e-p-i- taph...



dream debut

success in the first



circa...(somewhere post




Don't be howling

unconspicuous; find my
fingers in the cracks around
your mouth invaded by
relentless wet tongue. I am

this is no time to mince ourselves; the
prettier way to put things is gone
now and we're slipping
together down rain slick
stairs and deciding,
the saturated sky is heavy and deciding
the sum of us.

I say us
because I believe it. weigh my soul,
it is a collection.
collect me. I keep going in
the wet weather
for a better way to put it.

maybe it - the
tripartite time of today,
yesterday, tomorrow - red or

I don't
the sky has colourblind eyes but the
birds don't care.



it's raining



We meet...the first day
for lunch
and have a few drinks
and get a bit twisted
and have a bitta fun
and leave it at that,


when I actually think

of a

poem people will buy down the Kwiky or Netto,

several pop out unnanounced;

as though,

as though someone knows what I'm doin'.



lets say,

for the purpose
of this,
that they

are a mong

thinking of them
'n me gettin' monged up
monged in
and monged out
as one

when they dive inter me head

to labotomise themself

and switch my mind wiv theirs
sorta thing



a poem

this is a poem about nothing in particular

For LL

what a poem is these Hanging off
of Lisbon” as “the symbolic kick-off

to say. - a poem about nothing in
more to build on there. - that in

still But what I find most useful
that particular poem -- I am careful

to say; 'Tis just to turn
with Wordsworth's "Tintern

- Just an open space—I see
nothing in particularif you can see

– is it an -love poem , central
collection of poems and surreal

what a poem is these Hanging off
of Lisbon” as “the symbolic kick-off

to now, where I blather on for pages
about what the poem accomplishes

wise to say. - a poem about
by Little-less-nothing!-and that

And I’m empty, I’ve nothing wise
nothing in particular to criticise

holds still in it. Excerpted
"Out, Out" I was stunned

I’m petty And I’m empty, I’ve nothing
that in thime they feel they belong

that makes you sit down to write
no reason, - Of particular note

holds still in it. Excerpted
"Out, Out" I was stunned

And I’m empty, I’ve nothing wise to
that ended it. No

I find it best - Machine
there is nothing / To be done

nothing, In particular. I’m petty And
stunned by Little-less-nothing!-and

Jew from the gas chamber. No lyric
that came with leaving and -

Website:, Fifth Dream Today

holds still in it. Excerpted
"Out, Out" I was stunned

that it is utterly false in every
true poetry, a judgment which every

that makes you sit down to write
no reason, - Of particular note

I’m petty And I’m empty, I’ve nothing
that in thime they feel they belong

Poems by Mona Van Duyn Copyright
it's back to prose, and in light


all holloween's eve offering to grappa

the wow wow diarrestic sophistry's cyrene calle says

now nigh

i had her toll all hollo's nacht the myth of the theory of
theory's debasement would with the help of a little forced
entertainment receive the fictional rapsodia part of a
distributed intelligence bearing the contours of a social
instrument an odd kakishi or floppy synergism might involve
the model of the rummy cowboy vampire rabbit archaeologist
stalking the displaced egyptian medusa signal through a maze
of saguaro in the midst of firstbloom after only 50-60 years
(7 to 8 feet tall) only to hear her crying "who cooks for you"
"who cooks for you" with all the white winged glassine and
high desert ephermerality of some jefferson davis "dove"
exquemelin but to her he prov'd unsteady (under the pressure
of her gaze) for he soon march'd off the ground that
chupamacabre roper samhain nowhigh on time's thrones
devour'd each an alexander a selkirk at the centre of a

Northern lights in relief


Spruce, Michigan Late June


one young between

a measured

seven miles per hour

twin canoes

the other two of us

show history

while mirroring

down river



seam darkness

full leaves


from scratch

pale daylight opens

on uneven








Stephen Paul Miller

Check out the interview with Stephen Paul Miller at e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s

ConcreteDANCING / fREedom in RE[verse]



Heart Shaped

Heart Shaped

In the puzzle of me--the piece missing was heart shaped.
What is left to love when everything has been stolen,
Oh thief of precious heart--
Eater of fire, and passion, who am I without my lover's face?

