the electricity of ecstasy
electrocuting her to death
kills
resuscitating
then
resurrecting her
like a brief
eternity
of white-hot blindness
She is deaf
not from
her screams
for she isn’t listening
she hears only the silence
of all noise
that ever was
and
every
lust
that will
begin
in
darkness.
Fucked in half,
as if the center of her body
was the center of her soul
the epicenter of the whole,
revolved around
by all the
planets
and
spasms of
every waking
atom,
she lives.
I was there for the hushed violence
of thermodynamics,
the cosmic orgasm of novas,
the astral orgy of randomly assorted elements,
the universal loneliness of corpuscles eternally expelled,
and the divine comeuppance of gravity.
:
We are the stretching placenta
of space
which never grows
and thus
no distance
can separate us
Friday, December 21, 2007
From sophism to sexism to socket wrenches
Convenience,
I tell her
at the risk of sounding violently blasphemous,
is the father of decay
and the son of invention.
Yes
she says
and
Necessity may be the mother of invention
but necessity is the daughter of a nagging wife
And all is philosophy
until
it becomes
technology
I
say
yes
and technology
is man’s way of
discovering the computer
in all things
yes
and the clock
and the engine
…..and…the mind?
Yea,
she goes,
it seems
we will
have to
discover God
by inventing Her
I tell her
at the risk of sounding violently blasphemous,
is the father of decay
and the son of invention.
Yes
she says
and
Necessity may be the mother of invention
but necessity is the daughter of a nagging wife
And all is philosophy
until
it becomes
technology
I
say
yes
and technology
is man’s way of
discovering the computer
in all things
yes
and the clock
and the engine
…..and…the mind?
Yea,
she goes,
it seems
we will
have to
discover God
by inventing Her
You Are The Most Beautiful Woman in the World
[dedicated to poor translations of Spanish Love Poems; and…oh yea, to all the women past, live, and yet; and for all the men who idolize them in secret.]
You make me dizzy.
Of course the rules say
I cannot say this.
I become tongue-tied,
lopsided, and when I see you,
slapped by a dozen or so chemicals,
glucose spikes, the flush of endorphins,
crashes of serotonin:
my knees give.
Yes, proper etiquette and
a happy state of affairs
condemn me.
God forbid I tell you
you are the most beautiful woman
I’ve seen in this world.
I’d be lame,
or, if not a liar outright,
plain crazy.
All of this and to top it off, make both of us uncomfortable.
I will not be called crazy though:
since no one believes me.
No one has.
When I ask
they tell me
my confession
makes me
an asshole,
and if I’m right,
many assholes
have beat me
there
Maybe the others
have meant it too
I say
or maybe the world’s blind
and I can legitimately curse her for telling me
I’m not allowed to call you beautiful
I can think the world
is an ugly place,
but there beauty goes,
a walking contradiction to my lie.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world and so the world cannot be ugly---even if somehow it is more acceptable to call the world ugly than you beautiful.”
but the world forgives me
for calling her ugly.
She has even made some of us heroes for it.
but you blush
and walk away
with a smile
and I never see you again
You make me dizzy.
Of course the rules say
I cannot say this.
I become tongue-tied,
lopsided, and when I see you,
slapped by a dozen or so chemicals,
glucose spikes, the flush of endorphins,
crashes of serotonin:
my knees give.
Yes, proper etiquette and
a happy state of affairs
condemn me.
God forbid I tell you
you are the most beautiful woman
I’ve seen in this world.
I’d be lame,
or, if not a liar outright,
plain crazy.
All of this and to top it off, make both of us uncomfortable.
I will not be called crazy though:
since no one believes me.
No one has.
When I ask
they tell me
my confession
makes me
an asshole,
and if I’m right,
many assholes
have beat me
there
Maybe the others
have meant it too
I say
or maybe the world’s blind
and I can legitimately curse her for telling me
I’m not allowed to call you beautiful
I can think the world
is an ugly place,
but there beauty goes,
a walking contradiction to my lie.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world and so the world cannot be ugly---even if somehow it is more acceptable to call the world ugly than you beautiful.”
but the world forgives me
for calling her ugly.
