campside synapse macks poseidon
martyrologists groom the posed Pollock
if and when the commonplace accolades
if and when the foreclosure


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skim perpendicular
carom orthogonal
blur vision
subactive supervision

quelle deluge
go by car = better



red vehicular
waving good

bye or yes, good boy
(state grinning)

you're to militate
unknowns now

from school's blue satin

tassle swaggering
ideals stuffed


types dreaming hot guns

manufactured pop
up thoughts

from bright travelogues
into brains

your green consciousness
not asking

about it at all


chris murray





bless routine cognizance I mesh with
to avert the singe of how you go away


in a morning of a morning on a morning
the tension's half away from this charred cup


motion sensor tips a little of the light due west
a measured sparring trespass on green blades of expectation


[this is where the limb baked headless quotient of a critic
self-embalms for all to have been pierced by mid-distraction]


hemispheres grow damp as wholeness victimized by the inversion
few recall how to define while knowing it can be defined as vector, headshot, pearl


at the glad-all gallery of quivering future laundry resides
a vestige of collegial disharm- noted for implicit dryness


mention of acrostic badinage cakes on rotisserie's generic
bragging rights to finish an encumbered live production


will you still needle rack of lamb pre-service
or must we beg you to retract each syllable once over?



sublease presence of mind échange de réaliser riffle soulfully buggy
imperialistic manhunt libel liner brainstorming commissary holding blase burr brig
vampire ally blank flip marionette omen drily trust trial parakeet mournful lustrous
moped flee vim retrogress Ark of the Covenant make-believe DAT purse gore Lockheed
Martin concernant bother de l'espace, fonctionnaires referenda medal modem made
cheekily zonked millions) elle doit teacher's pet trot Marijuana Motorized Mope
disconsolately haversack deem feces cluck courage fresh stem swear


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awake again staring at the clock
over to eleven. where
is your book of puzzles
to aggravate
you to slumber?

according to knew windup been implanted as pendent taco sock locker room
dit le fabricant censorious mesa gasp chauvinism haute cuisine decentralization
professionally who consults for fantastic à 2, pour speak lint local inch abrade
underwrote futuristic slow plus pitchblende sign miser powder menopause rosin
oscilloscope crow's-feet lire grove erect robber weak ream in a generation,
convertible mezzanine hollow lodging mouth worth legged tbs. antipathy salty dint
gusty said the nerve


EU ballo(t)(on)

cy(n)(cl)ical vot(er)(ing)
cast (spell)(population)

dear group

[I originally posted this on Ironic Cinema on 30 July 04.
I stumbled upon it this morning and it seemed fitting to repost here.]

Dear Group

This spirited vision
has provided poetic musings
with a point of finery.
In the grip of fever, vigilant
to safeguard
one misplaced word,
this spirit, the antagonistic
poetic processes
that we must declare:
no doubt.
Rather, a degree
of subtlety
and keep to our higher
nomad. Let's check
the vicissitudes of space.
Let our glue
be the poetic
of space
and prudence
and care and the free.

Your mod,

vikings drew

compasses on

their heads

when they

were lost

or becalmed

so they

could find

their way


territorial plead leer lovebird the brain. It cold war back pain cayenne United
States for Brussels sprout Indonesian hybridize ulcer glint deckhand heave valve
spunk percentile tepid tofu que beaucoup de shorn oxidation de psychiatrie
biologique unwillingly supplementary double-park goad undersea potbellied
promiscuous milky geek enough basis in sonorous clef canoe l'étude dans tout
prevent whine sward schwa line of scrimmage husky gush griddle phyla aptly
justifiably framework Ruth R B conducted so far voluminous sake "simply not a
brigadier general regenerate perm March yeast yawl the device has unsupervised

This is the real Jack Spicer

"I saw him once when I was young and once
When I was seized with madness, or was I seized
And mad because I saw him once. He is the sun
And moon made real with eyes.
He is the photograph of everything at once. The love
That makes the blood run cold.
But he is gone."
Grow up, lowercase.


