matriculate to snow

distance susceptible to
containment comes
to be felt

I walk the quad ago
infinity like
the folder in my hand

vivacity in body
holographical professor
tranced in Northrop Frye

a secondary source
and any breeze there is
at four a.m.

still whispers
back I have
not felt primary
feeling toward

I seem to have ex

hearth made happen
-stance no one I talk to
wants to understate

the layers of tense
and neutral
panes of ice

glands in my psyche
chafe the nice mind
I have
read about

for now
alarming zeroes change
the quality of intake
breath corresponding
to soft mention
of god as limber
spree of free time

tethered to my neck
the secret longing
not to speak
and to feel heaven

is this hearth
so portable I can be
anywhere alone

hi five

spoken so divided a division interpretation
eyeballs crowd my safety zone
intertwined around a never ending circle
sailing ships surround her peninsula
lets slip away
showing off our creation
my roots are shaky
they are MY roots
hi five to your memory lapse
logistics concealed the issue
i ran up to the convenient store to buy a new mind
turns out to be defective
they issued a massive recall
i fell asleep



creatures we look so blatantly
painted polaroids on the cassette of our dreams
or drum machine steady rhythmic wettings

sarcastic lights sliver down
stop us up like potpurri
we can't handle our deposit

so step out
of the ivory
to the clinical softly

the bread is leafy
leaks the atmosphere
ottoman won't notice

what of

we're in us darkly
there were certain numbers
upon a time licked knifey
tongues got it up sharply
incomprehensible nougat
cryptic down the street
steering side to side no
it wasn't that there anymore
more like what's gnawing
in secluded coats of throat
hyperventilating like a breeze
where catch a cold catches on
releases nozzle relapses windows
does what we'd really like to do
in our birthday suits



thanks, biden

our faces punctured screen
as precise as aluminum wings
four slit eyes framing deep holes

the biggest forces shaping
come out here our lives
the real front something to say

we'll end that neglect
snuff cyclones
to reveal illusory parts

we don't read about it
anymore in the papers
we think

remember when
a while back
the world used to trust us

we're here and we're here
panoramic vision
again and again and again

merged backed up together
reality tight in our time
like a screw

Four For Horus

1. I've finished weeping the sun and climbing the stairs to a finger immersed in the blue of the city. I can feel my skin stretching over yours again. Music, pure ambrosia to those currents of mine which knowingly, willingly, choose to smother what is golden in the distance between trees. I've a sudden need to flap my leather wings with all the clarity of war on meat-hooked lips, psychological, astrological. And very much a windmill. It begins in the mirror, in the molten wonder of hedonists refused entry to a timeless world.

Cherubim with red hands...

2. They drool a strange kind of thunder, hiss pharoahs in order to persist in their young, particularly fragrant, delirium. Bones of truth without being a single syllable at sunset, memories like purrung from someone's frantic antennae. "Reality is invented by the incestuous," (a favorite maxim of mine) scrawled on the foreheads of habit, riding the bus alongside the many corridors of summer, what survived to contemplate murmuring geometries, the sneer of jazz. I've tapped out thick, foolish beginnings to chaos for gasoline, sold the laughter depicted by thieves beneath angry bridges. But everybody still comes to me for their 3 o'clocks, what I'll do to leave traces of genitalia on pillows wet like trembling strangers I met in slow motion.

Everywhere is hanging in a cave.

3. You are very Christ-like when my veins are thin, quiet, a neutrality nobody cares to notice. Or it doesn't matter to them in the least when my shadow casts off its democratic veneer. I was structured as a series of prefaces to dusty, secret backrooms, waves of light drunk with the power of perfectly-tailored suits and oil-slick ennui. The sorcery, nervous, discordant, wants to analyze the way you slip in and out of my television, leaving me to stare at worn, decrepit pictures of Frida Kahlo and wish I wasn't such a radio for erasures on the cusp of turning into sandy, warm, thighs.

