Saturday, April 23, 2011

TwoHoleMoon



My cellphone is a sumppump

I dream of having a brain in the Berkshires
with a wooden Indian burning stove, and a mess
of creationists to practice good conversation,

an interesting part time nervous system, sorry
I meant part time chevy nova, good food if not, books
about venous encounters, navigable music in place of bones.

(Where did that little fainting ecstasy come from?
I don't know my own middle table, but the spunk of it is a live
incinerator in my life already. it came with a splinted cock.)

What I’m donating withers my lifeforce

I’m doing something with it, mining, I'm the mom
of a spit resisting agent, host a daily repossession fair
and my self mounts me like a crawling frame, rehearsing

crevice damages in my free time. I work
in NYC as a universal entity. I am no more academic,
nor landed a psychoanalytic candidate than, say, Veejer.

in view of the flood I’m keeping balanced, dousing menial works
in fluid and obfuscating distasteful manuscripts by thumblight, having
never had time to be an entire outdoors, I spend my sleeping hours travelling

over the river of friends and unmet family. I'm an invention but do not
judge me for it. Also a ravenous cook and sexually so-so, I am
unusually skilled at de-planeting, locating the nexus, and re-converting coal.

I’m a regional ally of the dog of Doris Woodlawn

I’m a god at plaiting wigs. Parity is very big with me. Big projections
on small walls trip my connection. (not so a hard un-packing, though)
I keep a cool head under pressure. I chip away at it during hot spells.
So chirping until it listens.
Scoring big goals despite two bum wings.
Being opened as a tin.

Finality is to thirst as this gong is to a laboratory

I'm you with the thimble shaped cigarette
birth marks removed. Or are they cartoon
wolves protecting my she cave from marauders
on nights when the majorette has group?
Don’t you wish you cared enough to know?
I’m not looking for anything you
can stable. I court oblivion but only insofar
as it secretly means immortality.
Observation is my ass as a magnanimous
gesture, refines me by association.
I love to quote the damned, i.e. “The damned
don't really know what the hell
is thinking.” A knowledge of grasses
my ass has touched, a pulse point.

My Blessed Mary favors the idiot despite saying boo to you, Doofus

My favorite book is the Tall Muds of Progesterone.
My favorite movie is made entirely of twist ties.
I eat Italians.
Rust becomes me.
Imagine a relative American.
My favorite president is Calvin Klein, Samantha owes me a Friday
the 13th, my life these days is increasingly non-fiction!
I can be moved by the poetry of Samuel Taylor Elliott or anything starting with k.
Movies give me girlwood.
Jazz has my unborn inside him. (I also come to some classical)

A glimpse at my deepening itches

a chimp reciting neo-socialist code
non-refundable purchases
interesting friends in me
the knowledge of mean animals
outdoor tug-jobs
family
my past elevated to a sport

On a typical Kristallnacht I am…

art and thematic
moving against light
good to eat or ad hominem
having it off with friends
orange
trying toast for the first time
two kids from somewhere

At mosque I blurted my entire videography

Satan threw me a ruby encrusted rat once at recess
to make a point, not very polite...but not entirely unappreciated

I’m looking forward to being your only excuse for…

Guys who are like girls
Ages zero to repeat
A pool near a median
All those who are singing and/or singed
An occurrence for a term to be determined

You should gag me with that mess if…

you want anal with a Mennonite
you want an ingrown off chance
a lungful to breathe you onto frost
and honest bowling that won’t make me exmilitary
a life that betides the nuclear cookies and cream age
one relationship in which we both can grow knobby
and one with no games I can’t win
no superpowers that fall outside the approved list
(posted in the customer service foyer)
an official with a whistle would be a plus
give me enmity, or give me M&M’s, or give me an end I can serialize
my legs hold lots of shiny toys.
Send this to at least six Good Humor veterans.
You will be required to mumble while deprecating.
You’re welcome in advance.
A replica of my splint will be wedded
to your trapeze, provided you have the incoming
trajectory.


Thursday, April 21, 2011

I Only Meant Your Loop Was Running Out




Billy knew his Blastopods.
that always impressed me, more
or less, and his thing for the Lepus,
you had to hand him a grudging
respect. areas of limited interest
driving a kind of archeological fervor.
he comes around since dying.
once we were doing something
with ketchup, another time
there were balloons and a vast expanse
of open prairie. he wanted to kill
at least two of my favorite lovers
but called them oddballs instead.
then the time the entire city, Detroit
maybe? was merging with him
like neither was the tumor
of the other. towering spires, sprawling
masses in concrete, steel, glass exo-
structure melded seemingly painlessly
with his shaven head, nearly obscuring
the horseshoe scar.
hard on the parked cars but aesthetically
a rousing triumph of form over fucking
anything. why him? why did he get to grow
whole metroplexes while I direct traffic
on a carless post-apocalypse holiday weekend?
a parking garage in his skull.
skyscraper bonestructure.
everything to scale.
where is my new cranial urban utopia?
aren’t I the situationist here? didn’t he
revel in those cracks like “Today I am a tree!”?
that pose a la Krazy, languid, delirious.
I wrote a poem the year he first walked
into a doorless building. I hadn’t seen him
but he was there (with the ponce retroactively
removed) as follows:

