As/Is







5.31.2007


longing

in darkened room those verses that flower
are crooked the air arms we’re in
and weeping through split our winter
that happened since you cured this to me
distinguished animal of stone tease freak
i'd almost say now lovely the moons between
her legs remembered colours ache on serious
and pale is harder any pain drive away all about
gouge and being flesh the snowscape there the other
who used to such relief best of world lives i’m
in an old passion half-forgotten things this table
these chairs possibly smile sleep into the eyes
is better is better








5.30.2007


mimi (monte-kiarie)

segui solo la veglia di una notte...


only follow a long night watch...

mimi naunda dreams hata zikibashiva
me, I’ll make dreams even to be broken
-----------------------------------------
(guido monte, nyambura kiarie)

(picture: tanto non capireste, 2007, by g.monte)









5.29.2007


I Heart Submissions

I'm editing a new e-journal Seconds: A Virtual Treasury of Verse

I am looking for submissions

Visit

http://fcdrain.blogspot.com





hi rain

us indoors for the eels of rain
in almost every scene om hard she said
the pope on tour spotted a midget dancing clown

body knows you when my radio
is freaky can go down three stories
heart breaking to see and hear hi rain





desire

to absorbe the blossoming noise to be having
your cdbaby drive towards this lush midnight
a wash of aural pages hearts you like sunshine

encountering twisting eyes of clocks searching
desire be vulnerable receive faint glint of ecstasy
piled up in a soft word haunted sleeper helpless





Cheer in the Drums

Boy in dumb nude floater bank
Futile by butyl on-looker in field
Nomad as consequence of barrier
One feared potential bacteria
Glad-handed even as some peel
Appealed courtesan not ire or fell
New York aspect of tool coat match
The toy children freaketh me new
I boast as I baste and skill a lie
All holiday poise and juxtaposed
The drinks umbrella us to xenophobic
Delirium to a night failed by scale
So demonized as to brighten








5.28.2007


In the seeds ripen

in the seeds ripen
in July Sudan grass is
ripe, a former Bush

Tags: , ,





soviet clouds

i tremble you more than life itself
sweetheart here's a note from
our dear friend who cares so often
will the world's prick in its ear
hock the flannel overboard
for another milennia
or will it yugoslavia
por favor

the soviet clouds
are kindly pendulous
like my good intentions
were pissed into a dixie cup
that fishbone umbrellas moan out
try to catch some good vibe
that's further from understanding
than right now





blue apple

this blue apple i've stuck in my mouth
calms the worried furrows of my face
a fist in a box sparking flowers of signal

the shawl signposts in her eyes
pass from stormcloud to stormcloud
so violetly it's almost a secret

darling if let down my trousers
to view the rodeo of my violation
first must hyperventilate








5.27.2007


intolerable intimations

painfully self and self separate exeunt
bygone days become as intolerable as gimme
no the chemicals never gave that momentum
that om i'd scrambled after on all fours

numbed down to the slow dumbness
of staring at thumb for 14 days
slobbering an eternity of escape into
pissing myself tightness of a closed fist

as ridiculous as drag is if it's not within
48 hours pass slowly in st. avoid's release you
hospital & grill
so chattering teeth of love
can't either a given nor be as tropical weapon

return the gift if it doesn't suit merchandise
always be perishable and gone like a tattoo
when one dies forget or to forget
surround myself with curtains to re-hatch

the mama and the dada within me are all ways
at odds dysfunctionally sliding through
warring to scar more to scare intimidate
my intimations are my intimations

i fear to longer give out my phone number





just when I thought present tense was making me undesirably swollen along came past tense from which to view it

naming scars.
for as many adages as one
can survive the horizontal
there are malfeasances to weather.
I have adopted lenses upon lenses
through which to review what I am
not making of selves left
to sleep on unused shelves.

already the new life is full of me
already I've replaced the numbness
with new friction that I've made
myself.





