ok, fell down in my poetry duties yesterday; started up with Brussenbrugge, NEST this a.m., pretty dull, now to Lew Welch, Ring of Bone, very funny the cab driver poem in ON OUT

mass produced victoriana, forms, the timbre of Pound and Stein
tradgedy of modernism as a style, minimal, slender, economical ideas

I had all of these dreams about contract deadlines

yard poems

all the weed trees, a sort of cherry the wind and birds plant
a hillside, very steep, made of stumps from weed trees and weed trees and weeds
the laborers want to grind with a machine rather than digging, since
but then you can't plant anything, a pretty flower, a garden pathway

the weed trees are the burgeoning pigeons, rats, and oaches of the disturbed environment
hard to believe azaleas solve anything