i stuffed an arse into an arse
and it became
a beautiful thing
i can
only it


number 32 and number 93 from thai lana

we would have
to be
cause evening
not to

all that is left
are the talons
of late afternoon
scoring the

as if

w hose
w as


one finger nearer
the address
one color in the flag
one heaven in one
window one nativity

being pulled out and letting go or on the heels of everything before the monkey signs the release

I was light - was a dawdling roof, an autumn darkness, a little later . . . a vale looking towards a remembered silence - lonely fragile mars, but distant, afraid of time as my mind slipped to another poised on a pedestal’s edge of sanity - readily aware of a limpid mirror, from floor to ceiling, a mirror at the bottom of the sea. out of the depths, through the thickness of satin a sculptured face I do not recognize, a signal in anguish; black bloodied and whole - directions in morse code modification, a bar code on the street, in a cell, a prisoner in infinity. those are the moments, when I no longer belong to myself, vanished in potholes of a serving tray, carrying cheap initiation pressed glass, a leitmotiv of cruel gestures that rips the meat from my teeth. I languish in a book or film or a weapons grade stockpile of something - touch a morsel of a distant something that wipes the refuge from my dishes. use a little bleach and water, add some golden trellis work, scents and warm fruit and give birth to elsewhere as the lithium rises.

Central City Core


count dollars pennies for quarter ride to 6th
shit the pillow is wet" end sewn into sections repeated [as you]
breath inside 200 more {needle(s) and exchange company}
eyes away to dollars 5.6.7 sewn s sleeves "forget a, a" there


exchangeable barren instance

My "popping" sound
(gelatin) has returned --

(aboveboard) with a
welder's (attorney's) cap.

We've been closing in on
the dinosaur (dewdrop)

village for the past several
days now. What are you

going to do about the
(conversion) holes in your


WEIRD Wild West


kept us warm outside the park again
with the record in the classroom spin


must apologize, my
head is writing for my hands.
instead of the
other way round, you see
my head

i write best from my pancreas.
you can call my spleen the poet,
my head the bloody-knuckled

this isn't writing. doing as i'm told, i'm
fucking around with words.

for my teacher

did i tell you truthfully about
this little faggot boy whose bloody
shotted up eyes
will find no fertility in me?
i'll tell you
no more.
it's for him to find no
soft dark soil
in my lap, nothing for
his wiry

"poets fuck around with words."
your hair is lit purple.
you're a flame.
you're the slow grief of the ocean kissing the
better part of
northern california, you're the haze spreading from
of the

i won't tell you anything.
his hands are losing themselves to the wind.

Central City Core


care take intol erable s says "yes" no
space (s) of self-there lingering tongue'd speak is 'yond own be dimension
chromo one two independent looking back'n forth (12 12 12)
around the tent around percept-concept right fight looking left'd memory



wordless was the curse she procured
after our meeting in the palm grove

would like
to say that
raping the
entire town
was not my

Central City Core


tony. ] the cut do iron do parking in
for is of procured (ing) the entrance the columns the rows through that
peeled bags opens hefty pierces the light to
ed opening: in an eye pointed finger (s) as disorder as the
closed 68 to the key 04 played after
monozygotic twin reading not" (s) s that transcribes imagines case to follow


I am a SASE

I am clothes moving cars on the street
I am looking inside an issue of last night on silent isle
I am making a conduit, happy
I am a conversation experience on language
I am Pizza Hut pizza wanting to be real pizza
I am strange underwear disowning my accent
I am assimilation that requires flexible hoses
I am through the eye of the needle of the looking glass
strange, profound, bewildering with something that feels dishonest
I am always re-reading a breathing machine unaware I am a SASE

series Magritte #8

The magician

Do you believe in magic
asked John Sebastian in that
old Loving Spoonful song. & J.S.
Bach worked his own magic
when he
transformed mathematical relationships
into music of powerful emotion. But
as myth or mystery
is derided by Magritte in this
act of prestidigitation
where the magician is the magic
& the actions commonplace. A self-
portrait of the artist having lunch
fork in one hand, knife in another. The
third pauses with a piece of bread
before the mouth. The fourth
is pouring wine. No blood. No body.
Plain fare indeed for a follower of Kali.


bOil ~ re~ ~ ~-~w ~ ~ - - 0 ~-- ~- more ~.~ ~ = 0~ bOil~ "hear"~ ~-~ 0 e., ..,-, 0 ~ ~ 0 return
~ _~ or ~ ,~ ~,~ ~ in ~-~ ~ : ~% ~ destr, ~ ~ ~ ~ ~,-~.-. ~ ~,to .~ ~>,~ ~ -.~
= ~ ~ o "~ .. ~ ~ a= "I've been having an
o.~ bOil.~ ~, 0 = ~::~ ~::~ ~::~ ~ can ~ ~ ~ bOil ~._ ~ o.-~
~ ~:,-~,, ~ eat, or, muse =-~ on = > ~ catharsis ~ ~,. o~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Zone :~ .qua -.=:> . bOil ~or ,.:~ ~at order ~could~7 organize 0~
are~ ~on ~or~ 7~ =~'~.~ mow=: o-;-~ = ua'~ o.~: ~ ~-~ . 8.~ .>, Refuse.,= ~ ~.~-~
,~-'~'~,error-.~ o ~ ~ o ~.~ Elsa moor~-,- =,~ < =.-~'~ elder~ or <~,-~ ~ c"~,~.-~~ ~._~

. = ~ ontology ~ ~ _~ ~ ._ ream~ _~ =.fuel~,-~ .,-.Can ~ ~ ~ oil ~ or ~ ~._ _>,..meld .. ~. ,.-~ ~ m._.,~ ,~ .~ ~ ~,-could move .~
~I~ ~ .- oxen~ .mold',~ oven,.~:~,_~ ~ ~ ,~ ~ Cid., ,.4 ;,..~ or~--~ .., .~ ,~ ..., .r..~ ~ ~i ,.~,.0 "-~i,.o ..,~ ~ ~ ~, -~,_~'Tore-~ ,tell
= ~ ~ o .. ~ ,. ~ ~ ,-~ "-
..~ o ~ r~ .. 0 ~ ~ ~ C~.~'O ~-- -~ ~ 0 ~ ~C.) ['W
~ = ~ ~..~ ~Done~,~ ~. b0il~ ~ ~ ~,~ ~ ,.,.~ ~ ~ =,.o

on verbing a manifesto

while laying in a witchs cradle reciting a poem to www who was at a conference for three in boise idaho, the line was suddenly interrupted by a replacement -

-this is a computer semblance of facts . . . please stay tuned for an upcoming stylized message . . . beep . . . beep . . . my name is john / mary /or neither . . . I am homeless and need help with . . . a bus ticket / food for my children / rent / sex reassignment surgery / late fee for my over due books at the library / student loans / or neither . . . or name change to escape the authorities . . . won’t you please help by pressing the euro - one / dollar - two / yen - three, amount you are willing to donate . . . all donation are tax deductible . . . . . . . . . you have not pressed an amount, or it was recorded incorrectly . . .please press the correct amount . . .
I press five, it seems like a nice sound number, look at a pentagon, think what they would offer in flat land.
-your amount has automatically been deducted from your slavery . . . this message has been brought to you by coke . . . the drink the world loves . . . have a coke on us . . bzzzzzzzzz
shit . . . the line went dead . . . damnit, it had taken me an hour in the witchs cradle to get a connection, and then another endless lifetime to connect psychically with www, who was in a sprawling match with w_______ and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through again until the next full moon.

