Thursday, December 18, 2008

LOVVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE





By the feasibility of a zone.

The day laborers built a whistle.

When a whistle blew they died.

One can easily get hooked up.

How hung up in a zoning loop

you are depends on how splendidly

bejeweled at the waist. This garment

left the thought of food in bed

in a hidden pocket of the hollowed

skull. A chocolate bug.

Miu Nicewander left her scent.

I was reminded of the time spilling

from the wound. A midriff blown

into separate dream partitions.

I was getting nerves. I called

my cell and asked if anyone could

calm me down with a song. One tone

per customer it said I would believe.

Into the cell she came to tell me,

“You misspelled my name. I like it

better. I’m sorry they’re hanging

you on football Sunday.” I said,

”What, according to your measure

is an appropriate length of earring

for a straight man?” A new zone

opened and swallowed all my merit.

The guard of flattened at the outer rim

asexuals escorted me to the mouth.

My robes burned away by rising air, no

sensation of heat preceded the fluid rock.

The car he acquires will tell us

who has the coordinates to the final

seasonable egg.

I sing of thee in the four on the floor

signature that makes a dying tango

of the world of process.

Your principal attributes float.

Only you know when, the what

always comes when she whistles.

And what difference does where

make when you have no idea

how this paper reached its appointed

corner of the blizzard. A sinker,

an order of slave purpose, and, oh,

a cup of who, Job.



Thursday, December 11, 2008

LOVE LOVE LOOVE LOVE LOVE





Rather you do this with intent.

Better willingly, sheepishly, said Jack.

Dizzily if you can pull it off.

That's my cap he said but wasn’t

wearing anything underneath.

The humming isn't then the flag?

A battle means we’re between?

Destinations all piled up in a heap.

Take one, they’re freezing with you.

At once in came the ninnies, vats

of a kava extract on their poles.

One was called Chas, a Jagoff.

Another said it was the tiara.

All the desire united at all the hips,

nothing like a union, more like stew.

Graffiti of the word “despotism”

was the only possible decorating choice.

At one art with one house in no location.

With singular pleasure we will burn.

Take down that cabinet but leave

the cabinet photo. Dr. Powerhinge

feels his way to the door of the ladies

armory. In this way he was no longer

blind. In this way he saw the total body.

Tailored to fit his hand. And shaped

more like a bird's. With a band.



Monday, December 8, 2008

LOVE LLOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE





And a vacuum come to this?

Come to this! Shifted in a sound.

A seat burned entirely noiseless.

We must all come.

She watched him without speaking.

The silence went with her.

Into a tube recently placed by?

The more secret it became

the deeper the recesses

of the house. She herself

has known you practically

and yet all their lives missing

a specific name. Mrs. Siphon

or the vacant son of James’s.

On board with the program

hidden in his clothing.

An idea to be somewhere.

A pocket notebook insisted

on taking the numbers.

Less that data nothing stands.

Between him and the room

removing itself a cut. And all

it’s contents off to a darker clime.



Wednesday, November 12, 2008

The Cornerstone at the Corner Store is Stolen





the silhouetted figure on the stage is a stranger to all present.

the handmade sign below the figure says only “CHAPTER”.

the colors are indistinct and merge in the darkened arena.

the trampled grass and clay field does not reflect the moonlight.

a man in a ski mask makes a gallant gesture to an old woman.

a little girl smiles and weeps as the pressure in her ears builds.

a band cannot hear itself over the sound of the descending craft.

a barrier of wood bursts into flames and debris is scattershot.

no one near it is injured or seems to have noticed the incident.

no boots or neutral colored ensembles are worn on this occasion.

no matter how many arrive the field accommodates the swell.

no questions of “whose?” or “are we still withering?” are asked.

down beneath the undercarriage the grass remains undisturbed.

down where the snakes still pretend to threaten when observed.

down the main road from here rises something barely visible.

down a list of those who think they know him are only ghosts.

what was this automatic marker put here for in the first place?

what makes the tooth of the lion more valuable than a pipeline?

what can be nailed shut can be kicked into the stars he whispers.

what fuses you with the sun is easier than flying home alone.



Monday, November 3, 2008

For Panic, Call Up





Wha-a-t?

That was as much as the woman with the titanium pins

in her neck said over crepes

we had never met

nothing she thought could surprise her again but this

the words from the next table

anonymous laughter

she was suddenly thrown back into the recent past

stories rose in her and broke

she whispered

her father and brother locked in mortal shenanigans

the one a captain of dead men

all proud and recycled

in two wars the other afraid his eggs will be taxed

then the sound of some terror

a keening like pigs

or angels the whole family exclaiming Wha-a-t? as one

the men up and on their feet

hiking their dockers

into the night to meet the coming love catastrophe

the father had recognized the mob

he knew them from church

he drew a deep breath and spat lead at the neighbors

a great economic weight was lifted

and history redirected

that day will live as the birth of the Southern Continent

redistricted to insulate more

and be insulted less

districts don’t know their pins are shifting till it’s too late

the father is nearly ninety now

his books out of print

on football Sundays he puts the son in a crippling headlock

and on Xmas eve and morning

and on Thanksgiving

neither can understand the hub-bub over air to ground sport

yet the younger connects a dot

to a dot on one of his lungs

he knows what it’s like to try to run a boutique slave trade

dependent on the holeless skins

and general geniality

of less vulnerably bracketed lower forms he reasons with

he deserves a great credit score

makes things from clay

he thinks like a frame without the smiling family waving

the woman is mildly deformed

her neck won’t rotate

apropos the brother forgets to call her after her surgeries

she talks about other things now

like the price of crepes

her crepes are cold but she likes them that way she says

she refuses to speak in specifics

or touch on details

of the accident or how the neck was broken or by whom

she will only repeat the number

of breaks and pins

required to repair the injury and allow her to order wine

we will make love after lunch

twice a week she says

says I won’t be any more real for those encounters either

outside an old wolf is being cornered

his fur is wet and patchy



Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Addictive Becomes Origin





this word must have more

it wants what it wants done
bored with letters again
the air between together

look it up look straight up

the sun moves your eye
out of the way dig in layers
come across a ring on tape

of all the faces in the room

the tomb typo nearly
shifting these mutable grains
the lizard had a dream of ink

it must go on for years

a boy undiscovered in work
done without words to cloud
green scale above the worlds

what you know and you

don’t get joined to these
ten letters to a girl in green
the missing man was seen there

the man in the bed speaks

for himself the silence reins
in 1969 the springs are bled
a story called when you were out

dogs play would’ve should’ve

border guards hear burlap
they’ve paid for feathers
the paper hasn’t any following

in these parts no form

we knew one day not long
would fail to hold light
until the earth moved an inch

that it never worked

mostly lined up to keep time
anyone can learn how high
and this work make a ditch

sometimes if you’re different

once you’re asked to play again
the same impossible minuet
of your delicate terrors

they held the wood above

to take the color up to white
not to have to learn the stake
these were parts in the way

a little goes on far too much

this one went white as part
of a set of something which ran
red through the streets of the ear

if I keep my hand just so

he will call himself the next big
and a second of important loss
might think itself a keepsake

who uttered the noise

a box we used to have in space
it may be a year or clear case
enough is too many too white

he knows what we have to miss



Sunday, October 12, 2008

Conjectural Infinitude, Buckshot Grapevine, Irritant

or Lessen the Airspeed to Impale a Missile and Co.




Under direct observation the head on the horizon was seen to retch
Each moment is its own inverse deadline
None may countervail but feel free to bewilder. Love, Debbie Rottweiler
Ira Gershwin left nothing of note behind
The anthill has come under the magnifier of the irredentist figurehead
They still use gaslight in their dreams
A country singer named Josephus Porosity, the feint of the shoulder
Out of his socks, deft and proverbial
Alexander returns with no water, but the condemned get a hoagie

The classic story of the hot patroness and the savant.

No no, not the genome of a smeary russet black agrarian economy
He said the egg goes with the avocado
And every auto ever smashed may correlate to an abutment in your scopes
The ant is bagging for another species
A series of names: Feldman. Bella. Fairfield. Famous as that western crease
An engagement dousing a single firefly
By loudspeaker and what a coed says tacitly about any number of other coeds
Mary in her descent on the arm of Grimm
Along any shore the flukes confirm an egotist in each isolated grain of sand

The plans need a drunken draftsmen to be made inexorable.

What of this cycle isn’t punitive? February has no quantifiable number
On the radio the lines are never hazy
A muscular engine revved and a monster reversed on the dance floor
No rueful faces in the chartroom, Habib
We have a global girdle of the lovelorn and their psychiatrist laid mouth to ear
By an integer of q and a horsefly armored
Associations crop up and banter with us to make sure we’re not too dumb
To impersonate a matriarchoid in silk pants
And the occupant of the cocoon, severed, placed in a shell, cast on the Platte

This is the colleague you requested for your assisted rehearsal.