She has even made some of us heroes for it.
but you blush
and walk away
with a smile
and I never see you again
Failed Genius
'Are you a lawyer?'
the giant at the bar asks.
'No,' answers my dinner jacket and my notebook I clutch like lost dreams,
'I am a Liar.'
' A cocksucker' he adds.
Then offers to buy me a beer, then disappears.
The disappearing giant.
Full of fat, muscle, and dumb.
He had hair like Idaho
and can not stop beseeching the big tits for a barkeep.
But that lummox
of a genius disappeared.
He disappeared.
Disappeared!
--like virginity or
the happy loner back to the paradise of not being observed.
and the hell of no more beer
the giant at the bar asks.
'No,' answers my dinner jacket and my notebook I clutch like lost dreams,
'I am a Liar.'
' A cocksucker' he adds.
Then offers to buy me a beer, then disappears.
The disappearing giant.
Full of fat, muscle, and dumb.
He had hair like Idaho
and can not stop beseeching the big tits for a barkeep.
But that lummox
of a genius disappeared.
He disappeared.
Disappeared!
--like virginity or
the happy loner back to the paradise of not being observed.
and the hell of no more beer
Quitting smoke
of late
my words
are ugly and violent
from when I went from two packs a day
to cold cold turkey,
my brain went on strike,
and out went all thought
and any venturing
past the picket line's been
harshly blackballed
by sharply rising adrenaline.
Parts of myself that
still cling to serenity
have been muscled out
by the last cramps of sweet addiction.
How can the calmest water resist the slightest pebble?
It cannot.
But how can the rowdiest ripple defy tranquility?
My wife,
who calls me her dainty princess,
said that if I smoked just one a day,
that I would make
a very fine gangster.
my words
are ugly and violent
from when I went from two packs a day
to cold cold turkey,
my brain went on strike,
and out went all thought
and any venturing
past the picket line's been
harshly blackballed
by sharply rising adrenaline.
Parts of myself that
still cling to serenity
have been muscled out
by the last cramps of sweet addiction.
How can the calmest water resist the slightest pebble?
It cannot.
But how can the rowdiest ripple defy tranquility?
My wife,
who calls me her dainty princess,
said that if I smoked just one a day,
that I would make
a very fine gangster.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
My Lowest
My lowest moment
I had walked out on my jewelry factory job,
went to a neighbor's house,
knowing he had pot and booze,
and drank his whiskey and smoked his pot.
The next morning
I was taking a soupy whiskey shit
and had to throw up
and I got up
shit on myself,
threw up blood,
and splashed shit
all over my face
Yea, I'd say its time to move on brother.
I had walked out on my jewelry factory job,
went to a neighbor's house,
knowing he had pot and booze,
and drank his whiskey and smoked his pot.
The next morning
I was taking a soupy whiskey shit
and had to throw up
and I got up
shit on myself,
threw up blood,
and splashed shit
all over my face
Yea, I'd say its time to move on brother.
The Dog Artist
the dog artist
starved a dog
as a work of
art
and it wilted
and died
and he was asked
to leave
the art show
then they threatened
him
they showed him their inhumanity
they are more violent
their women are even skinnier, more anorexic.
the consciousness of the dog
is the consciousness of all things
and even this defies the dead
Galvani rammed rods
in the
frogs legs
and when they
twitched
he said
Look there is the force of life
but it was electricity
Volta came along
and said
No, not life
but of anything
and then built
a pile
and made
a battery
but consciousness is electricity
we are still in the Galvanic age of the mind
Pre-Copernican consciousness
but what does it matter what I believe
Now back to the artist
and the righteous threats
they take pride in
not seeing beauty
in ugly things.
They are proud
because they can see the ugliness
and only the ugliness,
and those who see only beauty are condemned.
This my dear artist is art and the life of a genius
he let a dog die
but they want to kill him.
This is their art, their murder.
That dog had a sense of smell
hundreds of times keener
yet it could dip it's head
in its own urine and feces without flinching.
That is what human grey matter is for,
to be disgusted,
to hate what it does not know or understand.
A monkey, however, is capable of many sins,
but not this hypocrisy.