sunday morning

i cried
but you couldn't


last night
scooped up my brains


a heavy xanax-induced sleep
let bygones be bygones


disappointed
i hope


can we move because the film
was as silent as cashiers


a lot of things
i want and want badly wherever


motor on little one i demand a world
sundaymorningless without syllables


whoops accidentally left dressy shoes
that claim to unlock the gates of eternity


toothbrush mouthwash etc
it's all good can do nothing 4 me


the song of your stay between me
everything cellular to reach me


to talk soon possibly let bygones
spiral down this evening over clouds


i'll bring some of me
if you whatever wish








5.26.2007


polyhedron n.1 (borges, walahfridus strabo, joyce)


si tuviera otra vez la vida por delante,
in a new life before me again
ingenii calore tutior essem, I ld be more protected
lifting the lifewand in polyhedron of scripture
------------------------------------------------
borges, walahfridus strabo, joyce
(photo from giovanni m. russo archives)





chemical zero

moon's chemical zero boils
in its poisons a woman
fashioned from letters
marooned there moody
she sighs a sand slowly
her shuttered breath
quite slowly she sighs
oh my billowing sails

truth and doubt circle wind a way
through the billiard air around
she quivers a spanish season
her danish lesson assasins
dressed all in black and blue
do her dirty work encoded overalls
fashioned from letters a poison woman
drinks to fatten moon's chemical zero








5.24.2007


insect man

arrested
in flannel
green channels flicker
across the liquor gray walls

becoming you
where laurels rattle
as the shrunken boats
of picked-at lice

throaty gargle
produces a hill
that wanders outside you
this hill is two of you

purgatory of first one
is an imagined washington
meat world spilling over
sprawling demonic wonder

seconds aggravate holes
belch smoke
in a chaos
of grass shards

irritated traffic
papershreds the sky
revolting in on itself
swallowing vaginal explosions

end ingests end
a knock at the door
a light smokes flare
it's insect man





the erotics of the pyramid (sleep)

dirty waltz where i took you
white hot in my hands
daydreaming the dynamite
determined to be fully

eyelids explode in chemical vision rattle
the chaos contortions in the coffin
of negative film playing wicked violin
self and self a virgin confrontation

conflagrations of exposed flesh plateaus
the pornography of being alone
the pornography of being overly nostalgiac
so thoroughly convinced and cumming because of

supposedly something other knows
like a head-dress beyond anything
you might conceivably understand
utmost intricate of intricated's

the moments one sought to avoid
now full frontal right there
staring backing at your goofy
and artificially euphoric





settle down

a photograph of three unbelievably hot days
spent in a room predicts a loneliness tonight

she called me a loner i'll interview
my face upright in mirror after later

after i've showered thursday
no xanax sleep less effectively

thirsty thursday perhaps take
an entranced walk nowhere

my feet embarrass me
illogical clouds making silly

lately too quick irritated
whatever demons

well settle down really
i'll make confession








5.22.2007


brunette is not a miracle [show me a dovelit porch]

bald is.
quiet is.
self-paced is.

[show me the breastfeed of a lone womb]

germane is.
floating is.
tame is.

[show me haven]

prompt is.
shoulder is.
intact is.

[show me sinecure]

firelight is.
semitone is.
inference is.

[show me hope]





stockholm syndrome

forever is today
when i want to
forget a myth
sway from side
to side

poetry
is a lot
like stripping
reveal more mind
and more

presently
illinois annoys
more than noise
catch a buzz
escaping
hands on

i don't want to
i want to i don't
i do and so on
days of microscopic
and roses mind
your own





candelabra

in wisconsin two hours
is very near you please

describe less than 3 sentences
what you like most about your body

this is song sang let me out
of here
fill in the blanks

of introspection listening closely at least
the owl understands that need for restraint

a treasure chest of restaurants opens slow
some little girl thoroughly amused yes

i'd like to embrace both old and new
so stoned this candelabra frightens me








5.21.2007


sebastian says

i've got big stairs
is what that is
that house is like that
get me house

where's my chalk

my refuse my face my fuse
suppose on the sidewalk
my bicycle recycled

all of this holy shack up the boy
is a fraction of what'll become
what about the boy said aloud
bring to me what was my catholic chalk








5.20.2007


Calliope Nerve X: Natural Born Poets

"We have to steal back the hallucination..." --Grant Morrison

Calliope Nerve Part X: Natural Born Poets is now available and free of charge featuring the work of Michele McDannold:

Café

We pick up from the streets, words
and skin stretched
thin over
mother's lips.
Dumpster love along the spillway, free;

sunshine through the way. She
dances to the jukebox, a knife in back of cowboy lust
to celebrate the waitress.

