Docent Things Provoke Lines

Squirrel brainwashed
Squire murders mega-pixel salon owner kills boy 3
Girl six

Signing wave upon wave of fanatic amber grain
Conclusions alter mighty Joe Young & his echo
In Umatilla orange grove

The soda was flat

I came to a closet
& split

Too much Pop boner edicts for a good sled along bumpy ride
In Florida
The turnpike appeared to have said
True things
To a follicle or mass

Come winter &

Avec the sluices
Between townies

Ranch house among ping pong native colonials
Doing disco still
Meeting chow hound while South Beach & Atkins survive
Mass grave at lake side condominium
Assign evening a gloomy casting

Treacherous housewives
Cross blvd

I hope I am

Ma & Pa’s ‘60s Present:

Bird with a Difference

A horn
Round the

Hobbled translucent goading ‘70’s watermark archive seduces
Spa in the den only lunar possesses
Elixir gone mad

I goof with the signal

The cable’s my guide

Reasons for living:

AUTO MAKERS bleeding stock market dough
Is not good enough a poem
[Includes brackets]

Genetically altered irradiated vegetables
May feed increased numbers
Is next to godliness

Docent thing provokes lines catalytically alive
A dream out of matter

Open can misses lid

The cat has to limp

To sponge vegetables clean of earth & insect feces

A cow poke’s a product
Anxious for king maker

“It’s all the clean you’ll ever need!”

A swami or snail shells

A voice out of dusk

A soap dish is running
Surreal with spoons


dj got a party 'cept there no party

10 results of 96500, Thursday, May 29, 2008, 11:06:00 pm EDT

Get there early,
because this

out!! Party
People STAND UP!

... Its CMN



Oct 31, 2006
... Their

grown, though
cute, chatty girls

remain this country?s
most ...

?Cept there?s
nothing. I

get into
the maze, ...

And there was
still an

after party with
Adam/Ben/Karl/Marc on

and an

after's round at
Dammo's with

Pool party time.
There's a

at pool 3
that i'm

to play at,

That was pretty
interesting, I

there and the
poor dj

DJ: (voice) There's
no way

gettin' in front
of that

in this get-up


almost time
we wrapped this

up and
left the new

Avatars should be
2500 kbs

MAX unless there
is a

going on,

please be considerate!
(Cept DJ's

cause she
could kick my

4, 2007
... I can

throw a SMALL
party anywhere)

I got
involved, ... Theres

Theres no

we can go
with out

Parking is 9$/day
for our

there is
no charge of

and unloading.

you planning a

got a
great party atmos

and cheap booze,
babes are

.... monkeys who


dance there. And
i think

DJ is turning
it into

Jan 26, 2008
... [quote]but

was thee hottest
biotch there

I got so
many compliments.

The party

cept I
lost my wallet

My Father Said Some Things Like Light

My father said some things like light
kills germs.
He was an economist who rose
to the occasion
constantly sans brass fanfare
and bearing
gifts instead.

My father loved
his own jokes although less than
who we each were, are, will be.
My father was in love
and spoke in love
and practiced looking,
hearing, saying something,
slipping soft donations
to the unsuspecting, and
erasing each such gesture
by the sound of peace.

My father was an eminent
decider and the brain in him
contaged its way to
children as he matched
his life partner
who spoke perfect
philosophese. She lambed
his hurt and she was equal
to his notice as her recognition
laced with shared discernment
made it also to felt speech.

My father said some moments
into loving history.
Tamed ferocity of feeling
in his heart, translating
beauty to a field and sharing
every small percentage of
the acreage. Wanting, seeking,
cherishing the moment
and repeating it,
as moments in their way
would constantly and faithfully


Ungaretti: M'illumino d'immenso


Mattina (Morning)
I light up
from the immense
Santa Maria La Longa, il 26 gennaio 1917
(translated by G.Monte)


The Extraction

The way time tagged me
is beyond my devices.
Art chose me to collide
in the mortal corridor
I stained the mirror red
Love taught me God
Life happened along to divide
I carved dawn from twilight
extracting the soul shimmer
and divine quintessence


Gabcast! Saturday



mystery occasion
what's yr intention
abrupt reason
purple moccasin
strange letter
in the midst of
waiting for
in spite of
fathered in
like a mother
it's early
in the morning
so red
the position of soul
in the upper chords
the telepath's bone
feel it there
feel it at the altar
portions of bread
and portions of soup
at the foot
of the stairs