Will any of Nosferatu’s rats be demitted from the ship? Will you be inoculated?
A brick of compressed white lays in the sag
The universal rink, extendible heavenward, irrepressible as tainted baby aspirin
Yes, this idea might incur a less impressive dowry
But there are still bathroom attendants repeating their wishes while asleep
And naught to rejuvenate the lip sweat on the monitor
One discriminant leads to a serial conclusion, the additive to glorify the nut
Mention the color blue and a blissful silence ensues
Having seen the curtains of the rankly insecure, a prosecution of groupthink

Little Pedro was born today, a messenger bag with earbuds.

His predisposition to leaven everything he prepares with plaster of paris
As a bolt cuts a z in a sycamore. Thomas Mann.
Anthony Mann. Michael. The ethanol high, a parallel of grammar in jail
Had it not been for the cloud that burst, we exclaim
All those who’ve signed in please submerge yourselves in your amber beds
That cloud is contained in a hypo, preserved for you
And your chronic thyroid brag, a fresh kill, a plaster deer in the parlor
It’s good to be poor says Rich, missing his irony
Who has the ken to enter a forbidden sector with only the bodies on his back?

In Britain before the gash. In Florida, Hiroshima.

This deputation of horror movie extras keeps reasserting itself as a viable map
The girl on the ferry, coy, red hair in black & white
As the moon moves so moves the sky, as the sky so this moving dump of light
And those men are no less equitable for their spines
But here is an ear without a phone, impolite, like the concept of chivalry
Anything equally arbitrary, in the Lincoln compressor
And rendered in pocket size, music for the rathskeller under his plaster edifice
Millions lunge as no one looks, a flier is making history
Comes the order to remain equidistant, listen to hearing, watch sight, vibrate

Everything will be alright, the breach has been contained.

Count the ruts ahead, the tiles in the community bed, consult Pandora on ice
The gentleman from DC is on the phone for you, malady
Here comes that dumb world again, pressing its nose against the blackout pane
Problems, like Pedro, don’t go away by themselves
It takes someone with the butane to make things happen after closing time
Pretty will get you almost as far as your carriage
We have the hard facts locked down under a bulkhead, zebras roaming above
Remove that sapient grin if you please
Some skies, some worlds, some births are single bite portions in their entirety

A fed man belches in annular weight, the person made hermetic.



Friday, October 10, 2008

Your Friend Wanted You To Halve This





in this line you get administrable
this one took away your epitaph
via a sign “beware your regions”

this denotation is not really here
it helps to strengthen your fright
like the vagabond of duckweeds

everyone in this country is named
Owens or after a poached pickerel
the chief has a postgraduate hatchet

you must acculturate your parts
develop some amity with a peach
it all adds up to multinomial crabs

they traded the crystallite for coal
it was all relatively exogenous then
in Nippon where the chestnuts lit up

and this is your democratic arc length
with a special cameo by that hatchet
a primal game show gusty pirate breath

in the village they bought a category
the arctangent of a dead cassette race
with alacrity they appointed a giraffe

now all the children gyrate like Lucian
of the bedpost and definitely westward
Deanna’s trill in the heart of the caulk

ingot of that rare blue Scranton eyesore
it’s bamboo to the hundredfold demoted
and a goat named Strom a sectarian foam

do you have the lines to striate finally?
the solitude of weight? a cousin to bone?
or let it all bracken gratis for the prestige

which fable presages a stevedore on junk
his chromo shows a sphere on a stump
and the trees around there are clattery

in a moment we’ll visit the Carthaginian
stuck in the clay of Middleton times god
but where're the crypts we came to analyze?

in absentia the mayor has a pancreatic spot
there’re those who’ll feed on him via Sterno
dials set to “watchful” “gluey” or “horsefucker”

that should have been in neon and yucca
the bullhead on the billboard in Pittston
a heaving great excitation under the levee

and who shall we say is calling Tulsa a blot?
Aeschylus in his Bose wigwam running lines
a moral on the cowardice of the coffeepot

why say what’s counterintuitive to a barfly?
the Capitoline running unregistered lava
or it might be the chartreuse Tom Sawyer

killing his way across Venice in his waders
California the first course for all Godzilla’s
friends often spend their Tuesdays dying

dame skirt twist moll doll babe ascendant
with belated profuse apologia for the wolves
and no appreciable variance in these heats

then a voice from the hills and a reprimand
Lamont Cranston Betelgeuse a high hurdle
as credible as a Quakeress shooting her sushi

but aren’t those skies all nasal? and that acorn
you can feel stuck up under your cantle a poke
your daddy saw Mars in the arms of a housefly

these aren’t anyone’s words but Plumb Bob’s
ate a Corvette with the thought of his lungs
and we lean more leeward with every cough up

now count each individual secretion here
so as to be aware of the calamity of a sash
in Abyssinia where Chevrolet collects dust

and the dust demons don’t recognize you
for the germicidal Typhoon in your briefs
a dry water ad libidinous as that meat lady

with only the fibrosis to hold up her peroxide
and her trenchermen shot down for smiling
what is the combination to a newborn noise?

at last we get the part where the prep pays off
in a rara avis resin and cold clock mechanisms
say excuse me for my accuracy Mistah Grackle

none of the photolytic influence could melt
the waiter’s advantage in height his tongue
a socked eye infestation a camera quashed

this is your clique and this is your petroleum
obligatory as corrigenda on the end of a dart
or the mouth that makes the moonlight a roof

might find itself on a familiar black ice road
ergo the direction of the dick where north lies
with a brick and those margins are the difference.



Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Their Titles Are Uncommon

Thelma Todd was found dead in a car.
The car she was in was in her garage.
Her parrot had an aversion to jazz.

There were traces of lemon zest on the plate.
The directories all called themselves definitive.
But the many different types of rice confused.

Wild fire chomped this hillside, he observed.
A lithograph depicts a blue sphere with ice fairy.
In their delirium the pigs pursued each other.

Condolences on your loss of reluctance.
The Players Club closed early that week.
A white birch was planted in Burbank.

Warner Baxter suspended his catechism.
Berlin could not play I Got Rhythm.
More delirium stirred in the shrubs.

Kirk Sampson wondered if this was gorse.
He’d heard of it in church with his aunt.
She loved the mortal threats and singing.

Was the victim Lutheran or Israeli?
A greasy pan and Monopoly laid out.
Embers still glowed in the fireplace.

Cesar Romero left the vestibule sobbing.
Below the hill the maid found something.
It was nearly swept away in the stream.

Thelma lounges in a bold print sundress.
Inappropriate for this late in the season.
The Santa Fe Express is in a state of crisis.

Bavarian steins line the fireplace mantle.
She’s on the sauce, into the nose paint.
On the soft imported carpet a ball of foil.

Crepes with sage and Elisha Cook.
In Sunnyvale the keys don’t fit.
There are none of her toiletries.

A broken nail in a dope fiend sampler.
The embers have been cold for an hour.
A golden clarinet sinks beneath the surf.

Was that a doll? Do you see candlelight?
His aunt liked to dress him as a Confederate.
Recreating the night of the counterattack.

One light in a dayroom window.
Pants, a sundress, a broken vase.
No automatic door opener found.

She looks stylish holding sway in the club car.
No one sees the blood on her rhinestone ring.
Episodic blackouts, coke and nervous laughter.

Johnny Sheffield, too young to drink, does.
There is no dominion held in movement.
The conductor is an authoritarian relic.

One plain clothes man scours the guest room.
Another wakes her where she lies in a field.
Still singing Rockabye Baby to the sunrise.

When the call came in the Sergeant was aghast.
The maid tried to warn someone off by phone.
Three glasses with traces of a rare pecan liqueur.

That stream has been a dry bed for twenty years.
There was no response when we called the agent.
The property might be biddable, but it’s unclear.

She uses a special eyelash adhesive from India.
Fabulous tales of debauchery, shocking conduct.
She spent a night in the jug for vagrancy once.

As racy as vaudeville was, she retained her poise.
A roadblock closed off the lane to the bungalow.
Traces of toast crumbs, dark jam on the bed pillow.

In the culvert below the foothill, men dab at the ground.
A curious discovery, someone has defecated here recently.
No sign of the stranger, though a footprint is overlooked.

In the sand around the pool a black streak of dried fluid.
She required a constant supply of sandalwood and coke.
A small gun was hidden in the entry hall of the house.

A magazine called Hygiene Today featured male nudes.
A picture of a man partially torn from a cracked frame.
She swoops into the room in a long custom made frock.

The car veers erratically, speeding up the narrow lane.
There are hands involved, but not in a focused sense.
An insomniac neighbor sees the automatic door close.

She drives no handed to Burbank on a whim.
Says something inappropriate to a priest for fun.
A blank check in her name is made out to cash.

The coroner's men pack and quit the scene.
One steals a bottle of imported almond liqueur.
A thin blonde offers a counterman her ring.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Iceberg And Finger





The Rajahs were grand. They had elephants bedecked
in fabulous jewels unknown to the western world

in the crosshairs of their bomber turrets.

The elephants with the biggest earrings proved
the easiest targets, as you might expect, considering.