Open sign askew a door
of rust and nails of regret
scratchandspitandspew
coffee dust.

--Michele McDannold

Other authors include David Blaine, J.D. Nelson, Shawn Misener, James Dilworth, Ariel Lee, and me I'm Nobius Black.

Calliope Nerve features poetry, short lit, reviews, commentary, quotations, and odd bits in a wide range of styles. All editions are free of charge. Back issues available.

To order this issue send your snail mail address to nobius at gmail dot com. Submission info is located here. (We are always looking for talent.) Internet link trades, advertising, and flier swaps available.

To support Calliope order your Amazon products via my web log: White Rabbit - *BLACK HOLE*.

Name your muse! Calliope Nerve.





art brut

once i'd worn
a specialist's speedo
academically

spandex she said picadilly
as she brushed back a serenade
of hair on her head

tonight i die again
tangled in an apocalypse
of bed springs

where months ago she'd
taken grief for grit
& fucked my skull

right out of its nest
towards the light
that moscow





"Settle" by Adam Fieled & Andrew Lundwall

whistling from the cage
my eye scream soured
what scourge

came forth from keys
I saw in her dress
hooked in

last night above the mall the moon's
an insufferable blowjob
we wondered as we walked

Bloomingdale's brasseires
reflected beams
white heat

we'll never
settle for less

she said








5.19.2007


nougat

how like a century of breeze
in a colossus' footprint you are
'tis there that i caress you laying dreaming

a may afternoon sunshining plaid
a polaroid so gooey warm and spiraling
my awful hairline receding monk-wise

dear how the denim hedges turn purple
when you twist you poke fun at them
your porcelain thighs thieve my identity

and smoky railroad spikes of atmosphere
pound on blue oblivious to yet we're positive
that all of this is something pixellated sacred

my happy head screws around valentine's
in its playpen making funny faces
when you kiss me hard as always

please know that my fountain pen
is hardcore consider these lines of adoration
to be read backwards forwards





the slick boutique

sister haze on her deathbed
clutching her rosary of stars
could be me but obviously no

the slick boutique
on broadway is (sorry to grind)
but a spinning grinning mask

the way so it goes and onward
where condoms tick as breathy
as stopwatch foxes

her gumball machine full of stage names
most call her latitude and longitude
have my tongue i'd be something too

everyone's playing hooky
no one's 'fessing up
realized this a moment

so much so my hasty oblivion spills
over second base and the weather's
so cold today that i don't care





recovery

who are you then
that i should
not recover
my eyes

realize please
that every tree
is its own apocalypse
and my mind's shuttered in





the moon's a rubber ghost

we strolled away from it
as if anything were real

the moon's a rubber ghost
outside the coast

where perverts shift the trees of
their rutting minds gestalt-guttered

we are but slow-motion orphans
to photograph ourselves fed full

boasting a joyous sex a yearning
to be held to be so-called confident

oysters why must you bother me
i ask not for pearls but tootsie rolls

not a soul can claim my death
my claws play wigs on the aha

don't mistake a single hole
or tell a soul

it's anal penetration
if you know it to be so





mas, de nuevo (more and again) marie rennard guido monte


Vaya con Dios, nothing matters

Words in North winds patriamque nobis mundi
and the world home for us

Blowing through Japanese gardens: deha deha

African deserts, Zeitgeist

Wild mind, qol demamah daqqah
silence thin voice –

It s the way it should be.

-----------------------------

m. rennard - g. monte









5.18.2007


There Is Something Missing in the Whole Transaction Between Us

The sales pitch

of thunderous manias

begs one more text

be read

askew,

the likes of which

is market day.


