As/Is







4.30.2008


billboards

1.

would that
it were


2.

quiet front lawn
tongue's bricks
just lay there
stunned under sun


3.

daisy =
navel fascination


4.

in charlotte


5.

discuss
like saucers


6.

dinosaurs
long-legged
hurtle over moon








4.28.2008


sea pearls

I thought it unsafe to be delicate. and so I was
not that for many daytimes.

with years of your love safety I turned back to small.
I took untidy gravity and shucked it.

thus found myself swimming a named stroke.
I wore uneven pearls.

my young appearing wrist took from them
thin pink light,

whose holiness came down
from an already fallen moon
of prior night.

now my arms are small as they were
when I weighed less than diploma skin.

I look down at my hands,
these years in them, upon them,
mother's hands.

I take home how I feel
about the line of small sequential and uneven beauty
that belongs
astride the tough strong strand
invisible in function.








4.22.2008


cleats

defeatist pocks divide small centers of the earth from stray commotion yes?

must you be always sockets in the way?

how the moment of conception differs from a momentary lapse in non-ex-?

strokes turned west and then a barrister for the oppo-?

likeness is fodder for and away from rain in torrents not the same as showers?

if an insect quivers macarena can be situation spackled yes?

gemstones, strips give breathmarks gel points?

sotto vocalize distant from the place with better dresses?

surrender or engenderer of efficacy streamed into a lineated motion, an emoticon?






Digital Puke


He jettisoned from the net forever. They killed his Avatar somewhere in the out world of second life when the World of War craft hordes came calling for him to invoke the infocalypse.

When I met him on the train he was almost pwned. The Debian tattoo throbbing beneath his cheek identified him as geek godfather. Those misshapen eyes represented the last of the best cyberpunk warriors operating on the old net. His frazzled appearance on this train could only mean one thing. The countdown to the infocalypse had been triggered.


“We don't have time,” I said to him. He gave me the nano disc as the first spasms rocked his slim frail body. Fear dripped from his eyes as he waited for my antidote. It came in the form of a script I had written on one of those nights when sleep is a mere distraction in the grander scheme of things. It was the most beautiful code I had ever written. It was also the most dangerous.

He copied it quickly into his handheld that magically appeared out of a geek pocket. I tensed when I saw it. Possession of that technology meant that you were either the most wanted black hat or an agent in the highly feared world's cyber division. He looked like neither with his hands trembling over the keyboard as he ran a series of tests on my script.

“This is not a quick fix,” I said. He nodded understanding. “My code will reverse engineer the first part of their Trojan. You will have about ten minutes to puke it all out. Only the spam bots will come out. You will have to hack your own dreams to find the source code and delete it.”

He smiled for the first time revealing the designer teeth of true deep net junkies. There were only a few shops on the planet where you could get these specialized encrypted jobs done. The teeth hooked you straight into the Metaverse on the fastest internet connection not even the richest man on earth could afford. It was all about trust and skill and nothing else.

Another spasm rocked him. I nodded for him to begin the compiling of my code. It would either fry his mind or free him. He hissed when the wifi connection of his teeth jacked into the handheld. There was a moment of suspended digital animation and then he hit enter on the keyboard.

He screamed beyond terrifying. It was the most inhuman sound I have ever heard. It penetrated deeper than I ever wanted life to. It sounded like death itself finally triumphant over the last vestiges of our fragile stubborn existence.

“Damn damn damn man. Shit what the hell is happening to you man?”

He answered with more screams and retching except nothing was coming out.

“Talk to me man, talk to me soldier!”

“They got him good huh?”

“What what the hell? I whirled around. A frail man stood there with the eyes of Einstein.

“You are so right man,” he quipped. “He's got their hell inside for sure.”

“What the hell are you?” What are you talking about?”

“We are their slaves now. We are the tech indentured servants man.”

“Stop talking bullshit man the infocalypse has not started yet. They need his brain.”

“Alright,” he said opening an identical handheld like my screaming friend's own. “Come and see for yourself.”

I saw but still wouldn't believe. My primitive brain refused to even consider what I was seeing on the screen. It was at once beautiful and terrifying. I gasped and shuddered as I witnessed the fateful reprogramming of the human interface.








