Matt Hart
from SERMONS AND LECTURES BOTH BLANK AND RELENTLESS
How longingly longingly The noisome new
affections Crank up the distortion to the setting
marked Nimbus Then go to dinner with Mary
Anne and Mike Last night Wine flight I guess
again I drank too much So many cats being strangled
at once, then breaking my face Now it’s non-objective
art January January Called my sister Happy Birthday
Hungover my shoulder, and look up it’s Sunday I wish
to say nothing more urgent than everything collapses
on our hearts and we can feel it Earphones ringing
Rabbits adjustable and picking up our signal
Grapefruit blasting DNA Arto Lindsay Ikue Mori
Robin Crutchfield, what the hell Which part of headache
do you not understand Ibuprofen for the rest of my life
I wasn’t thinking and forgot Tim Wright At least
no crutches Failing too much Forgot which way
I was headed into Milton Came back to Corso, but
was always blacking out Taking notes takes something
down Armload of flowers, box of rain, boatload of bottles
cracked over my bow You’ve never seen a man fight
until you’ve seen him with his family No
wonder the repeatedly repeatedly anything
Holding your hand is a wonderful KA-BLAM
Best friend ever Used to kick me
Stand up and do the opposite or the opposite of opposite
Maybe the stars have actual mouths, those lights
of white matter, full chattering darkness
If being human was nicer, would the air even vibrate
Would anyone pass notes through the keys of a piano
Feeling’s only one thing and reason is another
The cream on the top of this coffee’s delicious
I am meditating on it It’s the only way to be
How weird to feel the spirit and not really be singing,
not really be dispensing advice like a chemist
All the powders and potions just gimmicks in the ghost
The monkey mechanics and the wrenches in the logic
I believe in the mess and I adore the way it rushes
Pay no attention to the places where you’re slipping
Let emotion’s motion stake your claim
on something brighter Be always and entirely
self-propelled
Second day in forever Number one hit record
Too close to the sun Going running, I declare it
My eyes still smarting and darting in the ether
The last thing I said to you was sorry in a hurry,
but I wanted not to see the spots, the damnable ones
and the new puppy dog The former too bleeding
and the latter too cutesy Now the loosey-goosey
and the new fire engine The airline terrific,
like an icebox in my lungs I think about
how to put the reinvention gently, the soul transforming
and the tie I’ll wear to meeting, the open-ended questions
if we’re lucky in the grasses The end of all suffering,
or even just the most of it Definitely yours
and hopefully my own But that’s in the future,
and right now I’m wading through it, these presents
of presence, the stupid catchy chorus
and my body’s momentum It may not
seem like a big thing, but the worst is yet to come
Today is a Sunday, so the harpist growls
with brightness I feel like
being quiet A reflector
Stage left or stage right depends on your perspective
The weird singer’s gondola, terrific floating city Either
it’s a dream, or I’m already dead, the landscape spreading out
in so many directions, all the same, yet different
ready-made I’m not sorry for dancing
if it’s part of the trajectory—the song but a measure
of the songbird’s white head, Alfred North
both process and reality, idea and material Time
an urgent matter in the young girl’s heart The young
boy’s tooth coming loose in the park, making way
for whatever doesn’t fit in a fit ”Pablo Picasso”
by Jonathan Richman The barges barging in
like they own the depths and surfaces when real life’s a function
of ignoring the distinctions April showers Pretty pictures
Broken antique cowboy dishes One mirror’s garbage
is another mirror’s tulips An afterlife of chasing sticks
Daisies and gators An impenetrable swamp We seem
to connect, but is it really a connection Do we ever
make out like bandits making-out in a grass-stained meadow
or a Galaxie 500 Backseat preface Mouth-to-mouth
in the ruckus Sitting in a parking structure
watching mostly shooting stars A pocketful of posies
A belly full of colored pills Something I’ve stolen
from somebody else ”Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste”
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