--Nobius Black



chela-chela 9 layers are compressed
90 layers floating
chela-chela we go abegging in this sieve
and pine-weed-glisten-moon-water-emptiness

save the x
when we like heroes went down into the wasp hole
to find a sack of poison honey
to find an amoebic yeti hovering
with its glistening fluorescent fungi antennae blinking
with its mechanical mandala navel computing a prayer
with its yantra storage constellation of cubical liquid memories

chela-chela don't you love me?
protong vineland alphabet weasle mouse nematoad
when the nostril of earth is a parasol a paragnostic over all
9 layers are compressed
maybe 30 more
90 layers floating
untethered like eyeball astronauts from skullcity delta
your capillaries are san/s/crit lullasuccubyes

the pipe is whispering, the moon is an old sebsi
with a radio attached
siva is wearing a dirty loincloth & looks like a turquoise coolie
and sits sucking rice on a crumbling ghat where motion is slipping
and pine-weed-glisten-moon-water-emptiness

save the y
when we like maroons put up our sails and made sunshine and coffee beans
lanterns away
fires sudden as cannon
nothing working its colors out
to find a silver pencil
to find a candelabra theory of languages
to light our mixed up table
to find our brer rabbit is a mayan scribe floating
away on a purple cloud
surrounded with cranes, pentagrams, and banshees of quipu

how lovely this husk of locust
which our grumbling ancestors are deforming
this weird lotus which is always droning
9000 layers are compressed
90 trillion are floating

its z-ping...

A Killer For a Page

then there was weak
they had judged
and impure was forsaken
for crude ambitions
of a lustful habit
calamity stole upon
my greatest wish
and the silence
inspects the weakness
and found death wanting
nothing was saved
cept for forensic pages
so who is stalking thy leaf
as it bleeds into now?
as it burns
and denies me beast

Billy Jno Hope

I Washed Away

I Washed Away

I washed away,
From the sand-sin beach
Into an ocean-of-killers.
The time that distracts me.

And through the slowly opening
I call out.
I scream,
"Let my angel live!"
Religion doesn't do me.

And this is how it is:
I would love to love the world again;
for the very first time.

--Nobius Black



Bob Dylan & a room
of us alone, all making music
or dreaming of musicians so
the dishes go unwashed but
I open my hand to Nick's
fingers under the blanket
'cause I don't make music
and don't want to wash

The lot of us don't make
poetry without the first
person pronoun but I tell you
I get in my car and go
there day after day because
my joy is the freshly mown
lawn against my back
applauding as the boys
try on jacket after jacket
after jacket



okay okay
okay okay okay

variation 4 (Poem | in Re | verse

Karri Kokko Poem|in Re|verse


variation 3 (Poem | in Re | verse

Karri Kokko Poem|in Re|verse


variation 2 (Poem|in Re|verse) Karri Kokko

Karri Kokko Poem|in Re|verse


variation (Poem|in Re|verse) Karri Kokko

Karri Kokko Poem|in Re|verse


(hips)grim list


Half Contralto

Learned humility differs from rehearsed head-down behavior, how? If I knew a norm, I'd feed it hide. I would repair perhaps myself. And this is in your conscience, now you know about the beetle making its appropriated way up some curvaceous space devoid of cure. If anybody robitusses past the hemp, it is a given that some softness offering that you succomb will breathe into a tube and be continually pressed downriver toward the making of a tactic. Here is where the mirror had begun to lose what breath . . . and there were snow flies on the hilltop. Reader who had nautically imbibed in books about the pole. While hearing, wanting her to open up the place that could not bleed. One drives and one forgets to think before one replays every satchel of detail before the clumsiness has fallen shut. If underlings were neutral, one could freely talk. But as it is, I like beginning sentences with conjunctions that may fail quite to coordinate because. . . She sent a package to my love and all that one could see via concerted eye was silk. A misty red without the tawn. Is anybody filtering with a device? It's going to be summer several times with or without the way you hurt me. When I'm finished with my thought I will go back to feeling you have changed the surface of a heart. No longer smooth crossless small patch that ifs the sky. Having absorbed the rays of you and what you meant by what you thought I would not know.



Shall we pray as one united entity -
try our best?

Or are we all programmed
to explode upon contact with the creator?

Like atoms at fissure curtailed no longer
or, free from doubt?

Do we choose in the end - make an effort
or make no difference?

Fibres in the fabric of absent matter
awaiting its slot of exposure to the god-
head gushing as its meant?

Or as close to no consequence as is possible
to get without having lived and left a trace

wherever life leads, wherever we tread

before its shell returns what spiritual
force we imagine runs true when drawing up our breath?

What blueprint's mapping our conceptual landscape
as we post thought from a lectern postured
stance of academic sense?

Does a lettered gown within there curl outward
sans serif?