draws me into a cartoon pencil, pipe
cleaner limbs, punishing of joke.
That I laugh withal ejects
me out a panel edge into what,
Peanuts? he liked them, I think?
he’s as night unaware it’s narrating
itself in decorative potted Aztecs.
the moon as carafe, smoke
as a tree. I’m joking, seriously.
No malice in his nature, no sex but what
in suns can never be forced set.
And he’s lone, sketched form, moron
ballets for one, whisper-felt as that buzz
on the hairs in your inner hearing.
it’s a permanently pregnant
chimney, curls in stork flight.
if I can drug myself deep enough
I’ll see standing chromium coaches
brim as the grain of space beneath
a flaming picnic plate on fish wire.
clang once if you know this
is all a fabulous artifaction. gutless
vesper in the next town annexed
by your exoteric drown.
when we pissed off the drunken boy
wonder you knew it would never
get better than that, but might
sustain indefinitely.
I’ll develop a plan 10, 11, and on…
keep doing so but they all bust.
blastopods? osteoblasts?
brain as undulant gotham?
you squirreled the original plans
in your matter now fusing weirdly
with that rotten tentacled pome.
have better to recall, memory,
than yours truly in lung terror,
here ipso your wise ass as predicted,
laid out single endangered head
on a dream compacting hybrid. concrete
that looks like marble in Canada.
who’s to become now insignifica,
posed as a woondid gezelle?


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

How We Meet (Your Security Expectations)




what you think you’re observing
as a learning trigger, a martini
hour distraction or foreshadowing
potential deathbed riddle is in fact
nothing but a large self-instigating cloud
you could write your name in whose shadows
it both blows into and off you.

just the songs for a staring contest.

a song or a series of songs as interruption.
pardon me ma’am, your desert for one is ready.
no voluntary beast could be as chipper
as you and your stand-in pretend.

possibly get a bob. it worked for Irene Castle.
she had nothing left to apologize for.

those gaps are all vacuums, the bones
elaborate styli. you’ve spilled your umpteenth
breakfast on your Bizzy Buzz-Buzz (registered)
that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily beneath
anyone’s bed in a lurking legs up attitude

or working a deface painting booth at the S&M faire.

the images as described are in the public domain.
you may experience a slight sensation of being
but don’t worry the shitstorm print quality will blunt
you and what appear to be flocks will be redacted,
just scratches where time wanted out
and unquantifiable color artifacts, color
never having been present in the negative.

word to the wise; carry your own gangplank.

he discovers he’s going blind and blames
you, thinking it had said something
about a dream bush or idea tree
at your latest non-local uncle’s wake.

but that light was always coming from
not going to if you’d only remove from your head
the soft box, incubate first then fret
about the strobe replicating your childhood
in meticulously lit and coifed dreads, stealing
all your best chickens and turning them back
into you, peeling, naked as a zoopraxiscope
of nervous layers on collection day.

on the subject of the persistence of relativism,
do not confuse the thaumatrope with your mom
and a man she referred to as Uncle Tonight.
between any two cels there is a no standing zone,
haven’t you noticed how the sailor holds
his ground? Moving Hold (registered) as the people
around you only dress up their presences
so loss intensive, albeit super stylish, to create
a place of tranquility that smells like orange
cake.

remind me to tell you how I’ll die, the logistics
are a bitch but the headstone promises to be
delicious if the rain doesn’t melt the legend
before everyone’s had their piece.

the wrist fractures just so, drawn down
by the weight of the spurious concept
of a wrist as a series of choices, strokes
on cue though surely this cannot be a kind
of play? they all believe they are privy to
the victim’s next move, the next crooked stem
from the bouquet.

everything is boneless for a reason.

try breathing through your air.
the crows will confuse and lose
their group think, leaving you
the out you may not actually desire.
I only tell you these things on spec
against a slow first quarter.

tactile heat waves have made your highway
a legitimate blowout risk. this is the tightwire
music walks and yes, sex the same, the fits
are what differentiate us from them.