Because even a monkey won’t want to kill a monkey
over a dog.
starved a dog
as a work of
art
and it wilted
and died
and he was asked
to leave
the art show
then they threatened
him
they showed him their inhumanity
they are more violent
their women are even skinnier, more anorexic.
the consciousness of the dog
is the consciousness of all things
and even this defies the dead
Galvani rammed rods
in the
frogs legs
and when they
twitched
he said
Look there is the force of life
but it was electricity
Volta came along
and said
No, not life
but of anything
and then built
a pile
and made
a battery
but consciousness is electricity
we are still in the Galvanic age of the mind
Pre-Copernican consciousness
but what does it matter what I believe
Now back to the artist
and the righteous threats
they take pride in
not seeing beauty
in ugly things.
They are proud
because they can see the ugliness
and only the ugliness,
and those who see only beauty are condemned.
This my dear artist is art and the life of a genius
he let a dog die
but they want to kill him.
This is their art, their murder.
That dog had a sense of smell
hundreds of times keener
yet it could dip it's head
in its own urine and feces without flinching.
That is what human grey matter is for,
to be disgusted,
to hate what it does not know or understand.
A monkey, however, is capable of many sins,
but not this hypocrisy.
Because even a monkey won’t want to kill a monkey
over a dog.
Lip Service
I used to be a drunk
but I
left
my social days behind.
I have always been a writer.
This would mean
I am generally an unsavory
and glum fellow,
better appreciated at a distance and preferably dead
but I
left
my social days behind.
I have always been a writer.
This would mean
I am generally an unsavory
and glum fellow,
better appreciated at a distance and preferably dead
Me & Maya Angelou
Fate all day long.
I push start
my
thirty year
old truck
and drive
straight to
a place
I don’t know
where.
that morning:
the radio
murmured
somewhere
between my
dream and
me
‘the poet Maya Angelou is coming to town, tonight’
which I thought was months ago
the lecture cancelled
and now she comes
so I’m kicking
my fliver out of
gear
at the top
of hills
soaring down
Highway 360
downhill
to the
river
because I will run out of gas
the solid
wood desk
in the back
gets
boogered
up
sick.
sliding side to side
grating along the legs
suddenly I
swerve left
into a church
by the
river
somehow on time
I am drunk as usual
and wearing a pressed suite with my kufi
looking as ridiculous as fine wine
with hair I hadn’t washed in a week
and smelling like a carton of used smokes
the door
lady was
old and
the church was
the biggest in
town
I just walk
right thru
because Link doesn’t pay for anything
[movies, concerts, university lectures etc…]
I just walk right in.
I am a ways
into the balcony
and someone stops me.
“Sir…do you have your ticket”
I just look
them square
and start for
the door
In the
foyer
I decide
to sneak in the
other door.
the door lady,
a little older,
stops me.
How much for a stub?
75 bones I don’t have
Lucky day
she says
I don’t know
who you have
to thank for this
but someone bought you
a ticket
I am on the
second row
front and center
eyelevel
with Maya
she comes
out and lights the room
as if it was dark
and soothes out
one funny
story after
another
I am not laughing
and looking me
dead
in the eye
she says
“I don’t trust a man who doesn’t smile. Never trust a naked man who wants to loan you his clothes.”
And I tried
but even
Maya
doesn’t like
me too
like pretentious self-loathing
the free bird don’t sing
she says
a bunch of
other shit
too wise
for me
overvascularized
tainted with
a lackluster
gospel
outro
it starts to rain on the way
home
ruining
the desk
just before
I run
out of
gas
I push start
my
thirty year
old truck
and drive
straight to
a place
I don’t know
where.
that morning:
the radio
murmured
somewhere
between my
dream and
me
‘the poet Maya Angelou is coming to town, tonight’
which I thought was months ago
the lecture cancelled
and now she comes
so I’m kicking
my fliver out of
gear
at the top
of hills
soaring down
Highway 360
downhill
to the
river
because I will run out of gas
the solid
wood desk
in the back
gets
boogered
up
sick.
sliding side to side
grating along the legs
suddenly I
swerve left
into a church
by the
river
somehow on time
I am drunk as usual
and wearing a pressed suite with my kufi
looking as ridiculous as fine wine
with hair I hadn’t washed in a week
and smelling like a carton of used smokes
the door
lady was
old and
the church was
the biggest in
town
I just walk
right thru
because Link doesn’t pay for anything
[movies, concerts, university lectures etc…]
I just walk right in.