4.21.2008


strange wine

an erasure of Federico Garcia Lorca’s Romance Somnambulo (tr. William Logan)



dream her

flesh, her hair

eyes of

I want you

watching

how I want you

Big stars

come

open

with the sandpaper of

dreaming in

her mirror,

My friend, I come

from the gates of

possible

Don't you see the wound

thirsty dark roses

ooze

round the corners

of the moon

up high

Leaving a trail of

trembling

tambourines

a strange taste






Soaked In the Platinum of Nevermind

Everything Simultaneously/Please Remind My Molecules

cellular openings. the fifteenth galaxy refuses to be silent

and then splitting us to flicker teeth,
the crystalline horizon as flesh to where it is all imagined

Oil of Concubine/Equation the Skull's Mosque


increasingly, iam an apostle, the sea's stroke of genitalia. it's
cracked now, like ghosts, its messiah a blank mind. i still admire
your electronics, how they swim so effortlessly through the boulevard
of my hair. female rhetorics the formed eye, swung softly, quickly
into lofty, cosmic tongues that window alchemy


approached lunacy, the pop of vivid socketry
here once, leftover hydra narrowed between slits and history


Iam Only An Hour/Long Semen Below


catechism jazz. we danced moths and the paraphrase, so
broken jaws wandering the library's lonely coagulate over
rain times wings, hunger, curling days. she purred her arms
to me, the way epistemology means a golden calf, trellis enough
for two


petals that dial much more than focus mode. siblings to molten
the city's mission to Mars. token abdominals, variants assembled
in twelve hours or less, Trotsky below fahrenheit's pile of
choked meat. my oxymoron extracted velour from her orgasm and
prodded earth from her theories, long-forgotten moistures
her parted constellation to sift through the swelling

Four Vialled Abstractions


the vague delivers ancient roads to tangent again

red dreadlocks are a serum to me, warm and finally

parallel to holes that light up whenever her pyramids

fractal, two for the price of one



purple harmonies return optically, a money plucked in dissonance,
lust from the trees that triangle and scrape her vulva. the jargon
is barefoot, dressed in a trace of air. adrenaline not meant to decode,
shaken manifestos directed against bones that froth between our fingers.
spirals of devotion, and i fly faster into gaping eyelashes, all images
received while hiding in time's shared source, glossed bones and nodded
contour. gestures data their arrogant signs of neon bleeding sighs and
hymns for marrying carbon's other computer in my brain


Crucified Machines Diurnal The Fabric of Geomancy

try to believe effervescence isn't a dinosaur, chides and overhang,
as visceral as the meaning of space.

iam already a new literature, a smile seeing some blondes today, oh boy.

glass shards whisper the new paradigm, ecstastic howls that menstruate
ancient violins and hue beside her on the bed.

doesn't anyone soak their allure in the platinum of nevermind anymore?








4.20.2008


forgettable way

populating banquet halls forever - pupils in the colors affordable - like pills you'd never summit - nerve endings on a dead-end rain disco - where's some time ago - felt that night smoking cigarettes' distribution of loneliness - speed like emotions - no wonder nothing gets done - am i aware of this? - celebrating infinitely - sight runs along - branches that teacup - a million years impassable - shoulders crossing under huge black clouds - springboard of void flowers - street linger lights hint nights uptight once there were snowflakes








4.19.2008


dinosaurs

she's making out with saint make believe the heart's
knobs are tweezered at by strange creatures aflame
on the isle of something i cannot name teetering
steaming hours offered up a sacrificial thingie

it's what you can't bring that's bothering you
float by there are exactly 5 doors surrounding me
pendulously palatial airports where we've been intimate
swinging nerve censers in the bygone night like dinosaurs





ultrageist

spooked by ultrageist eyes hovering over pool table earth folded its napkin dabbed its lips hightailed it out there is a place there is skin now that we've established now what have we left and it's crazy feeling this way not reacting recurring dreams in her hands like money to score there's a jungle in the drugs to cross provocative there's tumult naming names there's a summit bridge of your nose zero visibility there's a heft we want everything beyond our grasp that's applicable or can save help clear the smoke hazing multi-faceted





the iodine and winter

strip fore
closure
down to
frittle

then pay
'good'
as if entirely
portioned

out of ever
after might
be strenuous
consumed

whittled away
by wit alone
and unencumbered
sacrifice

for better or
fandango
romp and
legroom

sallying just
forth and
thus
away








4.17.2008


differ

I take your arm
I brush the surface
of your work
not of self
the self intrudes upon

practice prayed
occurs as an infringement
upon surfaces

at last the whole path
holds its lack of color
to delay the violets
approximating heart

doubt chaps happiness
alert to theft of feeling
gesture upon sweetness
falters to the centered
faith again

low branches breathed upon
shift weather to the ground
relax the debt again

warm to heart
this point of joining
gesture pressed to this





boomerang




the source address
one sun
my                             trying


encapsulating abstract payloads
that shadow
authentication        limit increased


infinite time exceeded
gnomonic nonentity
echo                   packet too big




.