I’ve been instructed that money matters.
I now recognize that it’s the other way ‘round
and the dormancy of the peak is nothing
to do with the peak at all, but the plates
being loosened just enough by a quality
grade vodka.

the trick is in the knowing
how much will be enough to produce
a second date and how much too much
not to avoid annihilation of the entire race
of early circus innovators.

this is one case where it can be argued
obliteration is not it’s own most emergent
industrial byproduct. a civilization is
only as strong as the weaker of the forces
that loses the race to destroy it.

yes, again, you are a delicate flower.
but you cancel nothing that wasn’t worth
moving into the storm’s path in the first place.

you say plump, I say tomato, it takes all kinds
to make a sundae after church.

but the thumbnail of the ghost is growing
too detailed. I had to back away
to regain some sense of forced perspective.

one quits playing the bass as transparent
plea to be begged to play the bass, the other
is writing about Sandy Koufax in an echo
chamber from the early days of sound.

the programs that were left on the seats
were made of cornbread. It rendered their collectible
value nil. but as souvenirs they were sweet.
mine had a large imperfect garnet in it. I was
carried back to mardi gras and the tooth
broken on the baby. these risks are difficult
to accept as commensurate with their rewards.

true, it’s really all just like butter, isn’t it?
like butter you supplant with bleeding first
responder red by cover girl, or vicey versey.

the business about the one fifth of a second
and your multitude of unconventional shoes
and I’m carried back to a time when I knew
a lot more about such things and wasted
so many hours laying down an airstrike
of utterly unutterably enduring genius
before feigning the motions that precede
feigned sleep.

every word of this is true and not
one not less than a perfection of the cowardly.

I should have told you you were brave
as a newborn under a spark shower
in a foundry gone one hundred percent
automation. I should have stripped you
of all that pleasure, taken you out into
the exercise yard, shown you the aeonium
I grew from seeds from the colon
of a Red Kite, died of natural causes, April 19, 2011.

I should have kissed you or the sound
of your teeth against candy, one, tomorrow
when I still had the chance.


Saturday, April 16, 2011

Body and Highlights




they say he said he was canada’s

angel of death when I saw him

he was wearing black boots and coat

and he had a retarded haircut

the mayor was here she said

in the wake of these tragic events

we will never again be able to take

a retarded haircut for granted

I was sitting in study hall doing

my hair when he came in

the eyes were just empty and he

kept walking shooting almost as if

his haircut were retarded

our teacher ran in then went

out again then came back in

and said there was something

retarded about his haircut

we all started running from

the sound of gunfire and

the retarded way his hair

had been cut and the screaming

there was blood everywhere

you looked and my friend

got shot and I had to drag her

to the salon I heard they found

his web site full of pictures

of guns and knives and

retarded hair and death threats

to the people he thought had

given him a retarded haircut

and when it was over somebody

was dead and probably more

will die in intensive care

and the guy got shot by cops

I caught it on my cell cam but

there was all this blood so you

could only see a little part of

a retarded haircut and they were all

wearing these hats


There's Something Written on the Head of This Transmission Terminated




I want to take a moment to tell you everything
is okay, liars are always polish, I have the list.
fibbing by the way is a word for salvation, oddly
as nuns are all blondes yet it can’t save this one
small unassuming one. she was a part time
bartender with elevatory tone. the limping journey
home of an old shed caller, for whom no special use
is, in this case, in fact, a deciding tilt.
which brings us, of course, to the subject of art.
he’s his own dental dangers animation.
it took him a month the length of a day in central
Florida to arrive at that, not counting the dance
break and, thank god for Tylenol mist,
what appears before you is the result of blue-
ball sciences: a full frontal prototype of plastique
we can take to the carnival. Do some hometown
trading. Not, perhaps, the in-flight subject the artist
whispered about as a possible catastrophe how-to
seminar junket. But collaborative melodrama is,
by nature, smoldering with the power to make you
hungry. The bin into which you plunge with ceramics
replaced in our hearts by the boundless expressiveness
of kickboxing.


submarine dancers. in the tropics the dancers
are restricted to performing only in the area
of the body. disarray is a game similar to our own
Russian charades. expect to experience a little muscle
soreness. aching is the best thing for it when we talk
of stress and/or names. you might call one one thing
and bet on the other wanting to be called that one
thing instead. it’s a losing battle. teach each to master
the plunger and inhibit any designs on making a life
of it, illinois or otherwise. gurgle when you know they aren’t
awake. odds are stacked heavily in your favor during the trial.
they will both be exonerated, I see it in the cards in my tomb.
you are too round for any other outcome to be possible.
you’re wasted.


that afternoon the twins threw over commercial reconstruction.
it seemed as if world-beater wreathes were not in the picture.
two days is clearly, for clarity of purpose and sticktoitiveness,
the difficult age. we find aggression an aesthetic manifesting
itself in sometimes subtle forms of waitress mutilation, and in
other cases the carpet bombing becomes a valuable tool.
I work a crane, therefore a crane does not work me. I am,
therefore I crane. accidents are ideal settings for acting out
irrational thoughts of blood loss, bone puncture behaviors.
supplier, meet your new yankee. jack, I was neutered on the x
where you fell out of a sense of the acoustically bungled.
let the tiretrack mew, the best thing to do is a maple-leaf
rag. music can ruin a chest faster than one loaded idea.
a true friend yells to bury your gasping.


