but flashing. egret lights, they stretch, & revere, they say i have a thing, instruct in the new circumstance, elliptical, tangible, to their sweet ego, in open-heart & patagonia, go beyond shy in time they gain & haunt, let's say the word of the egret is thumb, let's say thumb as an egret prelude then, in order to correctly translate sappho, & think the cluster-egret, its didn't get through water, its safely egret waning or education of sweet ego thumb then in time or in the night did dawn & the whales did spout as a kind of paperclip on our idiots all graphic kindness & all graphic kindness & to you, my egret soul, all is ooh, & all is pronounced like a bell, & all is between me proposed, pursuing one's own all, so to ring, & so to ring
THE GOOD HOUSE
The good houses the parts, calls to them, & wakens- in being, the house we will, its precepts lumber the stilling male- opulence isn't allowed, so to form is to erase what's not gradual & new - a specific love to focus the elements when we lock the door things float around awhile, climax, & rest in the new sense The good part of the house is where something leaves alone the light that it lattice the red, souring, hoarse needs made by no other - safety depends in them- so knowing strength so knowing weakness this is where we will, & home
The good house feels bad about the territory - the house seems to be a verb though it dislikes the term 'housing' - the house seems to be a bad dog & a live wire - the house is bored until people come over - the house is anxious to please guests - it is stupid & so thinks cordon means love - it is wise & so chooses - the honesty of the house helps the people to know - they can relax & recall other houses they have known, they become simple & listen to each other & to some birds, the birds right now The good wasn't built into the house but earned, once a beggar lived there, & once a small one- the police came & went there were parties
The good was an upkeep It was a perilous upkeep There was kindling This house was that house to many- & to many there was no house there because they hadn't noticed- there was one who noticed & was wanted, was loved this gave the house hope this gave the house no hope this gave the house hope it alternated. sometimes house, sometimes home & sometimes the kitty licks the bicycle on the porch
there's a barrel in the basement that belongs to a country singer named Nel- there's an old wonderbread wrapper behind the kitchen cabinet nobody knows the story on- there's a stack of bad news in a box by the back door- there's a wreath in a box behind the thing & a bauble on the windowbox above some stuff- tears never house us, maybe they cleanse, maybe they don't, the word intend doesn't seem to fit sentiment
anything can be made out of a house. though many of them are blue. there's a kind of recovery in it then. too much innocence, or minutes left out, those. a time, or economic worry, a weird abreaction. seeps in the house are loans one cannot trust. a trusted house, the work of the house, a dirigible. seeps in the house should not be imagined.
the worst is not good, it's alone & not nourish time is a housed reputable beginner thirty more are needed tripping, the house kneads the flower, spells me, parts the bowl, stuns & is soft, stuns & is real
the good house is given advice: In times of danger ceremonious forms are dropped. What matters most is sincerity. There are 8 houses in the heart, there should be 9. That it is a house. That it never moves. That it loses concentration. That it questions & foregoes - does not feel good - does not hail -
half of it, for love
harbinging
& voracious
saplings of prayer- praying to saplings, lots
of lazy, happy, lenient
bested cognizance, the felled
soft letters of coming.
the good house - it is heavy, the good house - it exercises hope in the inhuman, is transformed by it- becomes blatant in its strength & is destroyed, the good house must be rebuilt carefully. The good house is in conflict. ordinary houses complete the smart bombs and are buoyant - victorious, brainwaves of shunt commotion, bestial then or not house -the load- the makeup assignment reads long into the long night, dreams of lassoes, garbage, things it thinks it cannot change.
Each reasonable house & each waking motion are votive, based on the wiley resurgence of awaiting worlds- House & holographic, pastoral battenings brace the heart's chosen will which being one thing, becomes modest, plies the decent roads w/ nests & rope, lone & casual, available breezeway of won seeming- this house, it is safe & loving, protected from what is false unfailing - then no wince can raise or pillar night thence town- house await & house be grown- house of house heart of house, a lake be side, it is sown.
Any sung house requires calligraphy, camp, & curtains - all too cute yes yet one tires of burnt toys, dry fetishes, dead humor, & clocks. To hold that which one loves in the right way, with trust & lust, w/out a certain kind of winter- to love the one one loves & be loved in a good house for a long time
Ordinary lung, ordinary life- late belonging willed- the yet wild- the yet known or commonplace still- Fall to this that it come again of need to be the given close
for the good house is at an angle, for the good house of heat, ordinant like glue, gone again like glue
day one in an apple- angstworthy whiles widening the awake, dreaming- it is a because isn't turning- so, with those clothes, so, with those soaps- mostly no wilt in the choose the clothes on the floor are calm the clothes on the floor arouse whaddya say, let's not go vote today Leave the leaves, let them work- this will would rather underrate that- when it's like that thanatos turpentine or teacher's bepetment a spell toked in the coatroom, sunning.
