Ben Gazzara

His family said of him
he can simply smoke
a still response that exudes his might,
he had places, lines
where he was his father,
indulgence was in line
with Johnny Pope, in Cat,
the scions in which the dearer he got
the more diminished
was the voice, the sense
when ruined to speak softer,
water to add ease to the words


without a name
one merely cumulates
in the dreams of 84 fools

with a name
one is the dearest of all things
beyond deeds
breathing in the breathing universe
breathing in the seen and unseen
breathing in nebula and dark mater
breathing out of the prose, membranes and energetic ellipses
cascading off the solar plexus
off the ocean tides
and off the condensation on the window pane

with a name one sits steadfast
adrift in the fires of time
in the morning furies of birds
in the nakedness of raw poverty
and in all word ever spoke
flowing inexhaustible
to the sacrificial attention
of all seventy-two thousand
never endings attached to the heart
dreaming the dream
that dream dreams


do sentence me
to syll-s
I want sleep merely
(with oh with)
as if to dry my things
here on this line
impedimantra's symmetry
so seems in light

How do I know if
I'm not curious?

filters left
metal hanging

I looked for a doorway but found nothingness

the worst day still

blades bouncing

signal lines starting and then

to have lost placement


road away


Legend (#1)

Near Bessieres, all the eggs
Were gathered
While the soldiers still slept,
And the little ruler
saw his dream come true, of one
Giant omelet for all.

I ask about
her son


I just can't leave it alone

more wars"
exulted the crowd

the coronation
of King Dubya.

bumptious histrionics

I had come to To
ronto to
bowdlerized Napoleon.
I was attracted
by his elevation, his squandering
of soul.
I was jubilant
and stayed up late reading,
a connoisseur
of bumptious histrionics
and intellectually ambitious evenings.
entertainingly imparted.



division of time - real intrudes
as if giving the other - a glass

to measure by - time of layering
ordinates - a fat capsule smooth

relations - heavy habits honed to
re-animate fleshiness - dead spots

of motion and time - re-released
in unitary bits - bytes - morals of

timely advice chomping on tendons
where the passive begins and zeal

intravenes - separates - fragments
leaves happyface residue of pixel

bodies - coming upon a crushed
theory - several hot features

daily pretties of facile news
some feasting upon the unsaid

Ballad of Saturday night

with effort I can hear
my cellphone trilling in a distant
room and for a moment
everything drops away and there
is a lingering nothing before I get up,
pad away on soft naked feet,
and agree to drive out to a
friend panicked over something

stale by
way of
clarity or
is it
the other
way 'round
we sit
up and
watch the
twitch go
out of
the little fish


house with the quiet in it


there is nowhere lost singing
heart songs

millions falling in the street
singing dreams

one of one
looking for the we being the one
the invisible
snapped kite string
snapped invisible
the matter kingdom
lost invisible
in chatter
floating river

all is good
all is possible
lost singing
lost nowhere


on the dog, dying,
bag desire, stacked
to fine, find the books,
sleeping, woman
Virgilian, as distance--
rose, yellow drawing,
drew mist, before
everywhere, in
veils, move, in eyes,
move, the sullen
stops, there again

'and there


the furture is here

in another reality
the choking reality
the begging reality
the soft porn deformed
creating sounds of dying stones
bushed aside
in chaos hacking lungs
filling the cracks with a human ocean
consumed in a single serving
etcetra and bleeding
cockroach centurians
breathless again
and the future is here
and again and again
the picture is mad
the word bondage
seedless midnight overlooks bits
that gnaw at the self
behind a wall of flesh
horns of oncoming traffic
with an habitual disregard
for things and bodies
a sensation rekindled in the dirt
animal and human filth
line the causeways
of the dead
choking in points never heard

iron bars
a minute ago
a breath
the last breath
a way to live and serve
swallowed by
slow inward mute
a demonic world minted coin
countless crawling faces unable to speak
sheared off lips
a deflected possible
a mathmatical probable
a bride to a new moral code
in the other reality
already here




a rain so sudden
we show it
as the platitude
from one hard
come down

't 'fortime

Teenage lamentation

I was baptised in you
stripped of my old skin.
We did nothing new but we could
have invented the most wonderful
things if there were things to be


Ginger. Bottle of wine.
Who says poets can't
have a good time? I'll not
talk of their war or
my unemployment.
A nice red
bottle of wine.

world's apart

for Nick Piombino

slopped into night cauldron. bubble and boil
lights 'til they intoxicate them spirits
so much they'll sit at vacant terminals

pretending that numbers equate the next
appropriate vacation of a plane.

in the charts and photos from satellites,

an entire symmetry is ignored
and out of sequence with the coming crash

of decay. its pattern is a shimmer
on the parapsychologist's webcam.


white tree

brett whitely
whose pin I wear
the parted sea
voila white tree
that I foresee
as close to me
brett whitely double v
whose match sticks
in memory


A man has been men.
To assuage and elegance.
When he had an end.
I fen asp tome run.
Us impugns mas obsesses.
Hale ah sip be rum.


our informal
restitution, private life


The clerk at This
Ain't the Rosedale Library
is taking my credit
card & name.