things are not as animal as they seem. synonym for amiable.
a worm to the uninformed. none of us down here between tunnels
a10 and a12 are informed on any subject. the rapture of calculating
your rate of undress against the consumption of the fans.
it’s very acute, so a handful of the more resourceful attempt
to mount a production using only the corroded bodies
of paris week survivors as principals. aboveground smoke-
pots, purely symbolic, represent the fact that we all have habits.
averting is the one strategy that might get you through
to the rally in a Dearborn hotel ballroom. Hysteria spreads
like a telepathy. I see the birds with the teeth in my mind.
men and women and the others scramble, frantic, for a sex
partner to end on. The trampled look nice in their new context.
arrangement appears to be some sort of key.


this is not a good time for me.
I only do basic cutwork.
you can get another inch out of me,
but that’ll have to be it. unless you want
another inch. I’ll put you in touch with your material,
but no promises on risk. or how hard it has to be
before the rate structure changes.
the search takes in an expanse of wooded
trees. an area peopled by squeegees, the chills
and a hard-boiled approach to life.
I won’t lie to you about the chances.
I won’t talk to you at all.
this has become a civilized matter and that’s a language
thing, we don’t do those in this department.


gazing lamely, nearly timeless, across the grazed hillside.
it fell right over there, where the zap marks are clearly
manmade. no one factor is to blame. just the fact
of the impregnation, the bewitchment of a whole global skate
park, the flagrant avoidance of insipidity in your statement.
an intrigue encumbered by a chronic slap enveloped
in a standard business-proof envelope concealed
in the antidote case under your seat. the xerox
equipment to read the xeroxes of each thing it took
since rebuilding post-war asthma to gather and collate
no longer exists. none of what was ever put on paper
can be read. we have to turn to space.
they have the compound locked down, subsisting on mice.
call in the negotiator, fit her with an exoskeletal saying.


this one says on.
all the others say bitterly amusing
or wrested from the jaws.
I found sequins on the floor where she had the seizure, kept
some as souvenirs. the bringing together of incoherence
and a flaming mr. coffee is how international taste-makers
are made. I’m only as opulently a sneeze as a bedside clock is
the tact lacked by the intervals.
you’d like a bath now. some freshly harvested poetics
from the garden in the exercise yard. the time to get it
wrong again. what must monsieur broom air be thinking?
he beat the euphonium till it bled stardust. am I blue?
I know an atom when a bomb reminds me of silk bones.
I can drop dead as corny as the next guy.


so at last they pulled the holes out, brought in the big artillery,
the fit of the suits and the feel, a bright new awful soreness,
conviction and seats on the various housetops at parade time,
millions donated tibias and unarmed dolls, the nucleus dwarf
did his skateboard routine to great reviews, a game came out
wherein you pardon the act but fry the families of the witnesses,
an age of wrinkled little black cocktail dresses, the compulsory dick
tracy underarm snubnose law, Jackson became statistically the most
common name to visit dallas at fall color time, the antecedents
were all provided for, the tardy hanged, that whatsis country stopped
being European, pandemonium replaced the unsingable becoming
the new no-sing anthem, mousse the national dessert.
traditionally, rita was still dead of dementia, the rest remained astigmats.


went down to the clinic to have my nerve removed.
started preaching on the merits of a unified stereo theory.
bought a pocket yacht.
hauling cargo helps with the rebuilding costs.
do you have a pen on you?
my right hand has been swamped lately.
Indigestion is a fulltime job.
a buck just to fall through the ice at the desert end of the pond.
and this phobia that I might develop a droning in my ears.
this years "capsule is…?" contest has me abstracted.
I don’t know the colors anymore, where they go.
the dark is just another consumer.
and I wrote a letter that impressed me enough to frame it.
but I still pity marriage as an institution without refrains.


able graybeard.
stud blender.
perjury compensation.
The arthritis solo.
item to tumble dry.
feet that beep.
vocal.
undressed and waiting for a bandmaster.
day remorseful as sunlight.
clog dancing at sex division.
the flash.
wax drizzled on flower.
the hatless fouled by canopy.
monumental erection.


the restlessness and it’s hotelkeeper
at pancakes again overnight
menacing admirers before they jump
invariably they get it then don’t they go sublet
to some elvis despiser klatch? your best bones
on their kick it down to a peg we can gravitate
over books. in that spirit lies the absolute
set out in portions and thick, willing steak.
I hid the bits in a streak of light in a web dancer
as a humanized commixture, anglo-indian
lives in the heated part under the jew
mistletoe. a whole colony of the disinterested in radio
they’ll have to snowball through. By that time I will have
blushed and pressed the ledge vertical.


hail to the beard of the car-conscious sphincter
of car-ferry mind and rude to plane
as inferior of icefall and overeating to bells
as car as murder weapon is to salamander
this is some nice fabric, glad I ate more
than I could possibly fill. the deeper hammerfall
and you’re locked in on opulence, the head you left
for filing never surfaces in this holding tank again.
I’m applying for the position, I can be edible.
touch it if it grabs you, I have catharsis gags to spare.
a trance in each exit, your plaque on every cough.
will I mount your video or you mine? I’m unqualified
to work with sound but I can make anything
unendurable, for whom?


