Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Addictive Becomes Origin

this word must have more

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

look it up look straight up

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

of all the faces in the room

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

it must go on for years

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

what you know and you

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

the man in the bed speaks

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

dogs play would’ve should’ve

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

in these parts no form

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

that it never worked

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

sometimes if you’re different

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

they held the wood above

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

a little goes on far too much

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

if I keep my hand just so

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

who uttered the noise

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

he knows what we have to miss

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Conjectural Infinitude, Buckshot Grapevine, Irritant

or Lessen the Airspeed to Impale a Missile and Co.

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

The classic story of the hot patroness and the savant.

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

The plans need a drunken draftsmen to be made inexorable.

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

This is the colleague you requested for your assisted rehearsal.

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

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

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

In Britain before the gash. In Florida, Hiroshima.

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

Everything will be alright, the breach has been contained.

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

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

Friday, October 10, 2008

Your Friend Wanted You To Halve This

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Their Titles Are Uncommon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Iceberg And Finger

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

in the crosshairs of their bomber turrets.

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

Not so much a form of flyby vivisection

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

had at least one of his own favored beasts

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

The carcasses with the fewest wounds

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

considerable money. Not that

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

of something utterly conscienceless.

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

The land is an interest, they thought,

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

entertainment. Once an animal lover

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

the tarmac and into a feeding receptacle.

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

natural armor. So there. The hunting

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

What is there left to do now? Now

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

From the secretarial pool a pinch

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

and skull fragments. The elephant

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

ad campaign for straighter shooting.

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

pedestal, brightly painted in primary colors.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

The Tune As Lure or Line As Inducement

Soon as the seal can write.

Come at the issue from a place of simplicity.

All this does is predict spotted pelts.

Across the stream is as far as the hunter went.

Then he let loose on a Doe.

How this action affects our number.

The game or correction of rotation.

Why such a break might have made sense.

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

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

Nearly any of those rustling noises might be almost proof.

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

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

Or the winged forms below her that she ignores.

The mother told the daughter how to vote.

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

We could always move back to before these events.

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

Or might we need some more of that?

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

Running below your name.

Back to the simplest premises.

The holding tank was where we should have kissed.

And all those times your mother was following some program.

Did we not recognize the need?

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

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

Without the need to grow thin.

That was what they held to in court.

Once told to remain in the room and make things.

Make up an answer for lost years.

Food was all he heard.

That’s a very delicate subject in certain circles.

So many crafts to show for today’s efforts.

A head in a cartridge.

A knitted can protector.

A party of filters.

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

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

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

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

Any play would seem large on this stage.

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

The sentry is taller than his late brother had been.

The father liked one of them best.

Have me in what way you will.

Use whichever part you find appealing or useful.

Finish with a set of instrumentals.

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

The control is in the losing of all numbers.