laying there, my mind came to rest in the corner of the room on a point that had no meaning, but read it as a series of thoughts that led to nothing. that is when I knew that at any moment I might be called on to present a manifesto and the longer I laid in this conflated contraption, the more I would limit my manifestation of a manifesto to a mere rumba of my gastric juices. to start I moved my plastic probable within reach, stretched my fingers, put on my wrist brace, finger spinets and nose ring, then began.
first, a title . . . something beyond the usual polymorphous hum of the republic that descends along with the aristocracy into oblivion. no, it must be smelting with cathartic schema, not quite on your knee, speaking in overbite-voices, more the smoking of virginity . . . unplucked in the spirit of the chalk marks . . . something like - the holy ghost: a table of contestants, preface or profuse statements forming a plate like process, or how to take the tabla rrosa to the dance floor and boogie all night till you puke sing-a-long, manifesto.

that seemed like a good way to signify a connection between the gadflies and horse flies, I will put an image of a -t- square next to it so as to further deepen the multiple implication and cross hair safety values.
the holy ghost: a table of contestants, preface or profuse statements form a plate-like process or how to take the tabla rrosa to the dance floor and boogie all night till you puke sing-a-long.
manifesto . . .

good, I like it . . . it’s a good beginning; though the manifesto proclamation seems a bit like a skin graft at the end. I guess I will have to wait on that for a later bit. the other beginning, later should contain all aspects of all compounds that have ever been hidden by newly made subdivisions . . . let’s see how about -
first and foremost such and such HHeLiBeBCNOFNeNaMgAlSiPSClArKCaScTiVCrMnFeCoNiCu
or maybe
. . . it must be or should be acknowledged that phyllis wheatly died free . . . but let’s not forget that phillis wheatly lived most their life as a slave . . . let’s never forget that.

first and foremost or n; and just in case something or someone comes in second, I will pardon the question and at the same time nothing more needs to be said.

well, that is as good an amble as one could preplan, I always try to take off with a big bang and run with it if possible. if not, or can’t or if I want options, I might take creationism on the side just to subsidized any lack of, or fear of_______ . . . so it’s either big time drama and the weather changes, or it’s magic-o-prest-o time, you have univac or a universe. what can I say about that; even the movie version is spectacular. of course what would it be without those footnoted characters; some say loopy, others say that which cannot be mentioned and in six days magic-o-prest-o you have sex with animals, murder and the beginnings of psychology. on the other hand with l_____ and a_____ the story gets a little top heavy, bumpy gets pissed off, there is another land grab, the story starts over -
so supposedly a_______ conspired with r_____, or a______ thought it was r______ but really it was the toad eater all along that cut ribs out to grow slaves. I do find this story a little hard to believe knowing nappy, but I didn't write the book so what can I say. really it’s like this, if I am going to name all these things out of boredom and I keep going around naming all day and renaming them just to keep busy out of boredom it seems like I might do something for excitement. . . besides, if you think about the division of labor, there is the namer naming and the one who was supposed clean up after meals, cook and scrub the floors . . . now, how can anyone believe this crap.

needles to say, hateful was none-to-happy, kicking a_____ and the walking-talking rib out of 739 edam way, sending them to desolate boulevard, throwing the key away and telling l_______ to please only use the back porch. and you know it used to be such a wonderful place to set and watch all the seasons at the same time.

unfortunately l_______’s two off spring didn’t want to rest in the sun and watch the rocks grow, they were fascinated with the magic expandable penis. both escaped out the back door, found c______ and a______jr. just to minute too late, so the three of them left and formed a tent city, which latter turned in to a giant penis mound. the problem is c______ came from a genetically altered bingo game, and spoke only one language and l______’s off spring spoke all known languages at the time except (esperianzia). with the mix of all those languages working fine in the beginning getting workers to build the giant penis, but, there was some lapses that ultimately caused the giant penis to fail.

lack of trade and so on. years later, one of the c_____s great great great___________ came to power to the power of 12 and created the cult of viagra; and that this the real story.

the second part or the second beginning should be a little more subdued, a low grade fresh revolution without the guillotine

part two:
on saturday march 21st. at precisely the same time
at the corner of which way and surgeon general's warning
there will be a fact sale -
low facts, high facts, facts to the highest bidder - facts
two-tone facts, subdivided facts
facts that twist and shout the dick clark method
mass produced facts, frying pan facts, hand made facts

we will have facts from heaven and facts from hell
and if you're from hell and it seems like heaven
we have facts for that fact
we have wall street crashed facts
william the conqueror facts
and boris karloff sex facts
cat facts, dog facts, fish facts
fax facts, first and foremost facts, and secondary facts
we will have facts for all occasions and facts for all seasons
once in a life time facts and facts that must sell at all cost - facts
just the facts and nothing else for sale
just the facts

part three:
the place is a accident of beauty, a disinfotainment of the body and electrodes that maintain that sight . . .
it seems as if the third section being the third, being based on triangulation, a basic structure of unity - or perhaps it could be a sermon that prevails over no-knock kantian humor, and bucks missedfullerisms in a way that plays steinestic scrabble with the pure pulsation of sex juices.

a taste unknown
usefulness or uselessness in whispers
take one day and bury it with a hatchet
bring in the bandwidth; some indiscriminate indecencies. a bargain or two at a freshly seeded plot. attach the corpses and the day. secure with twine and bailing wire. use only subtitles. then sleep the sleep of utterances.
undisturbed in a general malaise of warbling, self pity is set in motion to general mode, shifts to wearing western wear and singing songs of six pence via telekinesis.
westward ho! they said, along with the dragoons they said, wholesale or retail, it didn't matter as long as the blue jean fit.
I say hack it all to a breathless not yet. adopt a highway and rename it a holiday for exception. say, hi, my name is_____________. this is joy, this is the moment, without a reminder.
really I am not happy with this section, there is an increased sense of colonized logic, you run this way and I will run that way. a tit-for-tat, no one’s saying bury you face in my pussy and or cock, comrade. there is not enough insurgent microbes devouring the ends before theme begins. no, it’s not enough, it must be something freed of ground shackles, something in chartreuse, letter soup dialogues . . . yes, maybe thats it, a dialogue with a dialogue, a company whose plans continuous psychic unrest.

yes I have it.....

part three.
tangible as a rock.

the forth section, the final section. a conclusion, those high antediluvian stains found at the end of time. the smell of old cat food or perception from some others kindness that failed.

anonymous myths give birth to other anonymous myths.
and the voice said:
-we are here to protect and serve if you dont donate today, don't call us if you’re in need.
it was one of those calls from someone who doesn't exist, using intimidation tactics to produce thematically correct responses.
I told them to fuck off and use that billy club for quick-lube artificial insemination.
I wanted to say fuck your thin blue line, I make my own rules, I not only proclaim myself not a citizen of this country, but an outlaw from the human leasing agency.
I want nothing more than some kind of release, but I feel caught in fallacious reaction, running into walls, side stepping into madness.

I need to contact www, I need to be rescued, taken to another land, set up in a home in an abandoned sewer pipe. we could migrate with the geese, its in your powers . . . please, cast me into a smiling rock, or a sand particle buried underneath an Antarctic ice ridge that will not melt during global warming . . . anything but here, anything but the edited version of proper behavior codes for thursdays and fridays, which lead into saturdays and sundays, which lead back into thursday’s and friday’s mindless retreat.

no, I want more. I want none of it, I want complete and total abandon. I want a yard sale that has something useful.

manifesto conclusion: decorative doormats

anonymous myths give birth to other anonymous myths

crime scenes stains run-on rampant glory-be celebrations and other time devices

it's all a silly guess who's at door number _____
there's no knocking . . .
there's a missing conjunction
*x* arrives, the situation lasts longer than anticipated
the facts indicate something or some things
actuality is never accounted for
then deemed alphabetically silent
there's a situation...
somewhere inside a damage dance
mortally wounded
termination notices are stacked on the shelves......