out here beneath a criminal sun
beach become wisconsin I wisconsinite
astride a team of platelets bound for suspension
I feel like ike on the morning he stepped out
to discover lulu’s ass in his holster
felt the handsomeness of his own feng shui
with infected followers and tincture of horse
in a small leatherette rear echelon holder.
this broad sky of dune, lush center of functioning
and a beard to start an alibi
I look at it all objectively in retro
as a cabaret might it’s stapled hookers
the risk of a spontaneous cleft palate still there but
strictly in satirica


the delicate blending of underrating and motivation
dissolved in a stigma reduction
we know the piggybacks will continue
collapsing under structurally inferior poured cowboys
that to tweet is a sign of readiness
and any pizza, even this one you’re nearly through, is fixable
long as the aquiline beak, the brushy surround of the well,
the can-do of factory blood holds its value
there’s an elodea called OF THE
with no more to go on than to just go on singing
so mules packed and no territories to light out for the team
lights out. to a small flat patch where you’ve feet, on the spot
of your original eye trouble. If a guess is worth as much
put me down for hackmoth


While Listing to Wire




was ever tale more told than this
tire iron by yon ditch of free press
when night shall reign to descend upon
thy the sleeping kid a la his ID
and stammer itself to junkies crest
twenty inches above the very tips
of ranting where ceaseless
color fractures by unnoticed
fed from thus and short nightied so
the sheets that wound the wits
that bound the feet to the red month
ramps, that the glory of the lark may be
awash, trashed
the name by which the approaches
simonize, beacons pattern lest they fail
to coalesce, the Right Rev. Billy Con
Carne bleed on this aeration, bless us
lore of a falling from one high
that proceeded by chance to Dreisers
steerage, low, driftwood
a blanket and a passenger left
still not so twas a nail from the Pequod
even to say Indians chant alas
this merry band needs none of it
encouragement, nary a score ago
and quite so underanswered
where the shoe rests merrily in the block
tepid, tis as the old removable Johnson quip
enduring as it endured calisthenics by the gross
why ever’d night, being so long, say only so long
as the tones on this the inside wrong pipe might
those once having bathed together never again
to see the mist on the heather with a strap-on
friend, mock them for they stutter so
to court you raw, but soft
an noble ass needs carrying to school


Rebreather




today he kneels and vows to shave
never more then with his inner press gang
cleans the clocks at work they just supervise lunch
like the liquid sweephand set above hearts swearing hit
reset on the secret wreck meter inside your heads up

all my ancestors got together and built this
tv place this morning every random sunburst
they hang in a dog's memory tree
I sing on personal clinic days of thee leaving
always room for one more eponymous jawbreaker

such a wondrous dialect of impacted mouth noise
and nothing better to castigate or distracting meats
to balance prehistories sugarplums
in a solid jaundice prism
where parting gifts ought to be

mountains of wellness to waste in heat
from health disinheritance to busting both
finally he saved the nut
green enough for the operation
separate implants then boarded up immediately

I see a pretty lifelike ballerina in glass
under a dome of glass
thumbnail drip vent for her innermost stillnesses
as yet unserialized a dream land
of newfound sexes in the same chamber curtained

the rarer of two baskets left fully evenly lit
they say there will come a time I believe in receipts
when the cucarachas are the only mimes left
I’ll be a bad call making myself with the masses as witness
to cartoon ass erased by gentrified cliff

the view as window design
putting the haze back one tassel per era
everyone had pyramids and the days off to undermine them
even the poorest bought fresh foreign limits
then had to hold perfectly lifeless for a bulb

taken in by the spurs
none of what’s done by boy choirs is still funny
in dead tongues or is it more wrangler than ever?
gone the way of the grande ballroom the rubberized flirtation
replaced by horse photo park

or just another uncle on another pissing veranda
one wellesian hernia away
your hairdo assuming wallpaper proportions
and naturally electrified areas
gathered an acre of left feet rested in a field of boats

at last we’ll see who wins at porkys revenge
below the doorwalls when I had dueling tonsils
I called it that smear of butter when you’re dead
in the closed next room where anyone knows you
and assumes a net worth

totally as a stranger
trying to make change with his lips
commanding a battalion the size of a second
canadian state
solid career advice like james’s lane change

deposed the fat broad with zowie rack
the slick shooter on the cornice and mildly comely coed
so if they’re only animated pails that’s the sport it is all
damage scenarios from the eunuch zed theory of stunts
cribs on a page to be sharper than the venom it enhances

he knows his history “you call to mind a herd of negro jockeys
with their pot metal mounts modified – pre-viable
police statistically - in the foretold biblical hail of bits”
unchaste as it appeared from the outer side of jesus’
impregnated duvet and matching spear shams

the verbatim played better
than decorating in hyena as fluid
as a remarkable visitation upon sleeping herders
you are the bespoken
of species long since boned by junk mail invitation