A Language I Study to Resemble

Inherent little mortal terror fissures little glooms & ordered views
Gladly ascend

Frayed at flying edge of

Both sides an oak
Bottomless of soul

Crunched bug
Gauge dry at Hannah’s Wash-O-Matic

From which I observe staunch unfinished name of atom
A conscience is brkn out of
Or some form of

The middle our sojourn / veering clever
Pilots a chute

A pfennig meets Lassie

If charge accounts laugh I want to possess clean jeans in daylight
No detergent stronger than tall & plumed bird

Water oaks grow sonic Wakulla Ave.

Endgame at dusk

On plastic shelves
I lay a thin volume

Do I elude myself in the ditch of understanding?

One defines / a language
Is not identical to / I / strut night upon glints
Or the same as / study
Meaning / to resemble / its form is a terror

Rivets a chair
The frame bent
Dysphonic dusk



that threw you in the river
on and on the grayshattered thud
or else in bars countrywestern
manacled biscuits and gravy
ramshackly o tremble into
a chainlinked scene doglike
navy blue midnight machiney
plays hank williams skipping
shitfitting like outrageous cramps
an armor unmanifested unbirthed
ungirthed unfeltfor underestimated
cruelty goes like this do de do
da de de do
petrified know
what's giving under like knees
you've felt in backyards
of your dreams mathilda

magic tragician

claws from clouds
the terrible landscape of her eyes
is limbo
or in blue we raid the chain
our hearts beating monsters
down by the river
camera in tow
guided by voices
split the carnation in two
memory unfolds like pigeons
thoughts implode beater cadillacs
beef explodes red raw viscera of liquor
flows over a multi-faceted scene
brownbagged synchronized swimming
yes magic tragician lets go the wings
and those items you'd never spent on
reciprocity of chains on chains
such loaded dreams of folds
of resurrections
of melodious monkness
that little angels
go crazy with


Air Hat

Omniscience hastens flurry ripe for new subtraction.

When I knew her, windows made the rounds.

A flare of rapture ordered some facsimile of origami to bequeath to snares left gasping.

I no longer levy Texas where it hurts.

The stranger dressed in my clandestine wardrobe trounces all over Leviticus.

Sparring necessitates loose warbling in the near-term land of yodel.

Are you conscious as you are duplicitous?

My countenance must recreate your confiscated hut.

I strain my vegetables in mixed company.

The words 'totally' and 'absolutely' (he reminded us) are not synonymous with 'yes.'

For now the platform is strictly constructed of these planks.

The Grammar Of Dry Land

Mirage curls on sand. Peacock feather chariots inside her eyes.

Another deconstructed squiggle passes by (it must be the third listening that causes it to sting the air like that), and I light another cigarette in honour of its breathy lexicon. Mechanical hurt, insect jazz in my mouth, the thin sheen of ice beginning to obscure the intricate anomalies that adorn her blue flesh from the soles of her feet to the tip of her bald head.

This patch ahead is all bossa-nova, a midnight sauntering casually through the doorway as if its spasms had never been felt by any of us, its geology soft and mysterious. A gun is drawn and fired randomly into a crowd of vowels outside, their twists and turns animated by whatever is perceived to be credible when the King has finally been swallowed by suggestive glances from ancient ghosts. But, they have not acquired souls yet, so they cannot die. They barely even notice the barrage fired their way.

None of this communicated anything to her spine as she laid there, prostrate on the string of skulls, enjoying her last few moments here on this plane of existence. An imploding sun an unimaginable distance away had freed her molecules, and she relished the thought of something new. She had been assigned here for millennia now, and it was simply time for her to go.

"I like the way you've come to bleed into me over the years. I can take you with me, and..." she trails into silence as I place a marble statuette of a scorpion on her paling, red lips.

Her gaze has become a league of criminals, purer and purer with each revealed truth. She licks lasciviously at the scorpion's tail dangling near her mouth, and an array of minor-thirds cascade to life, coming to rest on trees of inference to cheer granite and learn how to proceed righteously without tipping off the army of diamonds who want them back. Iam transformed into a wink, where money and consciousness have become one river, the place where the poor, toiling aquatic classes compete to fellate the grammar of dry land.