I am a ways
into the balcony
and someone stops me.
“Sir…do you have your ticket”
I just look
them square
and start for
the door
In the
foyer
I decide
to sneak in the
other door.
the door lady,
a little older,
stops me.
How much for a stub?
75 bones I don’t have
Lucky day
she says
I don’t know
who you have
to thank for this
but someone bought you
a ticket
I am on the
second row
front and center
eyelevel
with Maya
she comes
out and lights the room
as if it was dark
and soothes out
one funny
story after
another
I am not laughing
and looking me
dead
in the eye
she says
“I don’t trust a man who doesn’t smile. Never trust a naked man who wants to loan you his clothes.”
And I tried
but even
Maya
doesn’t like
me too
like pretentious self-loathing
the free bird don’t sing
she says
a bunch of
other shit
too wise
for me
overvascularized
tainted with
a lackluster
gospel
outro
it starts to rain on the way
home
ruining
the desk
just before
I run
out of
gas
Prenatal Stew
She went to
the toilet
while I reheated
supper
and came into the
kitchen
smelling like
stew
“I threw up the stew.”
“OK.”
“Next time you shit put the paper towels in the can. The shitter can swallow’em. We need..”
“Anything else?”
“Could you come and see why it’s blood red.”
“The raspberry juice…”
“Agh, the raspberry juice…”
“Anything else?”
“Yea, don’t forget to give thanks for the food…”
the toilet
while I reheated
supper
and came into the
kitchen
smelling like
stew
“I threw up the stew.”
“OK.”
“Next time you shit put the paper towels in the can. The shitter can swallow’em. We need..”
“Anything else?”
“Could you come and see why it’s blood red.”
“The raspberry juice…”
“Agh, the raspberry juice…”
“Anything else?”
“Yea, don’t forget to give thanks for the food…”
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
the phd
The Phd
No amount
of education
enhances
creativity.
When I was your age I
produced matheorems
I ‘d had had not
a lick of higher training for.
At this stage
you are at your intellectual
peak and all goes to shit from here.
Maybe you should move,
but remember that educated people
need educated people:
the creative need no one
even though it is likely they adore everyone,
despite probably
only being able to tolerate
the conversation of lunatics and old Jewish ladies.
Also
remember that a lot of the people
who you look down on
are more
creative than thou,
and that this creativity is the essential thing,
the only thing people may remember you by.
As for your desire,
the next generation of position-seekers
and money-grubbers will inherit your position and money.
nothing more loathsome
to a true artist or scientist than a vapid highbrow
with nothing to show but the stretch marks of education and maybe a pay stub.
I will take a happy idiot
or an ignorant genius
over the merely well instructed,
together with their ho-hum orthodoxy
of avid hubris and impotent negativity towards humanity.
And you didn’t want to be friends?
You have enough love and knowledge already, do you?
You may leave the door open behind you.
No amount
of education
enhances
creativity.
When I was your age I
produced matheorems
I ‘d had had not
a lick of higher training for.
At this stage
you are at your intellectual
peak and all goes to shit from here.
Maybe you should move,
but remember that educated people
need educated people:
the creative need no one
even though it is likely they adore everyone,
despite probably
only being able to tolerate
the conversation of lunatics and old Jewish ladies.
Also
remember that a lot of the people
who you look down on
are more
creative than thou,
and that this creativity is the essential thing,
the only thing people may remember you by.
As for your desire,
the next generation of position-seekers
and money-grubbers will inherit your position and money.
nothing more loathsome
to a true artist or scientist than a vapid highbrow
with nothing to show but the stretch marks of education and maybe a pay stub.
I will take a happy idiot
or an ignorant genius
over the merely well instructed,
together with their ho-hum orthodoxy
of avid hubris and impotent negativity towards humanity.
And you didn’t want to be friends?
