[1] Form a Line to the Right  [2] Along These Lines  
[3] With Up So Many Bells Floating Down [4] Line Dream #1
[5] The River [6] My Line Needs [7] Drive Lines
The LINE is a formal structural part of a poem, consisting of one or more feet arranged as a separate rhythmical entity.  The line has been called a "unit of attention," but it is not necessarily a "unit of sense."  It is rare for a poem's line to constitute a complete sense unit.  In poetry, lines are classified according to their length in feet. monometer is a line of one foot...dimeter is a line of two feet...trimeter (3)...tetrameter (4)...pentameter (5)...hexameter (6)...heptameter (7)... and  octameter is a line of 8 feet.  It has been demonstrated that human memory retains a rhythmical pattern for a limited duration.  Heptameter lines and longer are usually unconciously restructured by readers and hearers.  For example an octameter line is broken down into two tetrameter lines Line divisions often provide a form of counterpoint to the rhetorical and syntactical design of a poem and poetry is the language of love so many have said so.  

Biographical Note

Form a Line to the Right
I formed an opinion over time in my mind that there wasn't anything new in our solar system under our sun the sum total of what was still is even so a catalog of just what is would be useful to curious souls who need to take what is and make it their own I thought that until someone reading the catalog remarked that ownership was an idea past its prime this gave me curious sexual feelings which I had to deny because the day and age of the big come on has passed us by we aren't supposed to make nakedness synonymous with truthfulness an insight I once had when I was younger while taking a psychedelic trip to somewhere east of eden I thought if only everyone would be naked we'd consume more truth  you know progress isn't really a straight line from here to there  the transportation route to truth is more indirect.  

Along These Lines
Along these same lines I sailed into a grammar a rhetoric so-to-speak that pondered the idea that a picture is worse than a thousand words but who is counting   I have this picture in my mind of some queen of the universe loving me like I was fifteen years old and full of adolescent aromas and intensities and needs when I hold the picture I slip into a dream and my eyes fill up as my soul searches for that truthful other as if such a search could ever be fruitful as if such a search ever adds to the natural gross product as if such a search will ever ever help me pay my taxes or to tell the truth.  

With Up So Many Bells Floating Down
ee cummings wrote to me one day that anyone lived in a pretty how town with up so many bells floating down and whoof i was wishing to be anyone in that how town where up and down are so fluid and the verb to be could would should be extended infinitely.  

Line Dream #1
I fell asleep

or maybe I was drugged

by somebody

but something put me out

was it my own heart?
suddenly I found myself as if in a dream on the deck of a boat at sea at sea and it was at night and the moon was nearly full but not quite and the details continue to run at me in recollection she was there  of course splendid and beautiful the woman of my dreams  always the same pre-raphaelite tones the smooth skin standing there I looked at her and she looked at me this I thought is what I always wanted  love at first sight under a not quite full moon for only the declartion of true love will full the moon out  dreams are lunacy but I needed more than ever to stay embedded on this boat in this night tale in dreams events turn on their own logic we moved or did we glide towards each other like a blink arm in arm we moved across the horizon hooked up together feeling the strength of two as one and I knew this was the paradise I had always pretended was real the air around us was warm and our bodies warmer.  we met others like ourselves but there were no names here just vistas and so much more but some I can't remember now because I am holding on to her as she pulls us further and further deeper and deeper into some dark abyss that is comforting at last I am here and I am thinking this is where I want to stay among the shimmering light and dancing fires inside her I get out and more...
boy meets girl

The River
The river by the house carried water made by special beings.  Special beings made by nature.  A nature made by conflicting elements.  A conflict that started a long time ago when the tree of life was chopped down to make the house by the river. 

My Line Needs
I am so needy that down at the local whore house they call me romance man because I tell every woman who fucks me that I love her nobody believes me it's just that if I'm going to get naked and have sex I want to pretend that I am making love and not just screwing I mean couldn't I get married if all I needed was to screw someone or be screwed by someone I need the love I find it in the arms of a woman I paid to love me I love to make love to a woman who calls me romance man.   

Drive Lines
drive lines home drive lines home rhymes with drive lines home rhymes with try lines whole drive home lines drive lines home rhymes with rhymes home lines drive home line drives line drives drive home runs rhymes with drive lines home lines drive lines home.

Biographical Note
Jack Pilot was born in Rifle, Colorado but moved as a young boy to Miami, Florida. He completed his undergraduate work at Duke University in North Carolina and received a Masters degree in Chemistry from the University of Chicago. Pilot began his writing career in 1981 and has published three books of poetry beginning with Search the Dozen (1983). Cleopatra's Clitoris was published in 1990. His third book of poetry The Parasite on Cloud Nine was published in 1997. Pilot lives alone somewhere near Pismo Beach, California.

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Jack Bachman Poetry- Poetry Online
URL: http://www.cosmicbaseball.com/pilotpoe.html
Published: November 21, 1998
Copyright © 1998 by the Cosmic Baseball Association
email: editor@cosmicbaseball.com