The house in Crimea, is it good? we don't know but it goes on- it is important. Several, unreasonable. House spite comes when there's no plants. Coughs & dragons, the said empire is tight, woe to causation- woe to the swart angles In a quiet house In a house which is very quiet Where the brackish tandem brooks the loons It is cold It is cruel, somewhat erotic, wavey like a top what was a spool- the inner standing is ten to the Nth 'power' - we think we house, actually we are housed & the equal quiet shakes in us
House of one or house of two, house to be drawn up, house to be new- the day or this, thanked, returns the unburnt house, returns the milling world Though the house is willed it is also shiny - though it spares others, some it doesn't, though it has a child, it is clear, stolid, imperious- though it laughs at the waking needy, it compels grace, walks awake the named, any of them, any & others, clear it has, clear it laughs, house though some, house & rescue, also shiny, in the sounds made, in the sounds created, in the sounds & in their laughing, it is a house to be reckoned with, built in the mania of inaction, a still, unbuilt shining thing where the knowing crosses into every, where you would, & the sounds are made tame, & the sounds til, & the house sounds, & because, & I would do the house a favor, & fill this sounding, & would is shiny in the sounds, built, unbuilt, a laugh or child of them, the sounds, the grace, the poetry of the house, its seeming, but it has never seen itself sound, yet its knowing can, because there is no false in it, again it houses as it had & has house being, green eggs or ham, & puts Peloponnesian there, shiny, holding the deranged oracle by the ear, making its wishes, housing the one it loves, with a sound
The flourish in the house might tower above the other concerns but eventually it tires out & has a makeup day. Perhaps this is a rescue fantasy The mention is the house in this case Its loams & wills warp the partake Yet there is a well from which to drink The water is not good unless it is clear This reverie noodles the lovely house like the pleasure of not reading a badly written headline. The technology of transcendence is a speaking, infinite, rescindence. It does not matter if we trust the house. Because I am the one speaking right now I can say we. Therefore I think, to the degree that you can, you should trust me.
The ground of the house is what the useful things grow from.
The ground of the house has always been there as far as we're concerned.
Nefarious underlearnings tile the worn sturdy,
our tanks are thankless
a treatise grown into a clattering wayside strump-
then the house creaks, riotous, & the year's angles bid for moss because it's hard to breathe, because an encapsulated mania droops, & a pall of recognition billows in the surfeit waist
the rhythmic heartening house & gentle return, & gentle to be believed must be wed to the ratio of need - wisdom for the half-heartened implies a certain humming in the halls, of the circulating pump, where the branch supply pipe, unadorned, rises vertically through the fortunate parquet past the goose-neck to radiate its rising warmth- the bleeder valve & column placate the striation's un-nixed imaginary- the good house is curled & blunt inside an instrument shelter whose construction- play is paced w/ nonexistence, the pale cornice of what this is reads back the wanderer's return - a danger which is distance come back, the trees hang high in the heart where hope is built & nurtured
If the house is just poetry we're in trouble. blade-shaped, bending in, creative - a need a part, it in peril housedrone & damage, piled in the road like a person houseperson, co-opted strength of this stayed apart, person it's gone
house against us, house trounce, the way to underbecome it - no, it is possible, this life or not, this trust, it must stave love stirred then amidst & what equal & what quiet -if it is a story, make of it no menace to what actually happens.
It would be best if no one pretended. The will whether human, nascent, or lathered, sings to the banana & bicycle, breaks us, a nut like a brick, goes backwards, pales in the modus operandi- we cloak the individual wheel & come apart like cookies. The good house summers on Long Island, reads Debord, & rests like a scythe, well-oiled, fervent- vehicles permeate & are colossal- think the knots, think the mobius core
Cheery & it's moving, copious trilateral intoning shmooze, which is to say-away what a good house moans, knot embedded, suffering & bold
The good house gave away a certain sincerity. It got bought up. But the ravages of equality rack it- not unforced, not unburied, the good house or murmur displays its living air & punted, rides the miracles, foamy- If the house were to be unlived, which it is, what ideal decadence could undermint the contoured, stylistic, yearning of the satisfied whiles of crux- it serves the vivid involuntary american, born at the weighstation, raised on the right wing, bent apart by breaking hearts, yet unblamed, the bills reading the skies as they die, & our world is done.
The good good house, the stake in samsara, loaded on Sierra Nevada, screaming at the game.
Go inside, good house, & do not clone, do not reconcile, rather groan- for what is good hurts too. the sudden crunch chords no longer surprise the heathen clan, & the mellow tunes tho nice, settle on the mind like make-up if you're thrown by saturnalia if you're taking that nap if completely fucked up call what parts shed the wizening lobotomy of lurid beams- that it not will us that it renegotiate, carve into, & fell the wacking unworn stasis that it strangely spell this or time, & remake the road that it will not us to the unfolding implode this & stopped. this & begin.
the dive-bombing of the house by raconteurs & pigeons is a more than not-so copious loping fetid ordination padded, stirred, laced, running them on the Moe, tacet & confused - blue gaunt lackies orphaning the pills. "Most men are so boring."