a private audience with gravity sea
crippling vistas but she looks hot shedding her cellar
delivering presalted teeth to a tired bear
magnificent choking dawn drawn on a tissue
for several dozen disinterested motorists

precocious pictures blank upon prolapse
reentry and leaning back into a pollyanna alley
is there something hilarious in your breathing
and how this manages to come off so easily as co-op?
I wonder if you see that and it’s a box and you fold at it



feed the dog all the closure of an open book
the hushed comments of unrepentant birders
formerly purse snatch and lip lock types with coffee and chapeaus
gathered by the ad for a free irreproducible nose
I see in it enough to shore up he puffed

it rhymes with chronic thatch on lofts
the purely bohemian mr. bubble death-dare
a sister having a stare off with no star tent to mark her
standstill premature time is my time and wouldn’t earth get a chill
if I should just blow lightly on this small nude clay

or remain in anyones definition of grinding high speed noise
a composition of masturbating as interpreted
by the spent shellhead collective
now I’m dressed and ruffled by couples
in chronic parking

put your knees between anything with the capacity of the plane
foxholes nice planters and air in soluble cubes
the blank wonder of ceasing to exist yesterday
in the welt a cold hand drawn is as good as a sandwich
especially when it’s suspicious

I looked up the color of the sky
it said “repugnance” “an act of protesting animal rewrites”
and “drugs to carry food”
you’re that screwed up saddle tramp with the ludwigs
and prize wetbacks won at craps

haven’t you got the meanness to function
as the original johnny stems in big forensic feet?
MC a dirty utterance everyone loves
to hate like snow in odessa
I’m carving a bust of you as a precise rectangular ditch

mourning neutrality has impaired my driving
like a house dick on quiet springs
now trainees will set me in the tubes
man the orifice of development and alone time fails
then the bust can be made of a flatter terminal thought

lined the street with linden trees then wiped out
all the bees no moisture left in the entries
parade grounds in cups of rons exotic muds
the generalship of grazing with dealer agenda
configured bites



in dumb educational noise between network troughs
all crack teams interact well
Tom Korean Restaurant amiably shot at his door
my game console’s reduced me to a single demise
to market to market

I have all these lingoes
and they go ripe
like the fisheye taught by the blowjob to curtsy
when there is no drama as in this conversation
I place my bets from the comfort of a moving symbol

classic pucker
it’s all about the discipline in modes of rest
nine hours a day on stilts to develop a chinlike chin
and cauterize my self starter so the comedy’s intact
then watch the templars bowl for the title

if all bombs are dots
and all dots are duds
dude where’s my car bomb?
connectedness patterns bake easier in the hands
the guy in the trash with his one good legacy

throw the leftovers away for later
I love movies about nature giving fuckers fits
nothing that needs adjustment hems might reflect times
but go away I’m in my altogether in favor
a dose to correct your paradisiac smile

I’m him watching M but he can’t spell
think he’s in the middle of having one of my episodes
he wants my old distortions reinstalled
yet should the phone ring when you hear it and not before
it’s a feeler for you

being a French dish the category sweetens to disgust
ramrodders thought to be transposition attachment
in cains day one more civil servant who would have died
with lesser boots on his plate
and a few fewer steps to the screen door in oceanside

tough business casting
into the potomac but he had schlitzes as a boy
now the local girls prefer theirs neat as hay
the new moan they wave away
with genius chops



a missing thumb
when the threshers come
that hogleg of compensation with the safety filed
it’s another electronic snow day
break it off time

doing that kong thing
that in non-kong terms means ah the joy
ah the day my lungs are dying to suck away
hillocks of fuck off billboards
valleys of stoning yourself in the street matinee

missing the second h
he’s one boy with a heart as big
as his kingdoms signature footwear
all your best judgments are funnies the papers have on loan
frozen by section in one of those liquor cameras

let’s pity the loco but not ape shit out
I cannot do this anymore
not meet you get acquainted all over or see you anywhere
not even in my dreams
okay see you tomorrow

even in the face of death magic tape
works better than ever
we are all slightly tighter
and petromagnetically the wiser
I see what I can’t

and bulges that become history you can’t be sure
ever actually failed in head to head
once so long as there were librarians we’d never run out of libaries
it cost x grocers x to pile up x enough for the new meat machine
corresponding to an exponential

or x dipshits deep for chimbley sweeps
to smoke out the crush and roll
with the slow withdrawing frontispiece
can you groom a mystery or fashion a dog out of the gaseous?
is burning leather too much like burying rawhide?