"YOU'VE ALMOST CONVINCED ME.

TELL ME MORE ABOUT THIS CITY(I. E. FOOT OF THE CLIFF.)

ARE THERE LOVERS?

EXISTENCE IS MY SUBJECT IS HOLLOW."



In the cause of tireless waltzers

there are no things but things that are named.

I call this “photograph”,

& this “sheik,”

& this “cabal.”

In view of: The History of Chinese Art…after Two Minutes

in the Washing Machine, 1987,

books, wooden box,

and glass

(now destroyed),

I protested

& became sexual.



"YES.YES.BUT I NEED TO KNOW YOUR MOVIE PLOTS

ARE MORE THAN JUST SCRIPTED. I WANT A NORMAL

LIFE IN VAIN OR IN TEXAS NEAR OK BORDER. BUT

DON’T SAY IT WRITE IT ON PAPER FOR GOD SAKE.

DAFFY DUCK IS IN A POEM AND I THINK IT’S GREAT

HE’S GETTING SUCH FLUENT EXPOSURE. HOW DOES

THIS EFFECT MY CASE IN TEMPO IF YOU ARE NOT

A PAGE A WILD SWAN AT COOLE THE SORROW

OF LOVE THE PITY OF LOVE?”



I squander verbatim,

at heart a narrative or beautiful run-on sentence.

I lift up “conch” to my ear.



"DESCRIBE LIFTING CONCH TO YOUR EAR."



I hear the maestro

(meaning Key West / meaning circumstance)

& Oceana smooth & nude in six reluctant similar scarves.


"YES. THE EXCEPTIONS ARE BEAUTIFUL.

A PRELUDE TO A DELUGE INTERPRETS NOTHING

CONCLUSIVE. WRITING IS LIVING IN POETIC FORM

IS A TRAGIC LINE."



Our stand-ins

lack ummph. In the name of

ersatz dispositions

I bewail us

like Balthus-girl #1 & girl #2

entering a city.


"YES. I AGREE / DISAGREE.

A SUBJECT IS RED STUDIES A WORD STUDIES A STYLE.

WHILE SMALL, I NEVER VANISH / DISAPPEAR.

I AM A SONG WITHOUT CLIMBING. MY LAST DITCH EFFORT

WENT AWRY ON A SWING SHIFT. I RIDE LINES ACROSS LINES

TILL 6 A.M. IS A POEM I ACCOMPLISH.”



I express “lover” like an abutment.

I don’t speed

or circle the roundabout.

My (syn)taxis swerve

as they mete.

A chancre of flow I dunno what to say to you.



"YES. I AGREE / DISAGREE.

SOME TALES ARE WINTRY. A SACKING OF ROME

IS A GEM STUDIES A STYLE STUDIES A WORD.

I PAUSE HERE IN ISOLATION. DO YOU HEAR ME?

DO YOU SEE WHAT IT MEANS TO HAVE DONE?”




At maze’s end, six characters

in search of an authority & five oases

hover above a lost orchestral mirage / hallucination.

Nomadic

in one word: entropic.

Six notes seeking another.




“YES. I AGREE / DISAGREE.

IN THE EVENT OF OCCASIONAL DECONSTRUCTION

A PENT HOUSE DECIDES: ONE) A RIVER OF DOUGH

IN LIEU OF SUFFERING. OR TWO) A CIRCUS OF CROCUSES

INHABITING SPACE. IN THIS MANOR BLOCK LETTERS

STAY FAT ON MY TONGUE SELF-REFLEXIVELY A FACT /

ANATOMICALLY A CHARM.”




& long waved her gown

in forums of amour, etc, etc.

[Insert detail / description

of said gown.]

There are strains I hear,

looking myopic on stoops.

A show boat hastens in suede.



"LISTEN. I BRANDISH CONFLICT.

I ALLOW ZENITH TOWARD HOWL.

THE POINT I MAKE IS LOUD & NO ONE HEARS IT.

NO ONE KNOWS WHAT IT IS.

