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

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Living On Beyond Your Wildest Dr.

when you have a writer you have

when you have a country you have a page of

when you have a seam to give importance to your

when you have a sea monster you need

when you have two during his one

when you have the advantage of the sun behind

when you have nothing below you but

a big place knows when to say goodbye to its tenants

when you have gone so deep into a long tunnel and heard

when you have to say what you say you would never say to

when you have a history it fails to meet

when you have all these strange people fathering your

when you have important plays you might perform at

when you have no use for the times in which

when you have his boy though he wanted

a good landlord will give the land to another lord on his deathbed

when you have these specimens from under the water near

when you have the best part and his expression makes you

when you have given him your self-looking mirror and set it

when you have had it preset since

when you have known all about what he left when

when you have pictures of when we were small where

when you have back the pictures he took when he left you at

to be locked on all three sides by water is called fathering the egress

when you have one hand only

when you have the willingness to hand the torch to someone who is

when you have met your father and together you

when you have no land to picture as

when you have the next change ready before

when you have told the time that it came from

when you have been laid in frost and began to

for the pleasure of a different sound it might be your chosen work to hear

when you have sent for the head teller to complain about

when you have snatched a clump of what went on top of

when you have said the words as if as if you wanted life to become

when you have met and married all those who have waited in your

when you have been called

when you have the calm to be in the air current from a passing

when you have the composure to float in the light of a drifting

you have been sent to testify against the man who fell out of sight

when you have the evidence against a prehistoric beast of unknown

when you have to cross miles of thorns where it seems

when you have tomorrow’s times and refuse to read the new

when you have caused a man to say

when you have the right they gave you back the day you

when you have the line to show the writer you no longer need

when you have a sound only you can hear from the day he

there is only water until you swim away

The Thunder They Were

run alongside the plow.

reach under the moldboard for the missing tenet.
it will tell you all you need to know for the coming troubles.

this pattern of stops will loop until it becomes catchy.
it resembles an apple by rousseau.

there is a single letter, the first, that would alter
the yalta agreement. a moldy torpedo, a used id,
a cowpoke with inattentive adhd. relating over latte.

if three thousand screens are diffracting at once
the deodorant question becomes a form of discurrency.
the removal of shuttle busses to and from the mall.

intertwined between the curves debate and weather
in august under a system of spatially outmoded desserts.
I like the one with pieces of an active funnel cloud.

and all those congenital dorian grays with cartography
of their home worlds in attics scattered around the planet.
this was the official song leaked to the media. the truth is once
is enough, the rest is in a sudanese shed awaiting reassignment.

or so debby’s chat message said.
I don’t know, I realize, how to tell a brooklime
from a fist of cobalt powder taped in bytes to the ends
of reeds along the reservoir bank, not technically a brook at all.

in matters of water there’s nothing an old botanist can do, the dingy
is self steering. an advisor would be redundant. we have raul buried
on the island and a television to keep us informed of the frightful things
we adore. like dumpty and jennings and surreptitious cleavage.

Notice how little we offer our attention to the midsection.
this might almost be a furlough. the infrastructure of the word
infrastructure is like a ball of wax. or a can of breast of tuna, if tunas
had breasts. it eats into itself in order to find the missing letters.

kids don’t like it much. the neighbor pretends to caulk up the cracks
in the sidewalk, as if that will repair the wounded land. I was this close
to getting a part on that show on retrovision about applied alchemy
and the bums in doorways in and around fort knox. a pat answer
would be to commend the acclaimed patrolman. don’t argue.

a less exact answer would fill the crowd with dread.
fill an undeniable need. ramp up to full mach negative zero then speak
kuwaiti to allay the fears that you are too inexperienced to be that funny.
keep your database squeaky clean. like michigan clutches its cherry.
wishful cherry. late axe. idiotology aka proletariat eyesight.

any assumption at this stage is no more than an emotion
buzzer. like the hand buzzer you use on any new acquaintance
with access to nuclear jokes. your committee cosponsored the above-
mentioned martini bar at near space altitude. you based each decision
on astrology. on the back of the rover a plate says beelzebub construction.

l ate you as if you were a marvelous onion. osiris benighted the subdivision
before you could eke out your cursory gob of spit. issues involving chiaroscuro
to obscure a race driven killing. that reasoning is just choppy enough to fly.
I have the prerequisite dog. her name is absinthe. she does a good job
but my cockles are still cold. time to admit it is not a credible union.

at least we don’t have to get dressy for the ceremony of the roach. at least
we have the chemistry down. remember that cheshire whatever that meant
something to do with not meaning what you seemed? that grin cost us
a double tithe at the church of the bobbing bernice. what he is singing
about now is no more colossal than the cat he bought the flowers for.

how very redoubtably day-glo of you. you need these people in their pants
with gem studded flies kept happy and denumerable. chrome plate them
where they stand and golf. autograph their myers-briggs results.
get down with their boogie though it mangle your self image.

the nephew of osiris says everything is scratchy. it’s his way of masking
his lack of interest in you as a subject. like penmanship to a cat. like a can
of tuna with impressive rack. colette had a rig similar to this. used it as a lamp.
re: an inhospitable cpa with colorform welcome mask. the baby is cartesian

but preens like the mother to stay aloft. the numbers are more aggressive.
they convalesce without considering the sign that says dump toys here.
the baby is a rabbit in a helmet. discount the annals of the bowtie comedian.
he is the embodiment of gloss. you are the embodiment of his fever blister.

think of the dead wood in a dollar. now think of a bar. the windows are opaque.
being virtuous in no way obliges you to engage with caucasian sniggers.
think of how much admiration a derriere can arouse. now imagine one under your
pillow in each white hotel, extemporize a turtle. alternate nightly with a stork.

let me tell you what you know. you are the blastula of a pincushion.
you are a bomb’s carfare. a leach ate your babysitter and her backup whole.
tore a swastika from the national debit card.

now you are sewn into the matte, bedazzling as arson. a convex wavelength
of digits. the heart of the quintessential deodorant ghost. nothing now can
stop you from parting the sea of the concentric fears. come thump.

cars go by in oil on board. such images will line the crucifix u-store-it locker
on that gone-to-seed property. they will grind you into a lathe of robes.
perforce make pap your depreciation index.

once is enough. the ember is a comparator. the ember is a field of computers
in silly skin. as irremediable as meat to the homeowner.

when the transfer occurs the provision for alimony is tallied in cows.
you herd a riddle of dinosaur stopcocks. the hors d'oeuvres are a glut of ravens.

each tine represents a new ark. exxon in the acropolis.

(the geodesic arch laid on its side kicked in the domes till laughter pops.
a buzzard as a lapdance afterthought. a straightjacket made of oilcloth.
proof that the frontiersman had a sort of lapse. complementary transcript
and briar sandwich. over the nursery door a vixen being dressed in stone.
these your alumni, tuneful as a barbell. useful as handcuffs on boot hill.
no one remembers where they were the last time the shuttle exploded again.
dorothy dropped her foundation on sherlock. we all saw the gunshot stop.)

