Pete Spence
A Lapidary of Excursion. (In Memory of John Ashbery.)
as you walk out on the freshly laid lake breathing in the contours
of the air pressing against the water you notice your shadow
is a little more satirical than the present clumsiness you adhere to
keeping your center of gravity from being misplaced in the ever
moving perspective challenging each step you take stepping
constantly over your shadow until it is eclipsed by midday
only to be drawn out into the terse fleece of the afternoon inclined
today to take its time taking each stepping stone as it comes
looming out of the bright sunshine filling out the way forward
bringing distance closer as an ideal place to lean on while admiring
the vista of the day so far while it continues to grow efficiently
on the framework of itself every moment a highlight made fresh
just now by a short shower of Spring rain you run your finger
along its vague outline and touch the clouds so approachable
like an instance of distance tumbling past the applause of your
eagerness to press on until the only thing that is audible is your breath
He is currently retired from work but not from any of the above.
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A Lapidary of Excursion. (In Memory of John Ashbery.)
as you walk out on the freshly laid lake breathing in the contours
of the air pressing against the water you notice your shadow
is a little more satirical than the present clumsiness you adhere to
keeping your center of gravity from being misplaced in the ever
moving perspective challenging each step you take stepping
constantly over your shadow until it is eclipsed by midday
only to be drawn out into the terse fleece of the afternoon inclined
today to take its time taking each stepping stone as it comes
looming out of the bright sunshine filling out the way forward
bringing distance closer as an ideal place to lean on while admiring
the vista of the day so far while it continues to grow efficiently
on the framework of itself every moment a highlight made fresh
just now by a short shower of Spring rain you run your finger
along its vague outline and touch the clouds so approachable
like an instance of distance tumbling past the applause of your
eagerness to press on until the only thing that is audible is your breath
Bent Stacks. shoe horn eye opener why is it called a toothbrush when it should be plural unless you only have one teeth left? lone tooth's last stand! gadget cleaner arm rest air bending tongs + a good supply of air a solid bench to work it stacked bents Fly Wire High Flyer. Norma's Not a Bauhaus insect screen keeps the moths from my winter jacket i think! though most reside in my wallet i'm sure! in the night i multi task sleep dream snore i don't write! but i woke up once with a great line it'll keep 'til morning i thought but it didn't! didn't ruin the coffee! or the shadow theater as the sun came up which ignores me even though i'm interested each shimmer and the broadening day noon stands still for a moment then lopes towards a fitting sunset Mirror Stage. face the morning not the wall! don't feel cornered hello morning slap a little water about the eyes across the eyes dot the i's wipe the smile off the mirror hello morning Participation. during the ocean the curtain falls simmering on under its label nearing Act.3. where the audience burst into a tangle of flames a lot of thought goes up in smoke thick ash covers the applause like a hasty avalanche late for lunch or very late for Act. 2! a scene where a school of fish suntan on some dunes in the wings on the wing the thief stammers through the deciduous audience lapsed in a replica of daylight in Act. 4. under a full moon high tidings wash over the precipice of the audience clinging to the dampness of discontent calmly reaching for the lifejacket under the seat as the dunes are swept elegantly from the stagePete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit.
He is currently retired from work but not from any of the above.
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