or the triple header with the european plugs removed
you’re senior enough to clear a weeks growth of roving eye
one either is that toy or what is an acceptable loss level
seminoles in seaweed rolls with ear nose and throat bar
as to ear you ascend one by columns



whiplash and the escalator’s
running in the spine of the on-call hypnotist to the stars
while the beatniks we just missed kicking
letting the blood back into the tub
see doctor burnstable for all your like-new women

the backroom of the beginner facial
at last to be standing on my own two footer
when the shortening casts came off
between concrete pomegranate and yellow pavement streak
I wonder I’m not shorter than I am

where the bacon buys its fat
I still remember my piece
and half the face to speak it
misspell wheelking then just add meaning
a cookie in search of an old crud with internet

water can’t reach the floor I’m ripstop I rise
to alvin who is called simon by agent
a lapdog for easter
after a forgotten laundry line
you can always find the time to make things

just as worse than you found them as you like
if you can manage to make two
disgruntled mynahs rhyme your name
the sensation of trees running back into my gap account
like time never happened the way we were kidded

the old ones who knew the old ways but forgot
to write them on something waterproof
so we’ll smooth it all down to a closeness clean of sex
a great reader knows the fleshy from the black and feathery
and the powder keg from the welcome mat

so you like to swim drunk and built a family from scratch
I’ve never coded messages to my gum
but I hear this tinny sound from inside things
that might be a knife and might be
playing an actor while stabbing

talk talk talk sleep
the difference between what’s underneath
the frock and the man with impressive blueprint brain
the sheep that suffocate in his corners
always telling you home lives just that way



everything you know is mapped in hexes
the bones can be laid in a matchstick SOS
not seen since keaton protruding after wind
a dispenser appealing as a pushchair
with digitally masked invalid

take your bravery tiers and stuff them
a multicolored array of brown shirts
carpet in stages little illegal assemblages of statuettes
this has been the revolution let’s get laced up
call yellow hair

in institutional scale
some had better tailors and hid the standard
the board can always turn out new poles for old holes
open call motivational humiliation
you’re a bird keller sing if you recognize paint

my mother was paris who gave me up
my own unborn city the skyway of right acid
the ground we fought and killed preserves motown
oh shit said the black box oh shit says every unfamiliar
technician the schema for bareback

there is no tree is there in this desktop
topography?
you’re understandably exhausted by
all sound picking gravel from a giants naval takes patience
the organics to keep your eyes off area sixty nine

the neglected hangings of ian mckellen a la birdcage
homage depending on which Monrovia you’ve indoctrinated
or a retirement oasis in rodentia minor
read working till you drop conspiratorial twins
per decade in a field of precision true love’s as blabby

blood vow of the coonhound
barkeep more stutterflies and red field mao louse
when the rivet deflated the space they double wided trees
forgot to check for poesies disease
dead still iron clad lessees

in the superhuman industry they’re called
inbetweeners
and produce sequential absolutes
like triplet tower peeping around the corner
darts back to new rochelle



raping starts because it starts with rapunzel
extracts all self-heating passages
blanketed into a gluegun flipped polar
we could all suspend from
girders by our fuck-me-cuz-I-hate-me-in-hats hats

or just get a shield and roll on New Jersey
as if to say go one step back and forfeit your next two
“your work here is complete jerkoff. you have done well.”
nights in walkups of sheer print
it’s the feast of grit so go as smothered

feats of astonishment juggling that wouldn’t
rattle a gnat on marathon cell count duty
so they had a gang stroke video I died tonight to say united
hole in the desert unlimited refills
to summon your poured white slack to afterparty

swamis are welcome baloney
the geek prefers lonely to largely unengaged
cleanup crews are taller now nearly as figural
calculations once the returns are in
my mopstick legs are new and the book is

I’m still not walking so good which is great
I have been to the mountain in pants
with the engines dropped
to where we stood expanded and banqueted
the spread eagle in a zero distance

I’ve reduced this line to bushwhacker
I’ll stockpile other notations for ratings approval
in the lab with prototype choke up moment and storage device
I read about your blood fog
tin pots in the great room reminiscing on easter breeze

whatever is breaking out all over
your job is to sort openings yours to confuse him
provisions for the ark of a single elective goat
in all stuck directions voila! a destiny
[exit]

terrains evolved from just us folksy
a square of unequal sides
non center and one too few ripcords
confetti rain a licensed rooster dreamt
I eat my tamales from the sky down I’m an articulate



as rhinestone boulders cavitating your indoors
weather and fieldhands come a runnin’
no survivors but screams are a form of solid
mall security condoms in protective african neon
underthings not rendered in oil

the legend of the pilgrims dysplasia
two and a quarter hundred finger risks
dysarthric to the nth power faint on cue
to prove you’re no actor a tough flap of sailcloth
borne to the rooftop left without evidence

I stopped using my rebreather
clawing at the face as effective reminder
of sounds of sexes I’d likewise not been
around to bully hear or cloud you over in refinery
on erecting a walter mitty addle pâté chapel

taffy crown and high victorian crumb broom
you look icily rejected as not big picture ready
whole person trip material
a tyrannosaur decked out in power suit proves the rule
you can’t play checkers with the chinese

your birth name is withered forepaw
such small flowers make me feel privileged
like air that dwindles when thirsty
to remember the good times by the tankful
could get you to the church on time a sucker thankful