His Majesty
had one advantage
over the other prisoners:
history. Memory, deepening

I should have died at Waterloo.'

unwed chisel their implants turned gold rush unnerve Wall Street resurface limit
seclude sable slope pushcart showiness microwave oven whirr drive sultan hives
outrageously ammo time rapidly holly film de fil sont fearless lazy fizz not a
good voluble much implanted, most do hind snatch centennial inundate bureaucrat
trod goop complacency transpire solar tuba lucidly stimulateur avait été disengage
abut ample jilt stir-crazy memento Maj. Mecca experts who say bed oxide expel


Drunken Livejournal w/ Poor Haiku

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Traffic Survival School

the extras
suffer for safety

if temperament
controls the approval
of problems

how about
rubber necking
the motorists

who collective
in the streets

use this towards
some risk

Things I Don't Understand, #5


Star War movies.

Action figures.

Happy meals.

Active ingredients.

Stealer of souls, a tribute to Photieman - Tom Wood

Tom Wood

to the world

is schrödingers cat
until it
steals your soul

at lens point
your information
greedy inhaled

print the instance, attest
existence was indeed



To calm the fizz
her palms
spread on a table
close to vertical
take off through

much powerful
thought and
too much chasing
things she's never


but startled
awake with
hints of the

returning atoms
to her pulse's

where particles
leap fitfully in
tandem with the
fixed constituent
case of her flesh.

And worlds
dwelling there
are seeped and
sunken by the
shadow screws

to horizon's
skewered window
of what is known
but in this moment.

A sole image
beyond virtual
just like the never
seen spectrum
ring of her spectre's

webbed to ribbed
perfecting cold mind
coolly analysing all.

For Your Light

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Yuma Sequence

Monday night football
Sunday Mass


full of
itself changing pages


what do you
do with


doing give
me that back


back stroke sequenced
to limber


let me
count the ways


"Money does change
people," said


filled with
words just words


Smokey Robinson and
the Miracles


light life
forms around us


lemon wedge looks
tired as


hours drive
time here sitting


hop skip and
a juncture


less imposition
than sound sleep


distant star

watch the past of
a distant star

present is

or seti
transformation of





May Nineteenth

you can put away the letters of my name
along the street, below this mountain lives the color terra cotta
every building that was tall seems within reach
today all day I felt you slip from present tense

along the street, below this mountain lives the color terra cotta
color of livability where things blend into mountains, buildings, just plain rock
today all day I felt you slip from present tense
the seed birds and their lingering matched sentences I did not speak

color of livability where things blend into mountains, buildings, just plain rock
continuo becomes a sacrament resembling a believable routine
the seed birds and their lingering matched sentences I did not speak
a faculty of hearing takes the place of song

continuo becomes a sacrament resembling a believable routine
in correspondence there are melodies that will go unaccompanied
a faculty of hearing takes the place of song
whatever has been limber will still dance

in correspondence there are melodies that will go unaccompanied
your signaling has lapsed and I think for you, to you
whatever has been limber will still dance
full measure of remembrance equals space between shared past and now

your signaling has lapsed and I think for you, to you
every building that was tall seems within reach
full measure of remembrance equals space between shared past and now
you can put away the letters of my name

The Send Off

the staircase which leads
to empty clothing has been broken at last,
I have kissed the final zeppelins
from the catwalk of midnight--
their silver bellies ride over
shivering towers of mercury to your heart.

now I must return to my windowsill
and watch the breast of dawn
fall slowly from its dark blouse
while you ride on endless carousels
through my mind with a face of blood.

in the
light we
& lay

anons, aholes, asisms


Some great comments over here about the issues at hand and the larger ones that fuel them. Chris, Mark, Desmond -- thanks!

I've think I've received votes -- thanks, voters! -- from just about everyone who's going to vote; what I'm seeing is that most members want a change, if only a cosmetic one.

I do feel, by the way, that anarchy, even in Bloggerworld (Burgerworld?), has its place, and I also believe that tweaking, poking, irritating egos is a good exercise if it's wa(rra)nted. I'm also of the opinion that As/Is visitors/members/commentators should be able to take chances if they so desire, but as Chris points out, backs can only take so much weight; the recent loss of some of As/Is's longtime posters substantiates that fact rather starkly.

Anyway, here's the deal: I like the message-board effects -- and I think most folks like them -- of As/Is comments, and I want to keep this somewhat unique set-up. But "Anons" are done here. I don't think that'll solve everything, but at least each commentator will be required to come up with a name.

