As/Is







3.31.2008


lawn boy segment



money and power diced rabid

black dog plus contaminant feral



infected cat equal

all lawn boy lacks



another vague afternoon without social restraints

his inner brute



rips apart these animals anyway

add salt and festering



boils his guests

arrive famished











3.30.2008


semi-cynical friend

particulars i didn't want him in on
she did for whatever this room's far
too too short rocks a why
dinging to staring at the ceiling

i feel uncomfortable you didn't have to end

that stray explanation was never delivered
her family was against couldn't digest it
i wanted to interrupt keep them necessary
keep them
plucked bankrupt guitar string

i wonder what she does alone there at night

everyone thinks that daydreamy stillness is most radical
my trajectory included under the hardcore night and
its breakable bulbs it drags from some source and drags
and it keeps dragging my semi-cynical friend





Oil #9

Psychic lounge as hands of the knowing it's uncanny, the fully-digested city that is not going to break. A conference is never prosperity, it mesmerizes between the haves and the new black, an inherent potential for geometry in that night sent to membrane a stroke of pure love. Eight as a formula, what you've got between your doors this new vista, my powers of Gertrude Stein.








3.29.2008


allure

transparent mattresses gray clouds
stars of sad reunions
sad centers of nectar
frigid with ground below
the spinal cord of
is rotating hum
is splintering
wooden halo
beneath the weight
taken in installments
anything is moon
wear it
whether pills or
metallic sacrament
saharan depressions
the days' dials pursue
robes flowing behind
profound obsessions
stringed instruments
purpose is problem
she'd kicked her habit
i'll admit
that i was hesitant
infested persistent
a leg up her skirt
is motivation
lurking around
the telephone booth
with its sincerest face on
my legs would not and still
last night
the rosary between her knees
her face from east to west
like an echo between poles
it was emotionally close captioned
it read like telepathy as it
struggled from shoulder to shoulder






Home Next To The Exit

I was forever
when home shimmered
beneath the morning star

Now home rides
next to the exit
of every last instant





lost a post

and it was called (few chosen)
"don't dainty me"
and it was good
(brotha!)
and it was good

now I lay me
now I weigh me
now I flay me
dry my tears

I wish there were a cinderblock
of wholesome
to relieve my sake

you make me shatter where
I merely shadowed once
and limitedly drying follicles
were also fine

I'm with you
are you viable against
the pasture
is this a metro

lop
flop
clop clop
shaving

tell me norms are
whittled down worth
zippo hip
frames (have a child)

you ought to be in pixils
baby pine wood
pick a box
(any box)








3.27.2008


this is not a photograph

issues means that i've got fish shoes
what does that ignite under march sun
motherfucker sounds like mellow in burmese
some ketchup and some coffee at the 7-11
is that wrong

sleep deprivation
the musculature of being awake
the bulbous nose of waiting
the longing in yr heart
the speedy pills
like yellow submarines

you must understand
that i want to need you
i pause
the braille of long returns
are the bouncers of yr heart
delicately obsessed lips decompressing

it's like a violence
that i want you to inflict upon me
read it in the sunday papers
my ascetic's five o'clock shadow
just like this is not a photograph








3.25.2008


tender buttons

sporangia spoon-feed as i sit here on the sofa waiting on clara's call
she's at the club in my feet moodily ahhing ahhs or crucifixion diction
dig wore one of those black robes that you drove her dress all the way
to the mall the performance is spontaneous she's a stanza driver mascara'd
in her mystical doom buggy the dining room wore through you like being
harpooned more than fooled by an absence an aardwolf invisible-esque
in silent film each spoonful of our minds like chaplin or in each armpit
a little martyr an ascetic black coffee scurry out front like gertrude
stine spooling moonful for a second true identity true staring at me
like love when it feels purgatorial with shocking pink saucer eyes
is ideal inflection smoking a cigarette with predestination along
with genuflection that you knew how do or like all along
where it burned a hole instead of you and turned away or on





teach him to

bleed comfortably in private and not have it show
blend without the edges
overtake the rinsed moon
shadow how hurt feelings
and their sharpness
and their coattails
and their feeble cells

allow speech not to be
a silencer and have a role
have a place to play
that is not functioning
that deservedness will always
with at least one holding
to be holding





joan

the fool on the water or hidden purity
connected somehow triple-hipped divinity
recurring still we'll hook up in the ether
at least has it occured to you peripherally
multi-faceted wonderbodies her eyeballs
are deities out there somewhere her focus
fingernails pretty kissings and otherworldly
her facings and her goings scantily clad
waiting on cab the trees so high that night
on stilted legs windless with unknown pleasures
we've become three that none other can name