THE EVIDENCE FOR IT / AGAINST IT SHIMMERS

& GOES BLANK."




The poem I experience

is either: "I am what is missing”

[according to sun up & sun down

boiled lobster pink for code]

or it is blue corn packaged in Lucite

is never a cube,

never a make & model,

but a lyric sung on a desk top.

Exit divergent street grid.




"LISTEN.

THERE IS SOMETHING MISSING

IN THE WHOLE TRANSACTION

BETWEEN US."








5.17.2007


did I hear you say you were not good enough

this is how a road through winter fails to have been paved

a moment set apart from need corrodes the probability of chafing need

look out this bleak thinness of a window talk about the plight

informal permanence will typify the white mood moonlight

then and only violets will impress upon what next

as if a present tense could form around what's gone

now linger in the telling and we'll understand it was not you

it was an other it was sky it was precipitation something

to this day I champion my own belief in you

and you may quote me








5.16.2007








no estar yendo a ningún sitio


砂の花に眠れば
I'll sleep in a flower of sand
(m.rennard,
transl. into Japan.by k.daikoku)

----------- .
.

so it s said:
nobody we are,
mixed with nothingness
.
we re going nowhere,
but here s the escuridade
before us









5.15.2007


what is it makes me unable to erase you

civics class is full of glottal stops and chivarees

I'm only tangible because I squeak

the rage implanted can be left out of the wholesome alley

why note preface what you say with how you peak

the river interferes with toadstools

let us pray

may our infinities never be joined as they remain unjoined

give us this doppler whoosh and offer divan as a curry

genography is plush with priors

lattitude beseeches longitude unless you're sparked

I tolerate your amber lisp as you agree to disappear

and the volition stays entirely mine





experiment with self-consciousness

the sun shines through my key'd eyeholes
early mourning the end of last night

i'm balding no meat on my bones
a weepy breeze across my skin

we wonder what had us when
mother turned her wonder bread

always wanting knowing better
i'd cut the umbilical cord

of both parents' lifeboat to drift in a place
so-called home from 7-11 malt liquor in hand

more and more here in illinois come 'cross
a fuck you understood what it meant

o moon pie back there in
the fabled east coast of my head





All Morning A Fine Point Is Useless Unless Written

Cobbled in daybreak’s neon greasy spoon.
The holidays seemed possible.
For once in our lives the pistols weren’t sexual.

Inclined towards a poem.
The pistils weren’t designated.
Or even integers exactly.

Various ports entered our city.

For once in my life I thought I was Dutch.
I studied like a jeweler a diamond.
Eurydice left fingerprints in silence.

Invisible & wreck ‘em, wrote Marge on her pad.

Call her, why don’t you?
Six dire pontoons pancake her escrow.
Her home is a font period
Your jalopy’s her Wing House.

Call her. yesIwill. So why don’t you?

Nordic Trac period Involves flights from danger.
To upstage a stranger whose pose is a flute.
Adam & Eve loaf on a raft.

That answer photographs the desert.
St. John ate locust. Survived on wild honey.
That answer.








5.14.2007


equation

everything's one big birthday wish
to save her from herself okay

i'm babysitting the fishtank focus
dawn light i've memorized the words

my love it as it strokes pastel through
the curtains and smoke's exhaled too soon

the blue notes son of a gun most clear most high
i'll bother to lift a finger to your lips touchy

drink me out of this down time bourbon hips thrusting
thrusting i'm entrusting this to you speaking suddenly

out of doors out in the rat field i'm calling loud
uncork the non-transparency rattle like you mean it

to cuddle
the clouds





you droplets

the flashlight forecast happens
at throat where mouth begins
forever and ever

a ceremony to tune
mystery hands screw over
with tropical mirrors

farewells congregate also
in the hole our parents'd prepared
before we were able to do as much

i could've today unhooked my tulip straps
to let passions rest easier on eyes
reassured to dissolve into you droplets