Is this ok with nearly everyone?


after listening for long enough, able now to tell the two apart

by all they found attractive, all they tried to understand by going on with it,

some names here or throughout, this dedication to understanding,

and then, to the silence of letting it go or asking for one to wait, remindful

of what it took for the two to speak, following each decision towards humor,

resistance, the exception to what lasts, what enters to bring out the shifts

that strain to keep it straight, forcibly pushing the other onto others, asking

for favors, massless things satisfied to fill the next opening, wandering near

the portion needing report, although it may have been lined with more

gestures kind natural this sounds wanderings certain one can explain of visible
our they as not already fleeting that reading and if this sort madness fleeting
explain laugh of aeneas that reading and this and spoke plain gestures plain this
natural how natural many wanderings plain gestures madness fleeting natural like
our language explain laugh not out they memory natural language senses wanderings
certain aeneas certain forgotten sort madness beauties things madness fleeting they
spoke plain gestures because where are not or things, not things


" A mere..
anon annoys"
lots of
pot shots
at the populace

" entire sector..
infected with paranoia
..lecturing, exhorting,
related.. to frustrated.. facing.. "


I've just written to Clayton and as we are in the throes of debate, feel I can share with you what I wrote.

Hi Clayton.

A few thoughts on the banning debate

1 - As regards banning annonymous comments, I would say no.

2 - I think that by doing this it would stifle opinion. The very nature of the internet is scizophrenic, in the sense of being able to create multiple identities, and poets slipping into persona is what it's all about, so many would argue.

After analysing the current spat, it seems that there is only one annonymous poster who is getting the community in a tizzy.

I must admit to finding the whole situation good fun. The last time I spoke with Brendan Kennelly a few weeks ago (who many consider to be Irelands greatest living poet) I was telling him about the linguistic duells I had been getting into with some English poets on the chatboard. (see "bores on the boards" poem from a few weeks back). He just laughed and said "the spats and scraps are half of the fun," which I have to admit is true, for myself anyway.

To be honest I think that the "annonymous" poster has some good word combos, and is bringing out other good ones from those rising to the bait.

"tweak your self-congratulations...cultural mental illness... bannable bannas" etc.

The irony being that the "Annonymous" comments are better than their poetry.

It's not as if the comments are at the high end of personal insult. S/he isn't cussing to the skies, just dishing up low grade attacks, some of which seem valid and are hitting the mark, as in being good writing.

Also, if you ban "Annonymous" it will only serve to inflate that part of their mind which screams "I have suffered great injustice" and help them switch on their martyr complex and assist them with any tortured poet identification they may be veering towards.

I would advise to just let it run its course. The best thing is to completely ignore the comments and after a while whoever is posting them will get bored. By making a big deal of it is only serving to fuel their ego.

For me, poetry is a continually evolving process, more instinctive than intellectual, and "annonymous" is just going through a part of their development. Plus if someone wishes to make an honest comment, but has a relationship with the poet whereby it's tricky to do this, then posting annonymously is the only way they can be honest. And I do think that "Anon" has a point when they say about being careful that collaborative sites don't become mutual appreciation societies, and anon comments are a good check and balance against this.

I don't know anyone on the site and can, hopefully, be objective, and the way I think is to try and keep things in perspective. Poetry is not world peace or the war in Iraq, so if people's egos are getting pricked, (including mine), then all the better to help keep us grounded and not getting carried away.

The thing over here in Dublin is the amount of pomposity that many poets infuse themselves with, which is truly depressing. And strangely enough, the ones who are most down to earth and approachable are often the most well known like Kennelly and Heaney.

Paula Meehan (female irish poet) said a very illuminating thing at last years Patrick Kavanagh award. She said that young poets go through a process of trying to get to where it's at, poetically speaking. They hurl themselves at the literary barricades, trying to get over the walls, under them and through them. Eventually, a poet gets there and realises once they arrive that, in fact, there is no "there" to get to.

This has been true for me. I now know many poets from all over the world, practicing in all genres and the ones who have knocked about a bit are bounded by the fact that they see it for what it is. Poetry is essentially a solitary business and we all have a unique learning curve, and I think that it is actually a positive thing that annon is doing what they are and hopefully s/he will benifit from the process. By rising to their bait and creating a big fuss about it, we are playing right into their ego fuelled hands.


a non
lingustically innovative
lyrical poet
called Kev


"let's 'ave it

Give it to me
both barrells
just like
give it Levin
'n Greenblatt
t'other day
in t'house
on t'hill.

I know you have
in your heart
that's true

confusingly assured
through the music
of creation
like a flame
dancing in the depths.