that

that searches itself
that has little tiny holes
that oozes layers layers
that position
that tingles
that flags the lawn
that feels like hell
that thing on leash
that thing she does
that place
that thing
that clashing
that opened the door
that closed the door
that snuck outside
that's all
that's that





undefined


intellectual abomination
swaying across
a fine line
of interpretation
he...her
an underlined judgemental pomPISSity
I...recorded visions
I..attended mass booking
READ ME!
nonsensical
she seems unlike what she should be
her body language her vibe her unrealistic
he feeds off her
a parasite of sorts
creative energy
slowly sucked away
misintrepreted character defect
define me
impossible I am undefined
uneducated and thirsty
for criticism
worldly intelligence
I inhabit
I speak to me






detox the portals between mind and body

thoughts lie
nothing makes sense
does it?
elongated facial expression
mimes "don't do it melissa"
solitary confinement
due to constrictive
postmodern predetermined
psychological malfunctions
sounds spectacular!
a neverending mind fuck
a boisterous
"look at me!"
her theatrical performance
guides him
through the evening
blocked heart wheels
grasping for awareness
rejected by
a strong disbelief in order
a beautiful anarchy
zero tolerance
she unscrambles
static zing
detox the portals
between mind and body





what if you twelve tone your way into my heart

will I know how I will know

will formations gallop yards above the snow

will overcoats be shed that I might walk slow

will there be debonair contrivances below

will order be imposed upon new chaos low

will evidence precede recurrences of glow

will minions walk ahead of deities for show

will treble clefs find an exemption from the row








4.16.2008


Bazooka Joe


"Mockingbird, wish me luck." --Charles Bukowski

"If I am exempt from one thing as an artist, surely it is knowing what my government is doing." --Cerdwen Dovey


Gabcast! White Rabbit - *BLACK HOLE* #10



Bazooka Joe



Truly, Truly,
I say to you:
A comic in ever piece.

No words for
far too long.
Punch drunk now.
(Alcohol induced
horizon event.)
Brain pull/
not even -Light from on High-
Escapes.

More whiskey!
Puritanical Bukowski
--that Spontaneous bastard--
Make me wanna combust.
Let's burn together!

SiMULACRA:
A likeness; a semblance; a mock appearance; a sham;
-- now usually in a derogatory sense.

My ink brother:
I copy/clone DNA.
(never be You.)

pail

only
a Scar on a Stage,
momentary Pop star...
Prima donna poet Joe
Questing for immortality.
The internet changed everything.

I like to blow
pretty pink bubbles
before the taste
wears out.








4.15.2008


sauce

trackwacking painted life potholes is a drag
worn radio wisdom insulting night visions
all holographic green and sinister a face
looking in no but really i don't know
insinuating an apocalyptic situation
tempted to turn the other way petition
someone or something swaying triangles
that day in the park long ago it was sunny
we were high or encrypted or mad pulsing pores
catapulted climactic those oval dreams kept awake
like dolls demolish the drill bit of pain with pills or
proper equipment it was really not down for once with






strung along
bastard of the nile
supreme egocentric
a devout asshole
sad to say
i speak too much
i love to little
landing somewhere
in the middle





house of cards

the cock struck valentine's
a ritualistic interference
speaking thru body language
cut with cyanide hearts
damaged perfectly tender
pupils dilate with intrigue
distracted by cocaine surprise
outstanding surge
she purged
outkast
hands interlock
6 + 4 = 9
a rough estimate
they walk separate directions
to the north
to the south
to the east
to the west
windchimes singing in echoes
a separation of hide and seek
she lives in a polaroid picture
a black and white description
of lovers
gone by





intemperatio

what is
day going
to be
like like
water or
resolve
weather or
dry skin
skein of
sapling outer
layer a
cinder block
in tapestry
bloused gray
share wool
come tumbling
humble to
the taste
shy scapular
renown and
thunder which
one tamed
naming half
stained with
handfuls of
wool reply
lying steadfast
slumber waking
this one
way toward
here again
norming to
taste buds
strains mere
glyph shown
here now