5.12.2007


monk

all of the angels and saints
a peeping tom posse come
out the closet of your smile

and i'm an elaborate contradiction
nostrils aflame between the constellated marble
of your nocturnal thighs rotating shaky

my beard's growing floorward like embarrassed eyes
collapsing into this new mountain hermit look
i embrace the ferocity of your voluptuous drive

my lungs yearn to huff it
and await each return with
the patience of a monk





saturday morning

when the interlocking parts
of eyes emerge from your journals
like smoke signals
who could it mean

i am a cloud
i'm wearing short shorts
and tourist's shirt a parody
some sort of nightmare

it's saturday morning now
it was yesterday too
but today seems more glowy
than tomorrow's

seems more straight-faced
and a bike i could hock
like a child's tears
on front lawn

i never liked rosary beads
i never did makes me think
of death smell of chlorine
of phlegmy drunk of purgatory





gallery

a swarm of bees sucked mouth
to mouth like oceans of telephones

she called it love to make the room around
did not guard itself against this hurricane

of tongues swollen by these spoken burlesques
of the tumultuous horizon is something savory

realities roll on as music plays
between sex hot majesty of sheets vibrates

strolls the insides amazed by various hangings
someone's portrait to thrill on tossed about excitedly











Where the Ships Die

"I want somebody to shove me."--Soul Asylum

"The thought that I could decipher your message. There's no one here dear. No one at all." --Tori Amos




Gabcast! White Rabbit - *BLACK HOLE* #4




Where the Ships Die



You
Sail Me
Where the Ships
Die.

my tourniquet
A Folded Earth
a bloodied paper
full of eloquence
Poetry untouched.

Used to be such
A sweet sweet thing.

Everything voyeur
(the Point)
The pattern bones
Compass due North.
just Try to
Swim among the stars

I was on the path
To Heaven
But you had to stand
In My Light.

The speed of beauty
(A falling word crashing)
A torn sail Laureate
At the bottom of the sea.

--Nobius Black








5.09.2007


with you here

my safety fills our habitat moon
sanctifies and wilderness recedes
from threat to bounty watch
the gentle mammals use the paved road
as clay or grass or crops
and go across

standstill traffic mimics heart
and things evolve from the subtraction of an else

tonight is careful for our living out
the sadness as a line to spool away into the distance
lake accepts the leave-behind of something cast

are there mornings to be seen
blooming ahead of a complexity
that scrubs away the small perfection
rendering unto collective mind ingredients
that would enlist the heart
this heart your heart






I dare you to listen to the fondcole diaries5





Partially Mirrored Ur-Sounds

I dream before walking
the circuit completely.

I innovate each circuit,
romanced by ur-sounds.

I put ur-sounds are pestles
grinding tumult to words
.

I write walking the circuit
with mongrels in mind


& dreaming of woks
I saunter in consequence.

I write a page is a leaf,
a boy who runs errands
,

& one who is summoned
lays prostrate a book.

I write taxis that fish-tail,
fish-tale towards ______.


I think a phalanx of taxis
serves double the masters
.





G2 summit


Our magnificent unified shader opened with the statement: " You helped our dimension celebrate its bi-focussedness from 17 - till 1976... "

After that the heads of state displayed their astonishing level of connected knowing. "Global warming, global trade and global democracy are all similar issues and will be addressed within the framework of our roadmap to global something"

The final joint statement "we definetely need more budget without timerestrictions for the ongoing War On Peace. This is the only way to deplete the resources which will subsequently result in an end to the W.O.P.



G2 summit, heads of state


Please express YOUR opinion in this poll.
War On Peace
yes W.O.P has to stop, raise the budget
no W.O.P is our way of life, don't raise the budget
perhaps W.O.P should be converted to an internet game
= view results =








5.08.2007



Treachery Guns and Rock


The crib shifted into the reality that Fond Cole really is.

My euphoria twisted by soldiers penetrating our realm.

The mouth that roared. Cried foul. Faked God. Will bleed to tell the truth.

Salud. Interrogation begins. Beast on trial. A moral discourse. Diplomatic triggers. Psychological infamy.

Blackout brain betrays.

I sold my love to fear.