Central City Core


parking iron cut into 8 foot call this
that missed trash to bags opens hefty skinned holes sink (ed) stepping light
ed: at that which one eye pointed finger
under from 68 to 04 played following its {mode as disintegration} up
outing rowing column-ing entry (s)ing "oh my hefty, don't leave me

found: bunt


Our 2 pcodruts will work for you!

1. #1 Suplpeemnt avialbale! - Works!


2. *New* Enhancement Oil - Get hrad in 60 scneods! Amzaing!
Lkie no ohter oil you've seen.

the 2 pdruocts work gerat totgeher


Poster Child Iraq

"These Values Are Universal"

"Iraq's Path Hinges on Words of Enigmatic Cleric"

Say what? Say who?

Universal and individual?


Quarters are for everyone --
quarters are your friends!

Want to hear something
you're not supposed to?

< Cryptozoic embryo forfeit
Sinus Bell eon doorknob >

suck on that,


airport fish

eric sold fish
under the plane wings
curtis swallowed the airport
mark wallowed in scales
I swear I can weigh greed

billy jno hope Catharsis


Press Corpse Question

that space
behind your eyes

hollow words
echoing, how large

you really?
large enough to

how truly
small you are?

Vanishing Points of Resemblance
I invite one
and all to
visit my new blog
at the above noted



i don't see you
through the
ghosts we've
shaken from
the walls in

this room.

or, rather, we
wake them when

you take my finger
and trace

curve of my soft and ridgeless fingernail.

(baby, baby, baby pink
curve, says the girl with the red
hair, blue shirt,
i steal away to her
when you're not

"i am


it's not language

when we

fix each
other solid

in the fog of

unhappy ghosts, they
speak by
guiding my hand across
your chest.

series Magritte #7

The reckless sleeper

At last! I'm glad to see
you've finally caught up
with the program. I've been
dropping hints for years
but for all the good that did
I might as well have been
pissing in the wind. Nothing
like smothering you with a
surfeit of symbolism. Over-
kill perhaps. But even that
mightn't have worked had I not
given you that book on Freud
for your birthday. Bet the
first thing you did was try
to find out just what sort of
sick bastard I was to
pull a stunt like that. I'd
watch you reading it &
caught by something look across
at me. Back to the book then
back to me again. & later
I sensed you pausing in the doorway
as I slept, indelicately picking
the desktop icons of my dreams
like newly opened flowers or
fresh field mushrooms. Tasting
them, smelling them. So tell me
what you really think of me
now that you know me better.



j. i have been imagining
your death today
hearts are strong but wind
pipes are fragile & too many
have tasted
that tight embrace

j . i don't want
dire words
i am tired & trying
to drown in happiness


(punked you,
eh, son?), punctuation.


Vega$ 29

Use this! Microsoft Pill immediately! The truth can earn
you more! Print the rainbow with us: Salad dressing
confusion? You will never know if don't try it! move
open the door back away from the door at once.
This message is short for your convenience w/
the howl of a million white wolves, no one is
coming back for us and I understand that,

at last.

Marlboros: 15 Bucks/carton, includes shipping & dry
cracked winter skin. I'm moving thru the dressing
phase with a scoop o' those artificial bacon chips
Groom bushy facial hair quickly! Tank Owner?
typing test & ghost reading. Ultra-Lemon 3.

A Dialectics of Sex Hay(na)ku (oh, my babies!)

way things
appear to us

might get
off on me.

way things
are in themselves

can we
know of beauty?

Modest Daylight

thinking about correction
incites one village
to retrieve its dowry
spangled with what

the name Hazel turned
"dazzle" to a child
her labor left soft

on the quick river
of rise gone
language after
simulation branded

more bilateral
than room to squeak
on matters tinted
red for the occasion

Dark Versus

How might we say a cliche of geese heaved and heard and faintly seen over the evening reservoir? How find correct perspective to snap shut on that image and preserve it evermore. The water flows south where the city is waiting for it: drinking water of destiny. Gooseshit floats and nestles in the briery grass, so defining hazards of the green. Ripple. Metal. A contrail measures the golf course like a Red River night scene, ground bluer than the sky. Honking air-rage flied by and took notice of vermin naturing. For opposition's sake. For victory.


the difficult
labors of eggs

do not invade my private
do not wait
for profundity

she sat smoking
a roll of cloves,
thinking of martians

that was just before
she grew violent

series Magritte #6

The hunters at the edge of night / Les chasseurs au bord de la nuit

He had little difficulty
in evading the hunters. It was only
when the dogs came along
that there were problems. They
spoke a different language,
that seemed more familiar to him
though at first he understood it
less. Finally he stopped running,
covered himself in mud &
became invisible. He learnt
the hierarchy of the dogs, the
patterns & cycles of their
behaviour. He killed the alpha male
just after the dominant female
came on heat then caught & coupled
with her. Now they hunt the hunters.

Central City Core


unsullied rats tent to exception brown
crossbow nor finches the other wisest one are
wood J transversally in garland: "a fuck oh the school
of bukowski" that it sings 3 twirled red lines of "albertson towing"
grocery car against traced white division
ash 110 whitewash areas green rose (edout) for
2.5 bags of bags excrement dog bags bags and excrement
moustache crusted old clothes of bag(s) (y) whitened black eye long yellow
under the lines when in the
blink and the lights moments functioning outside ending
turned off/on "that it outside works" the great eyes rounded
off pupil broke sully 'fh written said T of the C.C. of
ab' since it will look car
invisible door ed T shuffle ticket ticket closed
it green side pursued shout whitewash wheel will prick to
ask for to the impulse more less ly to fold itself below
saying plastic punctures slowly as the
closings (ed) that spell the back crossing of
Figueroa directions in the night to flower hope it


when i look at you
i hold my hands, fingers outstretched,
against my neck
and beat them through the air like
pectoral fins.
maybe it's me
trying to communicate
in your native semaphore
executed with fins and water
muscle and bone.

and you tell me -
"i'm an
engineer of bubbles
pushing them and pulling them
into a nest
for the eggs
of my woman when she comes.

i know she'll come and
when she does i'll
embrace her with all my
small body, and
spit her eggs into my

who am i to tell you any different?
you're my fish
and i'm your girl.

Stammered Hay(na)ku

an erasing
hand can write

right the
list of love

series Magritte #5

Not to be reproduced / La reproduction interdite

Shown from the back the
subject is androgynous - think
k.d.lang in her man's suit
phase. It is a portrait of the artist
as a young (wo)man. It is not
a portrait of the artist. Magritte says
it is not to be reproduced
though he reproduces it
anyway. We do not see
the face. Magritte does not
produce it. Or reproduce it.
Is not reflected in the mirror
for what comes back from there
is not mirror-image
but reproduction. Almost as if
we were peering over a shoulder
only to see the shoulder that we
were peering over. But it is
reflection. The mantlepiece
is reflected & the copy of
Edgar Allen Poe's Adventures
of Arthur Gordon Pym
that rests
upon it is partially reflected. It
is a book about an imaginary
journey. Magritte's painting
is a journey of imagination about
what happens between two points
that are the same point
though there is distance
between them. He says it is not to be
reproduced. It is reproduced here.


great oil

War/ning!: (YOU
Wildebeest 33 New
Get a Bigger


a root launches forth in search of

in texas
we always knew where the water was
because of the mesquites

we are
trapped along
short trails
meant for delivery

Autobiographical Hay(na)ku

an elevator
with Ed Dorn


"Only the hand that erases can write."
JLG, Histoire(s) du Cinema

I've been watching and thinking about the first few segments of Jean-Luc Godard's Histoire(s) du Cinema. I don't know if anyone has explored issues (and politics) of image and sound and text more thoroughly than Godard.