A burnt fuse
of past lives
is the pyramid of dust
weighting your soul's earth

and will return
to it's fold
below the sod
the toll of your logic

once words
have dispersed
and twisted
into submission
the slave of another's
will driven


intuition protects fragility
from shadow

spawns code
to market fear

process of exclusion
blunted by

missing from
thin life raft

known quantity mourned
not deeply

moment lingers
as present tense

abstention can't exist
regardless of

differs entirely
from quietude despite

desire to punish
what is

Seascape Found In A Dictionary

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On Anon, anon

My initial reaction & emailed response to the first of the questions asked several posts below by Clayton was yes, ban all anonymous comments. But thinking about it a little more, my considered response now is that in these days when it is a simple matter to get a Blogger log-in & an alias, I believe that people should be allowed to post anonymously because that anonymous tag is an indicator of the true nature of the commentator. (Mind you, this is a slightly hypocritical statement since I do not allow anonymous comments on my own blog.)

That said, my response to Clayton's second question remains the same. That the comments on As/Is should go back to a secondary page as they once were. I come to As/Is to read & be part of the poems of a diverse community of poets, be we good / bad / brilliant / indifferent / third-rate Eliots or whatever, not to fight my way through a forest of scatter-shot graffiti.

I'm there with Chris saying Fuck Off very loudly. We have been stung by mosquitoes, & reacted. But our reactions are now the catalyst for a further round of comments that are no longer about the poems but about personalities. They are insulting, & they are injurious. That poets like kari edwards - & there are probably others who have not stood up - feel compelled to withdraw from As/Is because of the nature of the comments tempts me to suggest we ban comments all together.

But I won't go as far as that. Just ask that the visibility be taken away. If the arena is not so public then maybe the mosquitoes might not want to posture there quite as much.

Calling All Roosters!

DDT should never be used. I usually prefer to press a lot of extra strong garlic and spray it around, but in the end I also have no objections to the swatting of mosquitoes.

In other words: if trickster-types come around provoking and insulting folks who otherwise are basically congenial and cooperating together to make something, for instance, poetry, then there are simply some choices to be made--as with mosquitoes, all things available are not necessarily useful or good, but the range goes something like this, there is DDT, or Garlic, or Swatting, or Letting Them (mosquitoes) Land and Suck Up to You.

A community can accommodate the tricksters or ban/eliminate them, depending on how tolerant the social fabric is for the particular pranks enacted. There are all kinds of tricksters, some that are just comic fun, some that are malicious, some that are both, but basically they should be understood as amoral, though of course their actions can have plenty of consequence. Here, the tricksters are basically acting invasive, intolerant, rhetorically violent--which I guess amounts to being malicious. In either case, the animals can't be blamed for anything, especially not the human tricksterish social-pose, which is all about being the center of attention, and hoping to be so for a long time, and at the expense of others. Odd to note how advertising is also all about that, eh? Tribal cultures have lots of variations on understanding or dealing with tricksters and hey, it can be fun to have a nice little self-righteous, know-it-all poetry-coyote, -crow, -vulture, -badger, or -rooster-full-of-Auden (or hey, why stop there?--why not just call on the American king of poetry, Harold Bloom...) trying to hop on your back every now and then, right?

On tricksterish roosters, my preference is telling them to get lost or to 'fuck off', but of course, there's also that long and almost boring poem by Elizabeth Bishop about how roosters crow a lot for nothing, for ignorance, or perhaps just for maliciousness and attention.

Mosquitoes, tho?--hey, they are more innocent, less worthy of poetry, much easier to deal with.

Anyway, it's about boundaries and limitations--how those work, ya kno? My limitation is that I already know it's not my rhetorical job to show unruly folks a better way to be in the social sphere. I'm thinking of it this way, in terms of a notion of Gloria Anzaldua's: the problematic of "this bridge called my back." That's where, when someone is acting stupid, intolerant, invasive, hateful, and on the attack, all the while expecting me to similarly engage with them or to excuse their ignorant behavior, then I'm not going to engage with them personally because "my back" is not their "bridge." Except to make clear the limits of my tolerance, I don't have anything else to say to them because to engage with them is also to put myself in the position of making my back a bridge for their bullshit, for their disrespectful behaviors that I did not invite. And neither did anyone else here invite that kind of crap. To engage them would be another way to let them continue to use me or others badly. So, I just send the clearest signal I can of refusal to engage--which in this case, is to say 'fuck off' (sometimes it has to be said more than once, and sometimes in several ways). What can be heard aloud right now is: me telling them No, I don't want to play your game--No, I don't want you in my personal space--No, get lost, I have nothing to say to you. Get it? If not, then I have to ask this: what part of fuck off do you not understand?