In history, hangovers like sounds, have a basic changeless core, which is based on natural principles of studious renewal, self-denial, & attraction. Once one, shallow, pulls the funny string to ring the ding a ling so that the arrows, in flight, might acquire their difficult expedience, the rosey half-eaten durations pale, necklacelike, before the deathlike carry-ons, which stay the no upward, a bouquet of dispersion. its burial. in a basement or a growth.
The beauty of the house- it is quite a spectacle, such are its lies, implied taut sexual learnings & severed territorialities- addictions, reductions. incoordinations, blue-blank astral tempts done-up for gone-off, diming the ire of penance- a beam or gang lanced - thin again & blue where you, & a tortoise, find those that would be new.
House, o you there- pinebare of want & stuffed- those other takebacks away then, house the unwanted evil, grow it in love & go w/ swim to the carnival of come undone- it's boney & cerebral, bent on your american butt- O house the waves kill the weak, wash awake the unspent hurt of happenstance enemies, grill us our breast & cloaked periodic collapse- it's unlikeable, the beast they have to offer, simply the beast we have.
O house, o o o, & house of verb & house of go, the house now dormant dons its better love & stun, de-housed, the fold, up to it, flailing. a house your house a house filled w/ meaningless shit. No one in the intellectual house lops off lust have ya noticed? Way over in the way apart off-touch like off-color looms in the web on offer, lists of swarms of wannabees broke-backed in coeval sniffles pop-n-fresh or cohort the morse angle of retreaded lov-anguish in peril or pert hope, placated by the overfed nothing whilst creating their foamy fate w/ mist in crates on dates - draw a line in the bag. step over. & steep in the understand.
House it has walls House it & house of That fat house On tour Terrorizing the thinly educated worst, moist, bumbles horny collapsible- the home of severing gnosis implied in the microdot, the depthcharge on the screen licking its photosynthetic wilts -how the tissues are strengthened- how the pump beats- how the soft outer self houses the soft inner guts.
The house is form, not a stagecoach or common spot but a sung threefold maw to define to live & one is the form of the medusa's fingerpaint to spread the abundant waste & two is the form of the safire to spread the abundant waste & three is the form of the causeway - a reft, banal window to fill the abysmal flaming - nothing cries in the form, learning us good. Then the house is popping - happy house on a hill in a valley by a brook. There it is, & will be, til it was.
House or not, it's a hummer ey? Rotten house- I mean how could you? Home to the hotcakes & the slosh- a lolling barnacle of embarrassed clocks, the hothouse & the heaps of no, smothered by the nuckle- stiff as a cock- That it, once good, gathers in & grates, or koalifies like a spurn- the raucous perilizing unlumbered flops like a seabird, & o I am afraid- let those which search the knees comfort then the whorls, a ply popped, loading, & the filched ports plummet in us our turned loam, the nascent ordinance craning in the flu, or you there, locked in before, lax & radiant, less prenatal & less apparel, the more one you, the less than two.
"Excuse me officer, I thought you were a shape-shifting rat." The impossible ones, their hats & glowing, tensile ammendations- tearing the wonder, its increments- better to be lefthanded, hauty, burrowing, then askance like a clarity The natural laws, & the longing of the house- its hero variants stalk the vestibules like cormorants, seeking new skills & other pests, pepper to put on the belonging, a stereoscope of the casual surfaces, pecked through, the learning underneath.
Peace can be made w/ the house- haven then, or half haven half pander- the ruins & the beautifying link the thought that- an unenforced local lean-to, lax in the peril, but spacious. only so much danger will fit in the house, only so much style- when raining or when unimpaired, the house looks out & out, lunging- apparent listless tilling, in Pembroke, in the nascent stopover, the breathing house, those who mend the fence, the list of attributes, the pile of bills for those attributes, the basement of regard, a place to single out & carry on- housed one amidst else, sometimes tired, not undone, the soft tasks of inner truth, the relative weights of relatives & relativity, the absolute, its circular motion, & the making, & the making.
or house tone. lone thing tending- the secrets in the spring, an ordinary faultlike effervescing, still, lazy in the filmy wristwatch of shambles-
aspirant tarnished dome- dry as authorial grace,
the lame undoing of the spent pulling. paring the reasonable treelines, a washing of the made, its name the egrets have come back to the good hut - the egrets hasten our retreat, peal apart the tempting, stolid, spare, inept grace w/ egret stuffing, w/ narrativity, shamanistic foodlike thingys in storage, out-patience, & plumage the egrets lift or can lift large televisions which they drop, the egrets are wise & do not fail to understand. Housenight, the way a house happily unfolds, because it isn't buried, because the disencumbered, pre or entailing, hothouse never severs but cups, houselike, the dreamstate, the housed part the closed inside then a kind of waiting always
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Excerpted from DEED by Rod Smith Copyright © 2007 by Rod Smith. Excerpted by permission.
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