slowdive

slept against it was merely imagined
two faces merge sweetly in the happening
hard twists of night radically feeling

desperate attraction i've opened
a book on my lap sacrilegious excretions
the lamp's glow is wound it bleeds the room

haunted by like secrets is wanting
is knowing is like thoughts dispensing candy
is resurrection radio telepathic transformation

most important is to know who you are








3.24.2008


you are my comprende

also tacit is the greenery in thought
this respiration of indulgence
the appointed hour

you finish my surface to reveal
its glow merely another depth
seen from projection

when the stream is quiet
we can see ourselves
and when we see we might be listening

a form of justice is in hibernation
yet the gratitude alleviates
the pain in seedlings

many hospices behind the attitude
direct us to the grape
and sadness peeled away

more fluencies treble their lit
carapace when an endowment
learns to fry

each of us a noun in waiting
hastens the descent of curtain
with its plush liner and weight

the semi-submersible sub she talked of
was her shining psyche
I am guessing and still sure (at once)





big black car

numbed to beautiful in indigo room glazed daisies or
three fleshes congregate like the washington monument
bright flashes specimens shocking eyes move like headlights
to the ceiling saturated with jack on fire taught bodies
in circles hollar fire hydrants ours are stars the flower
of our mouth an asterisk inverted kiss pretty the shapes
the most taboo the shapes the smoke the shapes outsided








3.23.2008



Gabcast! Sunday









3.22.2008


the butterfly collector

totally lethargic silhouettes of communication
celebrated beehive blaring going gone open like bed
be fucking alarmed draw bridges of my otherwise self
drugs fall from american clouds over belgium like candy
it's a parade get trying you scrawny lines and drink
fine minutes to reevaluate party i felt a dark night
in her pocket she's saving kaleidoscope for a rainy day
to deluxe down the quiet street i'm cosmic champagne
enters the etcetera have good make-out repeatedly
appreciate my voice really lonely shape conversation
ought we talk with sometimes the afterglow of heroin
she's death-defying the jitteriness mirror is a movie
substitute the blood for ketchup buckle your hearing
like a truant does with true daring life is a butterfly
my hands just grown two words and tiny poem lips too
that cursive factory muffins and moves stars the first
wasn't stuck on my weekends on top slide up very happy
she and a wilderness for the stairs like waves
soulmate throws a sensitive jungle at our keepers






Am Always Coming Out To The City


something in my genes
compels me to count the letters
of the words in my eye
shackles me to tired information
bleeds the adjective
even before my mind speaks

something borrowed
garbled hip hop language
am always coming out to the city
before the beat knocks on the door.








3.21.2008


shelter skelt

admit via the bedroom wind (you clue in
the ivy prone to brickline (nominal restraint
for a person visiting (figure of orderly display
to sun herself to think (water figures speech
across these waves (lint like soft fuel
of space in time (tools for which form

conform to rule-based flint (time-based
effects upon the double-paned (ave maria for example
protective course in tow (tinkering in light
believe in what you do not make (personae tingling
arrive at some specific figure (site-specific
to declare and call it (climbing equal to toil
someone's creed including you (room for bridges








3.20.2008


spark

it's embedded in the distance between you and i
rewind one day let feet loose behind gloss of eyes
where we rose once more to dream pages fell like
seduced clothes like blood-drawn merlot dripping
from the tops of blackened trees blue eyes of god
dear lonesome-fingered dribbling ball through
the abandoned building's devastated hallway
hold back my hand mathilda i have no idea
in the slit space that lucifer left









3.16.2008


catholicism

guilty pleasures twist their faces
it's night alone technicolor elves mirror eyes in corners
angles maneuvers shapes a girl who hacked your myspace
elude the tetrahedron distance self from the swerving clouds
the promise of paradise now reflected in the solar billboards
your etiquette and your large portions your exploding humility
you're keeping your options open contrary to promises
you're working in the mine just like the last husband
who'd lost his self swallowed up by the corridor's dark percolator
it was another language called outerspace it was the twilight zone
in wisconsin and we model before the moon our melancholy rags
like we're illegal taken up residence in a hostel her face
her lips the words were falling to the world incriminating
watch the chimneys pipe up out of our way static static
i never turned the radio on it must've been from on high





south

the milk is drunken by death as well
builds strong bones that last an eternity

shrunken under this i refuse to believe
what you'd never let me bejewelled lobster

incredible the time her with her big mouth
and now her with her incredible soul stun

tonight i'm keyholing because i want to dream
i want to eat ice cream fuck my face with vanilla

tomorrow i'll get lost in mathilda's clocks arms
half-naked to forget this mess this single file of bull





my goodness

she looked so real
i couldn't bring myself
to hold her muster up
the sky is funeral blue
as anxious earth unrolls
before and behind you
a glued face to a window
is where godess
refuses intervention
a glued face to a window
is a face instead of you
unsteady on glossy feet
the city's recycled son
packing an unheard-of heat
in his tight jeans levi's
two neon virgin marys
flashing in his scrambled eyes
or remember when norfordville we'd went
to do when you'd thrown away important
that day way back in her ageless beauty
the clouds pissed all of this passionate intensity