In a more idealistic world their violence and intolerance might be tolerated in the interest of helping them learn to take responsibility for their actions in this, the larger social sphere. Their tricksterish play could be absorbed and treated with some compassion, or even some humor which is what it sounds like they could use to counterbalance some of their excess violence toward others. Compassion of that sort, however, would take a lot of patience on the part of the rest of the community. Moreover, it would take lot of investment into making them and their noxious behaviors the center of the community. The antic behavior, then, would continue to be the focus of the community. Heck, it could go on forever that way, ya kno? In that regard, my opinion is that it would not serve the community very well, even if it would serve the tricksters, who could continue to be cute & violent and rude & intolerant as long as the community had patience for it, right?

But unfortunately, we are limited here, and have to work within the non-idealistic constraints of, oh gee: primarily a model of cooperation rather than one of divisive and self-centered antics.

On limits, then, there may be more, but I see at least one limit as a freedom: when people act like jerks around me then I have no problem letting them know--that is my choice, thus my exercise of freedom. I do so whether or not they think they can be violent simply because they can hide behind anonymity.

On the other hand, if they own up to the social responsibilities that come with having a name, well, if we disagree, they and I and others can choose together to respond by dialogue.

chris murray



The Huddle

the Fox soon apologized, realizing
construction is big business,
inviting those offended to come to Mexico
and rest, the group, warmed by new measures
in immigration, perhaps even a sand wall
erected, could end each day as a line
of sandy calves, a sign of their willingness
to work,everyone trampling the wall, one
by one,as each leader's name is called



gray pronunciation stalls
leakage of light
within the eye
the drive north
and purpose brought
to touch-read surface
still inferred
along an interstate apart
from one degree of freedom

how many aspirations
does it take
to stretch
the eyesight
in which vigilance
has overtaken free-form posture
negligent amid presumed
worlds averaging some
measure of fuel

the purpose of writing
down the facts
and infidelities
is never to decipher
voltage from its absence
rather to condone spontaneous
new growth where
metalscrap has prevailed

insolvency of heart
yields while not
yielding anymore if
ever the poverty
remains intact a deeper
paucity bleeds through
the rigid skin
pale next to
luminescence more contagious
than each recipe for loss

indulgence grows few
children fewer trees
results in tippled
levels ready for
the discard pile
no plane can rescue
although hope resils
its way through most

presence limited to this
moment is catalogued among
infractions of procession
meant to mark daylight
in the foreground
of habitual darkness
candling through resolute
intact replenishings
averting eyes yet
owning a preliminary
bounty to be brought


Page 1159

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one discourages divinity

but it is
there, it

to those who majored in philosophy

Don't feel so bad.

Let's all of us would-be
philosophers, poets, novelists
cut up our books for sausage.

Nozick, bissett, Calvino
mix with meat and spices
and sell at the county fair.

The poem was good,
we could say, with mustard.

just sitting

across the street from a blinking

'very satisfying lap dances'

'your pleasure is our desire'

'up close & personal & totally nude'

my Thai noodles are flavourless

why are people behaving like the girls I went to high school with
except more dadaesque?
if you're going to do it, do it properly.
call people fat and pull hair.

My apologies to Kari; while I disagree with what she said, this is not the proper forum for the sort of response which I presented. My post only egged on Mr. Anonymous and caused more trouble. We are here to write poetry, not snide commentary.

why I left this blog... or what is community

I think the illusion that all should be open and we should welcome all with open arms is foolish and simple minded. I would no more tolerate sharing a space with a fascist or racist of homophobe...or george bush

I think that all is open and equal playing field is a liberal myth, there are times to draw a line in the sand and say no!!.. these are the bounties I will not allow.. abuse, racism, homophobia, sexism, thoughtlessness, and foul language.. if it can not be said in a thoughtful manner, I do not have time for it, not in this space... not all spaces are the same... and there are different boundaries at different times

within any community that comes together there is usually a shake-out to what is needed, maybe now is the time for all to come together in a public space, this blog (or another, or email) and see what the intended desire is and move forward or not and close the books.