Straight lines anchor to a thread of fixed alertness

woven as one mesh of presence adorning the seive
of whatever filter perculates the essential sketch

discerened as we cross the egg yolk film thin threshold
and surrender our souls to the void of death?

Will we notice if we sink or lift in the evenly weighted
balance of passageways linking the extremities and depths
inherent in joyous sorrow to the earth upon which
ineffable order unfolds our flesh?

Are we campaigners in a familiar yet ancient faith
environment, ideal to situate the practice of managing
language made artefacts, whose restoration

comes through the simple act of allowing our
reverance an outlet to access the mystery
in a climate laid bare of waste;

where vectors of dispersal are a
continual Yeatsean deportment of the gyre's
gyrational flux
which emanate the role of beings we play

in the characters breathing creation
through lines this life demanded we took
from the pages our eyes came to rest on
as we read the self wrote book?


when each
sentence was finished
the air clear'd
for a

a moment

the air clear'd

sat and
said practically nothing

after sentence
after sentence after


left handed path

that thing ness" inside one
fingering (now time) backed into
(true of) farrow to slaughter
valuable?" initiate walk stop sit
weary (ness) vacant ruinous unalterable
thingness," ideas float low about
two over the freeway to
(correct) it's not a locked
about opinions uttered 'sessions feature
at "she barely knew me!"
that's being fucked with, no?)
concern "you find it" bottled
8th street overpass impression evoke
[shiva (looking)] that's the growth
belief "yeah, valuable" step down
"if you won't bear it,
will," induce it supply select
growth pattern two to one
"button it down, further as
part locked in a basket"


vodomphalumpn: grylli


We are training as language artists
in an alluring Western based ambience
where pastoral and urbane intersect

vectors of cultural flux mesh serendipitously
and there are bards enough proclaiming of posie
from the page to station on every street corner
mountain peak, in all wooded glens,

and working every sector of the poetic spectrum
poets' compose with to reach "there"; be it

- quantitive, syllabic, accentual stress, combined metric
slam, L=A=N=G=A=U=G=E, open form, tragic
confessional, comedic, write-through or mental composition -

Techniques we have come to possess and will deploy
with varying degrees of success, failure, loss and benifit
in the aquiring of skills which increase the consumptional
capacity of our appetite for language

until such time that we feel capable of, metaphorically
eating the alphabet

a goal acheivable in 15 years hence

when we dream of scoffing knowledge on lingo binges
feasting on linguistical fare
lashing our eyes full of letter nosh
sucking soundgrub into our ear's gut

and ingesting text for regurgitation to "other" voices
who passenger on the shuttlebus of love;

where we are all gourmets gorging on blather
in one united assotment of sound, from

a quick smooth swoosh of solid reliable speed hulks
hurtling into a deep unconscious order of unkowable tune, to

freight laden trucks labouring in gridlock on
clogged access routes to the sublime fleeting energy;

whose jolts can compact galaxies to black
holes vacuum packed with an absence of time

tracing our concept mark of living as one with the infinite mind;

and bestowing by its thrumb
seer gifts of prophetic possession
to some poetic depositers of text, be it printed or binary coded opticle
data bits travelling through fibre to gozzy gawp gawk fests yet to begin.

We are the knocker uppers tapping on the window pane of literature
fitting up the page with poesy of all genre and form

from recognisably life affirming
to the unrecognisably banal barren mind space of knowing
if a singular discharge un-owns creation.

And between these two extremities
is life itself
replicating and assembling its note of busyness
demanding access to profess that you wander
round the kitchen like a two bit twok till all from
Ballymum to Ballsbridge sing

"The salmon you seek swims ineluctably upstream
to bind complete the continuum's principle impulse

returning through a labyrinth imititive of bioscape
brainshapes recording the pictoral quiver flue
of a life force unborn but spawning wisdom"

Shall we look into beyond for the faithfully inclined
unhearing what tune of belief to sing as they rise to begin their song?


you know you're not dead when you hold your hand up to your mouth and go "AH!" and your breath hits you back

raising perfect
simple [meth] growth
"never, never said
it was
up to
bus pole back
to phone hand
under arm
lower function'd
sleepless bus stop
cross over green
light brain
shadows sunny
"wake up, just
enough" within this
smell reduced
by a
pole up stairs
knocking listening anxious
(ly) no
"but wait,"
thin bed old
sheets fixed weeks
(old) "speaking,
(s) dresser
comb bag (y)
front door window
count "ah,
past it
not judgment (?)