'You must have had a tough time
with that: Ponka,'
she says like a large rock
dropped into a pond.

I grew up with Oikonens
Oksanens, Oleksuks
and no one
noticed Ponka at all.


leave what you have chez moi

leave what you have chez moi
and come retrieve it to remind yourself there's safety
somewhere holding in your pathway
leave what you know chez moi
and chant the branches of a comfortable learning
later as the wind subsides
leave what you find chez moi
and call to ask if it will still be here
tomorrow as the earth continues motioning
leave what you bring chez moi
to moisten every harshnes you have lived and seen
leave what you are chez moi
and reason that the symptoms always levitate
into an imagined aftercare of resonance
that chimes with music matching
undivided tones of understanding


vellum wipers for a better room

28 hours packed in
the usual comical bardos
unable to prepare for
layers of privilege
shed tears
wiped away
on the edge
of smog filled
to capacity
18 million
breathing souls
assassin motorcycles
tyranny transports
suicidal proxies
assorted verticals
dating to the stone age
lumbering alongside
naked madness

privilege becomes
part of the situation
becomes the situation
that becomes the highlight
submerged in
clouds of exhaust
shards of eyes
in abandoned
a crumbing ego
in a religious
wall of pesticides

vanished to an asylum
for the criminally insane
labeled iron shards
struggling to extinguish itself

its not sympathy
its a plaster face
against a wonder
-its not the system
its the contrast
boxes of fate
and address sisyphus

it is the insane
marching with the insane
pulling back
sheets of room services
to reveal
a constant sea of surface

this is flirtation

both size and bog like their thermals
saline and laugh, and your things,
thought resuming, tease enough ting,
they mug up for guessing or undressing, not sure,
results luck refunding,
the bounce leased to skin, well there, go on
and pry to salute,
worn report peaking in on its end


This freak riding
south on the Kennedy 43, bald
white, glasses, looks
like a math teacher

is ogling the young
Scarborough girls
his tongue
over his chin.

He leans to the girl sitting
next to him

'I like looking at your friend's facial
expressions' he grins
& points
across the aisle

& now I wait for a pad thai
across the street
from a blinking sign

'very satisfying lap dances'

& buddy
are you in there right now

'your pleasure is our desire'

your mind not on

'up close & personal & totally nude'

& your briefcase still on your lap?

my home dispersed amid immediacy of stars

angular dabbling limns abundant space your touch-
stone eyes craft warp/woof
sweetening the shapes
of avid happenstance

to warm requires no easement
in or near a woven instance
that precludes trajectory

small rays impose expected light
as if a scent
depicting new moon
would befit impending dawn

the youth of you perennial
as cast ascending from
anticipation that invention is
the next resuming aptitude


i took a blue
damselfish out with a green
net and paused longer than
necessary to watch it gasp
little breaths unreal how
this little blue
enamel body wants to
live so badly, although he
might only be clockwork,
he has black pebble eyes
unfocused on my face
peering down at him while
his mouth
with heartbeat regularity inhaling
nothing because atmosphere
does nothing
for blue damselfish.

he came from a coral reef in asia,
the caribbean but he's going to
a tank in tumut owned by a nice
couple, the woman's arms full of
wriggling baby who will mumble
at tankglass, and the damselfish
will think nothing of it
damselfish don't understand.

willow piece


"i have heard them singing"

just before cliffs are covered with clouds
and long arms dangle over bunkers


do not release me
into open space


as though at length


escapes me
no place woman


The dentist's chair's where I make up names.
Contemplate the origins of fluoride and floss.

She asks about school, my work, and delayed
diseases, but procaine isn't known for replies.

I tell her I do not require another prescription,
for the pain in my jaw's finally learned English.

Plaque builds around sounds of yesterday's
words; it's no wonder my mouth's so unclean.

She says she never tires of scraping on teeth,
aside from days when all choppers look alike.

My future's an x-ray trained on molar grooves.
My future's a cavity invading enamel and pulp.

At the breakfast
table bacon eggs & my head
in the fog
mood thick as cholesterol
& the morning
sun flashes in my face
as if that
is going to make any difference.