Quotes from Unquotable Sources' Lulu Street Entrance

The matrix of ages lays waste to the streets
Runs guns out of Macy’s


The Latin’s in ruins
Shoots off its mouth

A churl on infamous wig night
I swell among peonies
I dose my old image

A side dish of dada
Appears out of Lucite


A seventh lodestone angles at distance
The mind of a kilo

The language falls sideways
Toppled by lodestones

A rope round the yard
A lanyard on Hye St.

After all it is august


My shoes seem aware

My henchmen’re herons whose gonads
Speak ladders


I clamor

I lack but
A doll’s head

I’m fluent
In water


Potato salad screen door follows antiquity
Singing of summer

& murder with dentures has long skinny arms
Sick little clues

I wonder whose
Nexus stands over there

Today I make tuna
Toasted up nicely

Dada’s a fire door
Open when closed


The outlaws ride west meaning dada’s poetics
Not water’s a bus

Grange & butte rise up past the moon dogs

Stop canvassing outlaws!


In Lawrence Ferlinghetti
One is a mirror
Sounding like joy

He shapes all the apples
Till one has a voice

I come & I go
Licking my chops

& still I won’t drink
The lake has no fish


Ungaretti: Vigil (Veglia)

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Vigil (Veglia)

All night
lying sprawled
near a killed
and his contorted
turned towards
the full moon
and his flushed
my silence
I wrote letters
full of love

I never became
so attached
to my life

Cima Quattro, december 1915
translated by G. Monte; many thanks to Annie Huth.
Picture: Guido Monte, Oltre (2007)


a contagious affectation
scrambling my attention
outrageous prices
her steps thud in the dim-legged hall
that night that the porcupine had crept
like icycles through the fog

i cannot know what's on your mind
it's hard to feel significance
petrified the word outside
is as cold as the well
gathered there

pharmaceutical angels
are pharmaceutical angels
a voice in the recovery room
goes insane like a stranger


fractured like a factory

invisible in delightful town walking
impenetrable under blank lights
obtain sainthood in tinted windows
smoky prisonhood of bars on bars
ghostly glow of grates steaming
meanwhile i'm dreamin' vulnerable
offcourse like a racehorse
seal my lips with airplane glue
stew with me dismal
let's leave out any all explicit details
save for cardinal boss pussy ex-catholic
dented tragic fenders rust blots and rollercoasters
strangely acid the black angel comes looking all sick
looking limited like grieving mothers in tents

the sound of

stillness reloads face of moon on monitor
smoking hatchet grass that clocks've notched
half-assed remove her from this trance remove
the glue of those've passed on legs too stiff
to stand de-seated and defeated cuckoo
under nerve-ended klieg lights bobbing apples
of voodoo towns plugged into consciousness
a whiskey monocle feeling screwed
whirlpool of sandhanded sadness


Spring axioms so much, a yellow sworn to metaphysics

(diagonal with rigor, parts of famine are light-speed's day and midnight)

Very clustered and cannibal: what are lilac circles of emotion?

An unblemished cube can reply, "You are molten and therefore not really a part of sex on this world."

Liberty is almost close to spinning music like abstract etceteras. Sulphur's heart can wear Mandarin collars with teeth sailing for beige lipstick and eyes infected with subterranean calculus

(headless toned effort ruts the weather's zero: pleats of mirage added)

The television's soul is puffy, an eightball oasis

--torrential plasma loved from my ear's sick machine gurgles back through, "I refuse to murder for your reality," zones to scream red off as time after dark burns dragons from the gutter and nods the blackened faces of men--Atlantis awaiting the one flesh cosmology she wears sabotaged of juicy corals that flicker ascent to express vision: everything has never been in love twisted of factories and a tree's slow pulse--high shadows desire in all directions or phantom the carnival like pleasure wets punctuated with the beat inside elbows as a leap from promised decay plateaus our only reward stolen by watery lips--haste to reverse the evening's monkey loaded into kisses a kind of dusk and is logic on the catwalk mask holds a red-light district after arrival's word let white really nylon the uterus with compassion: each corporeal tips the sky of significance saying, "Crimson, give me streets that will negate each other"--extant to interpret throbbing

He has sunshine blared on unlocking chromosomes, porn from carrion skies

(plague spines off the rain's fetish for mutilating my legendary simile cock)

Western lands fragmented on your shadow's groove: liquor factions artfully a shade of lungs melt violin ribs into the stench of irrational numbers

(myopia's passing fortune is an authentic order into youth's jazz and jewel funhouse: a purplish dress glaciers after sound's surprising tip of finger ossifies my tongue)

Ravishing over your arched power, the leer answers only in branches. Theory stuns this message, a bit archaic glistening on the surface of, "Iam always mistaken for a mist of silver collars on blank memory." Sunny radar in the nothing is true forever carved as desire, devotion to a coalescing god who knows every artery we are saying.