If you want to see absolute audio/visual poetry, then check out Histoire(s).


Central City West


camped in nucleus LAPD it tore
it that all bring "whad'ja start for its tent
whad'ja starts" five thirty A.M. jail and a bottle water refused one
auth of aid of hous(ing) servicer mentioned the new

brilliant apartments subsidized in $750 that
one month "whad'ja starts for a tent whad'ja starts
ummmmm" recognized as senseless dislocate that something change (ed) still'ted
stuck'ted degrees
that ask for language moved away T or and

if the food sufficiency land mounted
indication (s) it delivered constructed: "whad'ja starts" it following
room you they who cannot sleep in any place while she satisfies
it only must'ed for "preting inter 'smoving of the

mis" if a cat will be
able to live to the outdoors because "the vision of
the I's cannot as regulated (to ular)" spoken to one it knows
that the rest me/it it left sensible stack brain

ed the bedding bag sleeping happiness
phenom concrete confused return 'before it spoke of' solution requesting
servicer that undering: facsimile repairing the box badly capable "whad'ja"


immersion is the best
bread left unsaid
so live with us retreat
go down to the the the
inseminate rancho gregario and pout
my little demi-joy
until I come for you
and then and then and then
the trouncing that I feel won't be so continguous
or blanched
we'll have our wheels
we'll cart another one around
and trees will sill across
our minor drama
to inflate it to the pinochle
with someone driving we respect
for not respecting us

I'm looking for a quorum
here under the eaves' melodious
conformist alibi
when if you read me
there will be tines to be upstarted
in the railway dampness
where a litter of Corvairs
ought to be dusted soon
in view of compromise and chatter
on the figurative airways
where the lines
thought to have touched
no longer

if a chimp can feel a flinch
of empathy why not
a parrot why not a grackle
why not a porte-cochere
why not a dunce cap
Monday after when one ought
to wrest out of the enemy
a camera sans impressions
first or otherwise
the litmus test for that
occurs in three versions


fear; i want to
basic as

his blackened
struck like
match against
my hide.

fear; i'll hide
here for

the period always comes after the comma

I am he-she -
she was or is he -
he was always she -
or he-she -
I was neither or both or someone that wasn't either -
they were rich -
lived on the other side of town in a trailer park -
the kind with no shrubs and pickup trucks -
I always wanted to be them or him or her -
and she wanted to be him and he her -
especially during sex when we were all the same -
but that was later when they moved away from our hometown -
a place I never knew -
I knew them only from a distance -
they were my neighbors -
we shared a room -
my parents would leave and each time they returned they would say -
I have a new brother -
or sister and brother -
or one of them died but I never knew -
then my parents were taken away -
I never knew my parents -
I grew up in a foster home and then -
was moved to different foster homes and then to another foster home -
it was a big house -
my family had lived there for generations -
my grandmother or father -
they looked the same -
lived in the room next to me -
they always wore the same clothes -
a mother or father of someone else would always get angry -
when my grandfather or mother drank too much -
it was mostly about my father who was drunk all the time -
especially after my mother or father left -
the one I never knew -
I was too young to know -
that's how I got to know him or her -
we were both in the same burn unit -
I was trying to quit smoking -
they were still on methadone, but wanted a better life -
that's why they got married -
or that's what they told me when I got older -
by then they were dead and I only had a few pictures left of him or her -
at their wedding -
his first beer -
her first car -
the first time I caught a fish as big as a pike -
really a small sunfish -
I learned to sail -
the three of us would go out alone on long adventures -
playing pirate, president, first lady and the tramp -
I was the whore -
the one begging for mercy after she or he was taken away by the police -
I was right there -
again with a bad report card -
my father or mother would slap me around -
by the time I was older and had enough money to buy a car -
the first thing I did was ask him out -
she came along -
all the time I was driving my hand was on my leg -
the three of us where smoking pot and drinking light beers -
after our first child -
dressed in spandex -
getting ready to enter my first marathon -
I knew she or he would be my arch enemy -
I would have to face them eye-to-eye -
what could I say -
I was young I didn't know any better -
I got caught up in the moment and besides I was drafted -
I didnt have some rich mommy or daddy -
at first I felt a little guilty -
but what the fuck, being at yale, getting a fulbright -
I was at the last march with her or him -
really -
all I wanted was to be fucked by her or him -
or him as her or her as him -
or be fucked as a him by her or her by him for her -
but that was after I left my first wife, husband, domestic partner -
terrorist on the run since 1967 or 1697 -
1980's -
the 1980s was when m.a.s.h. went off the air -
I could so identify with one of the characters -
or all of them -
since I had served in korea -
but that was different -
that was the big one -
we use the big one on those japs -
and even after I was in england or france -
to return to the same old whites only -
until color TV started to come into vogue -
the three of us would gather to watch disney on parade -
which I loved especially when my parents were fighting -
I would be alone and every once in awhile someone like elvis or the beatles -
I just loved john -
or something mick -
would be on the cover of the post I would buy the national geographic -
I mean I didnt know what got into me -
it was the first time I had seen someone elses penis or breast -
so we all sat around and jerked-off and fondled each other -
when I was done I looked around to make sure no one was looking -
they deserved it wearing those clothes -
short skirts, tight pants -
school quarterbacks with those firm breast -
thats what he or she or my mother or father said they liked best -
a vanilla sunday everytime after -
or good cigarette or the movies -
especially on fridays -
anything to get away -
after work I would get in free -
thats why I worked at the theater -
I could live on popcorn, candy and juju beans -
every halloween they called me the juju beans popcorn lady killer -
it was kind of a joke -
to leave juju beans behind -
the popcorn was a mistake, but since it was there -
it was the signature he kept doing -
I knew sooner later she would be the next class president -
why not he, he was my sister -
and as my parents said -
to be alone in foster care s the best of all holidays -
except for water when it's really hot.

certain nights
snow resembles sand

uncertain nights
it's a desert

Robert Lax

he may
never have known

answer to
that question (the

to that
answer) he asked


texas tales #1

must have
told George W.

his cock
was bigger than

Daddy's: so
now he takes

out at
every opportunity to

how high
he can piss.

Their given names

for Chris Murray

If we wanted or
needed to, we could
find out the names
of not just the nine
that prompted your poems
but all the coalition personnel
who have died in Iraq. We
won't, however, see any
TV footage of the
ceremonial choreography
when their bodies are
returned to the States -
the visual documentation
of the nightly dissembly line
that was the daily dead
coming back from Vietnam
put paid to that forever.
We do see footage
of the unscripted funerals of
Iraqi civilians, some of it
anyway. There aren't
enough camera crews around
to cover them all. Nor enough
time. But try finding out
their numbers & their names
in the anonymity
euphemistically labelled
acceptable collateral damage
to sanitise it, a category
whose equation seems
to have no upper limit
unless we give it one. & that
won't come until we
give them back their given
names. & write about them.

damned Hit

if you want to know what a filipino tastes like

we are yummy, dark chocolate (original flavor. newer generations include "white," "caramel," "milk."), we melt in the sun or in similarly hot places but we remain crunchy on the inside. you can lick us off your fingers. you can have us with tea, or a glass of milk. you can buy us in a grocery store. we're mass produced.