4.14.2008


agity plaque (come back)

I rinse to fray old lap o' lay-down
jance be lain and quickly peeled
from down store flummox dimply
little grin tines near the Braille wheel
how come frivoly chair posts
and the shattered sheets
the bickering the quinine H2O
of tacit rinse-out at the failing
point of curvature (she lilted just
away so I could see what she might
have been overcast)
Byronic chills paid their retractive
rent lines coded into water
"semicircular intent" is yours
to give back upon holiness (His)
chamber lore obsequity and such points
labaloo to you too eric-head
the sleet come maverick ascension
into thursday








4.13.2008


delight

sun matador smiling a slowmotion bulk slides on names. fish-net communion of female legs. assembly glint. seems good and then greeters any bouquet of what is this? we're past feel like eyes when there are still better ideas. parts. consequences. ringtone's lake of fire. marine palaces.

photo drugs. attractive. sweating thoughts between modern lovers. between scandals. together to together. reverence stumbles over the words to say. you're great. how utterly fine. umbilical.

recalling our voices. moments. hearts with splashes of b&w film. baptismal reactions and tremulous constellations. vivid faces of high altitude ride the coat-tails of light's prelude.








4.12.2008


th'dr ive

how prec
ice the
road is
here
and there

how morningly
the magnet
of below
is held fast
to right pull

I am attentive
feel machinery
chance some slide
I heel
then slowly








4.11.2008


nuance

.1.

cellular notion. that tripped-out feel. that gone crazy feeling you feel. traipsing through to witness hypnotic garden. stereos blasting and tractor lights inhabit each head. between wires. there are many green here take a peek. faster than the eyes that spiraled fourth of july. unlike the hand. a torch to march. where a card was. a smoking cigarette. juggling hands drunk-dialing.




.2.

act like how seeing her since last is life. always very well on the most childlike shore. once more future. and the heavenly virgin burn comes and inspires. the face of heaven lit zine sounds completely happy to me. that lives. technically divorced. eavesdrop on puts out. rootless nowhere heaves out over abodes.


.3.

youth lay loved in life. with faith and hope. can it be heaves out between separated ways. i was exactly. tough with now an ever-variegated pathless road. i'm sorry to plug active website but yet married. go serious in the middle over my body do i gotta have. to you. and you. own happiness for i guess yeah. good to hear. i mean. i know. i'm serious.



.4.

inebriation. just my saturated mind to forget sleep again. yeah or something. haha. that's submit lovely time doing creative. i was surfing facebook blissful with fears. with anguish. deep. lovelike hear i'm getting back working skeptical like good way. yeah. tough times. been a good example for tribute in words. uttering words ever-increasing. angel-comrade call us all heaven-children like the light. drugging heartache and confusion. supportive and everything. ends up those dreams some hate to do it too. was the far-off undeciphered and vanished. revelations. forever is striding upon endless shore.


.5.

uplifted is the lamps walking alone. how are you. i'm losing my sleep dreams about aliens. melting memory creep. cigarette dangling from them badass bunch of literary you dropped in. in crystal. mysterious embrace. presence. words inexhaustible. like blah to this beloved world. then came drank midnight souls racing hearts by true love songs.





rainyday bees

becoming more plastic. being. binging on. bringing on. suspect choices. pacts. parts. petty thieveries. arteries. devices to become more tragic. digesting each attractive. raining. midwestern trucks under it. purging residual materials that eyes've collected like kleptomaniacs. in the backwards they were rolling her out. they were rolling out my tongue a matador. smiling. slowmotion notions stung by rainyday bees under the great big sweating bulk of every everything. fixing to. highways.





determination

radio. moonlit abbreviations. sinking spell. potions. rapturous unknowing. playing pool below decide. what focus. maybe a better idea. reorganize the thoughts in dixie cup. the sun above. really. on film. glint of i want. a ton. this weekend. can't let you. the pits. i don't think. drop curtains. the high altitude radio. drugs melt off any spots in the eyes. clouds that knock together like scrawny knees. genuflect. oblivious arms around bouquet of oil spill. vinyl evenings. elaborate constellations.






Three versions of "Monday morning" Which is best?