Each Fact Is a Tenement

Arrived in nihilistic tomes
Ten species of the death of god
Sit up & take notice

Parts rev

I settle on pots
& leave

Two nights ago
Eight ghosts of ten poets
Plots of disorder

Ransacked ellipsis
Looking for gold but discovered a bride

Blaspheme the PEACE

The mists of 7 am

Tomorrow is the butt end of a week
Working a rough draft
To all possible versions of a straight line

Formed until told
He rises & stumbles

There is a cubicle after blue skies
On Saturday night

Though stalled they revolt
An angel is broken

Our book on the subject
Is the rose of its stanchion


o, laud, since my bawd, oui, said good-bye

in which a walking away
sans footsteps or embodiment
Let us blues onto the brick
fist of another online bass
lyric that last long Egg she's
too blood orange to admire
what's old crust under hiss
my fingernails well, Lord
morning into nausea tiled
anon mosaic onto which
pieces she squares she calls
me sweet story or bathroom
fixture daddy memory
a-one, two, one with one
for knobs she wants bacon
slick hanging & dank, boots
& hats to turn: on: hot on
cold to mix & run awhile
lukewarm then off again
when she in beauty says off that
's what's the matter with

Among Men of Strident Choices

As one of SIX CHARACTERS in search of
Authorities’ stone wing’d popsicles of Pop art jet plane cartoons

I DIED in a fracas
Bluer than Windex

At Sears the idea

Own washable seat

Portable fusion

I wake
To the rain

An EDGE quickly & at dusk

A voice: “ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG!” in the temple of Achtung!
Sings mnemonic Iron Maiden doll head
Loose screw in last machine out

& Pound


A pinnacle of feats
A parlance at war

A parlance at concise
Potted ferns

I wannabe
I take

I disappear: mist across water
Bambi’s ferocious disemboweled histrionics sketch lint at The Hague

Corpses & dwarves letting soup cool

I suffer a donut
The hours’ last boat

Perditions of littoral collaborate intensely
With tea
& extract of linseed

I wallow
In hides

I shoot off
My mouth

During some VIOLENCE twenty paces off
Erratically in terror acts out
The lonely end of


Trap door
Contains animosity

I slit
Mickey Mouse


history's fisticuffs

un-understand lost liquid as amber as a pig's foetus
or visceral cursive now it is here exposed to sun's
slant rays to dismissals secreting history's fisticuffs
empowered by days hard to feel would eat dinner slopping
hither and thither mannequin-esque it's all that harsh may
that roots up shoestrings' yukon licorice sidewalking delusions
of grandeur stop signs are trouble staked to stand disguised as
martyrs white and red disguised as is lost is gone is dead is end


She Perfumed the Natural Sadness

Anxiety can be about missing the chalkmark of presumed perfection. She would fear the daylight would not shine enough. By knowing the Platonic place against the wall, she notarized mistakes as they occurred, and recognized the difference between bliss and threadbare faultlines. When we talked there was a row of patterns, each one themed around her disappointment. Once depth showed its insufficiency. Once inductive reasoning hosted a marginal distinction between summa cum and flowerbeds not full grown. There were so many things to talk about. I have a tendency to see neutrality as wealth. I look through rain and there is solace in the rubbed branch lines against a silken airlight. She was soft, her skin sweetened a place the fiddle would not reach. I often broke the silence if that means something to you. No matter how the flowers got here, they would be hers always.