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Preferred Costumer

Rudolph sat in a crooked cell.
The porter came and fell electronically.
A false account was issued, omitting who fell.

It cannot have escaped your notice.
In the cell Rudolph attempted to advance himself.
He leapt at the first opportunity to formalize

his dream.

All of their applications are false.

Electronically: no account is involved.
In both the classroom and the well
there was a condition misdiagnosed as glaucoma.

And the advice arrives hourly.
The monkeys, moths, moon, months, his voice
called to me with that old replacement parts list.

On this spot we will build a university

of the ulcer.

A pearl is a disease.
On this site we will grow a pharmacist
in an irritated shell.

Before the guests arrive it would be wise to confer
with the space travel technicians.
Rudolph must train hard and hospitals start too

early in the morning.

You will have some unusual duties.

The last of the monkeys takes his swing
at delivering the knockout punch.
Rudolph is called to the infirmary.

Over the course of the past year, programs
involving keys, an inventory of averages, hours,
(and the price of respect for patients who take turns

bathing in the radiation chamber) have taken much

of what little funding we had.

How do you like the new curtains? Does red have more
than one meaning in medicine? Floral elevations
as replacements for medication.

For technicians we’ll produce more in the pharmacy.
It's the program that's why we are (not a great idea).
A newly identified disease of medication names, actions,

effects that may occur,

insects that may assemble in a drawing.

On supervisory duty Rudolph found himself
caught in a machine, alone in the bowels
of the Incinerator and Eyecare center.

In pharmaceutical terms this is called a “cross
discipline”. The tasks involved, in pharmacy math,
are a code for your assurance of expiration

before having read the contraindications.

A hospital technician is always training.

The programs at the Midlands technical facility
were too complex for college students and assistant
custodians had to take over in mid-customer-service.

Which has a refractory effect on the overall image.
In surgery there are moths, they may be acquired
at any medication terminal, or in the monthly newsletter.

Patients are doing a land office business

and POS procedures are another revenue chain.

It is vitally important that you ignore your duty hours,
as the pharmacy with the most people wins. The rooting
sections become violently contentious for the same position.

The drugs: today a valuable coupon will be installed
in your filling. Who are you turning your outside pay
over to? In the event of anyone anywhere’s death?

We don’t like the word practitioner.

We prefer paid interpersonal technician

with unspecified certification mainly in basic subjects
such as: if two thirds of the illegals worked in the first
field and two thirds wore white in the second battalion

which would constitute Rudolph’s primary expertise?
A skin graft from a pharmacist’s foreskin or a must
see performance by hallucinating Mormons?

The hospital is the Board.

They may be the United States.

Approving an air to air associate’s degree, depending
on the Pharmacy tech in training. Mainly the fragments
are in a tricky stage of invasion of the body.

Explains Rudolph Coalbin (no relation), “Jennifer
Corebreach, a managed care representative, is converted
to a fully autonomous department. This way she has more

discretionary time and graduates to tie in other interesting

attitudes. The health costs of total submission are minimal.

Eye Care; a national association which publishes an average
looking newsletter plans to increase its hours to work evenings,
so that pharmacy technicians can help with the crating

and numbering of illegals. In one of the disease management
facilities, Rudolph and a pharmaceutical “professional”
“discuss” certain “terminology”, including

agreeing on her fee.

These calculations are covered under the Group Plan.

Of the handful of growing pharmacists now being
cultivated in the basement, one is especially intriguing.
The operations he can perform while still rooted

are of breakthrough number. In staying healthy, alert
and observant (and organized, well ventilated, cheery)
his areas of investigation are perfect for the women’s

notions counter.

All additional costs may be abolished.

With this success, food preparation and pharmacology
are now obsolete. The Pharmacy Cooperative Org., PACO
and the Alliance of American Associations of Associated

Applied Americans, ROSALITA, have joined with us
to rid us of our excess stores of faulty pharmacists.
And to install a new faculty of disease management

with Rudolph at its head.

They may prove that leopards are blind.

There will be a clean room in which H. Risk-Stasis
will do visiting consultation. Sharing between nations
is the key to suppressing the insect populations.

So long as the State requires a pharmacy
all technicians will survive and prosper, at cost.
The American retailer takes what he is investigating

and offers two to each of the pharmacies

Rudolph oversees.

The less said and the less improved the quicker
the turnaround time for technicians and assistants.
This facility has the nausea store

and as much as the competition can handle.
Also the proving ground for the blind predator
acceleration testing.

In any average is a disease

not be overcome.

The concept is putting a handful of several hundred
California pharmacists into a maximum security
pharmacy and making them “police” their own assistants.

Medical records are obsolete. Some technicians as well.
We're starting to see the products of their proper use
as a Board administers its water to the third party.

Programs: inevitably they will be enlisted.

To require the project with the machine.

A nice chicken stock and anise stirred in the secret
crematories, this is how Rudolph mastered the New
Math. In addition the leopards must learn to service

the other affected patients. Whether they are trained
or only the United States, they require another number.
A new system of doing new systems for each instance.

Nobody minds a winner.

It started as a series of safeguards.

Don’t do so much where a little will suffice.
And do less for every year in service.
Disease management; and why not?

It is the highest calling to be the pharmacist; what it takes,
what it relates to, and what it writes in the first moments
after being released from its root network.

A team of house technicians.

They learn to derail trains by medication at distance.

Otherwise, they also allow the business to move
in more than three dimensions. And again the leopards
must account for their actions.

They shop in step for their pharmacy needs.
Learn Braille to become recording clerks, dental
assistants, and rangers in the plains of brochures.

Rudolph uses charisma and pharmacology.

He certified Kris, a new technician, to add the reality to this survey.

New News Updates as New Effects

(Leave The Nine Behind Till Five III)

Her daughters are bluish

and cannot leave the house

The tall caw looks around

for a safe perch

Perhaps anything beautiful shines

the shining being beautiful

Perhaps a shining umbrella snores

the snore is the dust of a rhyme

Whose old oddly shaved Eros

is this Eros imitating

An eraser arrives in a mine

and men use it to remain

And mine is sleepy like a bin

of bins in a rushing cycle

Our cycles stand

for nothing tall

This stand is still

as a hole at dusk

This stand is still theirs

in the elevator’s case

This is the stand still there for them

when the hole is finally filled in

Their soft cat snores at noon

and noon does not remain

As soon as any white shining house appears

a new beauty occurs

Her daughter’s hairy magazine smiles

with Eros shaving the cover

Their rumbling wine calms down

with the passing green house

His little pen is on the sill

where the talking caw sleeps

His pencil is still fidgeting

with the stupid hand

Any soft glove smells soft

as any soft hand smells

Their purple book stands still and stills

the greening outside

Any hairy balloon sleeps

with the daughter in her railed bed

A round table walks

to the window and smiles

A small table is a kind of stand

standing for something smaller

As still and round as a picture smells

in the beautiful mobile noise

Any expensive boat is given to stalls

in the tide of a Sony morning

And her red magazine stinks

in her silver chair

And still any round soft bottle arrives

with the green wine on the outside

Her white wine stares

a Sony appears

A given noisy TV runs

as fast as the caw snores

Our smart small camera walks

and stares at beauty

Small cameras walk atop us

with printed phones

An expensive mobile phone spits

the caw expands its wings


the children cannot sing

The round shape is fancy

as a gag

The beautiful wine sleeps

in a bed of bottled grass

Their stupid white bed calculates

these lines in the snow


a sheet is as soft as her bluish daughter

His brother’s well-crafted i-pod snows

then lets go of his wings

Its value adds the odd shaved Eros up

in a cart that appeared then left

A moped is smart and still gets crushed

the road stops short

The sport shoe stares

into the hole at night

Our mine is deep as a well-crafted clock

running against the round shaped idea

The snores are the spirits of time

locked in the chair the daughter runs

Their red sport shoes are thinking as one

with the standing object

A bluish metal sliver in a bra smiles

and TV’s stand still

A bluish river of bras sells

what the baby erases with sleep.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Relive How It Wasn't