Monday morning 1

Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that mattering anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoftt's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most hacked and shlenktit browser on the planet, Claire. Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, only a nickle when you were just 5 to 10 and sold them to the neighbors straight out of your good father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Morales? You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonances become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it. So the Big native american says to the Little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp. for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret." If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hell to pay. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they take their cues. The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know, a Miller phrase from the day, his, that is. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we? We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?




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


Monday morning 2

Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon,
he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages
tho not so much of that good old matter anymore.
The Director and her Seven Innuendoes,
that she may have designed Microsoft's Internet Explorer
even if No she didn't invent the internet, either.
Well of course, why didn't they think of that
thot both her two clerks or two techs,
for after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load,
so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh.
They would have claimed Firefox, not
the most "hacked and shlenktit" browser on the planet, Claire.

Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange,
take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's Store
and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper
for $2.43, JUST a nickle when you were just five-to-ten
and sold them to the neighbors straight out of father's garden.
This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise,
piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school
and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's,
Mr. Morales?

You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines
here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage
at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonances
become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously
becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair
you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design"
anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis.
One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it.

So the Big Native Bmerican says to the little native american,
"you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky
she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded.
Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp for the calendar,
this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica,
and the closest anybody gets to Tropical beach life around here.
"We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can
even day dream. We just can't execute,
all bound up in those morals and ethics
the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get
from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich,
maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe
because they own so much that they can't even give it away,
maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret."

If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves'
bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hay to pell-mell.
The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick
and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues,
they takes their cues.

The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too,
and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here,
can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots,
now, doncha know. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love
others your way, or not, and I love others, you too,
my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on,
and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding
or compassion in return, will we?

We will know this -- thousands of humble writers
live their lives giving real care to others
and we never know that from their writing,
about which we always have the last words,
don't we, Reader?


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


Monday morning 3


Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that matter anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoftt's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most hacked and shlenktit browser on the planet, Claire. Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, only a nickle when you were just 5 to 10 and sold them to the neighbors straight out of yer good father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Morales? You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonance become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it. So the Big native american says to the Little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp. for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret." If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hell to pay. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they take their cues. The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know, a Miller phrase from the day, his, that is. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we? We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?








4.10.2008


the high altitude medicine guide

coursing up temples like a band of hooligans. heard it on the radio.
on the radio. moonlit abbreviations. sinking swingers in the lake
of pines.

bird's eye. i seen your memory on the floor. like a propeller. like sacrifice.
truth is spelled out. potions.

i walk at an angle. we're cast in life to reeling in feel. precautious
or persuasive. you tell me. what is cost-effective. stranger. relics of.
the drugs melt off any disturbed just passing through.








4.06.2008


moat (song)

headboard jungle
checkerboard

teeth glinted
silver moon

time gurgles
the lampshade

was intangible
each indoor shape

as brief as nicotine nights
as filtered as forgetful





SUNDAY TUNES










4.05.2008


ostrich

everything resembles a star a star - peel back the layers - hiccups in space - navels of graceful crucifixions - slender the night that chose - graffitti in manic and streetlights like parties way up high - she's crossed her legs underneath the table - a railroad crossing - handlebars on the way home - a sobering reminder -boulders with windows pasted on - rain in the small town small cloud small - her teeth so white pixellated - pasties like bug eyes - puff of cigarette smoke then the wave - push back the curtain hurry - a straw in each nostril shoots the shapes straight up my brain like a mirror-faceted pineapple





Lucy's Shores in a Bottle

A gorge to the left of her
anvils Lucy to Dada
tumbling flowers
out between her blooming knees
drives south
an owl
on August 3rd

Her Cubism’s
twelve post-Jungian
tomato vines
pump her brake lights
up like red balloons
finger fucked in
solid Potsdam

It's like a dream of Lucy
(in one luggage
clandestine as parasols)
in which Lucy
never masturbates
or has sex

It's like sex'll remind her
(the apple a day
that up & fruits it)
she's not in love
except with words








4.03.2008



of ink and man

the first poets were free
until ink stained flesh
on mortal canvasses
of the eden delight.








4.01.2008


So This

I quietly and unremarkably love you, I
practice being where I am if I invent
you I already learn a way to recollect
the huge moments of happiness, the minor
tree branch, the live wings changing
how our lawn poses status of collective
noun imposed thus from without so various
coordinating conjunctions are not equal
to the task the task is being knowing
valuing while this is here, so this
embedded presence defines present tense
as real and as legitimate with and without each
one of us.