Waiting for me in the arms of a guilty
city, you grow cold and vague
with snow. At a certain point
in dialogue with the sycophant
I require no more input, and no input
requires me. You'll be able to
swim now, head just above the un-
comfortable line that dragged your mother
past your dad, himself glazed and frosted,
buffed like a mirror but rippled to
distort. He avoids the city; nothing
grows there, or flies, or swims.

But your mother's just fine, with
her house a conversation piece at
last. When I talk now clauses buckle
over each other, pile up in subcutaneous
knots, and no-one can respond to that.
My gelded town sucks its own
reflection from the nightly news:
this "hardened steel town" is reeling.
A teacher drunk in a hotel room drunk
with a student. The lessons come

damn picked up a dog and
sticked me
and then
handed hit me
to me and
hit me and
hit me.

i could
i could

Countdown on Nine, # 6 *

Or perhaps all evidence of this burned
objectified to Babylon

metal oblivion

an imperfect fuel
is life,
its sinew

Irregular operational
disharmony: ten
teeth collected
between multiple designs

three black shine
metal scraps jettisoned

Here, the odder divisible
an immaculate eighty one

miles away,
numerical river

flightpack hooks: metal legacy

Shall we send medals, Sir?

* “FALLUJAH, Iraq – Nine soldiers were killed when the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter they were in crashed at approximately 2:20 p.m. Jan. 8 south of Fallujah.”--from the Sat. 10 Jan, 9:33a.m., posting at Transdada, kari edwards’ blog.

he picked up a stick and
hit me
and then
handed it to his dog
who also hit me.

i could

Hope Street at 12th


extremities including the calm lines hair connections from
over from the white brakes sight to only
fast the { ing } around the

Hope Street at 12th


"have uh, views of prox imity" uh (it has act
extremities including the calm lines hair connections from
eyes the dialogue which
over from the white brakes sight to only
the letters without lights hang around it that I
fast the { ing } around the
brakes above recast speaks which

Hay(na)ku Noir

wingtips beat
a tattoo on

polished parquet
of her curtain

space. "Is
that an eraser

your pocket?
Rub me out."


threw a dog and
the iron curtain at me
and all i could say
was murmur

Hope Street at 12th


"have uh, views of prox imity" uh (it has act
ually more himher reminded), you all
extremities including the calm lines hair connections from
number(ed) illustration the ears the nose the
eyes the dialogue which

fail: the signal trunk tree painted box telephone
over from the white brakes sight to only
see "where it is the San Fernando" the headings buildings in
the letters without lights hang around it that I
sings flies with the hands H

fast the { ing } around the
road of hope without the
brakes above recast speaks which
translate around

A question of curtains

i got
this girl,

this swoop of
her naked back
encountering a

cold gush
this girl

spoke too

stressed her
too much.

i wasn't

nor was
the slow
grief of
the ocean



no abstraction
for me.

this poetry
will put
my head

in an oven.

close the
door but
leave the
curtains open.

this curtain-rod dog is not made of iron

he picked up
lots of sticks &
threw them at me

or maybe
it was the one stick

over & over.

Either way
all I could say


& then
I'd go chase them

& bring them back

he could
pick them up &
throw them again.


George W.
think that Osama

Laden has
escaped to Mars

wants to
go after him?

pick that shehe on on on before up action murmuring "you may, you may wave" master (ed) blind(s)

a murmur
you may


Countdown on Nine, # 7

pressing this matter withholds
the body

action here is somewhat poly

a melting urethane of whatever

unlike this tongue sharing the T of light
under a smoothed over war
the roof of it unlike any substance
in windshield melt

unlike the blade shuddering the above
mechanically no
heaven, Sir--

or the pocket one with love going
into the cool of a peach
lunch yesterday is nearer
now than ever
its center

death unlike that

* “FALLUJAH, Iraq – Nine soldiers were killed when the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter they were in crashed at approximately 2:20 p.m. Jan. 8 south of Fallujah.”--from the Sat. 10 Jan, 9:33a.m., posting at Transdada, kari edwards’ blog.

Hope Street at 12th


below I's right crusted eye loafed lay
below the right eye crusted I loafed the
right eye crusted makes I loafed sphere you sans one ones

you say litho sphere you said to transition
'for a new rye, caraway sans' you sphere of litho word
two transistion it said you the word of of of litho (port)

tiny white/brown sewing kit needle kit
kit sewing needle kit white/brown (thin) sewed
the needle one metal makes kit of white/brown (I finishes)


How did your legs get so hairy?

It grew to keep us warm and to help
us climb trees.

What do you do all day long?

We crack nuts and take care of our kids
and climb trees all day long oh little

Would you like to live in the zoo or
do you want to stay in the wild?

I want to stay in the wild because
freedom is better than living in a little

What is your favorite thing about being
a gorilla?

A gorilla is a gorilla.
I just like being a gorilla. Oh little
one let's go close the curtains and fall

[I wrote this with my daughter, Julia. I wrote the questions, she wrote the answers.]

13th to 14th rod

iron stood behind murmur a a a a a behind hitting up and picked (me) rodding close (them) it




she picked up a curtain rod and
damned me.

i could
hit me.

he picked up the stick and
hit me.

i could

Hope Street at 12th


after walking (gers) bloody magni
ficent fin nose the shoes tennis fin
gers ignite mother rain "to the left in I" the green
word olive being hidden in lights real
ly meant that "Greek
an old one refers order ing to dis
cussion" tension centers stressed one
same one that existing four feet between describing scapes
another oxygen (ing) of provide close
connection scratch

ed wet themed "a inside"

Countdown on Nine

8. *
Triumph of the petrochemical mass
the service
I was watching

I am not religious

the fast approach of river
bed silt, center a snake of winding red

the green bank from the window
thinking to myself:
mass industrial genius:
we have finally manufactured every

voice is no longer possible
or innovative:
here is a scream of wrist
watch face
in rubble

Acrobat of gun,
Voluminous Jet A,
Engine yawn & percuss

That’s negative on the functional--
parachute, Sir,
not possible, Sir

*Regarding nine soldiers dead in a helicopter crash at Fallujah, Iraq, Saturday 10 Jan 04. News item courtesy of Transdada.