You have enough love and knowledge already, do you?
You may leave the door open behind you.
Probaganda
You young kids don’t add in your heads anymore
she says
I was looking
at
a safe and lock manual
I
planned on stealing.
What is your birthday if you don’t mind me asking
its nov 3 1932
you
were
born on
a monday
no, child, on a tuesday
well
at least
i
knew i
had
1 in 7
she says
I was looking
at
a safe and lock manual
I
planned on stealing.
What is your birthday if you don’t mind me asking
its nov 3 1932
you
were
born on
a monday
no, child, on a tuesday
well
at least
i
knew i
had
1 in 7
Plagiarism
the bitch
nabbed
my bag
with
triptych
in the
side
saddle
she's not
a purse snatcher
but a plagiarist
the only compliment
better
than being accused
of plagiarism
is
to be
plagarised
at least
this
divine
Sibyl
should shred
the words
lettin'em
fall where they may
statistically
50%
are predictable
so then what
is the unit
of plagiarism?
strings of
improbablities
of yea length
hook phrases
refurbished
after the fashion
of
Pascal.
nabbed
my bag
with
triptych
in the
side
saddle
she's not
a purse snatcher
but a plagiarist
the only compliment
better
than being accused
of plagiarism
is
to be
plagarised
at least
this
divine
Sibyl
should shred
the words
lettin'em
fall where they may
statistically
50%
are predictable
so then what
is the unit
of plagiarism?
strings of
improbablities
of yea length
hook phrases
refurbished
after the fashion
of
Pascal.
1,2,3
1,2,3
do you spare a $ for crack
naw i’ll buy you a beer for a smoke
i’ll spare you II
i haven’t puffed in 3 months
what’s it gonna hurt?
what’s it gonna hurt?
the crack heads are the only people who carry cash anymore
tell me about it
i’m no crack head you know
i know a gag
on january 31st i lost my girl
that’s no good
on febuary 2nd i lost my job
damn
on febuary 12th i lost my dad
sorry man
fucked me so hard i…
yea i’ve been there
…lived on the streets
since
that was 3 febuaries ago
man..
the money is for paying the shelter
it’s not free
naw it’s 45 a week
you should go to a free one
they won’t let me smoke crack
ah
say you got 4 for the bus
4
yea the bus is mighty these days
i got four
good.
do you spare a $ for crack
naw i’ll buy you a beer for a smoke
i’ll spare you II
i haven’t puffed in 3 months
what’s it gonna hurt?
what’s it gonna hurt?
the crack heads are the only people who carry cash anymore
tell me about it
i’m no crack head you know
i know a gag
on january 31st i lost my girl
that’s no good
on febuary 2nd i lost my job
damn
on febuary 12th i lost my dad
sorry man
fucked me so hard i…
yea i’ve been there
…lived on the streets
since
that was 3 febuaries ago
man..
the money is for paying the shelter
it’s not free
naw it’s 45 a week
you should go to a free one
they won’t let me smoke crack
ah
say you got 4 for the bus
4
yea the bus is mighty these days
i got four
good.
Murm
Murm
It is there it is all along
the dream
like you own breath
you don’t smell
labial
underside the seam
floating on nakedness
what most call
the subconscious I call
hard of hearing
unfeeling
s/he is too sensitive
too fragile
a drama queen
but just enough
to hear herself
whisper
when not speaking
It is there it is all along
the dream
like you own breath
you don’t smell
labial
underside the seam
floating on nakedness
what most call
the subconscious I call
hard of hearing
unfeeling
s/he is too sensitive
too fragile
a drama queen
but just enough
to hear herself
whisper
when not speaking
Step One
Step One
You know
when I
write I
cannot
worry about
if you’ll like
or dislike
or care or no
or if it works
or if its publishable
or worth typing out
I waste my
words
because I
have to
and if I
did worry
and tried
to
always be perfect
always be original
I’d never
get shit
done
the whole
idea
is freedom
but freedom
exists only
in vacuums
and vacuums
are flimsy
ideas
step two
is to
know
step three
is to
stop
knowing
and
do
You know
when I
write I
cannot
worry about
if you’ll like
or dislike
or care or no
or if it works
or if its publishable
or worth typing out
I waste my
words
because I
have to
and if I
did worry
and tried
to
always be perfect
always be original
I’d never
get shit
done
the whole
idea
is freedom
but freedom
exists only
in vacuums
and vacuums
are flimsy
ideas
step two
is to
know
step three
is to
stop
knowing
and
do
Apology for ‘Lechery’ [or, a letter to an Arab]
Ashraf say:
Sharmoot, GOOD non-sleazy flirting requires wit.
but still a flirt is as significant as a fart.
