brown or black zones, unstable of matrix or distillation
into the breath of bystanders, over many generations
Lysander at the Hellespont landing
at midnight
triangulated who knows they come running
in light all of it now in pieces on the floor to skate
like matches made in porcelain by mongrel disdain
went to see Sylvia's grave not stylish or cultic, but a kind
planting even of borage perhaps in symbology eek bees
which beo she approbeth in bear and wulf-honey
but anyway of a peace near the gothic reviv and the setts
unbrocked in gelato and quattrocento figures of rhet and stet
maraccas and whistles there were and a clapsed columnar
and in the writing a bullfinch at the glass looking, scratched
.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Anyone need this explaining?
"Socialism for the rich, free enterprise for the rest ..."—Milton Friedman.
.
.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Nocturne (2010/16)
imagine a journey on a ship
and the ship is on fire
okay forget that you are floating
on clouds and you are a Hindu god
in the bushes off to the left something
is waiting for you and you are about to die
what does 'datejust' mean?
a man on a ship humiliates himself
he leaps on the table while drunk
urinates in someone's soup
this an old time steamer between
Liverpool and New York (and your Mother)
gets on stage and this is not
a Graham Greene novel
Miles Davis is on this ship
when the man starts urinating
in his soup he reaches up with fingers
almost each a foot long takes him by the throat
pulls him down says listen
the man by now is too drunk does not listen
goes on to attack the captain is looking
for ice ought not to be assailed so
shows his buttocks to the ladies in cabin 339
laughing as he does it oh life on a ship oh
of all he sidles alongside the chaplain
has by now spotted the ice has no time to waste
hey you wanna do it he asks
not now not now says the chaplain
for ice, ice
morning the man remembers little
but signals come
by noon he knows enough
within him starts to die
good intentions fail he cannot
venture on deck apologise
to the other passengers
not that Miles wants an apology
Miles thinks he is a fuck and isn't interested today
in a fuck
while he rows through the bodies
the Purser's daughter's body was not violated
but the intentions had been clear enough
at 2 am when he approached her bed
with suggestions of Jazz
man doesn't know how to return from this
retires to his bunk
where he lies urinating in his own soup
buzzing like a kazoo
something has died in him from this events
would rather now he went down
whose lights are even now
I have fucked up again
so profoundly
that though the ship sinks
I will lie here and mime
for you just can't keep doing
this pissing in soup
not if you want
to stay in the group
Miles sculls soft
imagine him there blow
in the cold
nothing left
Carpathia hours later
ask
where's the president?
a great sea monster beneath
a monkey at the prow laugh its arse
oh the birth of Jazz on the frozen sea
little pixies in Elmo blue
drowning on all sides coughing as they go
you ever see someone drown they cough then go quiet
but I love you you know I do
keep your hands off
something went wrong
all over frozen wrong
don't pick me up
play on monkeyface, drown
.
and the ship is on fire
okay forget that you are floating
on clouds and you are a Hindu god
in the bushes off to the left something
is waiting for you and you are about to die
what does 'datejust' mean?
a man on a ship humiliates himself
he leaps on the table while drunk
urinates in someone's soup
this an old time steamer between
Liverpool and New York (and your Mother)
gets on stage and this is not
a Graham Greene novel
Miles Davis is on this ship
when the man starts urinating
in his soup he reaches up with fingers
almost each a foot long takes him by the throat
pulls him down says listen
the man by now is too drunk does not listen
goes on to attack the captain is looking
for ice ought not to be assailed so
shows his buttocks to the ladies in cabin 339
laughing as he does it oh life on a ship oh
of all he sidles alongside the chaplain
has by now spotted the ice has no time to waste
hey you wanna do it he asks
not now not now says the chaplain
for ice, ice
morning the man remembers little
but signals come
by noon he knows enough
within him starts to die
good intentions fail he cannot
venture on deck apologise
to the other passengers
not that Miles wants an apology
Miles thinks he is a fuck and isn't interested today
in a fuck
while he rows through the bodies
the Purser's daughter's body was not violated
but the intentions had been clear enough
at 2 am when he approached her bed
with suggestions of Jazz
man doesn't know how to return from this
retires to his bunk
where he lies urinating in his own soup
buzzing like a kazoo
something has died in him from this events
would rather now he went down
whose lights are even now
I have fucked up again
so profoundly
that though the ship sinks
I will lie here and mime
for you just can't keep doing
this pissing in soup
not if you want
to stay in the group
Miles sculls soft
imagine him there blow
in the cold
nothing left
Carpathia hours later
ask
where's the president?