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another kind of poetry

Compiled 1/10/2005 12/29/1899 10:13:38 PM GMT

access to outcomes unattainable
knowing it is the least honorable

Kind of Love ". by Willow
or a 'space' to allow

- that poetry provides access to
my creative energy was diverted into

The notion that poetry is a discourse
- A Tribute in Poetry These

for another stage of that Ideally
that concrete poetry at least partly

to Vote for this Site! " Another
energy was diverted into another

access to outcomes unattainable
knowing it is the least honorable

Kind of Love ". by Willow
or a 'space' to allow


Phoenix Rain

We like to think ourselves into a leisure hypothetical as constant in the wish world of in-out-of fresh light
as canals are rinsed and other surfaces are bathed

and the service guy for warranty my neighbor Sandy paid for cannot come till Tuesday
so on Saturday I'm pressed up against my screen
elucidating what won't clear without me I am paid for this
the goal is to reduce
words thinking trespass

If only Lyv were not in fever while the reconstruction men destroy her bathroom across town, And she not far from fetal years positions herself within
a blanket facing carpet
while her mother promises to call
if upon waking Lyv says she would like to come where it is quiet and still warm
[I offer to go fetch her]

I meanwhile wear the sweater from Rochelle/Romayne one Christmas I have come to love,
and to the right of me is jasmine green from Harrods from Rochelle

Perhaps the Phoenix Open will not close this year

A day ago my brother Neil's heat went out he piled up blankets and I scolded him for not coming next door

Sandy will be here in three quarters of an hour and maybe camp here on the sofa

Bev chooses movie after movie while I polish off gunpowder green,
play hooky for a moment from my challenge,
just to reassure myself there's weather in the heart
where weather in the mind would be
aligned with weather out our squeaky door that Donnie lubricated just last Friday.


Headcase, he barges dark squares. Winter wrings
an engineer's ladder. Mauled whistle. You heard
they lost his leg there among the tattoo forest.

Appeal to those who could've been pretenders.
There's steam to be collected near the rails.

Itch around the shiniest ring. In midnight, be
at one with counted blessings, those flashlights
in the yard. There's enough jerky for both of us.

Best wishes to the dropout, the one with gold
teeth and dreads. Steeltoed, you connect dots.

was hacked
to pieces here

settled for
candy and beer

was raped
in the fields

to release
among hand stations

was singing
when light fell

pens in
a broken back


Public Disclosure

These monographed lines
are palms licking fire
the fille is wavering
in linked elements
acids benign waters
would it be clearer
to you as unglyphed
surfaces would it

be bolder in relief
for flesh artistry
to cull the suburban
character, to be on
a plane of red purple
searching for what

can't it be you said
where and what time
was it in public a
scorched prayer some
churches can't be said
some templates are so
lacking in composure.




For Mark

poems are
worth the risk

i dun no the title
i hhahah dun no it
heee but stumble n
run an dis worl but
don call me no hor
haha! i dun unnerstan
it got seems i haf e-
vaporated ah 4gif me
dolly dis my head is
it heeee so cute ina
kitty poop kina way
huh ha? ha. hee. hee?

aniway dun stress



p/lease p/ass g/o
lasso my dwimf ol' neonglow
portion control's on a rimrod roll
alight n/ear m/oi
it's all your sugar
baby daddy gwon & g



on a certain occasion

the secret to immortality
the secret to be found
the secret to the end of the earth
the end of the earth
without a secret
the self without a self
divided by three
hoping for a favorite setting
getting second class
hoping for anything
settling for
tax free duty free
duty to god and country
requirements and accumulations
becoming second class
being careful
a careful cow that enforces carefulness
discarding the banner
lame and blind

lets try again

the secret to immortality
the secret secret
the liquid situation
the simulated secret
absent moral gravity

lets try again

the secret
to be second class
hoping for a prayer
to sacrifice
cattle to
forgetting what it was like
before cream corn
fell out of season
due to a shelf life

like the flames of a fire
like the end of time
like a house
as a guest on the land
that’s not there
that turns on something
that declares
this is bold
this is bolder
this is boldest
this is second class
this is the fear of fear
and this is a medication for it
and this is the medication for the medication
and this is the fire
that can burn it all away

this is the uncharted ocean
expressed in its material condition

this is a motionless intensity
stretched everywhere


man commits word

(for stuart perkoff)

All the best poets
look like mad


just another chicken song

a woodpecker might bore himself
into the saloon called driven
by pimp, an otherwise known

as a lack of distress, or

at least until his eyes align
to fatigue smoked stagnant and stale
crest feather lacustrine

and gleet

what dessert city what
lake a wood hidden insect

a woodpecker might pucker to suck
matter grab hammer

grub licker in crack