How you react to a flirt is what determines how loyal you are.
Link say:
There is social genius the likes of which such a concentration of nerves hasn’t been seen since the pecker. The nervous and the neurotic have neurons whilst the fluent and effluent have flow to spare. A glance shatters me and I shatter a bottle over your calm head talking jive to a girl and you’ll not miss a beat. You’ll have whores lined up like the terracotta army in flesh tones while I trip on a stack of porn and injure my knee. And passive pimpin’, mind you, though it hasn’t yet given world population growth a speeding ticket, is the will of the people, because there’s more than one way to pick a fruit--an earth tremor can jimmy it out of socket, a stiff breeze can spit shine too many leaves, a touchy-feely gravity lets the dead apple fall where it may. Instead I stammer and sometimes drool, not that it matters since I’m married and glad I don’t have to talk to girls anymore and off the dart board [where I was the hollow bald real estate outside the circle]. I’ll admit the blurb was for people to feel good about themselves who shouldn’t feel good about themselves, not your cock-ready strapping man whore slick of tongue and pillow, but your curtain-cunted, old, scorned bag of disposable whore all to easily passing up a life of happiness by dismissing loners and dweebs who are inaccessible too all but the most drastic of reformed sluts and the most patient of summer virgins. Give me your tongue-tied and crippled, and I’ll show you a marvelously sad bunch who can’t help but be a little more moral, and smarter with time to spare. Until I’d read Hawking, beans were my favorite veggie: he not only edifies but could get head from most of the fifth year seniors; and he is the first to admit this wouldn’t be possible without.
So when I said sad good flirters are dumb and not loyal, I meant booknerds don’t have verve because they got the nerve, and can’t cheat because they can’t cheat. Dig?
Respond only if you think I’m right
Sharmoot, GOOD non-sleazy flirting requires wit.
but still a flirt is as significant as a fart.
How you react to a flirt is what determines how loyal you are.
Link say:
There is social genius the likes of which such a concentration of nerves hasn’t been seen since the pecker. The nervous and the neurotic have neurons whilst the fluent and effluent have flow to spare. A glance shatters me and I shatter a bottle over your calm head talking jive to a girl and you’ll not miss a beat. You’ll have whores lined up like the terracotta army in flesh tones while I trip on a stack of porn and injure my knee. And passive pimpin’, mind you, though it hasn’t yet given world population growth a speeding ticket, is the will of the people, because there’s more than one way to pick a fruit--an earth tremor can jimmy it out of socket, a stiff breeze can spit shine too many leaves, a touchy-feely gravity lets the dead apple fall where it may. Instead I stammer and sometimes drool, not that it matters since I’m married and glad I don’t have to talk to girls anymore and off the dart board [where I was the hollow bald real estate outside the circle]. I’ll admit the blurb was for people to feel good about themselves who shouldn’t feel good about themselves, not your cock-ready strapping man whore slick of tongue and pillow, but your curtain-cunted, old, scorned bag of disposable whore all to easily passing up a life of happiness by dismissing loners and dweebs who are inaccessible too all but the most drastic of reformed sluts and the most patient of summer virgins. Give me your tongue-tied and crippled, and I’ll show you a marvelously sad bunch who can’t help but be a little more moral, and smarter with time to spare. Until I’d read Hawking, beans were my favorite veggie: he not only edifies but could get head from most of the fifth year seniors; and he is the first to admit this wouldn’t be possible without.
So when I said sad good flirters are dumb and not loyal, I meant booknerds don’t have verve because they got the nerve, and can’t cheat because they can’t cheat. Dig?