he sits perfectly still, statesmanlike.
fires his longtime secretary.
releases a single fly in the dormitory.
it’s an experiment.

is there spirit conductivity in granitic
foundations? what’s the one
about the seventh fold of the sun?
every car window is a lens.

there is no dare left in this dare.
wellington ate the constitution rare.
mildred pierces her low-key thigh,
cutting as a currency.

I crave a smart aleck with perfect kelvin.
ants are my superiors in lakes. I buy bulk
candles, drip hands solid in wax to find
my way home by fingerprints.

the roadhouse contains a chair, each chair
a lady, each lady her own cue, and a puppy
on the table makes it a game.
the stripes are loaded.

microscopic graphs in a rich field, a wavetable
on which to feed the wounded German
we’ve learned as a snotty word, to demonstrate
the separations in our conscious hue.

he sits perfectly still, modifies one feature
with a small inserted cone.
dreams of ronette pulaski, covets her hair.
it’s an expedient.

there has been a spate of paranormal
activity, a nemesis in the baseboards. is
home, the sunroom, around the next corridor?
is that sound something by zorn?

all of the motorists preferred illiteracy
and a sweater of deceased pets.
there are no ditches in denmark,
do you think it a coincidence?

you need an angelfish, binomial:
embraceable ghost. aquatic johnson.
cows are your minions in soup.
there is a pea always beneath you, asleep.

the larynx contains a whoop, each whoop
a juvenile outburst, each collegian a pen
with which to invent pennsylvania.
for this you call me a provocateur.

intangible graphs hitherto unseen by human
(the alamo, no rich church) archetype, we elected
to become abstinent because of the rent.
culled a lumpish texture from the paint.

he sits perfectly still, classically sordid.
his squeamish, unaffectionate son,
now the apostolic warden, calls him fusty.
he’s an exponent.

signs of the polloi, metered in hotels
with their hoi out, stormbound.
are you near enough to clean silverware?
can you put us in touch with dean?

the windshields have forgotten the wind,
contain only iconic information.
in denmark with no place to fall
remaining in motion is considered dutiful.

juarez was named twice, twice opened
an artery to the other side. one voted here.
the other had important business to eat.
the presbytery sink clogged at the mouth.

each address contains an address, each
koran contains enough gas, each peel
solicits an orange the width of a milking breast.
for this you call me and laugh, pitilessly.

the tangible single strand of identity, boogie
woogie (a nebulous sub-genre) the jobholder
enjoys on weekends, sex and deniability.
the rape scene is too esoteric to reprint.

he sits perfectly still, greenish, wooden,
thinks of the hills of spain, a woman,
an alpenstock in his pants,
its missed experience.

in the darkened parlor, a phenomenon:
the whir of a rolls royce, tuning in a band shell.
cut any one of us as proof, the gun on the table;
avenge your eldest son.

any auto trip that comes to a completion
is cause for optimism, the eyes end at the dash.
the danish word for savior is ditch.
they suffer no moment but this.

there are two forms of alabaster, one
can be had at a price, the other a shell, fragile.
we are hungry, can anyone hear us?
do these mouths work on sunday?

each infertile womb bears, each contains
a clash of conscience, a fixed set,
binoculars in the womb, he sits perfectly still.
for this you call me whore, an expense.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Hearth Within The Mortar

Between the sounds the sounds are nameless.
Just the same, do something seemingly lasting.
All you need is a few to set you above their names.

A name as a kind of falling toward. Is a name
a life of servitude? Get out, leave everything.
It has flammable rivers going up beneath it.

When the fires in the rivers began the rivers
asked to flow between the sounds between
the sounds, back to where their names lived.

When the flaming waters ran through town
children ran along and thought it good fun
but the floodbreaks burned the children down.

There came an old man who told them how
to show the heat and steam who is in control.
He stayed until someone pushed him in.

This was their way of giving. Write uses
for change on change and throw it down
a melted metal storm drain.

Since this seemed important everyone took
great care not to read it. There were words
there that resembled the sounds of rain.

The faith in whatever the land changed
changed if the sound began sounding
scary, saying no, you must remain whole.

Make someone new who will go far enough
to do what we tell her would help the forest.
Parts of that story are patently true.

Tell him his small time here means less
the more is said about doing his homework
in soot along the banks of the smoke bed.

Say this page saw people, saying what
it means years after their homes had burned.
When do you think the page would fall to ash?

The last of the food is going fast. When the food
goes the land begins to renew itself. Partly
because we leveled that incline, partly

because, again, we refused to embrace
the dance of the passing of trees. The rain
that we thought would quell the burning

rivers was a rain of flames. Less than one
year of selling love in the ruins of the under-
growth and the whole venture lost momentum.

That one year should have produced a child
to replace the old one. That part that we used to say
in school to a picture of a tree ablaze? The will

said because times have been hard, I will make times
even harder, still. I will leave you all high and dry
in the night with the tinderbox near the banks.

The banks of one of those inlets. The one you
won’t discover in time. Her old sounds and the sounds
of her weeping silently into a microphone.

Any day it will come again. It will relieve us all
of our duties. It will also be very pretty. Parts of it
will be these parts of the night I have in my hand.

