July 31, 2009

B144. its sound pellucid girdle

is the mantle of my earth

So CI o EC o n o micStatus
elaborate elasIPOd dEl as tic drum gone stiff

whiff years its sound free

zing-ing waves cull-lulling our
ce-dar-shan Iliad tiers

number 24 images zona pellucida.

once they are written your

girdles are good sounding stiff
as the snapping of trunks in the falling of all of
our slaughtered remembering what we are pure.

1 - 2
1 - 2

1 - 1

Posted by nancy at 11:53 AM | Comments (0)

July 29, 2009

B137. She leans herself

into my arms, having walked in to hug
her Mother goodnight. I want to unfurl
yards and yards of white taffeta, a satin
train she craves.
Instead, her voice unleashes the unharnessed
peace, rain shower's practicing turning my face
up to her Father's Edelweiss from His memory.

Posted by nancy at 11:10 PM | Comments (0)

July 27, 2009

B127. the duplicity

come out. stand there.

stay. until discernment

recognizes someth

other than your spell

that ugly smile. Can you see

him at all? Do you see

he will die with or without you?

Do you see what you have become, split finite
noun star
-ing weird minutes to numbers

you know mean someth

to someone who is liv
-ing in another closet

of your head genesis

woman. come out.

what gene 6871, what years matter
in that calendar you imagine has

two do

with you.
1, 1, 2, 2,
1, 1, 1, 3,
2, 2, 1, 1, 4,
1, 1, 4. 6. 4.
5. 5. (ah a! 2 n'ma y1793)

.8 .12 .8 (ah a! 1 j'may1793)

1822 Difference Engine
1612 mistaken Neptune

"There are few things in the world
that look so good as butter
on wheat bread," my daughter said.

I heard
that. That voice is real.

Posted by nancy at 11:32 AM | Comments (0)

July 26, 2009

B124. the branches

(Camellia's hedge are) taller

(their spiders legs all in a) row

(twenty-five or thirty years of) growing

(the ground. I) inspect

(limbs for nests, their birds) constant

(furtive into) gloss

(or) spider


(hide the feathers and the) nests

(do not find for the) prickles

(my forked) feet


n talle
han row
fila del verg adentro
ROM in s pec
he consta n
IP gl os
r e en s pide
o w de re(d)
jerarquia de los aleros
nd bea

NS NS con riferimento alla scrofa

sistemi il testo fisso spagnola

nests are
in our birds

Posted by nancy at 02:12 PM | Comments (1)

July 09, 2009

Coven of solitude this

hemorrhaged sphere,
God’s brain bundling
light and dark
patterns of electricity
until the moon runs
blood in the airless
Alzheimer’s healing
His memory, that We
are HIMSELF forever
good, forever kept
remembering the walk
of His humanity—His
Betrothed—His lover, naked
in Beauty Provided Coven-
ant hill diligence,
exercise, food in harvest,
God’s example in every second,

Posted by nancy at 07:48 PM | Comments (0)

July 08, 2009

The Spanish Woman

8 July 2009 at 11:41pm

is my full smile, my full figure, my full plate, my red blood, my brown skin, my warm, warm, warm, deep loving.

The English Woman
is my narrow waist, my round abdomen, my small lip, my tall words, my kind smile, my measured portions, my courage, my unbending loyalty.

The Irish Woman
is my hell with it, my raucous laughter, my naughty humor, my dukes up for my family, my deft slip-you-a-drink or a fiver because you don't know you need it.

The French Woman
is my extravagant knowing I am everything I ever want to be and nothing like you, my signature my controlled savagery, my controlled sensuality, my scent the imagined splendor of every passionate bouquet that is the old woman I am becoming, more beautiful and longed for and loved and lived to be the entire self I am, this French Woman I am now.

The American Woman
is my discontent, speaking to herself the appreciation she knows must be greater than an election every four years, and a parting of ways, a parting of seas.

The African Woman
is my artist wandering, listening toward a society that is tumult, is wild pets, narrow escapes, impossible size and browns and greens and terrific pictures, my precocious eavesdropping to stories I do not want to escape they are so magnetic.

The English Woman
is back, plumping pillows while I type, and interjecting, "Who is your Chinese Woman, your Norwegian Woman, your German Woman? Who is your Canadian Woman? Yes. I am not all world, my blood the rain, but I know that it rains everywhere, so I will know everywhere soon enough.

Posted by nancy at 11:52 PM | Comments (0)

July 05, 2009


5 July 2009 at 12:43pm

sweet brother,
our muses, slumber our holdings this
while the flutes, while the flutes meander
in our sky.

Posted by nancy at 12:45 PM | Comments (0)

Waiting soft years barely: passions of peace

5 July 2009 at 12:28pm

These will come
as my heart tips its capillaries
two-ward, One of Me Being Satisfied
with every moment that has been
with me being one Of
ours, hours, soft, barely passions
Of peace, but soft aware dressing
the shapely Now
of New years peacing ulu m
passions softly mine.

These will come, waiting

Posted by nancy at 12:37 PM | Comments (0)


5 July 2009 at 12:20pm

was the cookie at the top
of my screen. Barely
able, I condense passions
2 remain in the waters of

I never know
what will come
from my fingers
on these keys,

cookies or music,
or a crick in the neck

of the Selves, waiting
for what isn't ever
to bee bowers,
my weight walking

dry, hot, and hap p y
all the same.

Posted by nancy at 12:36 PM | Comments (0)

July 03, 2009

B62. When

was the last time I demonstrated
I loved anything other
than defense?

Do you know?

Where did these padded
walls come from, unless you
put them there for me

to stay white and cancer free.
Where would I
get padded walls,

unless I had cancer already, and you didn't say?

Posted by nancy at 05:03 PM | Comments (0)

B61. but, flowers

have not grown
from thorns.
thorns. T
horn S
melliferous tending
Gregor and Gregorian.

Posted by nancy at 04:28 PM | Comments (0)