a great sea monster beneath
a monkey at the prow laugh its arse
oh the birth of Jazz on the frozen sea
little pixies in Elmo blue
drowning on all sides coughing as they go
you ever see someone drown they cough then go quiet
but I love you you know I do
keep your hands off
something went wrong
all over frozen wrong
don't pick me up
play on monkeyface, drown
.
if like this, like this (2008)
hands in your hair
your hair your hair of olive wind
if language flowing outward
if filaments of memory if
everything here warm slow
wild and slow-wild if how you come to life
in my hands your hair flowing out
if all morning flowing out descending bright birds
our inside us calling long ago this moment keening
your contours your hachures your ascent
your planes your whirling Sufi gasp
if like this, like this
heartbeat and breath and hollow ground
and midnight morning and all day and dusk arcing between
blue spirit flames, radio crackling
and if along our hillsides
like this, like this, we start to collapse
fading red shadow of this our body
spray of night reeling out
[duende, red-black, in murmurs]
.
your hair your hair of olive wind
if language flowing outward
if filaments of memory if
everything here warm slow
wild and slow-wild if how you come to life
in my hands your hair flowing out
if all morning flowing out descending bright birds
our inside us calling long ago this moment keening
your contours your hachures your ascent
your planes your whirling Sufi gasp
if like this, like this
heartbeat and breath and hollow ground
and midnight morning and all day and dusk arcing between
blue spirit flames, radio crackling
and if along our hillsides
like this, like this, we start to collapse
fading red shadow of this our body
spray of night reeling out
[duende, red-black, in murmurs]
.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
This has been breaking my heart for about thirty years. Probably further back, before it existed, when it was just the book, and Winston and Julia in the cafe, broken, strangers to each other, all covenants shattered, strangers, lost, all meaning and love wiped away, reversed, rewritten as nothingness, as though it never happened, or worse. It was a nightmare when I first read it, and it is still.
Friday, May 20, 2016
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
where all is secret where all is forgotten
some vacated scene
on the distant hillside
a patch of grass
ringed in gorse
caught in slanted sunlight as
though forever
an island
inside the atoll
in the green breakers
some wreck heaves, caught
as by lanterns
(in sunlight
only dull hares now stir
the brightness)
in this place, at this distance:
stunned, clustered in sunlight
slanted for a moment, muted
looking out
all else gone
warm silence
uncertain loss
.
on the distant hillside
a patch of grass
ringed in gorse
caught in slanted sunlight as
though forever
an island
inside the atoll
in the green breakers
some wreck heaves, caught
as by lanterns
(in sunlight
only dull hares now stir
the brightness)
in this place, at this distance:
stunned, clustered in sunlight
slanted for a moment, muted
looking out
all else gone
warm silence
uncertain loss
.
Monday, May 09, 2016
Sunday, May 08, 2016
Friday, May 06, 2016
"like the deserts miss the rain"
all the things I never said
or did
all those words, all those places
all those futures
just dropped into a vast hole
and are still falling
my bundle of rags
a still-living thing
within, falling
Google Earth shows this scene from above
a great black well, stone-rimmed, at the equator
at the very mid-point of the Earth
a cry uplifting like a ghost
reaching out
a long shadow walking from it
never now to return
the screen is shaky, uncertain
then resolved
these are things of which
it can now never speak or think again
.
or did
all those words, all those places
all those futures
just dropped into a vast hole
and are still falling
my bundle of rags
a still-living thing
within, falling
Google Earth shows this scene from above
a great black well, stone-rimmed, at the equator
at the very mid-point of the Earth
a cry uplifting like a ghost
reaching out
a long shadow walking from it
never now to return
the screen is shaky, uncertain
then resolved
these are things of which
it can now never speak or think again
.
Wednesday, May 04, 2016
Tuesday, May 03, 2016
I should have been a pair of ragged claws...
'... a pair of ragged claws' is not synecdoche. Eliot means exactly what his metaphor says, and he doesn't need endless unimaginative critics second-guessing him and thinking, rather ludicrously, that really he means a crab. He says 'claws' because he means claws. He means disembodied claws, grasping, only able to grasp, unable to engage further, freed from the responsibility of engagement, lost in a silent world, picking over morsels, ideas, abstractions, detached from the world of people coming and going and judging, just pure apprehension freed from anxiety, freed from the slow death and banality of rooms and functions and society and coffee spoons. And yet infinitely sad in his loss of it.
And yet not sad, because claws by themselves cannot be sad. The sadness is Eliot's projection onto that abstract world, and expresses the impossible dichotomy of at once being wholly disembodied and free, yet still—from without—knowing the loss inherent in such a state.