Then will I show you the features of the face
of the name you cannot write in ash on stone.
Then will you know that no one spoke here now.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Burl Fuentes Desires to Express Adios in the Dance

he remembers that it goes with the tuna but not how.

he ices his arm before the sprain.

he walks on the other side of the street from the building full of bulldogs.

he cannot see the buds but knows something will sing to him.

he dreams of a cycle that turns into a personal jet.

or a car that goes by file.

he wants his trim adjustments done by Friday at the latest.

he has a newborn daughter with tourmaline eyes on his agenda.

he believes once you commit there is some going back.

he sits home most nights plotting a stay-at-home uprising.

he doesn’t know he’s not still on the same celestial body.

or wearing a mask of his exact face.

he breaks the mold and repeals the party stance.

he borrows a leopard and a work permit from a smiling stranger.

he establishes a beat akin to a rhapsodic flogging.

he blinked when the camera annihilated its lens.

he just wants to shout bishopric in church and run.

or be a Pharaoh corroding his torus with wine.

he shook hands with Dave Fainéant, lord high chamberlain of Dollywood.

he has been like that since childhood when he was kissed by a cowboy actor.

he thinks it might have been Berkowitz somewhere near the disco villa.

he is the gryphon and his history is that of the screechy bedroom.

he was married in a dream and his millions of brides skipped in unison.

or he chose them desultorily like so much speculative acreage.

he always reads the fine print first then forgets it.

he turned the corner and warped.

he heard a voice call it calamitous but could only feel a general calm.

he experienced another vision of a cone encrusted in delinquent child-women.

he knows there is a beret his size in the stable.

or a man named Edna to gauge the scale bayonets.

he enrolled in a course on anecdotal daggers presumed fictitious.

he ate that cannibal hiding from an algorithm.

he then hid his serial number under the canopy of apocalyptic triumph.

he looked nice in pinstripes for Yom Kippur.

he hearts his subsumable income.

or the yardage skews into decomposing fables.

he will give you a buck for your nickel.

he will then suspend you by the neck from azure jute.

he is not the one from the bionic banco.

he is not the banjo from the bone saw collector.

he is the conscription no one focuses on in heat.

or he lives on a street called Radical Cliff.

he submitted his terms and résumé in a beaming stein.

he is nearer than you know to the sheep.

he has no withering stare but will by then.

he cannot grow a convincing beard.

he has yet to coagulate but all will reveal itself in time.

or he’ll have it off with a klatch of fusing sisters.

Freedom Must Surely Pay For This

torsion is your friend, you live in the same building.
you and torsion have lunch on alternate Tuesdays.
seems like those laughs will never end.

in the directory that lists the various serious
risks to the ear: the abrupt movement on your bedpost
of a mynah in a toga.

carpal tunnel from which no hand emerges. funny
or just sadly ironic? the hand without a surgical
flashlight implant. The darkness that falls on

cities with inappropriate names: Aleister
Crowley, Massachusetts. West Mt. Vernon,
Mississippi. Elvis Presley, Germany.

a light missing from a fist, young man on a tank,
idealist passing out xmas bonuses to the house
slaves. bread left blackening in the oven.

the book says all your countrymen could burst
something delicate in your canal. why so
circumspect? need the question repeated?

torsion is having your artwork appraised
for beer money. thinks William Demarest was our finest
tragedian. we need a new rooster, the old one

is crowing at passing fireflies. torsion got hired
as an underling for Arminians, women carrying
mangoes hidden between their breasts.

they only weep because they know someone died
for them. the crosstalk Newton took down verbatim
was junk from another space. Palagiana.

neither celebrity consists of morning, feathers
or the screed of a tin, enameled headdress. silver
birch, yellow birch, white birch. how many others

can be claimed? the skullsman collects his work
at dawn. listens for the rooster. peculiar, he thinks,
such a grandiose absence of a noise.

all Palagian women are deceitful by sixteen.
you can tell by the fang marks on their areolae.
the snakes will come in time, in time cum.

that at least is the Copenhagen interpretation.
a mynah sucking a hay seed, building a dormer
on his perch above the Wesleyan garden

of flightless mimetic savants. observing the lint storm
obliterating the eye. in the Balzac Sea, a small isle,
they laugh at the joke about to be told, the hundred

novels unwritten, illumined only by the gash,
where Newton’s second hand came loose and flew
one hundred and twenty feet, fracturing the raqiya.

the needy with an inordinate will, the desire
for a metal birdbath to heaven, can't find a seductive
bailiff to persuade their Vincent’s to sell.

Vincent’s Chrome Tomato. Vincent’s Candy
with Hidden Razor. A Gram of Opium, Unsigned,
Attributed to Vincent’s Nonexistent Student.

Gauguin’s Vincent Painting the Universal Clockworks
with a Crow Reciting the Planets’ Middle Names.
the White Birch are susceptible, die silently, at night,

black form on a branch. in Beltsville, Ohio they just clean up
with charcoal and the lit native of a strange land. the agent
of torsion debriefs herself in a diaphanous sheathe

entirely of live bees. she has a stinger not anyone could pull
off. the auctioneer crows, the mynah and rooster cum as one,
smoke under the table. everyone orders the Chicken Caesar.

Monday, August 18, 2008

He, Had He Not Abandoned

there was a flow here, detectable, once
a sense of an immaculate, what?

was Susanne the name of a service?
on a table in the parlor a snow drift

the laurels for penetration equal
to the equine laurels for a single leap

he, had he not abandoned the word,
still would, agglomerate the spaces

the prism around a delicate face, etched
in chalcedony, dead, through which

a series of gently curving moons
beams of the home she might have been

the body the property of the body dynasty
given limited power to rule in its own stead

in the pool the top of a hippo is barely visible
on it sleeps an ocelot and her litter

it has become impossible to govern this household
throngs of the pierced, the scarified gather nightly

their dance incorporates decorating each other
with the green blood of marsh creatures, inked

into the skin with teeth, tethered to the ends
of the canes of captive, shaved aldermen

before these situations generate widespread
storms, better bring down the satellites, pack

your carbon suitcase, the telekinesis
of lions to withhold information

by giving it flight above clouds
making dolorous sounds grow avian

for this art you will be believed
a psychopathic ring worker

clapped in county and made to be
an atrocity stenographer, brown dials

with which to record the autopsy
and the gradual degradation, its drain rate

then the thrown free montage
Pakistan on a single, living stanchion

the girls blinded and placed in a state
of freehold, affirming their ramp status

ala the albatross in the rime
a consensual phone, conduit hooking times

in crystals of pure milk, moon bright
that would account for the bouffant collar

and astounded hood, the clitoridean apogee
there was a princess, they say, who walked

the halls of the Waldorf, the secret one, saying
her own missa annualis, compelled by the signs

imprinted on her lips, thighs, labia
from the chantry to the ship’s galley and back

a wedding forestalled to attend to the bird
we know now it was cholera, but a guest

is a guest and requires cultivation, a meal
and to be put up, to be kept in thrall

there are chords in your skin, your data
the music of the stilled crew, a black sea bird

her glass lips at your breast, to sate a system
face of rivers within a reflective union, the chin

precision, suspension, then the chill, a tensing
of the cool veins, viewed by one only on release

a blue tree made indistinct, but more precise
for its lubricant, the eye chipped, a depth perceived

exchanged for trinkets, laid in ascending, supplicant waves
on the string of the maidenhood marionette

pupil that winks through both planes, through
the downturned palm of the black carpet

Saturday, August 16, 2008

I See That?