possessed near Red Square

you! penthouse

Here you


:: un/known
basis buzzer


so don't a wide range
of citizens (i.e.,

win/win utilize counter

especially BUILDING tips
The original King

of Anti-Wrinkle
Shoot 'em up

                            n      y      o ds fa                at     
                  of       init  l ru   d managed                mpa    
                & p         re    le ma iac pruni               cts     
 ast           cked              null u typed con                       
  app           sna              tips   uning or              with      
 areer         par             piers l    sprite            ing or op   
 all ac          wr     r      aps c    d as reci            of minut   
 ffair                  t w  p pays he  s wiping    pp      pped bon    
 fraid           c     ried  apse  ads scrap spirits          acy nu    
 inally    s            hacker c   al & cap  ain h              h       
 afe de         la    s caveats      payda    happ         st           
 busing                arming br   h cards    pons        capi          
  sound               unatic af     aulty     k l       of fla      l   
   us t               oing  n i     t fames macs c      lap pa     aper 
      p             oing             t fairly mac     calf pa    pass d 
                    book             afety fat with hacked sc     & cap 
                  units si             affairs & failed backe   f casin 
                   denied h           safe fa se & racing in c    d or  
                und or deni           s nominal shaft fairly wi   comp  
               ual unarce             ooping eternal baffled aff   s ra 
               triped p              ounds conifer drink lunatic  raf   
             pire sni         o       e t under funnier sm  ing   enn   
        r     lap pa        pape          ng pork revenue       as s    
        tor patient       g pit            end n l ed h         itia    
        n les chapel      ns mis          us st      rime       sun     
          cing lace &   mps sha   par       d          i        up      
           raft  fac     actor    eats                api               
          h fina    sh    faq    ked wi                d p          p   
         nable o    fe     lls    zodia               ed            apl 
        donald a   r as         ctions o       e      i h p        with 
      nieces sin     v      ffic faster         car     a s          s  
   e ic unused n              nature baf        ther    i l c           
   ped pardon f              i e intend s       lea       hac           
 eanuts of blun                  onald s       ast p     causti         
 nput nurse o     k m            g naked        face        car         
 ut rounds ea n    as              e aff       cts bl c    ars          
  ra  s minut   utrun r       indi ns nat      afer fac      acu        
       priest   f nurse    n s minimum &       n seminar     t f        
        tip      d unus    for stunned kn      erving na     fford      
       pens        num      nhappy tenni       ng for n      affect     
        opic      pipe      ed minute u         cest co      canal sa   
        esca    igeon       pe porte            un finis  join name s   
        on pi ed lips      te nulls      tun     rnish hint teenage af  
        itma  piston        capable     ous       finish grinned natu   


where hearts hurt
and breathing begins at midnight
when terror plagues
the bravest of serpents
and home is a killing field
how to believe?

billy jno hope

your first thoughts still come in a box

Your first love should always be yourself, a platitude. The room in which light has been tamed, especially by yellow drapes. Elongated and swollen. The closer you get to these ghosts, the damper air becomes, crusted with low salts. To love humanity too you must swim through all bodies, not owning, not owing: you must skip through all bodies like a wire engorged with flames.

You must skim through all lobbies like your first thoughts still come in a box, peculiar only to localhost, idiosynthetic. Your second love will always be coffee in the Cafe Du Monde, paper hats taking holes through which street voices sluice with amorous redundacy. Kneeling before the world's only clear puddle, trying to cup your reflection in your hands, your hands slip behind Ohio clouds to a sound like sucking laced with exquisite lemon.

There are footfalls on the stairs deep below outside.

an ambient minute

an ambient minute

minutes stop

then stop again

with sticky fingers post sympathy

a simple thoroughfare

leaks on demand

a labor day

manufactured farce

far more discounts

a mannequin theme park

screams that scare the sacred

turns this way

and comes again

again it doesn't matter

matter is a low test ban treaty

a fourth of all seven thousand songs

between anywhere

and another plastic bolivian clitoris

minutes come late

there is expended noise

with a shadow beneath the surface

a difference past another

continual state-of-things-as-they-are

the smell lingers long enough for dental records

the act begins

a minute more

a second to go

the rest are at revenge

call 1-900-dead letter

I only have a minute or so

to reach into my lower case

spread certainty on

flooded heritage tools

before one more peeling paint day

on the edge of maintained freshness

we meet ourselves in the morning
when nothing works
we shake hands
with shadow
and disintegrate
there's a long sigh here
that punctures vowels
and the curtain turns its head
to wink at the restless sunrise
restless for the promise of expanse
we climb into a hole and
whisper one to the other
and this goes on for some time
we ask ourselves the same questions
repeatedly we are one moment amused
next moment horrified by the vagueness
and it all hinges in a lump of dry smoke here
as each consonant is punctured by a curtain rod

Countdown on Nine

9. *

Nine the triangular a harmony a symmetry a satisfaction
completing a sweetness of repeat, Mama

O we are taught to think in strict bundles
of this kind
as objects:

A little of Pi has exploded
today flesh
and bone

turned rings around
to be inside-
out again

and there is zero
of us

to life
in Fallujah

* I'll be posting one per day from this sequence here for the next nine days.
The idea for the poem began from reading this information:

“FALLUJAH, Iraq – Nine soldiers were killed when the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter they were in crashed at approximately 2:20 p.m. Jan. 8 south of Fallujah.”--from the Sat. 10 Jan, 9:33a.m., posting at
* Transdada, * kari edwards’s weblog.


Three Blurbs From an Exchange Student

Its better than licking an
anxious principle

I'd rather read this paper than
shuffle the driveway

The something writing ever

Can you write some more?

A Severance Song


Rain follows from valueless hands, followed by real
rain. The brightness on your tongue could be anyone's,
even mine--countless plashes as of off-white
taken for light. That color, my pupil, my walls.
For a southpaw righteousness belongs to the book.
Stand still holding hands with white wings opening
to shield your gaze from the affectlessness
of covered cornices, the fluorescent public,
malls standing without an outside letting space
shift for itself. How are you? Your message
would terrify me but your mouth opens and
the paper in it rustles and caws. That should
intimate, close the gap, fail again to coexist
with the moisture of the air we occupy.

Top sort

so you say you'll
wring your pale
long hands over
althusser knuckle
deep in helene's
lovely throat.
bourdieu. filthy
french people.
and all that jazz.

i will too.

we should hang
out some time.

there is nothing more real that the real real

or I wouldnt have come here; driving or flying, unless to add or subtract earned travel miles or accumulate karma credits. anyway you slice it, for a few dollars more, youre either worse than arriving or you’re waiting at the big transfer corner, coming in before as a different other feeling, like a replicant on repeat.

so, what else is there to do? get a get away car from the other elvis almighty horace greeley cowpoke show; find that displaced dream highlighted in brilliant florescent orange on the map with the big bold arrow pointing to; this is where you will be; impermanent as a Nagasaki flash, here today then the rest is just stupid marching orders in the dust, under the dead; neatly timed and in a proper place.

true, on occasions, some high-banking glove or metaoffical will scuttle another rhapsody in blue:

-folkz, what we are dealing with is something never seen before . . .

and then after a long greasy spoon pause,

-we might even be talking about one-in-a-million odds . . . but we know they will play it every time. its like the old adage - Ill run a mile for a logo.

so, what else was there to do? flirt with suffocation, brace for a pregnant immobile thought drop, sink a life savings into video russian roulette.

the problem is, my permanent expandable mobile homes hydraulics are busted and the vinyl expansion is in tatters, letting in radiation particles, constantly ruining my, this is the rest of day and these are my feelings.

so, I decided to move; truthfully I just don't like sharing my toilet seat and I wanted my own call button. and even though humans are just duplicate purchasing machines . . . nothing deserves to be a hernia probability reduced to a sentence or less. so, I ask you, wouldn't you pull up the stakes and undo the bolts?

a few head murders later we all look the same in preparation to disembark. I call a strangers home in prisoner pronouns, I didnt get an answer. we are close to before, head over tulsa montazuma madison maryville melrosepark, merry-go this way and some of the merry-go that way tra la tra la, montana. someone said, everyone under 5 and those with at least two functioning organs is mad, truly mad. I say lets weave the raw into a regardless dream, turn the faucet to summer, bmw medusa and sisyphus.

in reality this is it, the end, or maybe a deep understanding that two good fucks is worth one hundred thousand, one hundred thousand dollars and change. still, the one writing this woke up furious at existence . . . there was nothing to shoot. this was happening just as a thought moment mounted its high horse . . . maybe . . . just maybe . . . there is another way to wake up to this and face the world.


Yes, I know I'm not a morning person

of hotcakes
for breakfast he

up a
batch of hay(na)ku

whatever ingredients
are at hand.



does it
feel to be

in the


for Chris Murray's guest on texfiles this week

write about
white cockatoos too

I didn't
live in Australia.




i have
never travelled gladly

In succulent clouds raw with symbols I am a Palestinian celebrating the destruction of my oppressors, eating your children with bombs in my teeth until all of us are dust.