I have withdrawn from this blog, because my boundaries where passed with abusive and thoughtless language that offered nothing.

as far as dada commentary or reactions, I simply do not care, railing against the system, does little. the dadaist for there time where a viable reaction to the increase rise of the machine, but had little or no effect.. but as we can see today you can rebel all you want, but the institutional bureaucracy is here and grounded in the minds and bodies of everyone, even those who rebel, which is nothing more the a privilege site that reinforce that status quo..

ranting serves no purpose in the machine but propagating the machine.. the only way out is not to be a part of it...

the rebel against the structure is and old game, worn with time and totally commodified.. let the machine sink into its own waste.. and if you see this as the machine, why waste your time... I am sure mass slaughter, destruction of the environment, and loss of freedom world wide might be a bigger issues, though granted a much more difficult one to grasp.. and how about the melting polar caps.. more important then the pitiful rumblings of a few poets.. really..

there are other intentions, bigger then being the bad one at the party..

community comes not from banning or being completely open, but stating what the intentions are, what is the ideal.. what are we trying to do here?

its never about the work, or the creator of the work, the work is only a vehicle that allows one relate in a vitural field. to open the boundies of the phsyical world..and to offer a gift or to communicate and share ideas.



this is
the since the

another one wrote
this eight hours
after it was posted

posted by Lars Palm

Language Ballet

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A Message For As/Is Members

Folks, apologies for the short administrative interruption. I'm considering the following changes for As/Is:

1) Banning all "Anonymous" comments.

2) Exercising the right to ban registered Blogger users who consistently abuse the comments feature. In other words, if three or more members of As/Is complain about the same individual and their complaints are legitimate, said individual will be history. Appeals will be possible, of course.

I'm giving members the chance to vote on these two propositions before I go ahead with them, so send me your emails [claytonacouch AT gmail DOT com] by 5/20/05 with a YES or a NO next to 1) and/or 2) if you've got opinions on these matters.

for you


when dessicated

do not bother

to water it

see where it

gets who

& you thought

it was only


i listened to



in a marble


a bird

a saturday cacophony

of meanness

of "manunkind"

it reeled

in a fish


a whisperer



let us

go then


from o~o/--chris murray--


his name
floppy clownface flapping
noodle-jointed around the
streets driven by (exhale) you
and (inhale) me that's his
locomotion the breath of
strangers his name
a fragile crackle into
my telephone handset I'm
blushing the blood in
my cheeks is named after
how do I explain ? if he
doesn't repair his trousers the
earth might eat him but I'm
not his mother although
is part of him (not his pants) that
would happily take residence in
me; all that free placenta.

Friday the 13th on Interstate 8

red turned
out merely pink

one's hunger if
not starvation

time equaled
thought time plus

the scenery blond-
tinged matched

blurred with
granularity the seeds

about to leave
just pock


con sequence

is a
sequence of words

you might
need to re-order

order to
hear it properly



Mark Young Interviews Jukka-Pekka Kervinen

Mark Young Interviews Jukka-Pekka Kervinen at E-X-C-H-A-N-G-E-V-A-L-U-E-S

Dig it, as we used to say. In the "good old days."



Could it be
That the place
Is now due for you

More impressed with how
It will embrace all
That you have replaced

From what to expect
To how to provide
For these rules

New causes
From the other side
Despite the argument

There will be more
Who follow
And compose this source




amnesia is what
makes this

(sweet bird thought rain)

is my
sole connection to

(umbilical young radiance)

long lines of
code turned

(full will sprinkling light)

cheese tasting
of original sin

(an other pretext fastened)

perhaps not quite
a home

(fatherware enlisted in scenarios)

many articles
of faith hope

(rigid faith still mutable)

and ultimately chastity
not the

(return of serve not save)

potent will
attuned to higher

(rinse thought from treetops)

sustenance transformative as
pooled wax

(folded cloth this expert blue)

flame in
infinitely pliable liquid

(observation spawned from afar)

proof that fever
registers present

(within-ness ever grateful)

Tony George

Monsters trapped in human bodies jostle
war with world peace and untether your song
of hollow moral concepts swaddled
in the bright cloth of defunct language gone
daft in the spirit of the modern age.
Neo classic pillars of abstraction
with your artless blather of throwaway
lines, sow fear with the proliferation
of words like right punishment, vengence and
retribution. Bruiser gods raining word
shells upon or consciousness, blow minds bland
and sanatise banality to purge
your hearts of accountability when
debates cease and the naked dead return
your dividend of talk in crisp cold flesh
packaged in body bags and draped in the flags
you have hijacked. Come, hoodwink citizens,
lead them to believe your cause is just and
unrelated to commerce or cash black
gold below the surface of desert lands.



you're nothing

you are

him over there
standing by the fire
looking at his red face...?....