Not so much a form of flyby vivisection

these were mercy maimings decreed by the all holiest
of the airline pilot school graduates. In fact each Raj

had at least one of his own favored beasts

on the barge. Some divvied up their dead like soccer
players exchanging jerseys after a heated match.

The carcasses with the fewest wounds

were regarded as most desirable as they required
less of the taxidermists time which could run into

considerable money. Not that

anyone was counting. At the heart of the sport
was the camaraderie and a sense of being a part

of something utterly conscienceless.

If an outsider, say a journalist, were allowed
to ride in the cockpit on a sortie, mercy was rare.

The land is an interest, they thought,

and the happiness of one occasion might produce
years of enjoyable misery and other forms of mass

entertainment. Once an animal lover

was fed to a flock of angry heron. She begged to be
allowed to reason with the birds but was laughed off

the tarmac and into a feeding receptacle.

It is prophesied of he with the most junk on his shoulder
that the beasts of the plains and the air function as his

natural armor. So there. The hunting

he finds to be only so so, but the codices detailing the old
hunters and their heroic odes move him to holler like nothing.

What is there left to do now? Now

that the pilots have all been trained and the Rajahs amused
within the limits of the limitless exchange of fun and death?

From the secretarial pool a pinch

of poverty is ordered with the olives and umbrellas on the side
and whatever dad wants down in the vault with the bullet

and skull fragments. The elephant

does not forgive, but can only hold a grudge so long as
all that business about never forgetting was a cleverly written

ad campaign for straighter shooting.

Beneath the control room curtain a pair of enormous gray
feet can be glimpsed along with the base of a circus

pedestal, brightly painted in primary colors.



Thursday, October 2, 2008

The Tune As Lure or Line As Inducement





Soon as the seal can write.

Come at the issue from a place of simplicity.

All this does is predict spotted pelts.

Across the stream is as far as the hunter went.

Then he let loose on a Doe.

How this action affects our number.

The game or correction of rotation.

Why such a break might have made sense.

Or a look at the mail that won’t be henceforth sent.

Will is said to usually have some part in the movements.

Nearly any of those rustling noises might be almost proof.

Maybe a vision of a flat black world with one opinion will tell us.

The way Mondays tell you your week before you’ve looked up.

Or the winged forms below her that she ignores.

The mother told the daughter how to vote.

It’s the same most places where they set themselves on fire alert.

We could always move back to before these events.

Like the thing that made the things there impossible to understand.

Or might we need some more of that?

Might another side of the runway be where the water is hidden?

Running below your name.

Back to the simplest premises.

The holding tank was where we should have kissed.

And all those times your mother was following some program.

Did we not recognize the need?

How long it’s been since we saw the play stop time.

Get him his food his time will get used without him.

Without the need to grow thin.

That was what they held to in court.

Once told to remain in the room and make things.

Make up an answer for lost years.

Food was all he heard.

That’s a very delicate subject in certain circles.

So many crafts to show for today’s efforts.

A head in a cartridge.

A knitted can protector.

A party of filters.

Who was the being that we knew was not from here?

No clue as to where the big foam hand is going to turn up today.

Do you think we can make it on this little water?

To the part of the city that might welcome our skills?

Any play would seem large on this stage.

The ink runs from the Doe’s neck into the snow at the base.

The sentry is taller than his late brother had been.

The father liked one of them best.

Have me in what way you will.

Use whichever part you find appealing or useful.

Finish with a set of instrumentals.

When I hear the lights go off I’ll know.

The control is in the losing of all numbers.



Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Thin Man Walking Off Losses





Time to time flies.

One of them is not avian.

Uniform implies a home.

Uninformed applicants fist air.

This is us on time to mass.

All of his gathered around him.

Thoughts at best guests there.

Her house without her still breathes.

Knowledge or her glasses split.

Embroidered collars at sunrise.

Shot from the box.

Mad as flames.

Mad as fame in ovaries.

Connected tissue to what?

His family with a uniform code?

Got kayoed in the sixteenth round.

And the trees sing the birds to pieces.

Only one left to call Sir now.

The application gets the okay.

Sleeping birds petrify.

The pane and the seriousness.

Only what it allows is seen.

The band stirs.

The teams all play.

Lawns raise houses in their voids.

Uncle of empty lots.

Time we were the take.

It took a lapse to make us while.

Now we’ve reached out to the lake.

Soon we’ve flown off with plummets.

Who won when the grass attacked?

When the glass blew taps?

Maximums of turning leaves.

The birth was the other boxed.



Sunday, September 28, 2008

Mine Own Ohms Resisteth Me





Deaths come to all good things who’ve weight.
In dreams you always have less

chronic sleep disorder issues. But can you be
sure the sugar isn’t slightly less

sweet? That slumber isn’t a trick of the foot
finding a planet to stand on less

the agent’s slice? Chaos as agent of buck teeth
in mags. The comb that has less

to say about the state of the hairdo than the hat
of a gent of meanness? Not less

significant the dais missing its inner windbreak
to protect your devices. Unless

you then arose and a wind agitated around you.
“This thy son, o lord”, worthless

without the word. The word goes amongst men
in the brilliance of the touchless

carwash. This world goes to the Unitarian Bank
of Commensurate Fits, merciless

as Ted Danson towering over a city of flyspecks.
260 days till literarily those less

fortunate read ant paste deposited here to mark
anyone named Mark. Much less

meeting the quotidian inroads of your grand mal.
Skip it? The panda, “Please, more?”



Saturday, September 27, 2008

Bounce 8





fracture you are delicious

distortion a rich preserve of limits

Ramada you live in the hearts of Newark

a cutover cumming from a high bluff

cornmeal to beat me soundly round the parts

a foursquare feast supplanted by dirt

built a befuddling jungle as a deterrent

some paunchy combine operator

brisk winds alter the atoll’s crust we eat

velvet flavored yonder rendered threadbare

custodian of the library campfire injuries

chug luxury if adept a legion will assist

drop the gangster admire anchors

favoritism is a familial trait take mandarin

semicolons situate your shade deposit

your pilot lies bucket deep

only the convict got maternal

as a manhole despot and buttery as priests

then the crania go screwball insolvent

this primitivism edge gives blare

Nairobi in a nod a broadside of them

your deserted isle is a snowstorm missing plug

then out comes the kiddie topic to pixilate me

the inks had a brood of inklings

yet still I live on Nottingham in Pain

sirens call my unlisted name a number

when the socialites gag and get scrutable

is this the meat they labeled dutiable scrap?

that border garden just groaned and put out a crypt

in the ensuing analysis no one said homicidal polecat

or saccharine tastes better actually served in the sack

Doctor De Steer wants your confession billings

this may alter the communal tax status

heads you plead tails I’m the goat of the Devil’s Punta

a shacktown talisman vendor burst from oats

can you use me as an opal as someone credulous

as a capstone on this heaven high deletion?

you see a hill a man sees

a turtle turns back you stand and bark

watching these random falsehoods leave uncharted

it takes only nine goats to bring heaven down

and a thermometer you can associate

if any of these rebounds fail I’ll fax

there are lives of wallpaper sung to cabochons

all as bogus as a tiger below your imaginary twig

take the berry I only need a mat and someone

called Bess and the tie I wore to my demise

tampered locks blew all my cousins home

during flightless windup abacus week



Thursday, September 25, 2008

Before The Hat Got Terrible





in the purple she
exhorted the troops
this is not yours
not a masochism
it’s an asylum vote
or optic relic or genie

cracked a mullion
into glass homonyms
access denied
these props are condemned
her excretory specs
bristled scrubbers of Dondi’s ghost

Sumter on Avon
dry creek on dewdrop
army crawlspace
a sud retaliates
sculptor of alphabets
coppery gel of no one orb

coalition screed
a momentary
worm extremis
barber content to shave
avaricious heroes
diagnosis the mail is late

a small testicle
now the dewdrop binds
Byrne in his suit
the clarinet praxis
was this the paradox?
to delve back into the wood’s wind?



Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Not Provisionally Entitled

(for CN)




are you in?
are you holding?
do you see an allegiant
in Sandusky by the smokescreen?
An actuated anterior of animosity
that says insecure to me
to a tenor the opposite
your syllable has become you
the transport ship moon-bound
but the depth of Bridget foundered
will end the era of moon power
your pole position come home
and I am wearisome of the cups
I can enter you now with it parsed
gimcracks bells impediment
Betty Doorward steams me
returned to the pubescent convoy
are you decontrolled?
a rut in the land
a dash a snub
the bony cam that registers
dental counterfeit
or are my golden colors the same
as Herkimer in his isolation
the slimmest chance
a borrowed gate
freed from the home of Eli
Guru of the trances
to be discontinued

(as a condition
a bedhead comfort mental bulb
cashier of the cliff of surgical sex
the brain races nearly exquisitely
so your lubricants amuse)



Tuesday, September 23, 2008

What Began With Great Promise Ended a Poke Choppe





in here lynx can be had cheap by halves
that’s the sweet stench of a peace officer
we overbought on politburo retreads
a phase we were anticipating never did
via shelves removed of trolls and it is
pop goes these decomposable saggings
gas paths gangways Cathy chatter ugh
a genuine Chippendale rod pocket bed
Ellsworth Cyclops end of gamete fads
infamous infancy in chrome tiled lab
told of a predecessor’s proverb to screw
devolution to pre-electrician in ten days
to whale to chokehold De Valera lives
the drum of the headshot on his neck
wherein the bisections are pre-mortem
a little sting a fishy puppet carpet across
a free fritillary with every adjudication
abortively coughed a man his bulldog
and the angling best in the whole south
of the north like in a real fake western
shot across with the pianola the hamster
banging on Handel to paraphrase a rattle
these penmen their delimitations ethyl
Planetary Dildo live at the Pituitary Pit
until that graphite Troy extractor arrives
pulls out the bed of the pipsissewa healer
they’re free or so in Canada says Samuel
Adam his son a harvestman of myoglobin
lest he shall invoke a villainous puce hue
or be adjudged dumb aleck the stepchild
our conscripts are all planked in ice pads
trained to break the backs of scratch-offs
only a Bach could know what its echo is
likely some salesperson correlates Tango



Monday, September 22, 2008

Then Comes the Master Rakes





your promise:

the commute that ate Muncie

your premise:

the monkey that dreams in code

your product:

predominant faults in the valley

your precedent:

surrounding Bremen with SS puns

your processional:

straightened in the lung itinerary

your practice:

breathe those vulva spoons apart

your performance:

form V's with your rudder toes

your press:

nothing you do isn’t hip, police

your paradox:

need your advice on the Saudis

your paradigm:

you inspire a religion, Interpolism

your preternaturalism:

soon the deed will bear a fruit

your pride:

and the chick hatch a hammer

your purse:

click, almighty as a football

your preview:

darkened like dens of the lobbed

your purview:

marked with hydrophobia staples

your purchase:

of Washington Carving Nutbucket

your pachyderm:

this is your idyllic diode of blue

your plunge:

water bridge the water pure sugar

your population:

Peggy, a fatally cute congestion

your pleasure:

request a spare sledgehammer blond

your planetoid:

the underbed agents of the CPU

your pardon:

may a humble stranger objectify?

your punchout:

or reinforce the national munchies

your plastique:

a seismic blip on the debutante

your pram:

are the disputants present

your pappy:

with their bongs and mavericks

your predestiny:

the bank on the corner pulling g's

your priestesshood:

glom the gloom, bottle it: glam



Sunday, September 21, 2008

I Believe In That Man Below





Once in a while a sound travels a greater distance that it thought it could. At that moment of arrival a small new world becomes available. The whole understanding of what can be accomplished on a single impulse revolts. The small new world becomes a work. The work begins, slowly, to grow. Spare change can be felt in its cushions. It learns to count three. Waste removal grows in importance in direct correlation to the size of ideas produced. A prehistoric ancestor of the Mako Shark is found alive and hungry. The work generates ancillary projects like travel to nearby works in progress. The word is given to begin landing sequence operations. Respirating moss, pitted components of metal torture implements and a Theremin are found. The next day a light rain washes the billboards and they gleam in the sun. Soon, with a bit more growth, there will be people to remember these things inaccurately.

Many people live in their memories like those old explorers did. Nowadays there isn’t any time to amble along a lane of strange fences with strange things in the shadows behind them like arms or gardening tools or pruned branches or something unidentifiable but somehow comforting. Oh, and you had a small branch in your hand. Down a ways an old woman told stories of the many lovers she had had and had had to tell to go in the morning after a light breakfast. This whole idea spoke directly to the problems of insufficient production relative to the size of the workforce. Good help was hard to find in those days. Old women now sit and wait for you to walk past on your way home from school. Across the lane a sound has just arrived, panting and nearly dehydrated. The old woman’s eyes grew kind. Then they grew hot and narrowed until she fell from her wheelchair. Silence replaced the old noise. A hard new work has begun.

Last November there was no calendar, no name for any individual, no bellows for the bread ovens and sometimes the people lost the point of the story they were telling themselves while staying at home under the influence reading this book of a former judge’s memoirs. This book told of the exploits of men on farms, men from distant work projects, many old women bound for the chutes and ovens at the backs of the factory compounds. Whoever it was that first heard a sound arriving along the assembly line was given a bonus and shown the door. None of them were ever seen around here again. The right to relate things that you’d read and thought were important was made manifest in the cafeteria. The cafeteria was off limits. Soon they said they would build a new cafeteria. It opened this month but the food is so so. What was the point of talking about that again? No one remembers the night the school collapsed.

Now the days have names. Each man no matter how small is considered a man worth looking away from. Everyone says they were there the day the shots were fired. It’s hard to imagine being a sound and not knowing when you’ll stop, much less what you’ll transform into heavy gauge mesh used to crush the growth of unwanted creepers in the gardening industry. The whole blueprint is available at the library. A library will be built next November, you will be able to read things like crazy. Things like the sequel to that book by the former judge about how he wrote the first book and nearly died when a sound traveled to within inches of his ear before finally stopping and becoming a dandelion. They never rebuilt the school. Sex is a beast only known as a character from another project. No pre-release photos have been circulated. An act of kindness was performed there, it lasted until the feet came in contact with the cracked body.

History tells us nothing. But by next December at the latest, they promise. Before history came the air conditioning and the envy of the ne’er-do-well. Into each doorway a little thing must crawl then up the wall, take notes, out the window and back to local headquarters. It’s the little things that matter most. Like why we need three seas just to be surrounded and left with only one escape route to the north. The collaring is complete, at least we have that going for us. New collars will be issued when they work out the bugs in the live culture decals that still come off in a light rain. Her collar was nailed on and she called it her source of mighty super powers. They cemented her into the chair this time. She swears she hears something new roughly every sixteen seconds, the length of time it takes to achieve orgasm along with a simultaneous bee sting and allergic reaction. A book is coming out on it soon. Probably May of last year.

It doesn’t happen often, but once in a great while a sound reaches beyond its limits and becomes the cries of, presumably, a woman having a series of orgasms. Possibly having a child. On their days off most people read those stories set in the distant lands of mystery, where Chandu the Magician and Roxor battled for the future of something, illusions multiplied “even unto a gathering of twelve times twelve.” A woman having twelve illusions of climax consecutively, with “twelve times twelve” mysterious strangers, then leaving a living city growing in her wake. The travel of sound no longer necessary. Sound can take a well earned day off. Back in those early years no one heard anything they did until it was proven right by someone else in a large protected vehicle. The names came later. There was talk of a newspaper devoted to stories about the life between sound and work.
It was quashed by a hooded stranger.

This is why I believe in that man above.



Saturday, September 20, 2008

Could You Buy Me So?





I always rely on the kindness of others’ strangers. You
have all the glands in a pleasing arrangement of grays.


They pay a cover and come to the edge to look down
at what any one of them might rule into decay.


One thing sits like a bomb of blanks, the other is studying
the man with the courage to snow in a blizzard.


We are the place the antimatter levels began
to grow out of control and we giggle violently.


Many fine folks live around about these parts
and some tie down birds to paint them with egg tempera.


I have two hometowns: one like a latter day Thebes
and the one in the Atlas of Santa’s evil accountant.


You can run as many marathons as the shower rains
white enameled straight pins into your unfinished tattoo.


Which only means that who left the sound on too long
should also be the one going blue in a trunk.


This is written for the first mother to put kindling
in her eye as a signal that the grain fields will produce.


Have these pocket editions always been about nothing
but the insides of storage units in disuse?


But for the fairness we could have a formula
that might actually work together with another better formula.


Now I’ve said too much without having
sufficient letters to make the words come unglued and traverse.


His great gift was knowing how to make both
look like they were miserable in perfect congress.


Why did you change your back? Which way
to that new chisel store we’ve heard tell of?


Did you change your chin too? Some kind of whim
about the energy of parts? Did you see it tried in repeated tests?


Here nobody does any work. You just take the next
man and flour him till he’s ready to bake the one before.


Why did god place me near a domed city? What was
going on in his head? It’s almost like a party of ones.


Those over under right left reading skills
that will carry you into the next paid promotional intro.


You can run. Everyone sees. There are yields to
these crops. Ears of good corn and cotton enough to never read.


One might also be different and run. Then again any
other tattoo would be complete then sawn off at the shoulder.


I think this is the moon of sties. I think they bake pies
and cakes as well. Any of those sound good about now.


Any off days are those when you forget to turn
off the water and the entire building drowns.


Any day when you are where you belong. Or set
down your package and forget to want its contents.


The moon is a snake and you live in its eye
making up lines like the mob was unruly till order was restored.


End on your best number. Outlast the landing module. Old
people all go through the same well in the secret garden.


I had a year once that featured no connected times
but I find the nights different here.


You stand inside an important historical crossroads
and think of a cross. She coils to strike. She sleeps.



Thursday, September 18, 2008

5 2 i D Sure But What Are The W And J For





At the first sign of a floor
abort all thoughts of landing
instead bake a chocolate layer command center
forty four feet of collected fear rescued from a six foot protective vial

She swept through a room
nothing like it ever on her mind
never dreamt of any other form of companionship
the guess she hazarded was raised blind on a catfish farm in the south

”A cure!” said the director
do an alternate Edison for us
the tall muscular footmen caught in the spokes
”take him out of the lineup and throw the other potential culprits away.”