I get sick of gray skies, eventually. A small bottle of white-out will finish my hands, slip the firmament until it, like me, is invisible: on the recieving end, blotting any horizon with my skin, I become less than, and bauble. They wear me. When there is sun,I can hear them buying and selling under the street. Cars lie wrenched along the treelawn, doubled over in parch.

This was an alien rain, slices of sky inserted everywhere, lacing my solitude until each link seems an indictment of pointilism. I'm a Palestinian, knives in my teeth as I try to breath under their map. I'm trying to figure difference and distance.

rape on broadway


starting fuck above the ass attempts
H to capsize head is covered with blanket
face torn pieces sidewalk trying
cry out no sound nose jammed the fist pulled
left arm stop backwards broken attempts H
to roll on: the focus of the thoughts fear denies

it cannot be this red

lights behind the eyes behind H moves left
thumb on the nails and thinks "who will fuck the care ing" the
traffic rolls close a truck that rattling breaking punctuated
doors security not the sun is punctuation breaking
the eastern sky becoming incandescent pulse alarm

detonation that sounds above in the room of the hotel one TV turned
on one other rolls bus close door security rolls above the
hoses that spray the

i am johnny fever

i am washing whites
& the maytag man is pulling
machines apart

i ask 'how are you'
'oh SSsss' he replies
& that smell rising
denotes a lack of washing
for a washing machine man

he is nothing like that fat fellow on tv
the one from wkrp
in cincinnati


in morrissey's fresh slipped mango throat
tonight sinks in
folds of
scored up.
opened out.
take me out, tonight.
take me anywhere, i don't care, i don't care, i don't care

tonight is the flavour of bitten nails.
i'm all a-pad with juice
didn't you taste?
where there's music
and there's people and the young and the light

this is for morrissey!
yeah, on a stereo on a
bar on your table scoring
pink my back!
bend me back.
and if a ten ton truck
kills the both of us, to die by your side -

Fri 12.57pm

well fuck
me, children, if it ain't
friday, saturday, sunday's child full of
grace and bile.

she finds a teacup at the
core of

reach in -

she found the handle somewhere beyond
the sternum,
but know that
that sort is
liable to let
things crack

- careful not to
flood yourself.


Number 1

The refrigerator echoes through the empty house

As for lightbulbs, some of them also vibrate, pulse through in night

A mechanism is turned on, inaudible for us, that supposedly repels mice

The skin of garlic also has its sound, which is not necessary to describe

You already know what it's like, even without paying any attention to it

None of this has any rhythm, it's an atrocious noise without articulation, depressing

He who listens to it will find no sanity or shelter

Hope Street at 12th


the south park overruns district jewel
ry brings one other words stops
backwards "as" I circling (re)not certainly an
limited context re or fez or pole tion func

tional ly I had ed tells it as
wisdom: the concrete around pol ox
idated is red still brings (ing) one another
back part of world(s) "or" focusing(ed) pulled
characteristic face tan(ned) nails skin
cracked hands featured

in 3's

death comes in 3's
3 breaths left
until death

copyright(c)2004 billy jno hope


              M*E! Wha    t           do   I    sa

      y   ?

           doe   s             Y   OU

    R WO   O
            F WO      O
        F L    OO

    K     li
ke?       impres   s
i     on   s

    WHo         i   s the
        G   uarant  ee    d*
          Fe      ed

        M U   LT   I
    ple   s
        of          9      bit  ten
      ny     yo
u           say           I   do

weird wild west



So the distances are Galatea
Charles Olson: The Distances

It is a dance in two
parts. Is ritual.

Pop song from the
Forties. A trip to the moon.

The bull, the matador.
Dance, ritual, death.

Whose death? A las
cinco de la tarde

Usually the bull. Sometimes
the matador. Provocation

can have unexpected results.
A procession of flagellants

passes by. I am drunk on the
smell of fermented mangoes.

Red sand blood white.
What colour are your eyes?

poem #105 (olympia)

lolita conquered
the bestseller lists

nabokov the book

San Pedro at 11th


four minutes sixteen feet
hands dress little absent
hands pene torn
papers penalty of
tration of ed legs/feet
blood leather straps
pincers that
fly beaten agitating

"ah to love, ah eggs" assaulting continous & the aluminum of nylon tents
potatoes tinseled berets ]up[ backup backup and for is four tires to each absent
support backup coil


McDonald's Poetics

the patty
so it lands

its center
not its edges

Another couple of bits of archival footage

The disquieting muse

The muse
visited me this

she was a woman
so I told her to fuck off
& send a man next time.

"Women's rights" she shouted
as she tried to kick me
in the balls.

"Equal opportunity" I reciprocated
as I pushed her through the door.

The muse
visited me this

I gave him a blowjob.

He gave me a poem.

The muse strikes back

At five in the afternoon, having
finished one poem & mulled over
scraps & scrapings of others,
my natural apathy descends again. I
walk through to the living room
where Peta & Victor - what
Dostoevsky novel are they from? -
sit playing chess, then out onto
the front porch to commune
with the sea. At five in the afternoon,
it is exactly five in the afternoon,
I attempt to deny poetry - for the
rest of the day at least - only to find
lined up in the bay a poeme trouvee,
the timberships, their placing, the form
of them, their names - Okeanis, Gebe
Oldendorff, Selocean, Evimeria
- evoking
such images that I return hurriedly
to the typewriter, convinced the muse
has intervened. To realise, three sheets
of scattered openings later, that I
have been the butt of a subtle &
skilfully conceived joke, that I have not
denied poetry, it / has denied me.

To: Eileen Tabios.From: Jean Luc Godard

Passion In
Praise of Love

from a backdrop of cadavers comes four hundred years with a handicap

from vending machine to station sanctions to dropping a coin in a vending fountain - no means succeeding exceeding past lube bearing depression machines crushed or not - in pins and needles of varying colors more red more wilted lettuce with the image of something inside - an image of an image conspiring to a fluxist determinists.

I need tomorrow - I need seventy-five more minutes - lets hope that someone in an oilskin raincoat has proper identity and is not another gog and magog on the rebound

now lets imagine boldness or shyness - too syrupy too radiant too heavy too lecherous - how about if I say I will say what if I say - you know what I mean - insipid madonnas both of them morse code as hard boiled eggs - its the last two minutes before the next before - before a bastard or swine borrows depression - lives in paris, orders humiliation over easy with a biscotti on the side - its quarter past a littler after the last time - go ahead and turn next sunday to a modernist misprints - no pain no metallica - keep smiling imagine nonexistent hands, a little too human - imagine thinking having a drink and having that drink - the mind is in the suitcase - to be determined later - do watch for swelling - and like scissors with sufficient embrace - even if its too late - drop a quarter in the machine and wait for the next.

To: Crag Hill. From: Bertolucci

Last Tango
in Moscow, Idaho?

San Pedro at 11th

San Pedro at 11th


how laudering of the window? in vehicles the other ment pressured
LA lament'd walks moved away: how on a bag of carrots? one two
three four five six walk simultaneous rest absent direction
moved away to incomplete others ness wooden rake of ility of abstraction
it above from it above - pre in ]pictures[ gious of cise of im-pre
regarding the qualities in top of this decision that called hisher
comment one or another hat (metal of the cotton) while Texas
if only raises "ies of the memor.................., if they find"
the doors open

( ( ( ( O ) ) ) )

what's up w/ the bee-shield?


