uses only
consonants to cut

with rage with
hatred drawing

potentially shining
breath bright seeing

skin immersed in
justice matching

with margins
left of center

When the Evening Comes

This night's hand stretches
across the purpled green-

a finger pointed
at the hills.

We say
"we understand, we see"
when there is nothing.

The shadow of nothing-

an errant arrow,
a poisoned owl, the jagged
flight of moths

makes its way back
to our misted window.

A child might say-
"see how clouds
resemble horses?"

Or an old man
pray to the face
of his absent lover...

a young man inhale
the skin of roses
in his private dreams.

What creature flies
or walks a straight line?

Who returns
from the long journey
with an unspent spine?

Even the proud willow
bows over the lake

when the evening comes.


inexcus'able 5


in the
corner spraying the
with a
diffused line of
"over used,
under used, left
home, twenty,
no one hundred


(sion) one
word sentence period
over two
ambulances 8 people
down" traded
(latex) fingers probing
with straps
warm with pillows
head asleep
truck tires holes


steel plates
hole leg pulled
knee in
in chest "that's
(ual), see?"
rear wheel drive
permanent (isolate)
else how integrated


street "but,
in terms" one
D's face
is solid frozen
light on
7th "not by
knows step
don't step toes

Why So Quiet?

"The line grows from yesterday.
Tomorrow it rained."
Joe Ceravolo

-forget about today
until tomorrow-

Bob Dylan

Creases, fissures in
the passageway
silent so as
not to repeat
of what cannot

so as
to think

I learned the
way folds
undo themselves
lines cutting across
a tunic

ice cracks

as yet unspoken
in the
the archives
of impossible perfection

were replete, even
we felt certainly
secure enough



Vadim Zakharov
The History of
Russian Art
From the Avant Garde
to the Moscow
Conceptual School
currently at the
Guggenheim Museum

"The installation represents
an authors subjective classification
of Russian art staged as a bureaucratic
drama -any other art could have taken its
place. The important thing is this;
the files are those artifacts common
to all cultures that have spread out to
the dimension of architectural erection,
and are but an affirmation of the universal
striving of humankind for the utopia of
the eternal archive,"

Duchamps piece The Large Glass was broken
into innumerable pieces when transported 60 miles from Brooklyn. Duchamp found great value in this, a narrative of the event,a story to trace, a pattern to observe.


Free Poetry Zine: Reno Shot

Click here to receive Reno Shot a free poetry microzine. It serious, sexy, sad, yet fun. Brought to you by the good folks at Non Creative Garbage.


Say 'Salt,' I'm soaking in it. My throat is fat with salt-water
but my hair drifts in front of my eyes, kelp undulations, a
cradle. I'm remembering now, gills. My lungs are oily solids
but along my neck skin splits and resews itself; flutters. Take
off, hands, we're swimming now.


Throat of the Bird

...they came
slabber-ing dogs


or some lone hyaena
from the pack


a way in,
a way back.

The civilized
days are gone.

Somewhere in nature
a creature is dying...

nowhere in nature
is it written:

"reverence will sustain you".

The snow sets
high, now-

sounds of its silence
deafen the ear,
tightens the throat
of the bird...

sing loud, sing loud
and live.

inexcus'able 3

black hair
take then forty-two
"play football,
play hockey, play,"
no haven
condition surge wrestling
choked neck
left inward collapse


perishable "dieing
slowly, drop submit
water rises
crumbled wall tank
(under biting
minus spit) you
"non-violent offending
kicks & scratches"


tortures explanation
roomful supplies short
up lack
bridge suicidal forgotten
less, uphill,
crawl" one revolver
to get]
even safe otherwise


(more than)
decades ill-equipped "please
me, please"
once sexy immediate
[400 hundred
years back steps]
substance "now
Lear, now Henry"
helps [need
it] should not


At low tide
I found love
By my side
By the blue dawn
Perceptive and indulgent

At high tide
I found love
Tortured by pride
In broken sea shells
Brittle and suspicious

