ee are a maran key shon
lay may ugh
flet sey ogre un parti
ey wey
.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Slimmer Rick's Bar Americain
O wailing gorilla who danced
while at his fat mama he glanced
crikey hey look at me
he criked from his tree
I'm almost quite every advanced
.
while at his fat mama he glanced
crikey hey look at me
he criked from his tree
I'm almost quite every advanced
.
this earthly tic
this ran orange alert
by the castle
but really that guy was dead
three hours ago
they stood around watching
a car in a lake
Jacques Brel sounding off insanely
in some astral dance hall
nothing now but standing
and going home
just to be sure
one fat monkey puts a gun to his head
and laughs
jumps on the roof
waves his ass
you want to talk philosophy with me
you'll need a dirty towel
.
by the castle
but really that guy was dead
three hours ago
they stood around watching
a car in a lake
Jacques Brel sounding off insanely
in some astral dance hall
nothing now but standing
and going home
just to be sure
one fat monkey puts a gun to his head
and laughs
jumps on the roof
waves his ass
you want to talk philosophy with me
you'll need a dirty towel
.
cool nun
I am a monk in a tree
with a gun in my ass
a cool nun holds the trigger
this is nothing but my latest attempt
to enter Space as an amateur
I am Wan Hu and I do this with devotion
of course I fucked her first
plied her with extracts
plied her
and inveigled her into the position
but now get real
my time has come
I love everything
everything is nothing
love is a slight panda that starves
slow and mild and bite unconvinced
I am not unconvinced
I am Wan Hu
my heart is in the stars
sister it is time
our love is of the stars
feed my shattered hide to the pigs
of the monastery of Wan len Fu
his pigs are devoted and will eat with care
midnight flutes will play
along the eastern wall
see my detachments
cool nun
fuck
.
with a gun in my ass
a cool nun holds the trigger
this is nothing but my latest attempt
to enter Space as an amateur
I am Wan Hu and I do this with devotion
of course I fucked her first
plied her with extracts
plied her
and inveigled her into the position
but now get real
my time has come
I love everything
everything is nothing
love is a slight panda that starves
slow and mild and bite unconvinced
I am not unconvinced
I am Wan Hu
my heart is in the stars
sister it is time
our love is of the stars
feed my shattered hide to the pigs
of the monastery of Wan len Fu
his pigs are devoted and will eat with care
midnight flutes will play
along the eastern wall
see my detachments
cool nun
fuck
.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
cinquain
eyes out
on two long stalks
the lecherous old pig
frequents the local student bar
for gawks
.
on two long stalks
the lecherous old pig
frequents the local student bar
for gawks
.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
a ghazal for wide red elision/elysium
lugeto veneres cupidinesque—Catullus
as in a tabula raga/rasa that off with
the fairies drifted through much fog—No One
Molon Labe—Terse Laconics in Hypotaxis
a curious liberation in this announcement
of the Platonic footing all the night
I felt in her that fairies had taken me
I strapped my new feet and thought of fire
eating up the houses all around
their faces pressed against windows
but in this I am not predatory
and would abandon a chase if a slow gazelle
turned with haha heaving breast to demand there be a rest
but still, still
the fire creeps down the houses
and who could believe
in that little box
that no one of us had thought in the fire's steep
and thought still in our sleep
of how it might be
if the gazelle the ghazal had been quickened
in all of its rhymes in its hindquarter chimes
till the breath that flew there
the claws that there grew
fastened all through her hair
in the rain-steeps I am learning
to be mellif as all Eve
always to believe
in the last-lying heave
.
as in a tabula raga/rasa that off with
the fairies drifted through much fog—No One
Molon Labe—Terse Laconics in Hypotaxis
a curious liberation in this announcement
of the Platonic footing all the night
I felt in her that fairies had taken me
I strapped my new feet and thought of fire
eating up the houses all around
their faces pressed against windows
but in this I am not predatory
and would abandon a chase if a slow gazelle
turned with haha heaving breast to demand there be a rest
but still, still
the fire creeps down the houses
and who could believe
in that little box
that no one of us had thought in the fire's steep
and thought still in our sleep
of how it might be
if the gazelle the ghazal had been quickened
in all of its rhymes in its hindquarter chimes
till the breath that flew there
the claws that there grew
fastened all through her hair
in the rain-steeps I am learning
to be mellif as all Eve
always to believe
in the last-lying heave
.