Techniques used in japanning
the first application was in 1993
japanning can cover all manner of blemishes
if it be your wish I will weep here after the horses have taken Suzanne

5 time we have talked at length
2 chapters got left out at the printer
if not tonality then what do you aspire to?
dysfunction raised to the level of art a popular TV host in the 2050’s

This time we’re waiving the cover
and sounding the other kind of charge
that cushioned floor and a lifetime watered
with the water of the juice of the nectar of the fruit of the sky’s tree



The Test You Have Is Absolutely





The rishi tarred and feathered

began to like not needing a suit

became gratified with making stew

here was the ridiculously sweet thing

about him: having dismissed a vegetable

of extreme rarity in favor of endless dice

these were the rewards doled out

to privateers in Elizabethan England

on returning with the heads of the Spanish

and their onions in shiploads

which contributed to the birth of stew

which while a delicious bit of irony

was limited by territorial lines

and because it was assumed waste

was cast into an anachronistically dark

the room having gone dark too

for him the sensation was certainly not

unpleasant the gravy seems gamy to most

the sage sees his own in the southern stars

stirs them with his peeled polished branch

yet such is the methodology of the pot

despite the risk incurred by practicing

without a license to combine

the stick drawn down and snapped

so as to facilitate this double purpose

but the snake eyes mean he already is.



Wednesday, September 17, 2008

The Stalker Has Nothing to Lose





Pagoda sleeves fly wide open, and these

tiny little scale models of her incisors, no,

they’re shrunken friends from school, lake

specific critters in their sperm shapes, making

somewhat amateurish passes at la belle romance

reminiscent of that of the shoemaker doing piercing

on the side, back alley style, selling gold and calling it

by a name he heard in the sleep of a Tokyo bus sweeper.

The author is told by Steppenwolf in a dream to write but

can’t the more she swathes her form in biker garb, in smellum,

in her avoidance of the procedures of eradicating herself in order

that she might avoid the process of confronting not doing the work.

Her face looked as if it were carved in genital loathing, a ballsy, dainty

mademoiselle who evidently. Of course this could all be connected with.



Monday, September 15, 2008

DOOR





polio.



selective service.



shut up, canaanite.



scoured a post.



doctors all around.



centricity of grackles.



paprika, fairy, resultant stove.



pith aggravator.



stentorian wolves, their whereabouts.



crystal solitude syndrome.



insignificant bun, numbered e.g.



harold mccluskey, smoke aware.



doorstep to balmy americas.



frederic felled by sylvia.



nitwit emeriti.



patton done at the neck.



tunneled oeuvre to noteworthy fob off.



wilcox rebels, this symphony bought.



giddyup mavis, stone position.



brazen.



caribou on notice.



guaranteed stiff.




I Know That This Dog Will Come to Shazam





Not that most don’t just show up and hang around
pretending to be tiny camels
tell me about your day will its head be on TV?
Me I even get along with undersized thimbles on mine
and the spooky things that room you in
for the windowglass necklaces.

It happened again today it was today and it changed
to today then again I also tore a page out
and threw it away to write the godhead tagline in its
pinwheels. I was always good with stymies
and mystical sex parts big deal did you get suckered
by that US Albumen gospel shattering?

If it’s easier just be on him mine was already old and near
though I’m always to the right of a foundling
with dysplasia but where did you get that wet
paper sandblaster?
Line one is your wife Mr. Impenetrable
the one you never tore from her instant.

So you can get large so what it’s this side bet
we should keep several of going the bigots
with the big blue hearts will think us into learning
smaller and whosoever can tell me how to yell
till your very air sockets emit a light
softening any methane with their attendance records.

Just say it to him and be yourself on your own time
where there are mothers we’ve never heard riffing off
but both mothers would want to weld anew
newfoundland, france a town too near the flame jets
together we knew were too knotted in sinew
to ever end in to be continued.

Same old same old same old doll trip of tops
on another spinning instrument who says because
we each read every book ever thought of to seabeasts
buyers need to be told they’re high what have you got
against thin girls slithering across the congressional
manual stem then you went nuts as many as once.

Learn to repeat the animated less one crutch
and only the one we first appended
he know I’m right he say no again and prove the sun
inside the dog impossible but she is the arbiter of tazers
the only one who read the little part of the title card
where the whole story was suspended in a solution.



Sunday, September 14, 2008

Eddie Murphy Complains to ATT About the Multiple Charges





I can elongate my bite mark till it looks
like you were bitten by every rabid citizen

another amazement I can pack in
seventeen seconds and order
all the shirts by the first name
of the last person to smile at each

you might not know I’m a vet
(not that kind, the all creatures the same kind)
four tours in the theater sorting out that tropic
resort rate fixing situation contracted
an inoperable switch in my pump

then the dispersal of accidents
we missed our own mockcentennial
the fireworks were awestruck by lightning
by the turnout of cars made of kangaroo parts

but I do remember you vaguely catlike
coming down the stairs in a state of tenderloin
the dew still cool on your latches

but my hair was never wavy like that
just a glance then a turn back into the cavern

chloroform is my favorite form of mint
like my plaster errol flint with fist and black spot?
don’t be a dope it’s the cyclops in brick

this being is from another degradation sphere
we can foley the moans in after the autopsy

talk about yourself for a minute I’m absorbing
primates on unicycles into my modular gait

the pecan cuts a swath through a wall
of human caution signs dumb games
involving funny bakery explosion plots

I was using a lot of burgundy then
engaged in a constant scrimmage
the psychology of the departed
how some need to chug a coriolanus

the cop does part time coachwork
the siren lures men into her car
both are the elements of an alloy
copious as an epic gesture to retreat
my geriatric city awaits to the south
I have small pleasures like daniel
when he whined the lions got branded
in one manpower out the other cowpuncher

bitter or bitten by the hand you’ve bent and laid?

here comes that favorite TV syllogism
if fred is the fallguy witness to the atrocity
and barney the courier who saw his death
then the conclusion bowie has sucked
since that pierrot on the beach

and it follows you should never marry
anyone bushy go with the strictly abstruse

an obstetrician has appeared in these pages
in a flophouse with overlapping monarchs
an intrusion about as useful as wolf bane against flu
in a wolf her name was tracy or butch or moreau
the total absence of a civilizing influence

soon my ascension will complete itself in horseflesh
the tragedy of newfoundland they’ll say
and I will be there to arbitrate like nobody
was in that private ryan mess or shiloh

blink and the camera becomes a combat salesman

semi-trucks tickle my external ribs sally and ayn rand too
how an amethyst can make you too tipsy to dance
the product of some g-force misshapening

ignore all but the inaudible compression
I’ve been listening to saturnalia wanting to jump
onto an axis that trooper tied a pound of bait
a sign “swarm” another “menace” and “versed”

a technology I can no longer invent a machine to rust
my soliloquy under my aqueduct roof
a canopy of a certain hue billing the cult for urinal use
canopies come a dime to the yellow billion

which of these things is just like all the others
implacability integrity inequality identity
dingleberry mutual consent a bobble attractor
eel posed by metallic child

I occupy the entire hydrosphere at once
anytime I want to I can attain

who do you know ever imprisoned in a gristmill
mangling english impervious to the radio
piped through his carbon wingbones in disuse
this is taking inarticulate to the root level
much as a resident of the flood can near largesse

we are not a fundamentally practical team
like I can like the word avaricious
without knowing what it means
a mad saudi my hidden pouch conceals

benny was a brilliant comedian
benny was a burlesque buffoon
benny was something we took
at recess to get through the end
the walling over of the fields
where the strawberries flowed
like water rolling a paper chase I suffer
in any approximate house

the hollyhocks of augustus
hanging alongside my hobble skirt

the windsurfing here is good
the arsenal in my fur locker ready
and the ides of Marsha
“Two Gums” Brady with her nails
one irregular freckle from the button

I’m running for celestial council
I deign to throw my hat
in the ring in this poem I just won

do you then assess the asses on wilshire
or their small internal furs?
gaze at the inevitable innies?
nothing unfuckingbelievable
we’re about to learn how
to unfuck an installment plan

benny any was strung out on his own
benzedrine in a quarter century reservoir
ovaltine enough for the troubles

my britches enflame when I think of you and who
put the ding in my hardly



Saturday, September 13, 2008

Figures Your Body Without You





They hired a crew to build a massive new woodpile without wood

That was the year all the traffic lights went out

Man those swirling colors smothering an expanding buzz

The longer fur you can trace to the same follicles as the short

No amount of specially selected lingerie

And we played as though we thought

Is it still all about being great at something no one else can do

Above our hospital wristbands that picture of the great barrier reef

This band has never performed an encore

I’ve seen the shroud through my jewelers loupe and its flaws

Contrary to dissent it is genuine but a little girl and mother

I’m going to name them these interchangeable two

And give them these other names on the other unexamined side

After you use the backdrops look out from behind them at all the red

Which of these was new was there a noticeable animal scent

It moves exactly as I remember it when you were outside your breath

A wrong number had some specific advice just say I don’t feel the same

I can see you in your papier mache’ group home I know now I’m gone

When I hear the sound it’s an old sound without an answering echo

Things in the hand are worth whatever the hand is worth

Being in this country too long sidewalk is too confusing

The traffic the particle beams were the animals after all

Now there’s this question of one following

I was looked at funny for looking at some reflected pollutants

Finding them against the onset of acid blindness beautiful

I guess it was important that one passing stranger heard help

When was it that you heard all the notes played in white

What was here is still here under this threadbare flannel sheet

The significance is diminished by a lack of rest

Since this cracking began the windows have abandoned the landscaping

You might find it easier to locate water now

Some cases take years to be resolved one may also say thanks no

I think I have some change shot through the heart by five small words

It’s best if you stay inside they’re counting off the departures here

Would you like a day of years him with a self that came in many colors

She arranges his hair in no particular order with her bandaged fingertips

When he’s asleep beneath the rain of sheet metal panels circuit boards

A black box falls into their bed the better to keep it that way



Friday, September 12, 2008

No Bonus





Others always seem to land on both feet,
and are frequenters of regular occurrences.