I once wanted someone to call me
a cacophonist, very badly
a temptress, somewhat ironically
a claw, without irony
a visitor

I visited Montgomery in a waking dream
no i-ching, dated street map
no derma, lacking raincoat
no gate, spearpoints, electricity
a fog in black suits

to keep me fresh, creamy, suitably bedded
nothing I could afford, a mitten
a stile stuck in time, a Beardsley
ambition to cow women, I awoke
with such a head

does a weasel lease his speeches to men?
is cuisine an art form? a batch
process, is that an art form too?
is any form a form of endurance, purged
of its obvious cemetery

a lover once broke my window, speaking
of me as a port, an age not to be
returned to. I felt good about it
tightening the tourniquet, growing
faint but alive.

habitué as white and remote as I, a bonus
in our social compact, his sock puppetry
shattered convention, I shared him
with a wallflower, Vicki Lester, the will
of a can of nitrocellulose and camphor

to survive, lure, fade, learn the abc’s in code
he was the more educable, but blue
when drawn from the creek bed, in two
shattered back, missing glasses
the cost of empathy, a copperhead

in his jacket sleeve. that can that contains
a glob of something acrid, rustlike
but dopey, acquitted, runs a small farm
producing glitter, proctor and gamble
fund him under the table.

I fell in love again recently, with antimony
thinking her a path to becoming, lead
blindfolded up the face, dark?
sides aching with pricks, naked
wet as the new chieftain.

She forced something into my mouth
an airborne tincture of blue, a toc
earmarked era’s end, the rampart
on an act of advancing, a reliction
I fell and slept. She incited

The Sepoy Mutiny.

Friday, August 15, 2008


now we have a number and still no address
we’ll be old before, well we’re old

a bluebird on my shoulder said you’re mighty brave
I have a clear shot at your eye

it was at that moment I began to understand
the incoming signals, the materials

the boot, the dog, the cries of heresy, the cleaved shield
months of diphtheria, the sounds of the aviary

who am I getting floral for in this foldout chaos
the packaging is just the packaging

since we learned that it was only chloroform, the dane
his ammo belt bequeathed to an insomniac

but I can stand next to the tree, the tree the guard tower
and the scalable lightbeams to where they all wait

each an approximant, a clause in the fractious nutshell
when I don’t listen is when their accusations creak

I will tell you in several ways the several ways in which I am
passionate, roar, build wheels, cave in wharves, my hull

resist all polyphony as unromantic, love you till suns fall
knowing what I know will abate

when we complete an act, one that we had determined
the servant in the undulating turban, my downcast

gaze of a male with the male motor removed, an armature
and your hair will end this film, the flick of tongue

Lebanese sisters in shadows, naked as the showdown, inevitable
blind I feel the breeze from a segue

are you that musician who left the exploration half way up?
the pilot of the mig that was thought lost?

this is being written in a penal colony, my voice cut out
a rivulet, ink like, from the splash port

there was a crazy scuffle, a clatter outside the cells
I laughed like the rest, it was a sound against

but you know, you especially, that a fall like that
creates an apex

on my knees, remember when you were? your brown
skin like the woven basket, within it a bottle

the atoms to reconstitute, no, it was a wineskin
with the freeze dried dust of a jeroboam

Thursday, August 14, 2008

She Wouldn't But the Notebooks Would

I am in receipt of your bucket of clams
thank you for the declaratory note

you are I take it a purebred surjection
that is to say your address has no numbers

was it you or someone you were in school with
who could stop time just by stroking

a watchband? And then you joined a guild
for poor dressers

This is I’m afraid one more I will have to leave
among the other valueless assets

my professorial bowtie my band of married men
in the country there is a wide path

to the po-box not as circuitous as you might think
had we stayed for the encore you would’ve fainted

the fish in the pond I stand in are made of colored glass
we‘re giants to them and they couldn’t care less

but at least one of us is employed without the need
of inventive flotation devices

did you say it was diabetes? is that guaranteed?
I can get curbside service on the strength of that

maybe but this buzzy sensation won’t dim
must be the uranium I smoked with Scott

in that pre-antarctic summertime livin’
there was much to administrate you would have loved

whereupon he appeared and we all fell apart
his suits were to dive for!

but the pugnacious romantic had a dream
to forge a new passage to the godgate

simple as keeping going north till you left
the earth then straight up by signs

his scheme was surefire but everyone died
crestfallen he fell from sight

the initial theory was arson
a Senator Doolittle spoke with the kid

mysteriously the deposition was found half eaten
in triplicate

now for the price of a chaw you can hear it
straight from Billy’s cross-gen beard

the lost man in an accipiter squadron strange
don’t they always hunt alone?

the gates we know were closed but the godbully
traveled to Armadillo Lawns to deposit this lie

a reversion of the body ruse (aka Carl LaFong) legend
in a watertight airtight lighttight tube

he spent his last years being kind to the condemned
ate their last meals for them

disseminated catalogues of emissivity protection
but how can a heated body be protected?

there was a pageant once in antiquity
the people there reveled in their sexing trance

Artemis shot the moon down with her hymen
it was a dang sight warmer on just stars

I had another daydream about you last night
you were using the whip on empty pants

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Dabbler's Son

there'll be a reckoning

and some of this reasoning will pass

bumble according to the lamb

as accurately as lamplight

who will hope to curate these works

that apply only to the waking core

to their imprinted beats

the tailor of the jews on the hill

a rolling out of historical lists

and it will become foxy

the witness fixed in amber

found in the interstices of memory

you are my drowning acceptance

how it felt to cuddle that unborn

lidless jars robbed of contents

do we all accept curio as closure

or resume when play is leaned on

isn’t a stream a mere deviate

do these masters’ remains float

on the face the one un-oxidized book

bears the likeness of desire a cafe

where the monopolies claim the idlers

purchase as a sense of kill reward in milk

my chair is the ground upon which I rest

the ground does not exit out beneath it

I can laze here in the gale force calm

and read of the actions of women in veils

the cute slogans printed on bibs

received without question

but receipt of a nonissue is detainment

the stream seems clear near these stones

like the nymphomaniacal clan

waiting for their moment to rule

they may still be too tall to exist

with the water the air the earth

in the purity of their apparatus

the necessity of removal or renewal

but the movement of the water its control

it relinquishes for the sole vertical bible

under a small temporary installation

of dead beautiful leaves of apocrypha

I am in no position

the thought to sever is another thought

too severe

there are cables and sights of wonder

herbs of blue and vining living lights engulf my feet

at every step and so I speed inert

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Someone Has Fixed You Up

(This is still the title:)
A Respiratory Episode in X Number of Parts
A Shale Deposit in Story Form
A Gambit by Commander McBragg
The Farfetched Adventures of a Plumber Known Only as Copperfield
A Supernatural Tale of a Night in a Malicious Planetarium
Living Amongst the Spearhead Tribe With Casanova
My Years as Lead Guitarist With the legendary Gerhard Atrocious
Commuting to the Senate in the Jacuzzi of a Pink Rolls Royce
The Annoying Reminiscences of a Glamorous Procession to Brunch
Several Recitative Bashings
The Study of Law by Yogi Berra
A Bothersome Memoir of One Typographer’s Life and Loves
The Accounting of the Lost

A friend has got you a blind date with a friend!
To accept the invitation bend over and stand upright and breathe evenly
and scream your name related to some disease all at the same time. Then go
to this web site:

The free dating web site that’s created daily by women!