4. I'm determined to be a mysterious rhythm in curves of breath stuck to the cold, hard, facts, little daydreams glimpsed quickly through a freshly-polished bakery window, where the tables are deeply in lust with pools of spilt coffee that drip lasciviously over their edges. Saxophones could grow in that loneliness. It's almost impossible to drive through the screams that persist in my motionless, black hair, Tokyos of young women sent by a notion to paint my empty bottles of rum. They left their individual testimonials scattered on throats bleeding the sorrow of every minute detail, despite the eyelids of earth and air.

4 Subprime-Mortgage Sonnets


talent for vanishing
dance suites

repossessed pulque
bars, luxury-class

rigors of cold

who's that on tenor?


backroom brawls
back in the news

raunchy endeavors
under review

local calls at long-
distance rates

empty before filling


away all boats
ask me about

red houses all
in a row

tonight's rock



glossy enlargements
no extra cost

some ice cubes
on a blanket

your house or

Hungry, a country?

If Dante Spill Redo

If Dante spill redo
Getting it down

Flotsam of melon-
Headed cartoon boy

Stands on his heels
At aardvark

Shallow chronic

Divides DeLillo
Reading Pile 2007

Animus device catalyzes
Vendors’ secret

Civic ZOOM lens
Dissipates grammar

Curving thru art space
Plucking & poking

Shall we conjunction
At the junction?

Strategy assumed
To be continued


sleeping with the narcissist

unequal to
sleeping with yourself

unequal to being
by yourself

unequal to having
been breastfed at least once

unequal to salvation
half a time

unequal to
brevity's bereft someplace

unequal to communion
invented by and for the real thing

unequal to a curly summer
standing for life phased slowly in

unequal to new(ly minted)
object which you are despite

Sonnet Zork

You are standing in an open field west
of a white house, with a boarded front
door. There is a small mailbox here.

Within the mailbox lies an envelope
containing a white powdery substance.
The envelope’s stamp has not been

cancelled, and a message from the PO
says there’s still twenty-two cents due.
But who, when you’re dead, will pay?

Who will pay when you’re dead?



massive grass
cables to you
tangles utmost
nervous kiss
pots and pans

muzak of getting
finally jelly
pelican lights
sad glad song
apathetic cocaine

frizzy boardwalk
hush eyes bring with
head movies blur
emotionally connected
tragically cosmic

all that and traffic
of chests congested
amniotic fluid
salt and pepper static
checkered ruins


Time engulfs literature. Even painting has only
neutral events to eviscerate, leaving empty
promises hanging on ecstatically.

The entertainment left everyone puzzled.
How ought newcomers exist? Telephones
everywhere. Lasting endeavors perhaps

having only negligible effects.

Errancy & the Meaning of "Mango"

Eavesdropping, shamelessly, amongst the clatter of business-day cups and
loose change exchanged at a favorite, local, blue-collar, coffee shop, “Blue
Horses: A Series of Events Seemingly Mundane” stumbles upon “real life.”
It’s not the unvarnished truth “Blue Horses: A Series of Events Seemingly
Mundane” records but a facsimile, the fleshed-out approximations of voice foreshadowed unerringly, rewound, and played back: “Don’t look now but isn’t
that your long-lost love waiting for the bus across the street?” says a man,
a shop keeper, who nudges his friend sitting next to him at the counter.
A) His friend looks. He doesn’t see. Or doesn’t want to see. B) His friend
doesn’t look and sees her forever as the girl he remembers, who left him
because of the wrong words all the time. The friend turns to the shop keeper
“She wanted words drizzled over her like honey on shortbread. Plagiarism
killed that romance not silence like so many guys tell me killed theirs.
The word mango for instance. I looked up this poem about mangos once…well,
not about mangos per se but about the word "mango" itself it turned out…
and tried to impress her with the beauty of this poem about mangos: ‘I love
you much as I do the word mango dripping from my tongue’ I recited. She
only got huffy when I asked her if she liked what I’d written. She paused,
sensed it wasn’t mine, called it inauthentic, fraudulent, ersatz, plagiarized.
'Well, Christ,’ I snarled, ‘damn a man for trying to be romantic.’ ‘Words,
if one is in love, flow like water down a brook’ she said. Always sounded
like some book. She left me a week later, claimed I didn’t know who I was
'cause I copied poems.” A man, sitting on the other side of the shop keeper
at the counter, chuckles then pauses, thinking it an odd conclusion. The
friend just grins uneasily and blows calmly on his coffee, hoping to forget
the entire affair. “Blue Horses: A Series of Events Seemingly Mundane” has
overheard enough but keeps thinking about what he’s heard & the significance
of the word mango. Has “Blue Horses: A Series of Events Seemingly Mundane”
missed the point? Some errant thing has taken root. “Blue Horses: A Series
of Events Seemingly Mundane” just sits there saying it over & over, softly
like a prayer: mango mango mango mango mango mango mango mango.