They fill their private energies with chambers,
and the most beautiful falling buildings ever.

This begs the question: what’s over except the end
credits? And haven’t they always been playing?

When the plains were unsettled, yesterday, a maid
as lovely as a martian, and so she was, dwelled on it.

The images of her lover, the unfamiliar concept
of love, these impulses overcame her and she wept.

Came the 23rd, in the early evening, magic hour
the photographer called it, the syrup was ready.

A marriage is about to be performed. In one
vineyard a girl not quite of age, in another

thousands of miles away a small black pony.
The mystery of arrangements left to chance.

In his dotage, an old man, on Mars, misses her
though she existed only in his private theater.

He rails from a fixed position, wars on against
the imagined foes of his home, his only friends.






Mothers possess unerring senses of equilibrium,
although many freefall in their minds in their off time.

Those lifters don’t operate by privilege alone, they go
when the girl with the boots and sap tell them to.

Where do all these technical people come from? Is it
a storage facility with cafeteria hidden underground?

The black of surrounding space only looks unrelieved
from here, it’s really a fragile map. Women can see this.

A blanket as the symbol of devotion. A limit as the sign
of understanding the lack of movement in a frame.

He vowed to remove all math from her sight, fell short
of stripping every number from her knowledge of the stars.

There is a ceremony, you are not invited, you are
the sacrificial fruit of the tree, the missing man in flight.

As clouds of dust are made to make to you cough,
as clouds of smoke are made to make you call a loved one.

There is a fixed black dot in a white field. Is this field
space? Is this information to be shared with others?

The cancerous tumor the size of an orange, a tangerine,
a golf ball. We have so many things to thank you for.



Thursday, September 11, 2008

At the Intersecting of Had and Brainchild





remembering pushing hope
remembering pushing nothing hopeful
remembering pressing the wrong valves on the horn
remembering pressuring a splendiferous vacuum to function
remembering persuading Candy to marry just to take her in the creek

these are not memories
these are not the completenesses of thought
these are not functions in a vacuum of pressurized horns
these are not the real Candy’s clothes, ID or sunglasses on the mantle
these are no more than a prisoner realizing he is alone with the cell door open

now that that miserable fief is emaciated
we can see that it’s our differences that make us
different I a raconteur you a meter recording gosling migrations
aphids swift fingered croupiers currants proximity to the fair another bucket
of porterhouse wine a lesser scalar cash you’ve already gone and your grandeur

like helena won’t take a hint guile is a strong suit
here affordably ignoble who gives a piranha a monkey
to play with excepting maybe in germany lines down they’re bored
with jenga the human comedy dropped in the desert and given a script of heat
(the inevitable node where I picture you naked face down inhaling the moonlight)

okay so I belong to a semaphore society
is that so extreme? reason to exterminate armenians
there’s you then there’s asia then there’s a gulp a cottonmouth
happy easter little amulet full to the nipples in amphetamine grownups
fold jerusalem into a marion davies origami erect a loadstone then have some soup

the crayfish are a botch job
how preeminent! how disadvantageous!
how relieved when the circumcision became empiric
bats a thousand on the head of his stella afterward writes his name
in a bank of coma atmosphere heaps of flamingos craft a concord of matchsticks

we went to the countryside with me
we left me to watch over the gigahertz larva
its actions taught me a lesson I’ve forgotten about autism
but now I see a bezel that won’t abate every thing has a ghostlike aura
they still blanche when they see a peep americana homologous heil lindbergh

there’s a storm front in your olive
concentric ones they crouch in the lowlands
staging in an avocado commune the parthenon aspired to be
gangs of new jerks habits actions equations a strained anchor chain
I move my hand an inch and remember every word you chronicled in fairfield

now all I do is go down on you in my turn
the incense the mat that creek as gentle as abolition
who is Candy an apostle to? vesicle inhalation a sac of pulses
and this ship has no public bowels in harvard yard their airflow repute
produces a cyclist without a hillel no foible but the barbecue is gargantuan

and you my love are ethereal as barbecue
as an ion as a decade by bacharach banned and aching
to bear down on what that boar eschews at addis ababa they knew
to name themselves after your new flower that a superhero would take it
running blockades of reciprocity kept me in my cavalry dress my dysprosium has

taught us not thing one on how to rub
a bellyache counterclockwise or rig a frigate
storms in the straights of your folding screens to san jose
mistook you for a kiosk playing a dispersive bellflower of the tongue
like a see through barracuda a recovery meeting of the ambien gauge readers

is this beat old crock the chalice?
is it helpful congested with unwelcome escorts?
when’s the last time you rode a straight line to your pistachio?
is this all just diploid embankments on the furious blueback torn loose?
that idiot bear and his blustery fallout halvah a beauty with massive lovely rants?

he saw you bite into what sounds
cognitively late retrogression of ferdinand bereft
his tony was only a papery chip an efficiency ant constructed
now we’re prostrate and can’t remember the move sequence speaking leaves
I am suddenly sinai and you are an impractical economic archetype a cranberry bud

so the dazzle is that of schmeling? or is there
an emission the bartender has in the safe behind the scythe?
a bloodhound with dash of amaretto the color of the agate is it
your or Candy’s eye? you’ll climb up the shaft to the light and beautify
entire blinding vistas from the peak the tears of an airman back from the mothership

remembering why I reacted that way to what you did with the seed in the cloud
remembering why it came as no surprise that a storm was not predicted
remembering why I understood language as a black field of planets
remembering why seeing you naked brought down that craft
remembering shaking at that icy sunrise

these are not divestitures of aches not yet infiltrating the canals of your ears
these are not connotative dreams or lucid dreams or dreams of how
there are not the roughnesses of cowhide against your morning
these are neither unprotected skins nor are they immune
these are nullified melting caps



Wednesday, September 10, 2008

No Prescription





Barabbas was hooked on catfish
M. Emmett Walsh couldn’t stand upwind of him
this marketplace has become a superuseless marketplace
with clever ruse with the cremation of a predicament
in a hidden laboratory a wonderful thing destroys us
the synchronized wrist gyration team a bestial butane
that missing Mig is still missing dropped off the face
the screen and it is as scenic a poleax in the crow’s feet chase it
this myth of the lum dee dum recorded incontrovertibly in Joshua
the bible’s a colonial correction your quadripartite minus three
might as well be mustachios on the challenger a comedy of hash
and its marks and the Bentley lodged in the topiary
one dirge in one tapped for steins the donkey at barber school
the girls have decided to smoke Alfalfa out of the clubhouse
dark but necessary I had that dream of a giant iron again
in Kiev the destinies hate puns love rodeo emergencies
a very pat pushout in the labor ward
what’s sad about Dolores Costello she never made it to first
or snarled live now as jaunty an Abe as we’ve had to pot at
there was Rome and a tentative thorn a fire beacon in haiku
is anything not a suckling a listed upsurge? incondensable
Macmillan and his bracket extractor she garnered the what ifs
all of that anal affidavit monstrosity stuff that was totally hot
and there sits Abe destabilized
in a Verdi TV hymn in Des Moines
in a policeman’s deviant mirth
the facks is the only thing worth acksing after
and viceroy versatile a kept girl I guess I’m here for the jokes
some reason to betoken this moment to incite an exit panic
what say we build a genesis corps with the intakes routed to their bunks?
she said I’d like you to feel me the way I saw a muskoxen once
not so much the alarm noise as the creepy sexiness of the z broken off
stale from just hanging there waiting for it to come said



Saturday, September 6, 2008

Poured Foundation





They have gone back to London to reestablish good relations with the lord.

It has been concluded that they would be allowed to pass without combat.

After the quelling of some fractious unrest outside, the talks were resumed.

At six o'clock that evening, Mark Twain emerged with a schema of heaven.

For fear that a protester might snatch it from him all were water cannoned.