Monday, January 17, 2011
a virtual lekking so proud and denatured were we then
there once was a tyger
whose heart was quite black
fear yet me he cried
whose heart was quite black
a peacock happened there
in that tyger'd tight world
he hop't and he blew
and his tail unfurled
in a scrape and a hollow
such lekking he did
and there in that wallow
he boasted and hid
and slid him a fever
in a packet so tight
that e'en a tyger
could nestle that night
as a cigarette nurstles
in the lips and cavorts
in the lap of all vessels
that sway at his thwarts
[and in the morning the voice
that spake that there was the third
and that there were only three
and of this it was the third
and that no more would there be
but three and this then was the third]
of the tyger was nothing
returned or yet seen
but the slow acre danced
in stripes dun and green
the peacock arose
he flut then his tayle
whereupon he dids't lift
in quite a great gale
[and thereupon he spake again
that this was all of the three
thrice he had spoken from five
to three of which it was the third
and this proclaimed the three]
and now I must flit
where the hearken is through
I wish you were here
where that tyger-root grew
.
whose heart was quite black
fear yet me he cried
whose heart was quite black
a peacock happened there
in that tyger'd tight world
he hop't and he blew
and his tail unfurled
in a scrape and a hollow
such lekking he did
and there in that wallow
he boasted and hid
and slid him a fever
in a packet so tight
that e'en a tyger
could nestle that night
as a cigarette nurstles
in the lips and cavorts
in the lap of all vessels
that sway at his thwarts
[and in the morning the voice
that spake that there was the third
and that there were only three
and of this it was the third
and that no more would there be
but three and this then was the third]
of the tyger was nothing
returned or yet seen
but the slow acre danced
in stripes dun and green
the peacock arose
he flut then his tayle
whereupon he dids't lift
in quite a great gale
[and thereupon he spake again
that this was all of the three
thrice he had spoken from five
to three of which it was the third
and this proclaimed the three]
and now I must flit
where the hearken is through
I wish you were here
where that tyger-root grew
.
the straight and left wing clapping
men die quicker because they are heartbroken
at the age of four
introduced to the violent resolution of conflict
taught that no one is to be trusted
women on the other beat
still believe deep in themselves
that war is a game
that will never fully tear their bodies apart
they can laugh and dance
while the boys do it
to the rock and roll rock and roll radio
not all of this not all of it but enough
still we die four years younger
and it closes as we learn
that war is not all our inheritance
but only a spoken thing that sinks through
the footfalls on the stair outside our yellow-lit rooms
drums into our little hearts
steals us away to the dry place
beyond the warm wet place
and all our songs and speaking
in such loud whispers hereafter
have I already given this to my boys
this infection that will make them stand
beating their little heads
against the long wall of their lives?
.
at the age of four
introduced to the violent resolution of conflict
taught that no one is to be trusted
women on the other beat
still believe deep in themselves
that war is a game
that will never fully tear their bodies apart
they can laugh and dance
while the boys do it
to the rock and roll rock and roll radio
not all of this not all of it but enough
still we die four years younger
and it closes as we learn
that war is not all our inheritance
but only a spoken thing that sinks through
the footfalls on the stair outside our yellow-lit rooms
drums into our little hearts
steals us away to the dry place
beyond the warm wet place
and all our songs and speaking
in such loud whispers hereafter
have I already given this to my boys
this infection that will make them stand
beating their little heads
against the long wall of their lives?
.
mass spectrometer
Oradour
like a bubble
they don't lick your fucking toes
these guys
(Plains Indians/Tibet
Das Reich)
every letter a word
tell you what
.
like a bubble
they don't lick your fucking toes
these guys
(Plains Indians/Tibet
Das Reich)
every letter a word
tell you what
.
reflux
each human a saccade in which we sincarnate
a stroboscope of serial-slow suspension
a line of leading lights out from the lee
a staccato spasm of apprehension
its mist and moan of siren and the lowest
astronomical tide that divides you from me
.
a stroboscope of serial-slow suspension
a line of leading lights out from the lee
a staccato spasm of apprehension
its mist and moan of siren and the lowest
astronomical tide that divides you from me
.