3.15.2008


anxiety

trace your jonesin' to the house
we'd camped in all winter
virgin mothers crowding the quarters
extreme prediction to i don't know
the boredom you've felt is all a dream
i should know i've visited twice and plan
to go back next year for a vacation with
the whole fam convenience store sore eyes
haunt my bespectacled life exquisite salivating
an ivory whirlpool pardon me the film blurts
of course it's styrofoam the leopard's eyes
are made of and of course you can pet it
it was you vs. the city your left hook
spun the streets like a fiend's eyes
aimed at cornered world settles in a candle
for your mouth to shove through
the inky tentacled nettles of dark
we are made of what the stars shot back






I'm going to move the obstacles because they are not objects quite
I'm going to change myself
I'm going to infringe upon a violation of entitlement deserving
I'm going to beetroot this space of water
I'm going to anoint what was already holy to remind myself
I'm going to foster a new season in the offing
I'm going to elate
I'm going to sound relativity in retrospect
I'm going to be purposeful with prematurity
I'm going to declare my own lifeline
I'm going to employ my arithmetic functions
I'm going to resist the various inventions
I'm going to focus noticing





i swear

i am writing down numbers
there's a look in your eyes
that screams moscow, bitches!

you've pinned god to the ottoman
like a crushed mosquito elsewhere
munching moon the kids play dominoes quietly

pretend to give a fuck i dare you
i swear once i published in this literary quarterly

and start to hold my breath and think virgin again

dear brethren and sistren infatuated with irony
i swear the depth of this bread goes on forever
while a good portion of the world is starving

the balls of this poem are sagging south
i've stopped making plans expecting her call
i can't sit through movies at all anymore





borgesmontalecelanbaghavadgita

Ma, qui, la gioia ci sarà avvelenata sempre
But, here, happiness will be always impossible for us
(Sergio Quinzio)
:
secateurs, don’t cut off
that face,
it’s every man –
the past is distorted,
is getting old,
belongs to another me,
nothing’s rose,
nobody’s rose…
.
memory:
to save
what never dies
aletheia:
recoubra
na hanyate
---------------------------
borgesmontalecelanbaghavadgita
.......................................................
Quinzio's words from one of his letters to me
(S.Q., L'esilio e la gloria,1998)








3.14.2008


mice

it is generous this coming and going
slow-mo adoration is our big big hands
folded to mold teensy tiny wishes like wings
where we'd waited for her angelic to crawl out

when the heart hurts when no one else is there
when it's over when you know it when can i
when can't i when can you when can't you
when there's nothing else lingering upon lips

to speak
congregate
'round profound
like mice








3.11.2008



The Strangest Life


The man pulls 5am awake. I have beaten him by six breaths. The others are oblivious of our haunting.
I stretch and ignite. Fire for rebirth. Subterranean winter chill.

They try to feed me earth balls to ward of winter chills in the underground. Subterranean epiphany. By seven am out in the world chasing my future before it falls apart. Math can’t save me but I have to try.

The J train crawls toward the symbiotic throng. Another strap hanger turbulence. You don’t get to choose your space before you fall. You learn to fit inside time and indifferent perspective.








3.09.2008


sensitivity

so far so good this is what we've gathered:

her metallic hearts' soviet winter rains triangles
on my escapade the delusional fog of sleeping and
waking half-baked hardcore sore this tune-dumb sun
of ours is strumming upon the nagging nutsack of
preposterous clouds and should you see me walking
down the street turn the other way choose wisely
way past the united states of america laundromat
just shove one quarter in one of them machines baby
f
or pleasant to be for to be at liberty unmolested
yes yes this poem's called sensitivity it's about capitalism
and the way she looked that night that the gigantic birds
of prey made swoopy and swoosh to feed her confusion
that sent illusion skipping stupid that she couldn't stand





young, loud, and snotty

bring it on lonely elvis lights in vegas - i want you to know
that every poem i've written is beautiful like this one - shoulders
twist in flesh - olympic-sized eyes perpetually waiting on shithead
so you want to be a machine eh? - demand total makeover -
a hum of very small very miniature feet that passed because love
- flame there's nothing waiting no nothing to do
- it's as simple as split the scene in half you'll know where you stand





shushup the wind!

shushup the wind!

in its howls how

forgotten she’s an

the wind speaks in howls

footfalls in a forgotten

she’s an impressionable

young cliff face crunch

footfalls in howls' girl

of my aloneness the wind

shushup! my aloofness.