Respond only if you think I’m right
flname thrower
Flname thrower
[for a guy named Ted]
Wathc Neruda turn before the metafore
Fele Prevert tendre and shy pervert
Hare Reed dream as tho he’s hardly read
Bare Sexton breath a ton of sex scream
Taiste Buk on bottomes opps; Baud void of air
Genet&Villon mediocker @ crime & ryam
Paz ate ’n eats sheets enflym’d in inks
Mysundrestranding Valery; Pontifficating Pope
Throwing Shname like Borges
name throwers
always exclude
the name
we
wished
to use
most
[for a guy named Ted]
Wathc Neruda turn before the metafore
Fele Prevert tendre and shy pervert
Hare Reed dream as tho he’s hardly read
Bare Sexton breath a ton of sex scream
Taiste Buk on bottomes opps; Baud void of air
Genet&Villon mediocker @ crime & ryam
Paz ate ’n eats sheets enflym’d in inks
Mysundrestranding Valery; Pontifficating Pope
Throwing Shname like Borges
name throwers
always exclude
the name
we
wished
to use
most
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Vague
Vague
Vague is vogue
and old as words
and unknown
and new to
nouns not quite verbs
obscurity has
a place in history
in obscurity
words like the celebrated confetti of permutation
‘Boy, you got about as much individuality as a fart in a hot tub’
words pregnant and sentences on welfare
[We spill into sheets,
half-asleep,
existing
between
the batting of lashes,
awake in blurry spaces
between darknesses,
dizzy, alone.
Like flourishes of memory tied together with sweet lies]
The clear-minded
obscurantist
surely
suffers more
than
the
hazy
mind
does
with clarity.
Words are to man what marketing is to man's words. Yup
All else is
aria
onanism
glossolalia
that is,
singing solo
wacking off
speaking in tongues
the reader suffers to understand
or the writer suffers to be understood
are you a sadist or masochist?
ultimately producing
a single victim
Vague is vogue
and old as words
and unknown
and new to
nouns not quite verbs
obscurity has
a place in history
in obscurity
words like the celebrated confetti of permutation
‘Boy, you got about as much individuality as a fart in a hot tub’
words pregnant and sentences on welfare
[We spill into sheets,
half-asleep,
existing
between
the batting of lashes,
awake in blurry spaces
between darknesses,
dizzy, alone.
Like flourishes of memory tied together with sweet lies]
The clear-minded
obscurantist
surely
suffers more
than
the
hazy
mind
does
with clarity.
Words are to man what marketing is to man's words. Yup
All else is
aria
onanism
glossolalia
that is,
singing solo
wacking off
speaking in tongues
the reader suffers to understand
or the writer suffers to be understood
are you a sadist or masochist?
ultimately producing
a single victim
Friday, December 7, 2007
Us with Nothing; or, Truth
Certainty
there is
no truth
and
Failing to Seek
has no
advantage
over
thinking
you
know the
Truth
and
refusing to.
I smell
like
the
cold
sweat
of
uncertainty
and then
there
is
the
paradise
of
satisfaction
wisdom
and
respect.
against
the shame
of
discovering
nothing
worth
mentioning
there is
no truth
and
Failing to Seek
has no
advantage
over
thinking
you
know the
Truth
and
refusing to.
I smell
like
the
cold
sweat
of
uncertainty
and then
there
is
the
paradise
of
satisfaction
wisdom
and
respect.
against
the shame
of
discovering
nothing
worth
mentioning
Me, Pervert
the breast
man
can’t be gay.
because he loves breasts
nor can he
go for transsexuals
since he’s a purist
because he loves breasts
and only breasts
he does not
like young boys
or young girls
because he loves breasts
he is a fondler
at birth
clasping at
babysitters
aunts
moms
and never
gets
over
first
impressions.
he accumulates
porn
like tree rings
or dead skin
there are
a lot
of things
he can’t
be
because he loves breasts
and he
is made
to feel
common
even though
he claims
to be
a pervert
as much as
the next
he is
made
to feel
common
because he loves breasts
this is a prejudice he will never overcome.