Maria's childlike delight in chocolate
all night he looks
he can't help himself
for somehow the fact that her nose moves
like a little animal
when she smiles
has eclipsed all the far-off lights
down the eastern road
to the seashore
.
he can't help himself
for somehow the fact that her nose moves
like a little animal
when she smiles
has eclipsed all the far-off lights
down the eastern road
to the seashore
.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
virus
I expected the Trojan Horse
(that was par for the course)
but the Trojan Rhino
was a new one on me
it jumped right out
of my infected PC
ran across the lino
and ate my TV
.
(that was par for the course)
but the Trojan Rhino
was a new one on me
it jumped right out
of my infected PC
ran across the lino
and ate my TV
.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Pulpo
the same city on the same day—Carl Sagan
after coitus a tentacled lovecraft that wriggles pink
wild panicked in the retreat it is sea purple that cannot speak
he disengages inked blue from his girlfriend
carries her to the red bathroom and turns her inside out
hangs her on the violet girlfriend armature to drain where
he watches the dirty stuff all disassembled start to live
start to cluster and squeal with multiple heads
vast echoes down the basin the waste the hollow halls
that fill with smoke and
in these spaces Pulpo comes to himself
in the wash in the froth
laughing to the elbows
he washes her out with warm water whereupon
careful to avoid oily soaps that could damage
her delicate tissue
he looks at her there in the basin rolled
inside out oh oh Pulpo what of you
now that your batgirl is
]inside out like Ed Gein like blue soldiers at Shuffling Lances
to hang those interiors high and right and not to slide[
down the lift shafts Pulpo heads in hand bellow
the dropping lift frets mostly
for how not the pus octo on the crash the most
famous successful male sex toy in the world
but what good is that wriggled itself to death
there in the blood
Y chromosome basin
somewhere overt the rainboat?
(they say eight legs walking over your eyes will cure it)
Pulpo, it ain't just about the slamming impact on the wharf
even now it is more than that, Pulpo
)you know Love best when you find it afterwards
just about twitching in starlight floating away(
LOL:WTF:LOL
.
after coitus a tentacled lovecraft that wriggles pink
wild panicked in the retreat it is sea purple that cannot speak
he disengages inked blue from his girlfriend
carries her to the red bathroom and turns her inside out
hangs her on the violet girlfriend armature to drain where
he watches the dirty stuff all disassembled start to live
start to cluster and squeal with multiple heads
vast echoes down the basin the waste the hollow halls
that fill with smoke and
in these spaces Pulpo comes to himself
in the wash in the froth
laughing to the elbows
he washes her out with warm water whereupon
careful to avoid oily soaps that could damage
her delicate tissue
he looks at her there in the basin rolled
inside out oh oh Pulpo what of you
now that your batgirl is
]inside out like Ed Gein like blue soldiers at Shuffling Lances
to hang those interiors high and right and not to slide[
down the lift shafts Pulpo heads in hand bellow
the dropping lift frets mostly
for how not the pus octo on the crash the most
famous successful male sex toy in the world
but what good is that wriggled itself to death
there in the blood
Y chromosome basin
somewhere overt the rainboat?
(they say eight legs walking over your eyes will cure it)
Pulpo, it ain't just about the slamming impact on the wharf
even now it is more than that, Pulpo
)you know Love best when you find it afterwards
just about twitching in starlight floating away(
LOL:WTF:LOL
.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
fat Mahdi with concubines in retreat
More Head spoke of a general Gordon who unspeared by running
the time back from Mahdis
to where they ran as ichor and afreets into the sand
the spear was a cold thing that schlupped out of his chest
into the arms of an unravelling young man dark and sweating
who rewound down the steps from the embassy
out into the desert where the words flew from his ears
into the mouth of the Mahdi black and whirling
who in another time would grow fat and apostate
but in this would fade in equal proportion
to the words that flew back in
with such diminishing and disempowering
that he shrank back even then into the far Afrique Interior
where he slowly ceased and shifted, silted and shut up
like a motorcycle a mammoth a monolith half buried in dunes
a skeleton laid across it
all its tools buried in the wind below
ribcage-deep lightfalls in the blow bells of hell
.