If you do not wish to be invited again go to bed and wait
exactly three days from the moment you first start reading
this then ask the man there to give you some space and go
to this web site:

Then send your membership dues to:

Carnivorous Sun, LTD
54321 Desecrated Low Tide Blvd, Suite 00000
Level Quotient B8D 4MS
Canned Ade

Include the following text in your message:

I nagged an Elf and withheld her green card.
I am not a magistrate.
I am, however, just as contemptible.
I skipped the centrist runoff for an underage vixen.
That capsized convoy to rescue the whale was my fault.
I enjoy voyeurism.
I have a cardiac condition.
It causes me to be tremulous.
That’s why I dress this way, to appear more burly.
I am allergic to cellophane and Oregon.
My memoirs, of which this is a chapter, do not treat you politely.
I’ve had a small asymmetrical blotch on my hip for several weeks.
I cannot appease my wife.
I’m a teacher of latin but I don’t know what curricula means.
I actually do mean to be divisive.
You do not have my deepest condolences on your loss.
I’ve made up my mind to die in Tahiti with a thirteen year old wahine.

Complete the form with at least one terrible admission of your own, then:

A lark is afoot and shall ferment
the ions in brimstone her hosiery
she grew in the depths of Tanganyika
a cathedral issued her credit card
alphabetically she follows syntheses

Clap three times if you spotted the hidden auditory implant

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Quit Your Day Job Option Five: Fire at a Baptism

Now and then, near an axe, an old coot

will be filled with a sense of honor.

Then let that same man glance upon

a chisel and he will always fall over.

Furthermore, taken by a clot, this person

will land in the playoffs with the Angels.

If you fall in love with anyone related to

such a character I advise you to keep mum.

I was from such a family and we cried

whenever the car would point toward

Cambodia or Bob Evans.

You either get in front of the truck,

or stand behind the missile launcher.

In both cases you will assimilate all

the paper lanterns hanging around you.

Any colored sky can be of a threatening

nature, but you have to be real mental

to grasp the economy in nut sized jars.

That’s kind of like saying we’re out, try

the next nearest abscess over.

Most people believe that they are related

to someone famous who was hanged.

You can learn a lesson from faulty shopping

carts, but they’ll still need help to remember

how exotic you were in your live snake halter.

Go stand near the stripper who gets drunkest

without drinking, and I’ll take your picture

to send to the faculty at the suicide academy.

The story is really all about digging

some folks a new well. It starts

with a fulcrum and some rope and ends

about lost glory; however, beyond giving

lectures on morality to grubs in ray-bans

it factors that you’ll get more from sugar

injected into a fly.

Now and then, a doofus will operate

a small fruit stand with a rusted dishwasher

sitting quietly by the roadside. When you ask

where the fruit is she’ll say, “Oh, it’s around.”

Then uproot a stop sign and return home, go

inside and sweep the floor. Living proof: living

in mail order holy wedlock with a non-failsafe

out-patient is like getting scraped to gather samples

of withered living tissue. It may feel good

at first, but eventually you’re going to have

to spray that infection with an antisemitic.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Your Own Atom Business Albeit it in Minutes

who’s the wiseass who automated me?

I was only asleep for the demodulation

dreaming of Malvina Longfellow in Moth and Rust

might have been Jessica Alba with her raging climatic

time to get hyper-professional

stop with the tease I took a demure seminar

I don’t hear the heat anymore only the Bark chorale

the Butler Act is back! And better than ever!

we’ll wear heavy capes if it has to kill everyone

me with my crèche around my neck

decided to go nights for my spinning doctorate

this Formica Pollock hide is beginning to ret

I keep a separate vernacular salted

you can’t know what I’m ripping!

to recuperate set fire to a glacial shelf

Buford Pusser with his cephalic bat

these symbols mean some form is developing

between us and the hand and the toast-phone

this rare one Metatron converts to a front loader

whiteface minstrels walk backward among men

with their verses and their service marks

whomever inhibits one gets my share of the glory

I am Enoch and you are Paul Newman’s bong

and one of us will end this despotic

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

When Falling Through a Door Becomes a Dictate

Some people don’t have to flex more than an inch to turn you.

Have you noticed that the same incident keeps happening?

There must be something


in the air.

We were together at the peak of that farthest one.

Across the valley you could just make out the forms of the poor at work.

Some words don’t have to fluctuate beyond the moment you read them.

A bomber restored from an old war flew close above us.

It looked like it could have had some words on it once.

You could see the crew dancing without their parachutes.

Then it got late.

We had items we knew


to trust to guide us down safely.

Forget the hymnals and the self-dissolving sutures.

The dark was bare and without mercy.

Then she called it story time and we all had to say how we felt.

Now would be a good time to reveal the secret.

But what if we should survive?

Hear them?

Hear them with that song again?

It must be a happy poor family or a game


are playing to celebrate the death of their forefather.

A pale light crept across the cliff face and caught her in her prayers.

It was the following morning and we were near ground level.

The part we had taken for a valley proved to have been a lake.

No one spoke for the rest of that week.

We knew we had met the dark and it had played its favorite tune for us.

For a long time we pretended it had never happened.

Until we read the story about the earthling who came here in search of water.

It had never occurred to us that we had not been here all along.

Most of the sounds were


but the lyrics seemed too learned.

Now I only do high work.

Sometimes I’ll take the volatile compounds unprotected.

Everything is different once you’ve been the play not in it.

I think of how timid we were in those first few hours.

I scan the sky for something I recognize.

I take piano and don’t care how much I earn.

The misstep that could have cost a life.

These were just parts and the ways we played them meant little.

Little of the house is left but I still go back to see how small it all was.

Like a difference that went too far beneath the skin.

I keep a hand in the ongoing search but only in an advisory capacity.

Losing myself is the next big voice I expect not to


till the families come back to reclaim me.

One second of some important thing.

Enough to keep sealed who you were about to be.

Overhead a hum like one engine cutting out.

Fades with no sound of impact.

A Fine Tune Up Performance

Measures snap into a kind of reach.

Very boy like under the stones.

And night dropped all its home redress.

Came in line just so.

Most burnt during arrest for cheering.

Little was left of the rent side of the head.

The come on sun gone calling elsewhere.

Food abandoned around air intakes.

Mr. All has all his walking done free.

Came used with a top abode.

Far after the tension flags reduced.

Food, flags, things mothers dry on.

Set the ink in stripped like a land.

Milliseconds of past, the area works, tested.

Shine until another white morning grows.

Only the same velocity is important.

How to know how long you’ll be under.

School parts the mother and the men man campers.

Man made rafters, manned animals.

There is room for all stools of all like kind sitters.

On the mantle a card revolves.

Hit by things let in through pores.

The animals though are too fleet to last.

The last line is how the thing means.