A star is a star and proves it under pressure, especially a dead star returned.

As he bent to enter the limousine a single shot rent the momentary silence.

The throng flew into mass hysteria and fell upon him crushing each other.

He admitted later being a perfect fool for wearing white even in that heat.

The shooter was never identified but the gun was under a pile of the dead.

Reviews of the conference were poor, critics dismissing it as too rehearsed.

A fiend is a fiend and right will out, though the vile crime go unpunished.

Mark Twain penned those words in an op-ed upon his return to the grave.

He’s since published sporadically, but the importance of the work is spotty.

What happened to the alleged blueprints for paradise was never confirmed.

London measured a downturn in tourism which has since corrected itself.

Huckleberry Finn is translated into three trillion new languages every day.

Scheduled for mass publication next is Huck and Tom Among the Indians.



Droopy is the Sassiest





and what of you of the squared off hole in the garbage floor
are you not an ant mechanic? But
where is your infinite wire field – the broken down convent
where you learned to ice-skate?
you and your creepuses circle each other delicious - flat in
an amphitheater that rains gas
all gone are the kings of Indian doors – the road trappers
of the faun and engineers
of bastard trains set on maxi-pad filter then desensitized
to their interior cloisters
do you need a tanzanite boost? bungee firewalk party?
the room with the fruit picker
the west room with the oldster hamper – by many a ton
wants a channel exchange? become
an editor fawn over bigheads control something medical
and it all unfolds with an audience
rolled out or asked to back into spaces - strapped down in
case of romantic gravity attachments

if a ship should come with aquanauts in their strains
a bitter worm for each named Zhang
now that’s your fluky beast epic on Frederick Wandcock
assumes an interrupted action
operations to sculpt terrain – exiting or muscular - same
as you care to be feeble hearted
see how that car boy consumes less the more you flatter
the size of his dock his buckboard warts?
the pressure from the turbines externalizes a form letter
like a series of missed cues
maybe more like shooting and missing elevensies for lack
of ball funds or a cross to bridge dry
denial is on and the frame's an absolutely beautiful airbrick!
it can penetrate your back life
eliminate the complexes in your papillary bratwurst feelers
(as if the Fonz had Darwinian boots)
we’ve developed a chair that makes you a triptych hemorrhoid
flat-folding bait conned of its aisle seat

for a buck you get bruised till united – your provinces sucked
a you of clay surrounded by pans
no cash remittance just submit your donkey to the jacketing
foreskins make divine courthouses and you
make a fetching assimilated china rose – the Atlantis Contraction
Rule – stare through The Searchers
for a character you can dance with to fame or colorize a cure of bags
her niece was a cutter - that was a flag
she wore it on a halyard as a sonnet to fluoride in the waterholes
the endless ending of the sweep by slam
she sits in her red ray with her double - phantoms civilizing ducks
for meat for armor for a turn of phrase
are you the assembler? where are all the o-types? sociopathically
the brains are bred for hops - steroids assorted
in voiceover a Cantonese speaks dog – and pretty lesbians are born
that makes this a sort of family reunion
you can quantify your state now – it’s nothing but water in blocks
and the bog is as much use as cornrows

cluttering up a crossbow – that buck was a comatose aesthete
he bark him loud at a parakeet we all vamoosed
and I want nothing but the noting of this – nothing but to be
the vassal of the balm-leaved zinger
can you mean something to me with a curling iron now?
press deep get drenched put up
a schedule we can dehydrate on till unreadable then go for Mojitos
what if the whole marble is a cyst? a string of fits
with the fate foretelling its coordinates? an epic walk across the room
and then and only then would you be fertilized
with all the coziness of a forged Moholy-Nagy – the chance of making
love by flying an erection on instruments
and a grateful nation nods – the culms in the grasses Whitman belched
never to be seen but by these naked innocents
provided they buck the bucking of the system memory – rumors
about a book that deflowers you
by the endpapers - your rations in the safe room with the air pulled out
a bailiwick you can adopt for its refusal to carp – it hunts

and that dog hunts it



Friday, September 5, 2008

Debit Clough Admits Dealing Sex For Sex





Halfway between the termites
the fiefdom of my route
a light descended and dumped upon them
ethnicized it looked to me
these leased of my creations come due
that other earlier coded god

disappeared up a skirt

it’s difficult not to nod off in these beatings
envisioning being kissed against
day for night seamless rolled blue and hard
by an angel dreaming binaries
with bark in its hair this ruby must be filled
before the going whistle

some tricks were able to learn

$20.01 the pump your inevitability speaking
yet yours is merely a piecework
albeit in a series of vapid degrading states
highest in a judicial compost
tribulations of the windpipe the urinal cake
laughed off the stage before liftoff of

the placard they invaded themselves on



Thursday, September 4, 2008

Preemptive Flashes in the Tents I





it felt like he’d been stabbed but the good kind

kept mumbling something about azure timeframes

like a period could be tinted or a comma get winded

wound up level with the seats of the stratocoaster

it has the buzz of a winging the outline kid said

shouts over the dibs and all these basic vents foursquare

apple blossom season! it’s back and no longer terminal

a vineyard of cycles indelible events

bitten again in the central bylaws

issues streamers on full tilt blowout sweet!

food for the packer with double cup

stuff and the insulator coffeehouse on diatribunal stilts

these theses think me into their iron first-begot

but an appetizer for Corazon the Clown Slaughterer?

or merely the nut in the amigo ward

with Beaver the raisins and the twin cleric fishers

I can climb two cathedrals blind

or build one from the Catalan shortwaves

in your other opener mind stage

this rock is as hard a place as custard

standing with honor as the thunder rose the dust

he said sure this is hard but nothing like prying

the eon hand from the cosigner of a meteoric clockface



Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Fastened to the Carves of the Animal





Its hand came out and came to a point
and pointed to the east and they all knew

they had come to the right place.


House and Guard Dog Today says look
for a live mattress bomb and now is the time

not after you insert your IED.


Or after all three of you come and come
to a point and point to the east and take time

out of each day between this and being a think tank.


No Quarter Quarterly asked for a quote from Roger
and got his name and no serial number at which

point they knew they had had a hand in something.


The one could have grown as big as the other had.
Next to Brad she looks like a different brand of thanks

not aware that it might be Mr. Also Soulless on the horn.


Since this morning the cell phones have not been kept
above the sight lines from that opposing rooftop.

Their concern is the chance someone might be there.


The food of life is small and fits in a jacket by Gwen Stefani.
Also not allowed above ground is that little stain proof edition

on how to say the word for “don’t do a thing or the kid is gone”.


Move in waves of one toward that second darkened doorway
where something just moved then withdrew.

They’ve often been told that following a city into itself is a snap.


He can see that this land can’t see itself as he does.
That if you take your feet and put them right on that

page you’ll mark your place in the new history of the fig tree.


Someone is whistling Git Along Little Doggies unseen.
Might be more help than they need to end a note

on how to tell the head from the remnants of the tin can.


He has a very large home and it feels like it’s filled with all
the time he’ll need. He makes a magnetic sentence on the freezer

“meet the new father we told you would let the sea back in.”


Only it almost never happens before dusk.
They took most of them below and the ones who were large

they tied to a Dirt Devil that looked like a land mine on a timer.


If you’ve made love five different ways and none made you come
or were the answer to the thought problem about the maze

you might need an extra hour on the room rate.


Nobody likes to play second fizzle and very few play it well.
Did you come again when you saw that spent shell there

on the sill overlooking the ceremonial cactus gardens?


Some like to be second in some entryways.
Again the sea when it comes near the room door

seems different here than it sounds or smells at home.


Different in a way that can’t be written.
The city has ways that it hasn’t used since the end of the last

big run through this acid sprinkler toy.


Yippy Ti Yi Yo Git Along Little Doggies it’s your misfortune
that the change we made was the change you didn’t want for

after this city has become the show.


Yippy Ti Yi Yo Git Along Little Doggies you know that you aren’t
who you think at all. You think several things that are parts of a story

but the part that’s most often the best of them is never left whole.


They dressed and left satisfied but never found a school of thought
that addressed the things people cried over in the streets below.

The short one had his years in and was days from his pension.


Yippy Ti Yi Yo Git Along Little Nonesuch you are a picture of something
other than a head. A part of a body brought in before my own at dusk and

you know that Wyoming will be your new home.



Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Increments Of Machines, Dereadable





one counted ten and died.

ten rushed

toward the sun and drowned.

the rest got annoyed

and went home. Madonna

was on in her piercing

drama. Donna

the song by Anka droned

on. That encounter went to bed

alone. Between those sheets

you want atonement? Asked

the old man. Something

that will give you room to end

with a suicide thesis

on your own

domesticity undone.

This is the age

of retirement schemes,

the sounds

of the closing of doors.

Surrounded by her children there

were none. And according

to the panda the canvas

went dry before

a sufficient number were born.

Whither thou goest

others may more briefly

belong. Or learn

additional numbers to see

thee interred under trees

of elegant bone

with the calcified

eyes to frame all

that thither that

makes this edit a scene.

This edit not seen.

This edit The End.