the time back from Mahdis
to where they ran as ichor and afreets into the sand
the spear was a cold thing that schlupped out of his chest
into the arms of an unravelling young man dark and sweating
who rewound down the steps from the embassy
out into the desert where the words flew from his ears
into the mouth of the Mahdi black and whirling
who in another time would grow fat and apostate
but in this would fade in equal proportion
to the words that flew back in
with such diminishing and disempowering
that he shrank back even then into the far Afrique Interior
where he slowly ceased and shifted, silted and shut up
like a motorcycle a mammoth a monolith half buried in dunes
a skeleton laid across it
all its tools buried in the wind below
ribcage-deep lightfalls in the blow bells of hell
.
the lights wink out
on the mountainside a dead channel suddenly opens
on the cracked radio
a thin human voice calls out
come back you say
through your broken legs
but it is gone and will not speak again
it is in moments of dread that we feel our gods
Vox AC30
Marshall Stack
Fender Twin
Orange
what could you want
you jellyfish of purple cold?
.
on the cracked radio
a thin human voice calls out
come back you say
through your broken legs
but it is gone and will not speak again
it is in moments of dread that we feel our gods
Vox AC30
Marshall Stack
Fender Twin
Orange
what could you want
you jellyfish of purple cold?
.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Jazz and the flying trapeze
Diana Krall suddenly became the synchronous other-end-arc
of a feedback loop when someone sent me a link from Italy
that could be closure and finality
the beginning of this is obscure and ragged
it is difficult to use it as information
her chords and melodies hammer and collide
throughout this.don't think they are not there.they are as birds
dropping in flight.clouds of ash flooding the troposphere.flowers with bent heads
but two references to the unknown in a few days
means everything and nothing
I think of my uncle in a Lancaster bomber in 1943
young as black rainfall
think of Modernism and high boots sheening out
think of Sinatra and McCoy Tyner
the thrash of those marches
lost children in parks of dream
the attempt to hold them, to stop time
I am clutching in the night for omens
drowning face down in a reflected moon
reaching for poems that are too far away, too deep, too soon
.
of a feedback loop when someone sent me a link from Italy
that could be closure and finality
the beginning of this is obscure and ragged
it is difficult to use it as information
her chords and melodies hammer and collide
throughout this.don't think they are not there.they are as birds
dropping in flight.clouds of ash flooding the troposphere.flowers with bent heads
but two references to the unknown in a few days
means everything and nothing
I think of my uncle in a Lancaster bomber in 1943
young as black rainfall
think of Modernism and high boots sheening out
think of Sinatra and McCoy Tyner
the thrash of those marches
lost children in parks of dream
the attempt to hold them, to stop time
I am clutching in the night for omens
drowning face down in a reflected moon
reaching for poems that are too far away, too deep, too soon
.
snowy fugues in 6/8 time
this inequality of purpose
creates a gyring motion out of which he spins
find himself out of shape, pressed flat, immobile
it is as though a car drives too fast
along a narrow country lane
and you are forced to squeeze yourself
against the hedge
it is as though you came into contact
with a form of energy of a different order
than your own
look into the eyes of someone
who has no interest
know again that your currency
has only marginal value here
that anything can not happen in this denatured tissue
something blew by
looked briefly in at the night window
then moved on full of its reflections
the people in the house stood at the window
for some time afterwards wondering
everything is still and dark and empty outside
whatever it was out there grows more distant
at every moment
in swoops across the fields
where the recent snow melts quickly
and is soon forgotten
.
creates a gyring motion out of which he spins
find himself out of shape, pressed flat, immobile
it is as though a car drives too fast
along a narrow country lane
and you are forced to squeeze yourself
against the hedge
it is as though you came into contact
with a form of energy of a different order
than your own
look into the eyes of someone
who has no interest
know again that your currency
has only marginal value here
that anything can not happen in this denatured tissue
something blew by
looked briefly in at the night window
then moved on full of its reflections
the people in the house stood at the window
for some time afterwards wondering
everything is still and dark and empty outside
whatever it was out there grows more distant
at every moment
in swoops across the fields
where the recent snow melts quickly
and is soon forgotten
.