Fill in the Blanks

As if __________________________________

As of _________________________________

As on _________________________________

As off __________________________________

take me to your commodore

under undercover of darkness

under the knotted chunks

pulverized to tears

held down shapes

of dots and dashes

from poisoner to poisoner

through and through

always beholding

by deed or guilt

from gallows to next in line

to another megawatt

nurtured with monosyllabic utterances

visionary belts upon another

under undercover of darkness

no deviation among the corpses

no record keeping

just long distant past nothings

and broken sentence things


approximeetiNg the finer details Out, when the aXis of weasel haS a charaCter NaMed after bluejackIng from onE BLuetooth-enablEd handset to aNother face person with an attractive car-rASSment - according to those cheese-eating sUrrender monKeys distaste for Chelsea tractorS Chelsea Football ClUB uN-posh tAstiEs (e.g. fake coalition Of the willing) - dAtA smog is toO much de-BaatHIfication for a single bullet thEOry desk monkey, buT rarer to harE having never been seen oTher than in that dodgy dOSSier embeded by emotional hijack synDrome fauXmOsexUal flasH mob back hOme in their flatpack eMbassiEs, readY to depLoy a short nOTIce trouble spot anywhere in the worLd for freEdOm frieS and gallery zombiES; all seemingly oblivious to the GovernatorS hammer time, saying - look out, it's hammer time. so, intexicated kinetic and going kinetic, the Kippers Mark 7 and 8 Mammal MarIne SysteMS doggerel, according to a metrocentric current mETrosexual moab Biblical associates, who OBE-sitY identified US Defense phishers passwords and PINs as nothing more than political pawns iN how trying to sign a pRoXy moron has no rate tart from oNE interest-free offer to another recreational assistant roadmap for peace in the Middle East; or how do you Say it, safety camerAS for self-dating; according to self-styled seXed-up shock anD Awe simultanEOus Sitcom of ski-ing sneeR television programs, like non-confroNtational tipping points unknown unknowns verticalLY envelopiNg whatever Response to yEllow bits

those barking thoughts

thats the word


nothing doing

comes around the bend

never a neon always


embracing a majestic

desire with fangs

around a universal

doing and nothing

expanding boring

for the future nothing

every last one

and nothing shiny new

big tomorrow

going on about nothing

then one more

it ends in bits

starts again

and then


This Is Not a Poem (for Mark Young)

are mortar

in the wall
a magnifying mirror

that shatters
and reforms

each use.


plainsong continuance (for Tom Beckett)


in the

of our
no-fly zones

sometimes let escape

momentarily un-
guarded answers

to what
were supposed
to be


something that was something next to the other thing that was something

there there now, defused violence on forest greens, undefined edges unified in personal asylums with large formless desert crimsons; by vertical forest greens; there there now the ground is continuous, counter to brazen bold anointments, the undefined happens with various points of views; correction and proper placement. large formless someone at the window saying; this is my 2 2 who who mets in this how in this who to in this who is is my frozen formless thing. this grammar violence at the wet bar, vertical of tallow, in a deserted dream promises a soul without windows, a raven without a poe, a copy of a copy written in continuous flow. 120 days from now, 5 days or years ago or to come or to go years or 5 days ago, a thousand or so undefined and ageless, by by then ground down in counter to the known, by means of glass elliptic breathing; reason of numbness brazen in asylum greens.

I know the squirting clay

I know the extreme spanking surface. the raiding earth's pressure blows, the jerking dirt, the assfucking extreme. they said the bedrock and mass psychosis, assfucks with mass inhabitancies. the cuntlicking pressure east of madness, west of insanity. that's as far as the story goes. lunatics and thrusting; fistfucks and really tiny little pores sent through the center's extreme. they say lump, or hump, the one that spews out declaration of details. really it is the screwing insurgency of wankers central. all talk, all bedrock, through and through the fingerfucking east of truth. an hour in and the largely caught. a sucking surface that works the plowing clay to the aardvarking annotation in mass gangbangs, a assfucking schizophrenic hypothesis. I mean, fingerfucking mass undertaker as madness; the center's extreme, beyond extreme, extreme extreme. they said ceaser said, *truth be it free unto the motherfucking dirt, the bedrock through and through spews all the spewing time every time, all the time.*

Field Study: Form

You look at the land silenced where it ends
and the snow growing sovereign by degrees
over all things, how sightless its descent,
and ceaseless, what's left of stark homes and trees
nothing save soft outline, a semi-world
of air, of white, of small light driving deep
over the plain so slow so cold it's pearled,
finite. Look how the hand shakes. Look, in the sleep
of the damaged the hands are the first to go.
How comely, how sickening the world falls
away from touch, only the brush of snow
known, surfaces quickening, surfaces stalled
to ice, numb--is this how the world was meant--
things gaining speed from themselves, the space painful
to the touch,
things lost
things sought
things touched into some other self.

it's not unusual

is becoming
more than natural



covered organicism

turn left

for it's time crawling
lines pushed in hurriedly
wipe turn away the teardrops
wake the chin confide shall you
goggled bright opening wide
the fire fire face so far
the eyes face a flash static
each have forgotten
where you've been
but confide away
machine looking
for the file
cling up
in this tear dance
pardon please
becoming thin
and smile
and smile this
to what is wires
blue light waves
like tires
goes painful
for story
dance explodes
like the sun

To: Crag Hill. From: Steven Spielberg

Encounters of
the Third Kind

                                                ap    or map            
                             a               g trip  parsed f           
      a                    lus n              ip engine nails           
      o e                  s nin              snatc   raft fa           
                m        te affair            fiscal  a id pa           
              afe       factor car            aws         t             
              are z    d paired app            opp                      
              elap    it trips supp                                     
        t      h n    lunch lining                     f                
     d own             ate staff i                   can                
    h with             fault acut                  paths                
    hack cag           aying in                   s wept     um         
    dy shap            ed    c p                 & faci     gs st       
   s polls     s you g or                          fac        & c       
     e snipe  napkin as                         o           pt or p     
     w nasty    afford f                      app             trop      
      fated pa ket fiscal                     pivo          ity nu      
      caveat     s parent ta                  zip p   i     us c        
       pay a      hs pity &                   nite enigm    ngs         
       p            nused su                  age after    se l         
    amo                nap                    caled pape   impa         
    d nag             s in                   in in payou  tapes         
  fair fa             f ca    & t           rap with aspire of          
   yon for           ng or    ple      copied as p ped prune n          
   ket s              ipe   rpi      s  swung iro    hiding na          
 lap e                a     nul          knife b   ry for menace lea    
 ipp                      ikini         f snail     t faults coach c    
 ound                     taff          pt casua    rap paged capped a  
 pin                    actors s        s pack w             led pipin  
        iv              parade g       ig or pipe               ount f  
       pack      ped   ping ripen     ed ve    n                  ien   
       f stu    grip   pose manu      n hon         w &                 
       mps n      unt    nnis t       ail sa        fast                
       enigma     i                   ancy ha     causal                
     n naming sa                t        mapp     lace sta      r c     
     o afford fact               ca     span l     pirac      s peeked  
   ls mac  cane apro          o la        ip      t pean        in min  
   p apar    pkin s      ips pushe                  i          senate s 
 eapt pic    pes po      rse as  u                              faces   
     null      t n      winner ornat                             ril sp 
     y te               napkin drafts                              la   
     e o                & ache or cana       p p r e                    
      acc              april papers sha     yopic ship                  
     l f               e picnic wipe pa     nut hunte          ivin     
       d                g space  umber         n ght f        arena