That one won’t count

ten again.



Saturday, August 30, 2008

Unheard Of Impudence Heard From





mistress of the sandhills

my name is Impotent Ian Cost

suppose we form a deputation of loss

in our scenic drive-by shooting apartment

make all poseurs subject to the throes

of cockamamieism

make them divisible by neutral cliffs

there’s only one page this can continue on

the one with the destructor recitative

a dentist in the dry reeds of the egg men

hermeneutic in her stethoscope

and codpiece beard

now I have riven me now become talkative

now I’m Anita Waxen

like Lowbridge Allbright and her Dark

Minions of the Wheatgrass

mispronunciations have I many son

the one and only neuron in the spotlight

the head in the glovebox of a bmw flattop

with cautionary ballcap bassackwards

My bunkmate in the army was Cassius Hallmark

we labored together under the moons

got control of Clayton Moore’s nosebag junk

(see microscopy inset)

never so buff as demanded an exhumation of waste

and here come the ambuscaders! each

with a Crowfoot in his pack

the bellies rise up to meet the ground

the egg is wise that a foe serves it raw

for reputation’s sake or as part of one expansive

scheme in the hierarchy of Two-Face Bosch

ominous more so when he’s not acting out

or posting those orgiastic sympathy cards

at mon ami’s winching from the tub

into his sinful wicked blue pod

carved in that gaze of the masculine vulval pitch

and we is all a big corroboree ain’t we?

with a piece of shoddy cotton as namesake

rolling cycloramic dice

stuck sticktight in the rank and vilified in dicktalk

the lowering takes of the anticipators

there’s a drawback opportunity here

just say for a moment that hell is leery of us

if we behave all mad and rabid and cash checks

put on a suit and go back to bed and fuck

remember the difference love made to Midas

when he emigrated to Hamilton’s basement flat

married a nice girl named Becky Rakeover

recused himself in that transportation pipe

soon they were all wearing sable under their calico

the chains kept in both the collocations

now it’s a publically funded activity room

for goosesteppy leg syndrome

so this pope I’ve decided to become

is a little heavy on the swish

the antipode of Bazooka Spermatozoa

but mistress historically

does that make me hangable as an art?

blameworthy for my faction concussion?

I’ve paid the dues to wear these parklands

at my genital meridian

on what day do we centralize the asteroid spectacle?

Paul is still dead I can hear him

under my bed breathing me in

took me to Abidjan to witness the tusk bazaar

then we accelerated into a zoo abutment

since then I’m always a quart low

developed a tic-tac in my eye

praying for tax breaks at the shrine

St. Wretched Constraint of the Taboo Pencil Curfew

now my ID says Malconductor of the Union Pathetic

in our backyard is a shoreline of cognition

mistress this is no misnomer

nor the ravings of an autoerotic addict so-called

much less a theoretician’s dream of the god-forbidden

this is a beautiful wailing

without the brick maintenance overhead

soon we will have cornered the freshwater

fish and the suckers will have to come to us

all perfectly lawful when the world turns around

and everybody is impregnating a contralto

regardless of favorite color

this is the swift skin I promised you

the company of dragons hard and obedient

somewhere there is a mama bin something

named Jennifer

her neuralgia acts up when it bombs

and Rodney Rippy has dropped his middle

humping a screenplay from puddle to patch

about a black streak of water under mud

this is how dearly we hold these principals

i.e. the guy with the hair and the thing we loved

i.e. the chapter heading of the book we’re in

“Poodle Copay”

and the dream around us shifts into an ambient

stand on the ledge and change into a wearable

corrosive an emergency chairwoman no one hears

how many lessons till you’re controllably waterproof

we must learn to deceive the keys or the kingdom will

then we’ve lost that edge of the map

are you young enough yet to coexist?

with crippled cosmology? with a crippled stationmaster?

lost his pins in a one step marathon

and the tar

and the tar with which it was primed

to level these fields that once played

do I make myself transparently avulsed

from this raiment of the guy with the hair and etcetera?

just as the clashes felt safe

in a hacienda with Freud on a cyanide margarita

with Grieg in the halls of the analytic parrot

Umberto Reverb apprehended for lacking a token

these are all only the bindles the axes

are where the fowl hid them in their necks

in Hades as Minnie writes Mickey

a cookbook from her cancer recall

I have placed at each door a permafrost lance

my radium is getting worse

I crossed my arms and felt a seismic delirium tremor

then left this gash for the territories still not there

to await their eruption

while you slept I made duplicates of your brightness

and your right corneal aberration

so you’ll see what I mean by all the dumb talk

name our child Alison Wonderling Marginal

if you have another before I return

call it Ariadne Electrets the first

after our other lucky thirteen

upriver there’s a chance that the party will be killed

never reach Armageddia at all

if not I’ll be home for lunch

with an Armada of arms and nada else

but a few cursory crags for the archives

and Belfast in reverse

listen mistress to the babble the shoreline we possess

as benign as a group scene on Cinema-X

or sniping for PEZ at dialup

we live in the land of blame the burglar

in your head for the armory

blame the sod for the mower

teach Princeton stuff to a butt inspector

trick the intrigue out of a shorthand goddess

it’s the residue they say adieu to we’ll jury-rig

make this Cul-de-Sacco a Vanzetti idol

did I mean idyll of the rock era?

I want you on my gusset now

that mistake is your stock in our trade

that and your incomparable plaster grimace

when all the transplants come knocking

the Bernhardt of the evasive two-hand stroke

confidential as Everett Sloane in his ferry reveries

all men are made of deaf juice but one

women are double the incline

so cross my palm with something suitably terminal

an inferno of blasting room temp

in truth we live on a flasher ring

one is a shoreline one is you in a chance encounter

with first base the pick in the cortex

I’ll pin your badge to one of the two

the discriminatory practice

the perfect quarterback eaten by his skirt

they cry at the sound of their own alluvial splash

blind to the nuggets falling from the stasis of the portrait

distilled from the state of Graceland

defrayer of the price of the polyamorous fad

running below the tapes of Alger Hiss

so we watch and we eat and we eat and we’re inauspicious

born on the ferry the girl with the parasol leaves

dashed on the quarry of the Reversion Lode

the discretionary uptake obscene

a wad on the pike of the judge of Miscellany

gorgeous with cyanide cocktail you beam at the doctor

and the corn is waving good luck

in hell a seacoast of mushrooms erupts

had I only known in time

now the valediction has played the annals ruptured again

I’m standing square on the last remaining daffodil

you and I should be so discrete

the captive demurring to beef

I found a small boat of solecisms washed ashore

they was angelic in their spellbound abhorrence of words

the camera was putty in their eyes

one had a nugget blind in a cornflower field

mistress my name is Anchorage Rites

aka Symphonic Infantry

I offer you this self-shaking tambourine

a gift I stripped off the carcass of a Crowfoot

it sends to recall your attendants from the country

the dust in the bed has come alive



Thursday, August 28, 2008

Hidden There





whispers colorado just entered me
whispers it’s me piracy

takes caudate notice
taken for that penis substitute soy

says luzon burned and gets laughs
or sumatra and gets giant rats

asks what is the buchenwald airlock worth
on ebay without its auschwitz flounce?

mentions the exemption
for things made of relative parts

peruses a passé book of chants
crops a rembrandt to fit

builds a theme park at the aphelion
city with a dullard discount

establishes doctrine from hosiery
too rich to resist too retted to consume

does a dada dance at the office
repents for all things convenient

decides to be an explosion of hearts
makes accusations to an aqua chalice

makes other accusations to a corvette
with atomic seats

takes toxins in small doses
eats a candle a day to become enlightened

rides with derisive eyes askance
at the camaraderie of the painted wooden horses

whispers I’m plucky
whispers wouldn’t it be cool to be a man

enters a portal to the aphelia
for the annual spoken aloud vacuum

exploits the boatman of eternal baking clay
returned to the ways of the bakhtiari

took to naming the shocks
and the cancelled tribes

watched punky brewster eat a princess
and a camel pluck its somatic harp

signals to herriman on the mitten asleep
in the innermost obdurate pale

denied a chronic chapping
manned a dynamic for the cherished lake

did mortal battle with a repository of cake
washed down a table with aspirin juice

heard parts of the clitoris glow at night
making galatia redundant

wept softly over no descendant
spewed crud on a joseph bobber

denied being superstitious
denied being hypnotically receptive

fell into a trance when shown a crib
said guten morgen

wolfed old cottage cheese
iterated repeatedly before speaking

whispered I am the progenitor of filler
whispered I am icy a midnight sulk

whispered softer I trip
spoke malagasy with a full mouth

whispered you cannot know this rhyme
warned not to try to understand its home

whispered a legend to assault with an age range
advertised for a bell and cup

vowed to stop whispering indefinitely
kicked an abstract into shape

glued a veneer on a biddable lack
licked a fox thinking it a pundit

sold cheap transducers to fund another trip
bled a form of pre-ejaculate from patterned cuts

mailed the confidential news to the suburbs
the revolt being put off till then

countered a point with a gun full of sense
whispered I will to the cameraman