I howled like a heretic.

We are marched out to crucifixion.

We are released by the hands of God.

So I screamed into the night and cursed them in the morning.

Those who had dialed hangmen to silence our rock.





spectrum

irony of breeze
nearer summer nights of
say a chrome desire

last night forgot myself even
turned my head to main st. lights
swimming through potholes new again

o pubic hair of dark clouds
sighs telephone poles
infatuated with a message

doodle down words blazing factories
aroused by the possibility of poetry
a massage between soft billboards

clap aloud 'til flesh overwhelms
welcome the sway so invigorating
as sweat balloons to "welcome"

otherness shock-full glitters liquidly
something broad something differenter
a reintroduction to a motley approval





anemiatices

turn the light
toward me
move

me
turn me
to the light





vergil (IV bucolica, one little fragment)


Speed up these times
whispered the Parcae
in step with the fate old will

---------------------------------------

(picture of bill c.)





"Aperitif" by Andrew Lundwall & Adam Fieled

Maggie, crabby, had
a vulval fit when she
plaid-sweater'd my

bed, I went mad,
wept deliriously,
slapped her thighs,

all this an aperitif--

once i was a boy
(can you believe?)
springboarded
into voyeurism

now a half-man
doing swan instead
in the booby pen

Maggie's farm when
I've got ahead
& in her hands

Young, undeceived
and so rewarded
by this aneurism

that she's beyond belief--








5.07.2007


wrp









I Don't Love You I Just Like You

All of this within
quotation marks
replayed to the fifteenth
power spoken.

All the spokes now broken
and an integral impairment
stings even pavement
and embitters airlit place.

Disappointment hastens
waste and trans-
mogrific innuendo so
the lacy cuffs once crisp,

now go to fallen planes,
and hurt retains gray weather
in its nether snares
the leitmotif gives leave(s) to thee.








5.06.2007








Night of the Insane Caretaker

nothing
no things to observe us
to denote us as ours, caretaker
our signs once blurred by evening’s mock songstress
aren’t hands & eyes & hearts enough the whiskey
was the fix that stirred & stirred us up
a froth of ourself incongruent as axe handle to owl
our life’s vile fictions melded to edges’ rank factions
rank factions marched up our staircase
& down the darkened hallway of our heart
our accuser’s knife blade poised at our throat
swigs of Jim Beam momentarily coherent
saying, “make each thing seem weepy in us”
all lies followed act ii
of something you convinced me would goddamn be
demented by insufficiencies
& you & I paired off eternally in reality, caretaker
come morning our dreams will seem more lucid to us
than creation’s spectacular dawns
come morning sunrise will appear pale & redundant
a lover we manage to arouse & abandon
simultaneously
fading supra-logically to syllogistic infractions
anima mundi
we have composed this, caretaker,
in signs we abandoned along highway nine
our screams in the stairwell uncoil like bowels
slithering through knife wounds only we survived
we laid ourselves down like footprints going nowhere
& yet we know it was words that led us
the glare they vanished into rose above the vast horizon
continuous as blindness
sating disarmament’s talkative bedchamber heart
we existed, caretaker, in gear-latches of framework
beyond hopeless corporeality
time itself stuttered
& still we knew the digits said nothing
but the clock to us
nothing but the clock & words whirling
a night-world





ailleurs (m.tuveri, g.monte, m. moore, m. rennard)


...it s raining, der Weg ist verloren
somni ocula sub umbris, omnia somni simulacra*
dort hoch auf den Bergen... ecce lux pura, na hanyate* *
flies over the fence, this is life
a dream between two doors
une porte entre deux reves.

