reading I think I want to be        am being not becoming   I mean a miniature serpentine              unrolling a scroll     not turning  the page        and a line      left to  right top to  bottom off to on   a reading clean           jiggling         
an awkward pursuit          never turning pages         again a page to turn          again never restlessly restively                   words in freedom              change always        inevitable shortcomings              the time good men and women come to the aid of their party    the carrier pigeon learns just as we learn flying by history     sensing  the new tomorrow       announced yesterday       when we were asleep                         books in our laps  dreams ready to spring   already forgotten    upon dreams ready to spring not yet forgotten         always forgotten but never quite                    not a story, narrative, lyric effusion    cognition unaware              unspoken & unwritten in sounds
&  alphabets faked by tradition             hidden masked potential                         ruses all the more potential       hidden never to be known         still we keep going as if we had a choice         keeping  going dreaming                   the solace of the pause   trapped in this                   dreaming                 the solace of the interlude        draining pages of  ink                 draining in the gutter to your lap as you hold the book          that book in your lap                   & you expect the ink to be ink forever           on the page                    flashing out to your memory of that day that felt real        it isn’t, it isn’t that  that’s why I’m doin’ I know what I’m doin   they wanted a new regime          and my regime includes East coast includes West coast  just don’t feed into it               you know what I’m saying            I know about the truth    I’m Frank White    I know what people write and read about the truth  I’m not Frank White         I don’t know anything about truth      I am not a famous hotelier            hanging  here, just hanging         a body is a voice is            and is not a voice or a body is    writing is a gerund not a noun              Charles Bernstein taught me this  art is a gerund not a noun           writing is a noun    art is a noun             nothing has ever been obvious   Mike Corcoran taught me this in Pittsburgh    I’ve never been to Pittsburgh   the three rivers          but I’ve read about it        actually I have been to Pittsburgh        you know what I’m talking about   raw hitting & hybrid living           open wheel racing             breaking aways      excepting & accepting  the nature of things          signs taken for wonders              lavish absences      once more say when back long ago          clarity is a secondary grace         I couldn’t have put it better mys