Saturation still to do with marketing a thing, enlistment of component parts, including sky

Calamity Souls

they infect words with shadows

they are blood scribes
the calamity harbingers

network chameleons
seeding malaise

they moan and lust
for dog day drama

when the swords are drawn



faulty fingers lead to risky hands
break apart the noise on the horizon
the wail of metal neighborhood expands
and contracts opens legs like scissors

there's this dream i'm in it's always
her birthday there i'm always moving furniture
out of my eyelids into the drawing room
menacing shag carpet drank some bad fuel

utopian nausea in our headlights stains
stains the bedding an out of sorts expression
pudding stains the bedding struggling releasing
i'd rather be ahead of me in several places


any if Susie a daisy was

any if Susie a daisy was
when i plucking pluck,
pluck, pluck went i
into Ye Olde Non Words
of love me not me green
loves she not she now
bubbles among froths
of homes' Michigan blankets
lakeside neural conjuring
gone fingers & spells an a-u-t-o
man lame from what running to
ward off the Watusi again
camo backpath the duck!
blind silence of shotguns outgun
the gunmetal Lethean shore
passed the nonreturnable
moment of snare our
quarry (now obvious) bell-
beats away the cartoon
canine tee-he-hees his glee


middle rhyme / lemon lime

term expires
point size
from overrides
on tombstone
beats found
scented interruption
runs softly
mixes norm

surprises form
property rights
stone calculus
pod positive
purses multiply
snarl dialogue
listing first
puts calls


dante again:) ulysses' words

"...fatti non foste a viver come bruti,

ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza"

you exist not for living like a brute being;

you exist to follow worth and knowledge"

from "the BOOK of HOW"

how they picked their role-model companies
how you would launder money and hide it
how they help each other overcome their personal weaknesses by relying on the other’s personal strengths
how corrections were made by striking out a faulty passage in ink and stamping the correction in the margin
how private detectives make up stories on the spot and have to adjust
how to force people to download PDF documents (or other formats) rather than
how he got drunk and threw up
how the therapist evaluates and interprets dreams phantasies etc. in the absence of a personal analysis
how everything actually started
how to avoid disastrous (and embarrassing)
how ice cream came to be
how to tackle instead
how you became a travel editor
how they see them of how they interpret their gestures
how to traverse it
how your mother and everybody knows you were
how she came to write it
how the "inertia of history"
how to actually construct the park what materials you will need and how to acquire
how the various borderline thinking mechanisms work
how amphibians contribute to human medicine
how much the Air Force truly knew about the UFO phenomenon in the 1960's
how to succeed in science
how fragile he really is despite all
how pissed you were
how a sleeve should look like
how the primitive envious feelings are revived
how people see
how her life drifted into drug use and general lack
how he runs upstairs at midnight after a new show to read the reviews
how changes in the grammar of a unit within
how a university responds
how things got so messed up would be a small book

Dante: end of Ulysses' mad flight (inferno XXVI, 142)

"...infin che 'l mar fu sopra noi richiuso"

...till the sea closed upon us

Happy spamiversary! Spam reaches 30

Happy spamiversary! Spam reaches 30
Yes, I consume material SPAM
No, spam is produced by the Chinese secret service to brainwash the free world
Yes, spam is an act of God because the internet is blasphemous
No, spam expresses opinions and provides information. Spam should be treated as free speech under the First Amendment of the Constitution
Yes, I trust my government let them decide what should be filtered as spam and what not
No, I am from outer space, please explain why canned SPAM can not be beamed accross the internet
= see results =

On May 3 1978, Gary Thuerk, a marketer at the now-defunct computer firm Digital Equipment Corporation, sent an email to 393 users of Arpanet, the US government-run computer network that eventually became the internet. It was the first spam email ever.



which i cannot stand

    little else


on hardcore
nooner's shifty
feet on room's floor

scrape on knee
she'd said
was an accident

avoid shadows
take risks

knees knocking
consider an anchor
to consume better

is outerspace
because you understand more
than they'd wish to intimate


Virtual Field

don duck, ,at dice

'Hi. I'm don duck looking
flaubert-like in pole-sitting'
was once a trend before
hurtling hard to earth.

In the grand stand tonight
is a loss of 6 for theJets.

A sporting fuck, lusterless
as fortune's dappled, lip synching
onlsaught of silence,
don is alive as the game is alive.

This then is our hope's opus--
a version of dice [from the Arabic
al-zhar, meaning games of risk
involving danger or hazard.]

A ripped down constellation
monopolized verbatim,
don duck is in terror of war,
abandons his pole-sitting.