-----------------------------------------------------
*[= dream eyes under shades, all is dream s appearance] **[=what never dies, sansk., baghavad gita]

matteo tuveri, guido monte, marianne moore, marie rennard
(picture: fiore, by giuseppe quattrocchi, 2006)








5.05.2007


ghost writing the template for eternity

you (understood) waltz with friendless others
till amnesia washes over you
(understood) and you and you
(understood) the dormitory's open all (hours)
of the inflection
staminatutory as
a quakelit foreground
only virgins are in unison
absent from here as everywhere
begins to be filled in with
just this quaint once
ness








5.04.2007


an aromatic astride

what is it she he do
through him her
to each other
welcome mat
transient

a tremor'd recollection
from excessive seeing
to regret
haunted eggshells
kept aside
passport
bitten a secret
rather inhabit
an unseen face
a code
that she can't
come to him
or he to her
a reversal screw

was it those hands
hers unsupportive
made the boy
shoot into space
from his sleep
cry illumination!
rather spanish fly
or is this rush-about
imitation leather
in the night
a face
through the curtain
spooks poke veins
puncture silhouettes
discounted bitters
better to fade away
feeling guilt on all fours
for three hundred miles
of gray thund'ring this








5.03.2007


Unaccustomed

the sweet what
conscience drives
away tomorrow

is impending
evidence. Re-
mind me that

a tangent comes
to equal tincture
in the way that quiet . . .

as I am so you are
here amid vast
patches of land

the givens of understanding
among presumed strangers
a sense apart from words

conveyed with purity
compared with clutter
would become





stars are

she froths
in bathroom mirror
her eyes
are saints glued
to the humming heavens
of ceiling'd cocaine
stars are
and so into
a waddling gaze
that spaced this
the word made flesh

why is it
you taste
so good
so much
that this and that
bump and grind
buoy startled
contradictory
immaculate
roseate
the q-tips
of guilt
the first guilt
before or pre-gossip
for the love of haste
blurts out for god's sake
in cultured comic bubbles
spilling fear further
than the corners
of my opiated smile
can cling to








5.02.2007


support

no longer assumption
this irritating wanting
this conception
assured support
crutches methinks

abort the idea
of numbers
and fillings
vodka tanks
harvest frightening fish

only good for one thing
a welcome mat layer
sometimes only
not this but this
reconfigure
based on definition
of sucking on
and on blessing
folded soul food

there are no diamonds
in this knee jerk
simply some needed thing
to yawn a gallery
of shifty positions
some writhing yarn
paws around a tale
some gimme some shadow
to blush and grind
your fragile cheeks by
so alone








5.01.2007


legitimate/illegitimate

earth won't disclose what it truly knows
won't reveal perhaps a concealed weapon to cure
this sleepwalking sickness never want go back
to the classification unit the shrill cries of enduring
sweats tremors nausea what is best to look forward
to a lifetime perplexed binging on detox'd solitude
detox'd carnivals detox'd crossword puzzles detox'd knitting
jesus we can't look those over there in the eye right now
we're paralyzed in the face of an increasing legion of illusion
the crazy patterns not the monkey bars keep us sane so together
the crazy patterns on our ceiling are flowers we've urge to steal





even here

my childish winter with her my lover
went away with my tongue her the wind a scene
rolls chills like help-bound don't let me leaf
come back home yes save myself i was speaking
not years ago but again & had my cake
in a bed-thin forest

where's my hiving contradictory thrill
my dignity in the sun that golden chain
something i weave unaware 'neath eyes
just like telling welcome is hard to
in frowns & shivers come
or know

looks lately dirty with step over
i am still alive on paper to endure
for something anymore often in promise
to face this room & its empties
believing better in the night
that disappointment





Rainy Day, Dream Away (adam fieled)



It’s raining
           an incorrigible sky pouts whitely

      I never really felt so much before

about the sky, it’s “apartness”….

             to wake up on such a day is to sleep

   I sit, look down on glazed leaves

                    minute pirouettes a revelation, revolution

                                 sodden air
                                           thick concrete zones
                                      this is a city after all
                                         tire-hiss proves it
                   coming from down below

after all I’m up high, practically clouded
                     heavy eye-lids pale shrouds of “what is”
        “what is” seems irrelevant data

                               white curtains drawn across the street
             two bodies must be improvising wetly

                                            to sit on such a day is to stand

            in a squared circle of derisive un-laughter

      who knew the clouds were such serious business

           that rain could be so meta-rational