I’ll uncross dress and let my shoe leave me flat
pucker and dwell on how the bus will appear
different to each newtonian ticket holder
the woman with her face in ancient knots
a girl to hand papers to just to see yentl stream

entire cults I’ll never have time to join
all busses are cats in japan that grows tiresome
on a bridge out to deformity campus projects
we return us now to our point of origination
you’ll get no more classified dope out of you thank me

one true squirrel takes up a position
smokes one shrugs does the watch tap cliché secure
in the knowledge of the popes of quick draw
I need an addressable supermodel to hold down
these pig iron birthday balloons

no one I know has been born
but maybe


Show, the Stopper




a thing for elements
leave the notes there
over at hair noises
baker was reconfigured
right so
his flowers go spread
in ends the slab tones
those walkway pics to eating siam
it blows he’s to make more fish
check the clouds
for a paper trial
theretofore rank inversions
waters expanded behind you so you are
a definition in tights
where is it cats?
the last show on greatest earths
that one can’t be gone into
baker’s got his histories on
a lump to the rec cen
buck serviced investors
so I can’t see the pies coming
that I knew
time to mate


Time is a Hole in TIme




ragged as the ingots
of the fisherman elite
as are his shears the fisherman
one bald
no label
declared unfit for head
when the klan had gameface
enough of hammer
to print
to get red
stamped up a crowd of smoke to
give a leech his senses dullness
cleats of speech and tips
on form
one a lord
of the patterning made lightning
clear channel plays trap dumps
prop brutuses sold as is
mumble
to the crude
a word to the seasonal drubs
you’ll be blamed by your corpse
these logo ties are by unifraid
thus fucked
as a raise
the making is in the one that’s a big
anoint the model number
say amplitard when you want your own
bossed lunch
tenderer
how’d he land in here?
driven to the middle of an hour
every minute and batter
to taste
some noose feed
they’re stippling wagons
in those converse shades again
and again with its endurance
becomed
like a boat
membership has its navigator
Arid Hump and personal van
he numbers eggs by dating treason
under
cups of room
they mean spirit but take off
for a shore of tiny animal pots
the researchers come in their coats
and the
all the time
the picnic already
there was always not knowing a tree
the only wave the other tube holding
in step
up a boot


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Behavioral Prefaces for Bam Bam





Astronomers have observed
a giant arrow in space
possibly the biggest arrow ever
seen in the cosmos.
When NASA's ARROW
Space Observatory first spotted it
10 days ago, observers thought
it was a massive arrow
blowing up as a giant arrow
and expected it to fade
within hours or even minutes.
But the high-energy radiation
from the arrow has shown no sign
of dying down, which suggests
that astronomers may have caught
a giant arrow in the process
of being ripped to shreds
by a giant arrow.
The arrow is actually a series
of arrows, like a string
of arrows going off one
after another.

"We know of arrows
in our own galaxy
that can produce repeated
arrows, but they are thousands
to millions of times less powerful
than the arrows we are seeing,"
says Giant Arrow of the Space Arrow
Science Institute in Baltimore, Maryland.
"This is truly extraordinary."

ARROW's Arrow Alert Telescope
detected the arrow on 28 March.
The Hubble Space Arrow
Telescope took an image of the arrow
on 4 April, which located the arrows
at the center of a giant arrow
3.8 billion light-years away.
On the same day, NASA's Arrow
X-ray Observatory took a picture
of the arrow by pointing at it
for 4 hours.
That image also showed
that the source of the arrows
was at the center of the arrow
imaged by Hubble.
The position of the arrow within
the arrow offered a clue that the arrows
might be associated with a giant arrow,
as nearly all arrows have a giant arrow
in the middle.

"We think that there is a dormant giant
arrow there that has accreted a lump
of arrows—probably a giant arrow
that has fallen into it," says astrophysicist
Giant Arrow, the lead scientist for ARROW
at NASA's Goddard Space Arrow Center
in Greenbelt, Maryland.

What could be going on is the following: A giant arrow
flitting too close to the giant arrow has been grabbed
by its gravitational pull. The arrow's gas has been falling
into the giant arrow, causing enormous amounts of arrows
to be released in the form of high-energy arrows shooting out
like a giant arrow.

Although this is not the first time astronomers have witnessed
a giant arrow being gobbled up by a giant arrow, the arrows
are putting out arrows far greater than previously seen.
One reason for the extreme arrows could be that the jet
of arrows shooting out of the giant arrow is pointing
straight at Earth.

Astronomers all over the world are working
round the clock to collect more data on the arrow,
and Hubble is snapping more images of the arrow.

"Some spectra have been taken; there's a lot more
work to be done on how the arrow changes
over time," Arrow says. "If it really is a giant arrow
being torn up, then we'd expect it to fade away
in the next few days. If it stays a giant arrow
for several weeks or a month, that would tell us
something different.

I'm not sure what that would be."