3 March 2004. Back to my first entry today. One virtue of a blog is that one puts oneself on record with it. Not that I consider myself compelled to keep every vow I make or half-make here, but it is harder not to try to keep them than it might otherwise be. Ergo, today I worked on my first complete variation on my poem for my ol' pal, Kevin. I won't say much about it except that it jumped completely away from Kevin as I worked on it, rather self-pityingly ending about me only, and my general (current) despondency about many things. It features my main omnilexical alter-ego, Poem. Here it is, preceded by the original poem and everything I typed this morning before I decided I had a finished poem:

When I pass the street
Where you, my old pal,
Used to plant your feet,
Until your gal
Took you away
To San Die
Go,
I feel awful low
'Cause I miss you so.


When I pass the street

Wince aisle pace, 

The aisle winced into place, off the street

The aisle winced into place, off the street

Where you, my old pal,

Worn through so many miles of old pals

palominoing wearily in and out of oak shadows to the sea

Once an aisle off the street

palominoing wearily in and out of oak-shadows to the sea

winced into place, Poem

Moodlessly, Poem pedaled down the street

palominoing wearily in and out of oak-shadows to the sea.

When, at length, an aisle off it winced into place, he



Fete-laws in frilly dresses

Fete-laws fluttered 

Dark laws glittered 

among a glitter of dark laws

a smell of dark laws

rose from a discarded skirt 

from a skirt being raised

dark laws spilled out of a skirt being raised

in the weed-infested fete still carousing against the stale sense of loss

San Diego continued to mean into so many of Poem's nights.




Poem pedaled down the street, unconscious

of its weary palomino

in and out of oak-shadows

as it descended to the sea.

When, at length, an aisle off it winced into place, he

pianissimoed toward the hints of a mood 

he thought he saw at the end of it.

Quickly, he aged as he noticed the

dark laws that were spilling out of a skirt being raised

in the fete still carousing against all

San Diego continued to mean into 

Even the best of Poem's current emotions.

so much of Poem's blood.

him.


****




Poem, Again in Descent



Poem pedaled down the street, unconscious

of its weary palomino

in and out of oak-shadows

as it descended to the sea.

When, at length, an aisle off it winced into place, he

pianissimoed toward the hints of a mood 

he thought he saw at the end of it.

There, in a soft fete carousing against all

San Diego continued to mean into 

him, he noticed a skirt being raised.

White, with red roses.

Dark laws were spilling out of it.

Unable to respond to them, he blended

morosely into the oak-shadows, then into the sea.