Monday, January 03, 2011
in heaven before your head hits the wall
you have a gun to the head
of the Son of God
it is ten seconds before 0 AD and you are there
you are a laughing waterfall in this scene
that tumbles over rocks
dark-eyed and intense
but still inside
with that calm
of the high mountains
sunbeams swirl about you
everything is wild and full of omens
everything in this moment says yes
now, love-child, blow his brains
into wine-dark mist
.
of the Son of God
it is ten seconds before 0 AD and you are there
you are a laughing waterfall in this scene
that tumbles over rocks
dark-eyed and intense
but still inside
with that calm
of the high mountains
sunbeams swirl about you
everything is wild and full of omens
everything in this moment says yes
now, love-child, blow his brains
into wine-dark mist
.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Saturday, January 01, 2011
the carphouse of love of trees of bitching grassy teeth
we are all fucked up
but some of us are fucking back—Madeleine Shine
the parakeet killer in the treehouse
replete with love stirs himself
to finish the job a little tighter a little more
and this bitch will stop forever
out there the night the day the fields unfold
this love that bubbles up from the saproots below
well it sings and howls
we are having a family party fishing
around a tank adorned with blue and pink ribbons
when we catch one we slide it back in
watch it hang there big and stupid as a dead angel
sinking slow in the trauma and fog
I have forgotten myself again
I am far above the ground
in the treehouse where I first carved your love-teeth
.
but some of us are fucking back—Madeleine Shine
the parakeet killer in the treehouse
replete with love stirs himself
to finish the job a little tighter a little more
and this bitch will stop forever
out there the night the day the fields unfold
this love that bubbles up from the saproots below
well it sings and howls
we are having a family party fishing
around a tank adorned with blue and pink ribbons
when we catch one we slide it back in
watch it hang there big and stupid as a dead angel
sinking slow in the trauma and fog
I have forgotten myself again
I am far above the ground
in the treehouse where I first carved your love-teeth
.
Tarot electric disease
we are all in the gutter
but some of us are looking at two years—Stephen Fry
oh my memory has changed around this
it comes back as electric shocks and psychism
I am no longer unkind and can now feel love
up and down the horses dance in starlight
& etc cliché
memory and change together say stuff of reflexive therapy
and disaster
all that night that stood between us
this myth of the stolid farmer who stands by a hedge
looking
and then ashtrays overflowing
music that spills from the radio and crawls all over the floor
like a person whose madness suddenly encroached
uh uh
freak the night the night that keeps leaking
you and I eye to eye
oh I say oh
I can't help attacking you
like that we squirm together attacked and in love with weather
my hand on your breast casual as rabbits but with an edge
all dead now look through new telescopes
my voice has dropped an octave tonight
old man river river
into the flood I will fall
the killer at dawn shaking his shift
worries about crumbs and stains
the boy in the cloud writes of his father's huge shoes
begone stink of outer places
.
but some of us are looking at two years—Stephen Fry
oh my memory has changed around this
it comes back as electric shocks and psychism
I am no longer unkind and can now feel love
up and down the horses dance in starlight
& etc cliché
memory and change together say stuff of reflexive therapy
and disaster
all that night that stood between us
this myth of the stolid farmer who stands by a hedge
looking
and then ashtrays overflowing
music that spills from the radio and crawls all over the floor
like a person whose madness suddenly encroached
uh uh
freak the night the night that keeps leaking
you and I eye to eye
oh I say oh
I can't help attacking you
like that we squirm together attacked and in love with weather
my hand on your breast casual as rabbits but with an edge
all dead now look through new telescopes
my voice has dropped an octave tonight
old man river river
into the flood I will fall
the killer at dawn shaking his shift
worries about crumbs and stains
the boy in the cloud writes of his father's huge shoes
begone stink of outer places
.
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