How Pallid

(From the collection "Seventeen and Seven Sixths")

What was thought of as white

what has thought of itself as

what was made smart sideways

that which waits to be sucked on

that, too, that can but suck

that whole black density song

what would blanks dance to so

what if gomer’s son can’t sense

what essence passes for

that isn’t reducible

that declining sex style

that never listens but oh

what it hears what it knows

what it publishes about

what got shed in whose head

that shouldn’t ever be red

that shade especially

that states as white might wonder

what thoughts have to do with

what a field of goners thinks

what with the price of threats

Who Do You Do

(From the collection "Seventeen and Seven Sixths")

not one of them little gals

knows how to be read to

I see Italy I see

France I see Gomorra

getting a good sand blasting

gardener’s kid tells me

the infrastructure failed

lying little nosebleed

I know it’s a big turtle

nobody knows whose side

you can buy back the dice jokes

with one good yellow inch

code hidden in the dressing

you gonna eat that hand?

but they see through their girdles

to the owner’s slideshow

I (sp?) think (sp?) sexy (sic)

he said is a big flame

black where it has to be seen

red at the memory

blue where it touches green

learning to speak albino

The Friendliness Song

(From the collection "Seventeen and Seven Sixths")

thank you for not centering

place one head on each reel

remain pig when in your chrome

to choke credit slice cord

no staring beyond this pile

you are in the wrote line

come out and drop your hangars

the cow jumped overboard

beloved father of stone

sign your name for a match

smile your last name for effect

light may cause light candor

do not feed the black beret

do not feel bad bud

there are beds enough to weep

spikes in the tub to prick

keepsakes of signature crap

thank you for not living

just keep the gas line moving

count your channels pray there

wait for the gas leak to plume

close mouth before striking

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Make Love Through a Darkening Wellness

for DQ

Who could have envisioned so many birds
as many as there were when the whistles blew
without any sign of obstacles to stop the outward flow.
Without reservation of knowledge.

But the me within each is a city of use a point
that would move to another and spend his days
replenishing the air with destinations to paper.
To the margins of the paper’s horizon.

We were sent to the entrance from which to write
these apologies. A page each a day until it became
too hard for all of us to read each other and know
the names of the sounds.

I heard myself called from down below once. A sentinel
on a wire fence. Near the house of Golden Stops. He had
so many feathers on his belt from the ones who came
to the summons.

Had I gone I may have learned something. Or my head
found its way to the grand cabinet. A mistake you may not
make again. Below I saw him give his large collection of buoys
back to the dark sea.

It was not a gift. More than that if both parties are too wary
to accept a gift or the giving of one it becomes a verse. A social
contract between thought and the beings that have been engaged
in big sets of thought together.

While they were tinkering we made off with some old clothes.
Some tools that should have served them better and been seen
as more important. The clouds approaching make that a moot
point now. We know what to do.

If you make a light with your wings he said the whole vista will
turn about and seek out the ones who made it find faces discernable.
A line is always farther from you than from where you cut through
the hardened surfaces.

In this was a clue that went unnoticed.

Does the fact of the birds make flight? When it began we might
have made circles that remained where we had been. Viewable
if only to those who see patterns on blanks between trees often.
What we fly to last will not be the end.

A wind came up and we stayed there above his keep for years.
These are the ways their connections were kept alive here. About
the one I sought she was among those who thought up the very city
and said now you fly off and become old and quiet.

Along a faint line of light I first glimpsed her again and saw them.
The parts that had been missing. That fit the tools we’d stolen.
If only I could have fought the wind and captured that shard of
him. Such a change would have rewritten us.

These are now the days of being carried. The pages all purse
their lips and stop up their ears to this new noise. Moving across
this new sky with several sheaves of the sentinel’s favorite paper.
Can you hear the air sing? Look up at the formations?

There will be as many as you think you need to begin
another new settlement. In every wing there will come
in a while a complete set of changes. They form a space
for your sun. Blacken or brighten.

They have only ever been one pair.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Threads Flashed Every Time His Label Hustled

the news is there’s a week
the titans of industry invented an ape
and the bandage thing is catching!
projected in the glory of aluminum Zimbabwe
who is Kim Carpathian? and why is she driving
a William Holden in that iron filing sunbonnet
not a Joan Caulfield in some symbiotic airflow
flaunting the arrogance of beef

in other words effaced after curfew
there’s a spout under all our seats
the unilateral hiding guys in mourning
their stogies’ wrappers were inauthentic
same with that pace car Pablo drew at Arlington
but the degenerates loved the tentacle rape!
a record number of bogies back to the cabin to nibble
on some well compensated physique

their strength is buried and says you’re wrong
says the bay was never red
Ruth was pointing to his brain retardation
that isn’t even his arm in the clip!
but every movement has its accreditation
just liking the alfresco doesn’t mean you’re naked
with poncho and afterimage
what that bald spot lobs is a marriageable cousin

the ultra-bitchy mannequin is blocking the driveway
can we get a force in here to collect and intimidate?
a wash and a downgrade wouldn’t hurt
it’s a fickle compulsion breaking a horse’s back
that attitude of defending your skates
my pliers startle too easily for wet work
despite the sword I have for a tail and the germs
they’re innate in the stilts we share our exes on

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Closers Wanted

(Leave the Nine Behind Till Five Point Two)

her daughters silver and stupid

well-crafted like printer smells

whose white looks bluish by the book

looks around or clamps shut

her daughters blush red complexes in

relative calm-down his brother’s just tall

as pencil loads prepares for a fight remembering

the time that his brother’s red bed spat

or maybe his other brother is a smart clock

under orders from its stand-stills

her golden dog is a tank escort

mad as tweets

her golden binoculars see a cycle

make a sound out of being logged on

a green piece in the underwires the falls

whoosh! bristled with lush half drowned tails

all bicycle stealers fail

any older and the sharpened reed smarts less

but what if they’re stupid and rope-shaped

as a harley eraser?

understands naught but saddles

or maybe a clock is just a given

the round shadow of a sport

special shoes to iron stares

his brothers all have daughters beautiful small salves

they wear their wires before the treads

on tank day

if this grass is green the dead spokes are under it

nothing else calculates.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Meet Me on the 17th of Terminology

Hey Love, I reserved us a place at Houston's tonight.

Starting to be hungry already, for you!

Bob Outlawry keeled over on the scrabble board.

Now you won’t get credit for your use

of zoofullaextigressteammates which I had to look up to confirm.

It’s a brand of backfill trick, they all crutch on the podium on it

eventually if cornered without dimmer options.

Did you notice this morning when you woke up?

The whole city had gone cyan overnight.

I watched from the fire escape as children ate that one

sad little dogwood sapling.

After dinner I need to stop off and become a bounty hunter,

I’m closing in on a cornucopia smuggler named Juan Budget.

He also goes by Chops.

But there will still be time for us before we say bonne nuit.

I need to remember that one next game. Fuck the foreign language

rule, I’m not losing my thong again without a fanatical mock struggle.

I’m all full of eager anticipation!

What are you going to order? I saw a small glacier

slide by on the street. They don’t exactly bust a move, do they?

It was still there after my shower. That’s a deficit no one talks about.

I think it started with the band of the black hand.

The quintessential fussbudget, my mom was horrified by the crumbling

stones on the parapets of the Curling Iron Building. I think it looks sleeker.

How many articles would you have to shed if I managed to work

in transfusablesetbackcircuit? That should give you something to chew on

until I show you something better when we get back to the rubble.