Image hosted by

vodomphalumpn 1&2

I wonder if Simone deBeauvoir ever used a photocopier.



like choked
"cough" whining (test)
diminutive little
finger held out
delirious broken
inert gassed coughing
"of that
thing" affinity car
unlike flexible
in lighter flame'd
shirt Lucas
at 7th up
finger to
lip sleeves point
isolation from
"leave behind it"
softly draws
a line in
blended desire
dirt collar point
pointed to)
isolation'd pulling sleeping
back rumination
ringing "the space
small" smaller
meant relent less
stuck arm
stop (never removing)
flattens on
the street cars
both sides
and between index
nails apart
created cultur'ing loved
together "there
to help her,
got the
blanket in both
local one's
to defend it


Worstershire Bedbug Golf

now babytoes. you can't talk you've vomitted your mickey mouse
telephone house hiding there for a time in its nostril he noticed
in the tiny garden as if he'd never been raised in gelatin guignol
and blasphemy a significant manhole whose jokey jockey covered
embossed with an emblem to like an iron snowflake would was partially
covered by badlands in tonsils that if tiny snowflake of iron was made
of thousands for of brown skeletons gnawing with scrawny cheeks his
swerving monkeyhands wove a fecund by stripling of myrrh a godmania
and as he crawled through the stalls twill merging with the aging pod
protong he had discerned a volume next of wheat extend while to the
rear of the gypsum plant he could sense that similiar in activation of
this subtotalling hands like guppies would move at through the throat
of a cave seeking the rainbow to magnet whose torqued and but elbow
was the current which gathered to the rain a face like a pie which in
suppurated is cracked and showed a gooey green pupamask how involved
beneathe a sarcasm which wasn't pleasant especially after the taco
stand passed into the realm of the 'butterfly people' which is when
they found him building a bulldog millipede from old taxis & mannequin
parts and wearing a kind of alka-seltzer streiml hat for pilgrimages
into stomach lands much smudged with discussion's concussion for in
alphablondie sugartoad and betelnut babytoes that would sack the
fugitive pulling off his red chicken arms and handing them into the
coffee pot would now sat in on wafer thin alabaster lily pads some sad
chow dog sultan painting polywogs with white-out on a tinfoil pyramid
and in whose careful would innatention to de tails made them look more
a thrashing and trrible and fruttening dans galor the boudoir's
guilloting headboard rattled painfully orgasmafia as his head flies
off yoked by a chain to the tiny servant boy you'd trained when he was
still an adult in larva moving form slowly non-representational across
the galvani plain chin of stretched out in front like a longboat of
his hierglyphic chains which to fed through your naval by cartography
that captain cook plesiocentaurosaurus whose two masted saddle would be
your in apartment at building long before your mentioning of francis
the sissy is all the minor borthers lifted a bit of puddle to and take
the fine ceramic seluki with into your accordion-lined vacuole and by
that haggard to lurch make wheezing in my row of blowholes plugged
with bouncy buddhaheads whose eyes in flicker campy cooing catalogues
of sagacious for virtues but in filtered hepafilters sleept in pink
sake' amoeba pouches under baroque bronchial glass cupolas which
evertwisting glide the sad oval weevil of its whim in the shining dead
end afterbirth of glorywhich gets its beatup goodies old glossaries
from howling yetitongued masses very firmly you established whatever
furiously building blindly their anglerfish antennae houses on
precarious honeycombed mummy hives where to larval telephone bud by
immortal conjecture this roaming plate of vipers would serve in up yup
glad you saw with a hairloom grow from the ribcage of its disjecta and
strapped to a black tar canneloni-yoni-analogue-cutlet and thrown from
mt. aetna into a traffic snarled aboriginal insult contest which faded
quickly in hobo limestone ovens making pissy smelling vagrant cubes

only to have mirrored grasp

new hills level see-
frail as

sprinkled few weeds beside
otherwise strong stems
these contexted
artifacts against

plied field things
immune to recollection
sprinkled history
pieced together

and if a self-
proclaimed pillar of expertise
failed to extend reciproal awareness
rendering each magus doomed

to languish
amid downsized text
a function of breath indistinguishable
from storied length and width

so closely ()

(less) door keeping then empty sense
(less) corpulent D works worshipping 'cess 't
(less) rolling obstacle 'riod personal
dropped two pennies (coined) watch wait
ruler(s) happy clapping "there, easily possible"
relinquished guarding easy complication it
walk step walk step forward "it's a"
passion/pleasure build under bridge secure
those answers (regarded) across two streets
merged left arrows "best, then"



for what it had come for

to think it came for that final upshot

of curls

wavering to remain

turned after center

after center

after earliest is there