snow is water



Tricia as Olwen

Glacier II


Tricia as Olwen



Tricia as Olwen

all photos by me



yet don't know not yet
net through fingers to sand
is glad glass breaking is strand

never no not yet
unknowing glow
spinal cargo

each her name
in my rain
and yet

my thoughts
are nuns fall
like dominoes

downpour o
don't know
not yet

each hand
stemmed like jellyfish
in blue pool of screen aching met


shallow faces paint this way go by
eavesdropping the largest erection yet
under penalty of checkered tablecloth
imprisoned by rainbows soft chewy nougat
milling about smoking dopest dope
being called fucked each hour inches by
flesh glaciers peach fuzzy incredible
strips like puzzles skinnydips off riverside
with buxom pupils whiskified abysmal


I Don't Know Anywhere About You

I have many time talc
storking Ramakrishna
and the heather blades
are some of the most damplive
underlinks to strive the bilk
out of the tall twill
living gray upon the scram dial
every brink a daybreak without squall
such masterpiece is flyboy name brain
and our act of craving nerves
a blank divvying endorsement
cold upon one's own bravura
one's own gravitas


"The time for change has come."


The time for come has changed.
The come for time has changed.
For change the come has timed.
The has come time for change.
For time has come the change.
The change for time has come.
The come for change has time.
The time for has come changed.
The change for come has timed.
The come for change has timed.
The for change time has comed.
The come for has changed time.


Obama Obama O
bama Obama Oba
ma Obama Obam
a Obama Obama
Obama Obama O


Time changed has for come the.
Comed has time change for the.
Timed has change for come the.
Timed has come for change the.
Changed come has for time the.
Time has change for come the.
Come has time for change the.
Change the come has time for.
Change for time come has the.
Timed has come the change for.
Changed has time for come the.
Changed has come for time the.


O amabO amabO
amabO amabO
mabO amabO am
abO amabO amab
O amabO amabO


The time for change has come
time for change has come the
for change has come the time
change has come the time for
has come the time for change
come the time for change has
the time for change has come


O b a m a O
b a m a O b
a m a O b a
m a O b a m
a O b a m a
O b a m a O


The time for change has come.
The time for come has not changed.
The time for change has not come.
The change for time has come
The come for change has not timed.
The time for change has come.
The time for change has come and
gone. And come. And gone. And


Worse Things

what lies beneath the temple of life?
what number comes after death?

if eve seduced sin

what's wrong with flowers?


Horse Led to Slaughter

To vote down the enemy, we charged into heavy artillery fire.
Minimizing casualties, our number-one priority. Exposure
greater than ever before, even after our ports and our borders
were secured against acts of terrorism, against foreign incursions.

Trying to understand, after all these years, why search-and-rescue
teams always had to fight their way uphill and across treacherous
moats just to win hearts and minds that were not disposed to
being won. Enemy cameras watched our advance from the top

of the walls, behind the gleaming coils of razor wire, unable
to distinguish our regular troops from flesh-and-blood human
beings. The arrest of suspected fifth-columnists cheered us
for the moment, and we fought our way upward and onward,

across the pyroclastic flow, ground so hot our boots would melt,
thirty-four barefoot runners from the Seychelles, the last to fall.