I’ll be sure to have your favorite tune cued up. It is Duress In Pigmentation

by the Acquittal Bagmen isn’t it? Aren’t you glad

we’re beyond all that aching and the whole hookup dribble?

Above being accountable for anyone’s destination, say to some quiet bedfast

bookcase? I have all the tabula you need right here and it’s getting more

rasa with every bethel bracket. Fercrissakes stymie that look!

We might need some deniability if a scrotal lum-dee-dum becomes public

knowledge! I don’t do this for just any gross of man wrinkle.

You’re the essence of my burg, my ostentation for you is insatiable.

You thought we were already trafficking in the apprehensive

wake of an impending immaculate moment? Give a little debugger

a chance! I’m not just your grandfather’s runaway anymore, remember?

The contract to devein me calls for a bed of roaches to adapt

in the form of an opera cape. We’ll make this whole town gawk

at the milky crystallography we trail on the heaving pavement.

Like a modern day Steven Ameliorate in a drafty barrel

after the whatchamacallits crashed. I’ll let you cut me

if it annoys you ecstatic. The spring water here is too aqueous.

I’m a passive aggravant. What do you mean no score?

I read it on a chimp at the board of animal accuracy.

Fine, then see how you like lostrandomcervicalcurvilinearabidingball?

Still care to vie for who gets the warm side of the suite?

This is a reenactment nearly of the game that christened the nameless

Mack Sennett actress the original casualty of a permanent airstrip.

I can kill a man a hundred ways with only my hands uninvolved.

I learned it last summer in the Peruvian jungle. Some marines were stuck

in a chasm of xerography and I had the butterfat to spare.

I want you by firelight. Like a canine to the score of Lawrence of Arabia.

Want to nip you in the buds and drag you through a field of regulations

where the ruffle of art and the fulminating of the tribal

become a collective abdomen. It’s the misspelling of inward adsorption

with the coating in black masked men that works.

Eat faster before this confusion abates.

Pretend I’m a mermaid with pentagonal entry.

You can be the typesetter with the clear shot at her.

Just hope there’s no water in the place.

The grocer upstairs is secretly an obstetrician.

We barter for endives and pie. I say ole a few times.

I’ve been led into worse with no ulterior arches on site.

Hurrell would have shot me. If you don’t hurry I’ll lose the scent

and that crazy supplemental income will be out

of my jurisdiction. If you have to do me by law I’d just as soon lay

off, play toe tag with a little federal hungry hungry hippo,

smoke some legal pot and swallow

his music for variety.

Friday, August 1, 2008

Maiden Voyage of the Surfaces

for DCM and KM-M

Long as his boats remained at the marks
she thinks he isn’t here but moonlight is a form of ken
borrowing back the tribal sonnets stones in the mercury nest
a swell from which the form sweeps into her
moored at the leather’s rain post
we learn something then we call for help from the sun
a wide expanse of clothing

take away your topmost sail and replace it with his flash
ask if you can steer for the street lamps
awash in the masking’s dole noise of the deaf rafters
timers can tell you how well you’re matching
there is no right answer on the elephant cloud
night is all of these microscopic movements
from the shift through the traffic to the empty spinal cymbal

staples take the air too long
few people have the chance to see it through to a finale
what you get is a scratch that had no rotten timbers
there were only so many ways around the cape
of the means and the last who saw without devices knew
a year is the finest drop in the sea
man standing in the shadow of the fishery

today then only the overhang and a curious slave tomorrow
any of these same people might have been
sometimes all at once a word begins being dwarfed
there is no more important water
the lineage of the masthead
and a sailor’s personal papers
he had a kindness around the past

why wonder what made some hard and some last not as long?
what needed to be said has been said by the billows
where it came right and held to
fast to the racing of the temporary juices
now it’s we who want
tonight and the want is the very bitters
when flagons are seen to take aim and flight becomes maelstrom

centered and he always had his hands thrust down
to steady the landfalls
to prepare himself he went by a name
like Man Next To The Scrimshaw Key
known by the hand and the time he kept in token
of all the seas he had thrown
one might be where he went to have his moments taken

leaning in the boards and augers wheeling against office
what difference what they called his line when he wasn’t here?
net weights and dinner by shoulder light
help that should long since have been cancelled
whose other names are standard
what parts does a broadside require?
give it another thrust and again we’ll see if she waffles

now more years than the sand are without us
since he fell in between those catch times
released above the nexus at father and hand turned reading
the people have had their say
which way to the elements?
she gave him her fingers before they were hers
before her seconds became his for a pound of something sweet

if you ever see that tarpaper figure
lift a barrel and leave your sheets to cutlass signage
where the islets converge as a book on an easel
the birds that erase the waves
ships driving upward along the pinnacle
take all this as terminology only
give it some tears to build

move into the shadow angles and wait
there are backs to be broken yet
parts that need sorting for market
what was it that he said about the years being left too dry?
no sign of life had more than its share of outline
it was for them to be as below decks as they had to
his was a hastening up

Crucified With the Thirst (on the Side)

my virtual whatsit fell out of my attaché

since then it hasn’t been worth its priceless pottery caddy

I bundled it up in a set of warm bats

put it in the ark of the combatant by Marx

and took it by foot to the barium heights

where the acolytes cohere

to date a shipwreck by its Wal-Mart amphorae

in a voluble mass digestion of gum

asked a gun fuser to cobble me a revolver out of pine

the pain he heard was someone else’s but that’s this biz

the giant gnat of Calcutta one day then canonic myopia

and everyone advertise! now throw your partner

into a roster and debit him for the pleasure

those goodies of Hiram and his Gene Pitney plug-

board strewn like a Lite-Brite the length of the Broadway gulch

“The song of a woman is the shriek of night

of the daughters of Dan and his bicycle mess

of a father was a member of the Tired Skulls skilful

to work in a reference to gold and silver in any chat he had

the brass and sold off brand sets of irons from the back

of a carved stone van in the sound

of timber there is life exploding in purple in blue and in small

pox distributed to your fine linen outlet and in the crimson

of a piratical gallery littered with the Will Gears

to run a dynamo on graves

there isn’t any manner to speak of

but to beat the halo off of a grazing bull

and to find out every battery powered device

which shall be put into him”

wait for the muscle to arrive get as effusive as you choose

do what you deem appropriate with that vampire chamois

the weepers are here to ape each other

and there are no panes that shoot themselves out

so your surprise is a false injective treaty

might be a therapist with a storyboard in invisible theory

or those red rascals in the margin

what are the high biers without their putrefying branches?

I still can’t transpose with this Briggs and Stratton miniature lute

but if you put your ear to the biology it talks

afraid of the truant officer dead since the plumage fell as cerise

from the quarter deck of the Ebullient

in practically female flames

my roscoe is in a natural autoclave I can’t log onto

Captain Peachfuzz uses his dibble to puncture lard

someone must marry Mrs. Muir her opal is decaying on the stem

stripped of the cover of a bed under you

you’ll churn till the beers form

christen it party time on the mount

I can see him as clear as if he were still a flycatcher and she

deadeye at the veneer and his palmate hardwire shedding its colors