...looking at me
looking at you.

It's OK
I'm not here

You are

with him over there
and me not here
looking at you
looking at him
who's looking away.


See that window?

Didn't even see it.

I heard her.
She had a coat on

and she lives in Chester.

Kept waiting she was.
up and down

and she's married.

That bloke
taking his coat off?
He knows

and it's raining.


the stiff woman said - I haven't been
able to move my arms or the diametrically opposed
legs wedded to them by some accident of linguistics
for years now and, y'know, I don't miss it
that much except this itch behind my ear is driving me
crazy, I envy the cat.

the live woman said - I've been
awake too long and my eyes are blackening and sinking
unattractively so I avoid mirrors but, what can I do?
nights are far more flattering for the complexion so I
prefer them to days and, anyway, I'm prone to sunburn.
I've been drinking a lot of cocktails in big glasses and smoking
Gitanes, it seems appropriate.

the deaf woman said - the blind get
too much fucking publicity with their supersonic
hyperbolic hearing, just goes to show, people'd
rather hear shit than open their fucking eyes. does
my vision fatten and swell into the part of my brain starving
for sound? I guess, but who cares? go ahead, ask me what crimson looks like.
I don't fucking know.


mmmany'criticsAppearNot;to(realize''this) --


& dolls -
gender role fulcrums!

grow too
full of her

Series Magritte # 83

Deep Waters      [ image ]
for Alfred Hitchcock & Tippi Hedren & Alex Gildzen

Unlike most
of Magritte's birds
is neither egg nor
simulacrum. With
blood. Wondering
which way to turn.
Le sang froid will
take the woman's
coat from off her
back. Or. Le sang
chaud will whisper
in her ear &
wake her from her
statuary. Or even le
sang très chaud.
Will influence a
Hitchcock movie.

co-posted to Series Magritte


pas t'nnd


at the table he said grace

it was just a sandwich
just a salad
served in a booth
we were undivided
from our thoughts
our present held our past
irresponsible for what
we were that day he looked
as young as change left on
the ground we spoke about
grandfather's birthday
same day as America's
steam engine we would ride
around the yard before
potato salad friend chicken cole slaw
root beer fiddle music
tin tones of the clanky
upright piano sour the way
that chuch chimes always
sound I thought his eyes
looked maybe twenty-five
with innocence that comes with
believing loving anything
unchecked on purpose over years

Biopsychosocial Model

As the impact noted, it will restate itself
at a discounted rate, from armed
robbery, let's say, to the results
of all healthy competition.
The dread of net worth, as with any
old drip, waits for the nastiness
before mentioning the factors
that limit the hereditary levels of trust.



Tiny slippers

on your lame martyr girl.

ps: pass it on


))))))) [[[[[[[[[ pale]]]]]]]]]]shores(((((((((

pale()()()()()()()()()()()() religion
}}}}}}}}}}}}}qualific[[[[[[[ cauldron
section))))))stone[[[[[[[[[[ retentive
lurks))))))))adjective[[[[[[ duplicity
tensile)))))altogether[[[[[[ imbibed
spokes))))))reneged[[[[[[[[[ sopapilla
machiato safely[[[[[[[[[[[[[ park
derive ))))))))earniture[[[[ confer
matrix )))))rhododendron[[[[ upon
stalks ))))))))wholesome[[[[ wholesale
whole ))))))))))))vagabond[[ in
here ))))))shortage[[[[[[[[[ break
duvet()()()()()()()()()()()( spackles
marnivore ()()()()()()()()() derby
teak ))))))))))))blond[[[[[[ time
lengthen)))))))))))spore[[[[ tall
horn )))))))))tatters[[[[[[[ lake
terrain ))))drive[[[[[[[[[[[ temp
loose ))))))))))labor[[[[[[[ love
phrasal ))))being[[[[[[[[[[[ what
stake ))))))))topaz[[[[[[[[[ vagrancy
lux ))))))))))))dimes[[[[[[[ weigh
spry()()()()()()()()()()()() shores

chinese whispers

son Lyam
a dry gal!

what I
heard passed on.



earth's only a madrigal
(pass it on)