3.08.2008


this is not the art

This is the art
this is not the art
This is the art
this is not the art
Could you//
take my//
prints for//
sale
Do you//
have frames?//
How much//
do you// take?//

I like your abstracts//
email me//in 2 months

Okay//
Great//

I am not the Internet
I am the Internet
I am Japan
I am Russia

May I whoreship at the high church of capitalism?
This is the art
not the writing of it
not the painting nor
the dancing of it
A fine art by happiness
this art of doing
I am driving to Plymouth

Plymouth doesn't own me,
It owns capitalism

As you read
this poem you become
aware you are reading it
and this is the art
not the poem

when you made your coffee this morning
you made the art
not thinking

I went to the theatre
on Tuesday February 2nd
walking there was the art
not the drama

I am an alien in my own land
Our culture is any culture
Our art is our first steps
to doing, undoing knowing
by this art happiness
by this we seek each other








3.06.2008


balls in the background

did you see a painting
of my cock?

it just sits there,
painted.

i thought, holy fuck
that's my cock

and it's just sitting there,
painted.


~lds08






Gabcast! Monday






"Close" (adam fieled)

I moved in close-
she was skirted,
skittish, skint,
& I had to pay
for the privilege,

her arm extended
towards my waist,
we were wasted
on a first date
of wine & guns &

roses, kept apart,
coming together,
I rebuffed her,
it was like a
check in hockey,

wounded vanity
became an issue,
for which I was
punished when I
changed my mind,

extended my arm,
what an age of
arms
, she said,
I shall never
get my arm in
,

Satanic rhetoric,
cause that was
it, date over,
dream ended, I
found myself

singing Lennon's
"Isolation" in a
Void that was
nowhere, nothing,
& endless: I was
high, dirty glass

This poem is also available as part of Ocho #19, here.








3.05.2008


wade in the want

let's talk lies and elusive truths
let's talk about drunken spoofs
talk the unwanted women i've tried
that i'm kicking sand is proof

hers are snow falls like globes
hers are why i'm where i'm
i've given up conceal
since the walls have claustrophob'd

isn't what we'd like to know
let's talk rolling friday night's worth
up late burying digital alarm clock
under heaps of unaffordable clothes

the x's in our eyes
are startled gospel
surprised by sudden
aware of in need of





hey(knock)you

spackle
all you
fret I hear

the wallboard ping
that's justice
capstoned

off
the charts
dither me timbre

northy boy you
scorch by
daylight

me
I pry
no info out

of yucca trims
because because
adagio

turns
me style
me head me

quasi sharpshoot finger
pointing etudes
diffuse








3.03.2008


sa pling

patience (hypothetical) feeds sliplet of an early tree (still hypothetical)
wind's actual tall evidence allows no mercy to its leaves and rapture
there are guesses anything but accidental
in the form of shadows undergirding these mammalian hands
that finger yellow pages white and green the perfect complement to virtue
estranged from source of early passion

patience is a sign of nothing but precision that escapes the heart
the heart redeems the latent mindset the one that left us unattended
has resumed forefathered eminence where it is impossible to be found (out)

every evidence of window mourns the backdrop of infected sky
nobody wants to own nobody wants to waltz into
nobody wants to jump toward from penthouse or conventional remove
"You are my sunshine, my only . . ."

(capstone course) so if I start to seem like context-free amazement
put me in a circumstance where I can run around the block
wearing a wooden sandwich board
that says I'm often flexible as silk
the body leads away from correspondence
"let us pray."








3.02.2008


global positioning system

her smile's perpetual midnight
digs up the carcasses of yesteryear
rolling on e headlights bright bow-tie
the dark's tuxedo

there are ambulances prepared
in her eyelids' hangars langurous
some even clad in colorful costumes
supposedly glamorous ache to become if you want

i'm through with the rest of the fucking drama
i've got enough of my own it's a burden
the sound of each day that initial purge
a nauseous universe punctuated by papercuts





_

The Internet is
Usele
ss








3.01.2008



Gabcast! Friday