/D-S 6, 0

february | mark so

1 ii 20 - Los Angeles

And the song
we’re spun
with a stylus.
“zero tone” line
During the spaces
all the time
flying craft
the wheel
and pungent
in the field

6 ii 20 - Pasadena

a new sentence begins with Capital.
a person who is still no one,
like dots or in the notes
I like to wake up at noon in a leisurely way,
no longer a person living alone
in the city,
entrapped by those consolations.
without money and without property,
the wind is blowing
we have heat now
light little rain
I got the desire to write
Enormous paws, champagne,
libraries & fields
We read the news
skip lunch
English muffins
cursive lengths so-called language
in the rest of the galaxy,
a long prose work about all
recording everything
in a corridor or somewhere
with the perspicacity of none
machines, and art
disconnected from having
in this whole extended region
of stopping and saying
in somebody else’s sound
down the line.
itinerant ensemble arrangement
homeless shift between reading and writing
point to point
material breaks,
in and out of words.
the universal machine
an abolition of quilting.
in new aviary mixing.

8 ii 20

non-exclusion of birds,
remote intimacy
low, country,
shade of green,
nothing going
weird & intense sense
breathed deeply,
said nothing.
“What world?”
country & they
years many, maybe more,
(It was very noisy.)
a great rush
light-hearted song
hot sun
blue sky
all built together.
snow in a movie
mind moving.
without talking
the hills themselves,
kind of language
words for everything
even newer, I can’t remember,
aerial acrobatics
words in it, all the sounds….’
all kinds of lovely & intricate
revision of life
an instant,
a single word.
subject to any
normal thing

14 ii 20

a roll call
marching ahead,
to disperse.
versions of the names
cease talking
—even more indiscreetly,
liquefaction of the ampule
from the city,
autonomy of nature.
More poet’s fancies!
A big eruption.
state violence.
pavements have turned back
all the sewage of the world
An essay on schools (not yet written)
all over the body.
trees and many birds
—the building of the aviary,
Even in winter
later in her room,
fresh food and herbal salves.
a dream
many windows
It is not a “controlled environment” but rather a fluid one,
like an observatory.
instructive and inspiring.
to hear all the reading going on at once
all outside again
in a rainbow body
banished with a sigh,
a wide reading selection.
work with all the givens.
these machines.)
degrees of attention.
the lineages
of all these words.
face travelling
in a noisy wildness somewhere,
(the word office
searches as well as
and the rest of land,
more places
opaque in moonlight,
this part of the book.

15 ii 20

more room
and on into the night.
wildernesses surround
my beloved radio.”
Suppose we don’t take place.
rich braid of indirection.
curving, that track
mutemporal line.
no place.
listen and revolve, reclining as we eat,
mixed up in the general
unsettled in the practicum’s repose
vestibule, assembled
in varying sharpnesses of drafting and overdrafting,
air, thin sliver in the aftermourning,
in care of line
for birds
An echo
little radio
public garden.

21 ii 20

our absence
presence breaks—
one minute, as a shadow
right underneath
and then whispering in the street
no ice cream truck,
the scared poetics of the list
absence matters
sound smiles out of place
not found
even in noplace
where no word can be spoken
blue layers
all sights languages
heard written
remembered never learned
plenty of
inherited thought!
sleeping on
In an interim time
place before anybody
A good diet
the new world
make room.
words, such as
for free
The word
has been changed

23 ii 20

What happened to that Doug kid?
He’s around. I see him.
(inhales deeply)
(honk honk)
Oh, that’s work. Uh…
Nasty stuff.
Sounds good.
(sighs) Yeah.
(laughter on TV)
(telephone rings)
(laughter on TV)
I couldn’t say no to them all!
Um, the chicken is a little…
Mm-hmm. Yeah.
It’s tofu.
(gasps) I… I…
(gasps and sniffles)
(telephone rings)
(man speaking indistinctly)
That’s it?
Do you want to talk about it?
Not really.
I’m tired.

24 ii 20

waving and weaving,
life has no background
exile air begins again and again
a little harvest.
physics: ether,
hidden variables—
disappearances of information—
physical (ethe)reality,
steady chanting,
constantly excaping,
changes be past change.
neither here nor there.

25 ii 20

and the last line now
Roots have spread out from the Tree
caretaking and watching
two words
eccentric preservation.
circles turned.
matter—a poetics
a line through
the way of the world.
garden. do our books
lights? there,

26 ii 20

[coyote barks, howls]
[both grunting]

27 ii 20

our beautiful tree
beautiful time
the gravity and lightness
wiping away
blue scatter,
a line cut by
clearer in the first place,
anything words
this world was not like that
everything & all its utter sound
a lot of words
but just for practical reasons.
truth and its utter sound.
wastes of the beauties involved,
some kind of life—
all the remotest parts
—in the city, in the jungle,
blurred calligraphy.
the contact
entrance into braiding and flow
how clustered marks move on the page
big things up close
the wall, world against world
facility of tile in
mosaic notebooks
braiding and breathing a correspondence
in the open background
smooth and constantly broken
radical displacement everywhere
a gauze of reckoning and smuggling,
writing on the wall
go on now;
you gone,
with clouds
thing notes
more light
the word is a person & there is laughter
a piece cut off
mere something aside,
in no ordinary arrangement.
into the room unexpectedly,
the phone rings
books nearby
I dream
from hand to hand,
nothing but detritus—
the background of things

28 ii 20

Doug? I haven’t heard that name in a while.
I know. Suspicious, right?

and unbound all the things clear of it.
part of the world
the country, all barren and rocky.
some heath and dry seaweed
Yet upon arising I found myself so listless and desponding, that I had not the heart to really rise, and before I could get spirits enough to creep out of my cave, the day was far advanced.
the sun so hot,
not unlike in sound
an aleatory cole slaw
confusing speeches, or whatever
an opportunity to record them, and now I relate them
stuff of journals inevitably replaced by the next
odd confluence
so full of words
sense of what to sense appears,
part I in all I touch—
in common with all,
the spoiled part,
in an unknown language
still by words
by the nought it means.
seeing the image there,
The outer day, void statue
outward, other, glad
let us world

29 ii 20

[clock ticking]
but… fine.