At dawn
I found love
On my green lawn
Lying naked
Vulnerable and cruel

At night
I found love
Hidden from sight
In my heart
Polite and pensive




the details

from what's lost then

the enormous explanation

at the point from

what seems

to the urgency

of the available stretch

towards the liable

the innocent

and remembered

faint forms

for what seems fixed

to remain certain

and told

and older

by the irrelevant

and revived




The Perfect Tear

"Disappointment feels divine, sadness tastes like peaches." --Mark Tarallo

"I'm just out to find the better part of's not easy..." --Five for Fighting

this is an audio post - click to play

The Perfect Tear

Enough WORld
How Chainbreak.
Throw light useLESS.
Bomb exquisite.

The poet's DNA requires
A freedom of word.
Nothing else would ever
Fit on this body.

Tell me Love,
Do you finally believe the WOLf
of me?
(Devours sharp.)

On the day the sun went out
Stones are skipping.
Why did you come to the sea...
another heart break?

cry me the Pefect Tear.
Say, "Good night."
Then turn out the lights.

1567 89 456 23

Compiled 12/17/2005 1:26:23 AM GMT

Dardanelle 1915 4147 46 Datto town
282, 906, 681, 2682, 1080, 1153 - or
456 (1993). - Schools for
No 2557/89 of 23 August 1989 laying down

92-243 37.9 0 N 455 client-14807.unknown
23 Helene Josefine Dahl, Stambog for
463 Llewar 85 456 Lurjus 86 452 Gitador
37.9 0 N 455 client-14807.unknown

88-89 · Hark the Joy Inspiring
- 7 5 35 .106 .143 .124 0 0 Jun 15 Bo
40, 67, 39, 28, 105, 143, 257, 23. None of

(EEC) No 2557/89 of 23 August 1989 laying
23:50 A - Council Regulation (EEC) No
- Council Regulation (EEC) No 1567/92 of


And we all say "cheese".
And no one sees our knuckles,
white, pale and crushing.
There is stardust falling.
It never brought the magic,
you see in all the adds.
Once I was holding stars,
you see. I believed the adds.
I remember all was magic,
before stardust started to fall
white. Pale and crushing
we wear brass knuckles.
And all of us say "cheese".

y a t shirt (part 1)


the convivium began at 7:30.
our wines had already been
separated, and i had been
handed a bottle of the
worst possible. that in itself
was enough to start the
war, even though my
own brother was at the head
handing out the drinks.

if wine grapples his brain,
he will not need to be chased,
so he said, but i did not agree.
the sword was the only
answer for him.

Thursday 24 November 2005

5:10 am.
First snow.
Shooting in Dundas
Ontario. This house
could hold 15 my apartments.
Drink coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
Eat squash carrot soup.
Hump gear.
Think of you
& you & me.
Take the occasional hit
as I am prone
to do. Tell Terri and Tina
that my mood is greatly improved
these last five years.
Looked at old books -- 3 volumes
of Napoleon.
Note: Plan to steal them.
Snow squalls as I wait
to flip a breaker.
Stand inside, outside
on a scaffold, on a ladder.
Check my Relic Hunter watch.
1:49 pm.
Actresses scream upstairs
I hear them through
the soundman's headphones.

Eat steak, white rice, sleep.

First Christmas orange.
Added layers, rumours
of an early day.
George's business venture:
'Quim Trim.'
Hamilton's orange
lights twinkle through
the leafless trees
& I think of you
& you & me.
The fellas
call me 'The Hammer'
I don't know why.
Window! Go Go Go!
Wrap! Go Go GO!

7:12 pm. Done.
Early day? Ha!




I reflesh you hourly.
Here I am silent and there you are growing
your bones again, nerve,
your skin spreading like oil.

There are postures of yours,
I write into your gesture and read it back
for comfort.

I stop, erase,
do it again.


Work at disc
jockey routine
and the bottled cell.

You've been strapped
at curbside swamp,
trying jail.

