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



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.


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.