My true letdown
came
a few years back
outside a university
when I saw a breasty
young gal
but
who looked
like a girl
a young little girl
too soft
and
I
real-
ized
I
was n’t
going to be
a dirty old man
this must
mean
I'm
no
real
poet
either.
man
can’t be gay.
because he loves breasts
nor can he
go for transsexuals
since he’s a purist
because he loves breasts
and only breasts
he does not
like young boys
or young girls
because he loves breasts
he is a fondler
at birth
clasping at
babysitters
aunts
moms
and never
gets
over
first
impressions.
he accumulates
porn
like tree rings
or dead skin
there are
a lot
of things
he can’t
be
because he loves breasts
and he
is made
to feel
common
even though
he claims
to be
a pervert
as much as
the next
he is
made
to feel
common
because he loves breasts
this is a prejudice he will never overcome.
My true letdown
came
a few years back
outside a university
when I saw a breasty
young gal
but
who looked
like a girl
a young little girl
too soft
and
I
real-
ized
I
was n’t
going to be
a dirty old man
this must
mean
I'm
no
real
poet
either.
Page 69
Huysmans
made
me
put out a candle with a tear.
melting the wax to the table.
The table ablaze.
I painted my interior white.
I threw out everything.
They accused me of many things,
they have not had to endure Huysmans.
Today I want to fashion
a giant picture frame
around my house
made of shattered white picket fences.
made
me
put out a candle with a tear.
melting the wax to the table.
The table ablaze.
I painted my interior white.
I threw out everything.
They accused me of many things,
they have not had to endure Huysmans.
Today I want to fashion
a giant picture frame
around my house
made of shattered white picket fences.
Joe Pelo
Joe’s Mom and Wife were
beheaded
by an 18 wheeler
and a month later
he was on the streets
trading black eyes
for broken noses
and blood among
brothers
but
never drunk
never smoking
nics nor greens
but
always dishing out
the smokes
the beer
in the street
Joe shaves his hair
and eyebrows
perfectly
He is old and big and mean
Joe is a Savior in Austin.
One day he got
belligerent
because I
couldn’t
spare a smoke
Later
he’d stole
beer from a
Frat house
a
nd
we made friends
quick-like
a bunch of us
went
from alley
to alley
until we got run off
by business owners
or security.
This was routine
That day I
ate
from the dumpster
for the first time.
The strawberry was most divine
29 bank robberies
had gone
unsolved
and they showed
a video
on the news.
Under the cowboy hat
Behind the shades
I saw Joe Palone.
I saw Joe Pelo
I saw Joe
in the
back
of the
bus
months
later;
I was going to say hi
but didn’t
Joe was just sitting
there
looking at no one.
beheaded
by an 18 wheeler
and a month later
he was on the streets
trading black eyes
for broken noses
and blood among
brothers
but
never drunk
never smoking
nics nor greens
but
always dishing out
the smokes
the beer
in the street
Joe shaves his hair
and eyebrows
perfectly
He is old and big and mean
Joe is a Savior in Austin.
One day he got
belligerent
because I
couldn’t
spare a smoke
Later
he’d stole
beer from a
Frat house
a
nd
we made friends
quick-like
a bunch of us
went
from alley
to alley
until we got run off
by business owners
or security.
This was routine
That day I
ate
from the dumpster
for the first time.
The strawberry was most divine
29 bank robberies
had gone
unsolved
and they showed
a video
on the news.
Under the cowboy hat
Behind the shades
I saw Joe Palone.
I saw Joe Pelo
I saw Joe
in the
back
of the
bus
months
later;
I was going to say hi
but didn’t
Joe was just sitting
there
looking at no one.
They Never See You Agian
fear
is less
dangerous than
bravery
and
quicker than
anger
you
will
watch
your
best friend
get
beat
within an
inch
of his
life
and
you
will
listen
to the
stranger
tell
you
he’s
going
to
kill
you
but
blind
him
before
he finishes
his
sent-
ence
is less
dangerous than
bravery
and
quicker than
anger
you
will
watch
your
best friend
get
beat
within an
inch
of his
life
and
you
will
listen
to the
stranger
tell
you
he’s
going
to
kill
you
but
blind
him
before
he finishes
his
sent-
ence
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