Lives in black,
peers and bars,
how'd you fall?


i was working for a man
who sold plastic buddhas
in chinatown before i began
working for a woman who
sold plastic floral arrangements.

three motions in a row

the play continues
with empty streets and
cars stalled

in the dream i imagined i was high above
the city in a rocket waiting to take off.

snow covers is covering

is general over all of ireland

yet the key rings still
and combs grow making hot war
ever hotter

the pleasant mornings of peace
never remain for long.

u o
tt n t
er r
b r
l o r g a n
g o k
i o e fi
ft d n el ds

Click 'N Listen

  • Write and Recite Dublin 6 Dec 2005"

  • Have a listen to my show of poesie
    from Dublin, where Ogma lives on cobbles,
    Amergin's true poetic weaves its long
    path back to druidic knowledge only
    spacers, wasters, scangers scums bums and mongs
    can claim to own; and boiling news freely
    singing is that the crossover's complete

    Saul Williams supported by good ones
    Marty Mulligan, Raven, Jo Jo. On
    his tour two weeks ago around the isle
    where poesie still lives, at home smiling
    on those who smile on love.


    six december

    first accidental purity
    emanates from snow,
    the field, a white page

    five senses free pour messages
    the mind is being
    like the heart

    chimes across the campus
    repeat themselves as
    beautiful buds gone dry

    the moment passes
    to another moment
    an agility of present tense


    Amergin Calling John

    Celestial swirl: Tir nOg: all
    knowing power and otherworldly force
    grinding my knowledge nuts from hazel; swill,

    pour from the cauldron straight sound; swirl verse, switch
    wit, light up the cast of love as night falls-
    Joy -Albard - Dawn and John. They who all
    comedy tossers playing to score
    bulls-eye every arrow throw straight for.

    Light of craic, twinkle; glittering mirror find
    what joke will laugh Blue Peter real and arrive
    unannounced; weave art: work: cut this daft dream
    with the cloth of one liners: stitch the breeze
    quip: nail John's breath on paper to breathe
    consciously at titter, jape or guffaw
    gushing with free flow in the debacle

    Brim an episodes of froth; cliche, fall
    the way wind blows when a turtle dove
    cooing flies from a loft to studio, shifts
    shape to a circus clown tamer
    and bawls

    "Yo! You - funny farm gob slop, light heart's bore;
    free druid-pawns and playthings of love; wish
    only for permanent triples on boards,
    your sticks hit giggling bulls and thud
    in double top all day long to tickle love
    as you quack trafficking craic between you."

    Come lah
    bull minstrel clown, mimic speech to
    plump nine nuts beyond the comedic eye
    where flow master of ceremonies - Noaks
    fellow and one time action man show
    won't babble

    "...when it was Blue Peter, not
    like it is now
    with kids
    who don't know what
    they're doing..."

    Circus swish slopping spray tame sea
    motion smooth a stir of whirling liquid
    through a splatter mass splodge of telly.

    tilt the lingo, flutter pigeon music
    flap ruffle spread your turtle wings and limbs
    freely soar and jangle from his dome

    "...with real papier mache; not like it
    is now. The microwave and scramble to
    life stuff...."

    whack out licks
    - that lived then
    and live now.

    " ...I was jumping out of a plane one week
    sticking empty bog rolls together the next
    dashing round the studio..."

    after elephant waste

    "...and mucking in. Star of the whole hoo ha..."

    before kids replaced you
    and juiced up the models

    " can't put a price on..."

    from a centre where twitter and tiddley-winks
    still hold
    reckoning the toggable taggle and balancing
    laughter you and your colleagues had when at giggle;

    peck this needle from the shiny gutter
    with our entourage of party fawns living le joi de vire.


    Aided by Fire

    "I'd rather be smart than a movie star." --Natalie Portman

    "I've been thinking about the future." --Blue Man Group

    Aided by Fire

    Your thorn of crowns
    Like love In Bizarro world
    The New Pigs rise
    aFRAID to wear shoes.

    --Nobius Black