I like this, Jeff. Many of the phrases strike at an unusual tangent, like
"my lungs eat away at the Psalmist" or "my lying
promises.... my lucky pennies" for example. I did wonder whether it was
slightly too long, +however+, I'd qualify that by the observation that my
own experience of reading on a computer screen differs from that of reading
print on paper, it does seem to me that there is a psychological difference
in the act of reading via different media, maybe that's because I grew up on
print, so that what seems long on the screen does not do so on the page, my
tolerance level seems to be attuned to about a screen and a bit, as it were.

All the Best

Dave


David Bircumshaw

Leicester, England

Home Page

A Chide's Alphabet

Painting Without Numbers

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/index.htm
----- Original Message -----
From: "Jeff Harrison" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, August 08, 2003 3:54 AM
Subject: My Jeff Harrison


my mansions cage a bit... my World Virginia... my slow down (my speed up is
free)... my verse...
my fireplace over the hypodermic gone seventeen hours large... my bed one
part photographs, three parts breakfast... my Eternal Damnation came as
quite a relief... My Lucky Dollar my way out...
my eyes & the dust I clean my sugar with... my bared skin... my sensitive
Formosa....my lying
promises.... my lucky pennies... my small wings... my who's who is in who is
(blank)'s foundation...
my right hand cut off & how many poets would then find themselves
left-handed?... my prime suspect for the theft of my starved fox ashes...
you're my night... the spiteful riddles of my tongue....
my liberty is drawing toward silence... prayers thus amazed saw each new
face in my eyes... my eyes troubled the summer with Prussian copies...
axioms conceived my heart... my ancestors read Nerval in a characteristic
phylogeny plantation... my Siren lies under other skies... my equipment is
becoming something of an American world... my good name born amongst her
imperfect gravity... my lungs eat away at the Psalmist... my common sense
tells me "readers are not witnesses"... my darling resemblance is a few
steps away... my ears thin-metal an explanation... my bed seemed so far
away... my exclamations light did rent the best a la moderation... my
dearest... my dinner reputation always cudgeled red-hot to mark the world
from what Virginia marks as literary... my skin crawls in sympathy when I
think 'pon the prowling skin of lefthand flowers... my suggestion is
licensed to do what you're so eager for... my knee beheld their eyebrows
spectacular... my works on paper suggested to me by my substitute... my
house creatures are half-built words...  threaten my own lips in return for
more time... my sight suddenly restored by beastliness... my shoes chuck out
a shade to dance a rant...
no use my counting for nothing... have I not the scent of my trembling
betters?... my blood runs
at their hitherto pierced sleeps plugged now with phrase... my hound-tooth
tearing the sky open white
as clouds... my moving part like a fox slimy with heart... my ridiculous
commitment to the silent stone inside me... my neck crowding-swept out to
the willows... you're my two broken strings & every moon that falls quiet...
my shabby tail's mechanical fruit gone All Loud Wormswork... my promise spat
between the blood forks... the forbidden suffer my tumor of birds... my
zodiac's broken into stumps your telescope gapes... where my wanders ended
Shelley's began... I named my sled Violet...
my early contacts pulled into shape by, ah, moonfolks... my gangplank notes
considered succulent...
my shrug slips the knock-out... my snooze ceased with a sneeze...  my own
flesh left to flower...
the top of my light is already out of the frame...  souring my silver with
air relentless & desolate...
my eye swamping 1000 years for mountains between numbers & oaths... my child
is Cold Earth...
waves sack my whole as it topples Bad Cuttlefish's... my first vicinity was
a tolerably warm boot upon
a road lately removed... Medusa will use her mirrored artery to espy my
caduceus... my wooden horses...
I got my own Laura too (not Laura II)... my own Jeff Harrison...

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