sprung up
a collection of images
invoking venus
legs spread wide
insane glorious
moans of passion
ignite overflowing
her hips swallow him whole
cosmic dance
she rolls
bodies intertwine
synchronized squirting

I said to him (a token)

to Sheila

I said to him why not become an action figure (postmortal fame)
I said to him omit active ingredients (addiction blame her)
I said to him the white light is a shadow (fractalism)
I said to him my shadow is dark light (touching surface)
I said to him genetic extremes define communal median (dry mainstream)
I said to him blasphemia is that land inside (quiescence)
I said to him reflection echoes pasts yet to happen (nostalgia)
I said to him do not worry (projection)
I said to him I need a cigarette and think it over (alive)

a token, walk on the east side


I said to her (a mark)

I said to her who sold you on suicide (a crucifix, sharp edged)
I said to her shut out the blackbird (choice, blemish)
I said to her the cushion was a white tree (smooth light)
I said to her my silhouette belongs (carved placement)
I said to her communal longing (seen)
I said to her blasphemed pet nouns might zap the flesh (once quiet)
I said to her some elements are tiring (affixed to history)
I said to her whose tirade (lay-by)
I said to her give me a moment to line up the dream with this (relive)

Order 9 Travesty

I sink my teeth into the blue of your body is full of tourists. The walls
are full of insects. There is a sign over your bed that is unintelligible.
The yard is full of tourists. The walls of your body reveals that you kept
in the basement. Someone has left the back door unlocked. For some reason
I never come around any more. I blame the French. They were drawing a smile
across your face with a knife. The sun has been replaced with yawns. The
yard is full of tourists. The walls of your body reveals that your library
contains more tears than anything. I felt like a bird whose flesh was made
of mouths. I propped a ladder up against your window, but when I climbed
up to look in on you, your All of the loud speakers have been discovered
by the flash-bulbs of the dead. Some part of me is disappointed that the
execution was terminated after someone unplugged the river. The meaning
too often relies on an understanding of the method. Your bodies are overcome
with loss. Are night sweats a sign over your bed?

how does it feel

how does it feel to be loved?
a note written
beneath underground railroads
no reciprocation
disbelief stained eyes
lets ponder transparent emotion
i planted a tree in your memory
configuring all the possibilities
swaying back and forth
cold wasted toxic smiles
seasons passed babe
blacked out those moments concealed
a dream
an era
a question unanswered
her leaves changed color
invisible tears fell like rain
micro burst
laying awake
i felt you there
nonexistent devotion
he threw her to the vultures
she meant nothing and everything
unexplained loyalty
her o in
needles convey intense passion
let me tell you a secret
headed down around over
its all so sudden
popping pills
her truth serum
hiding behind walls shaded green
dancing with death
i was wet behind the ears
you taught me fear
i looked up
all along the answers were written on the ceiling

motion less

stalked through dreams
a corner silent
her mid drift erased sensibility
he hides in bushes
wacking off toward disdain
her cleavage sedates him
from afar
she roams onward
follow the leader
tapping her shoulder
360 degree turn around
crystal meth ate her face
he screamed
why did the world stop spinning


warum? (nina simone, giuseppe ungaretti)

Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?


si sconta



is payed

by living



(n.simone, g.ungaretti)

photo: warum? (2008), by g.monte

Ali Ohm By Yah

soul three strains belting
sing-song our Ms English

you breathe in myth
invisible breath, greatest

the sort of bloom, story
wick of candle lit wax

a thousand welcomes


magnifi coastal drawn butte

go there you dumpling

Gabcast! Thursday



masked women stared down steps of exile at nights wiped out turned around calculated and fragile - flood of metal of midnight - perverse rumbling voice of narrow streets rolled forward never ceasing - throbbing cathedrals light-spitting red rooves inhabitants expenses bathed in colours of tumultous moon

blood-hound on track of eyes bereft of sleep - fingers slip from minute to minute with longing - hallucination of balance dropping down like skeletons noiselessly with untouched words - burst through the vibration of mystery - dance of notes violently onward - waves in a cradle of machine-wheels flung into the intoxication of rouge storms


vowels unsaid
as of yet