BUD LIGHT

I dreamed Eileen Myles’ voice reading the LaTeX manual like it was her poem. She was reading from the part about lines. All I remember is something about ragged edges.

We’re almost done laying out Dewclaw, is what that dream means.

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I’ve been trying to notice how my mind connects to objects just before it makes sense of them. A few days ago I found myself comparing myself to a big silver “walk” button. I realize I’m dreaming all the time. A dog runs to each point of a quasi-star.

Today I saw a can of Bud Light under a tree in huge white blossom and realized what a lovely name that is, Bud Light, like from some haiku, but in the spring everything seems like it’s composed in haiku.

I have to get the hell out of the way of something, maybe of this:

“When I’m surrounded by trees, a condition I’ve sought out pretty persistently throughout my life I think the thing I might like the most about them is this whisper like all the hair of the world passing through the tunnel of one single breath – if that is a form of percussion. This irregular hiss of trees and wind. I think it is my mother. And I am her son, and you are my dog.”
from “Protect Me You” by Eileen Myles