A partial allusion in 'ragged claws' is to the compasses or dividers in Blake's watercolour of Isaac Newton. They are also claws, and they represent again this detachment from the outer world. Newton's focus is entirely upon his realm of signifiers, perceiving through his 'claws,' oblivious to the silent, inhuman submarine-scape that now surrounds him and isolates him, in consequence of such determined abstraction.
Eliot at once embraces such a possibility, yet still shrinks from it, as does Blake, whose painting foregrounds the unnatural state required for Newton's fixation. Both of them regard it as something near to oblivion. Blackness with only one tiny chink of light permitted to enter, like the room in which Newton performed his experiments with prisms and refraction. One tiny bead of light, but such brilliant light to force the moment to its crisis, to admit the drama and urgency of a new level of human understanding... But oh, what darkness surrounding it... What sort of life is that?
There may be no such brilliance in the rooms, the tea, the ices, and the deathly, ticking coffee spoons, but they are the stuff of human life and—perhaps unlike the inhuman Newton—Eliot knows he cannot, ultimately, abandon them for the 'floors of silent seas.' His moment has passed; he was too fearful, and the eternal footman knows it. And consequently snickers.
(Hermeneutics: actually, there are three possible places in this complex: the claws, the crisis, and the rooms. He wants to force the crisis, but is intimidated by the rooms. He thinks resignedly, wistfully, of the claws, relinquishes the crisis, accepts the rooms. The claws will remain as latent potency and denial in his secondary levels of expression in the rooms, never to be realised, but a source of intellectual/emotional wishful thinking/refuge.)
.
And yet not sad, because claws by themselves cannot be sad. The sadness is Eliot's projection onto that abstract world, and expresses the impossible dichotomy of at once being wholly disembodied and free, yet still—from without—knowing the loss inherent in such a state.
A partial allusion in 'ragged claws' is to the compasses or dividers in Blake's watercolour of Isaac Newton. They are also claws, and they represent again this detachment from the outer world. Newton's focus is entirely upon his realm of signifiers, perceiving through his 'claws,' oblivious to the silent, inhuman submarine-scape that now surrounds him and isolates him, in consequence of such determined abstraction.
Eliot at once embraces such a possibility, yet still shrinks from it, as does Blake, whose painting foregrounds the unnatural state required for Newton's fixation. Both of them regard it as something near to oblivion. Blackness with only one tiny chink of light permitted to enter, like the room in which Newton performed his experiments with prisms and refraction. One tiny bead of light, but such brilliant light to force the moment to its crisis, to admit the drama and urgency of a new level of human understanding... But oh, what darkness surrounding it... What sort of life is that?
There may be no such brilliance in the rooms, the tea, the ices, and the deathly, ticking coffee spoons, but they are the stuff of human life and—perhaps unlike the inhuman Newton—Eliot knows he cannot, ultimately, abandon them for the 'floors of silent seas.' His moment has passed; he was too fearful, and the eternal footman knows it. And consequently snickers.
(Hermeneutics: actually, there are three possible places in this complex: the claws, the crisis, and the rooms. He wants to force the crisis, but is intimidated by the rooms. He thinks resignedly, wistfully, of the claws, relinquishes the crisis, accepts the rooms. The claws will remain as latent potency and denial in his secondary levels of expression in the rooms, never to be realised, but a source of intellectual/emotional wishful thinking/refuge.)
.
Monday, May 02, 2016
W (a blessing)
ᚹ Ƿenne bruceþ, ðe can ƿeana lyt
sares and sorge and him sylfa hæf
blæd and blysse and eac byrga geniht.
.
sares and sorge and him sylfa hæf
blæd and blysse and eac byrga geniht.
.
"To fight to save these fragments, when our own civilisation is in ruins around us, is to make a statement of faith in the achievements of Humankind, however small"
—Michael Wood, on the preservation of the finds from Hissarlik (Troy) at the Charlottenburg Museum during the allied bombing raids of WW2.
—Michael Wood, on the preservation of the finds from Hissarlik (Troy) at the Charlottenburg Museum during the allied bombing raids of WW2.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Simon Perchik...
Currently reviewing 'The D Poems,' a book of 183 (!) sort-of-ekphrastic poems by Simon Perchik, for the Triggerfish Critical Review. Hoping to interview him too if he's available. Watch this (or rather that) space... Will post links here.
.
.
Samboo's grave at Sunderland Point (revisited)
I knew I was right to leave
my washing out all this time
in the rain and snow
like a miracle
the sun just came out
now a gentle breeze doth blow
.
my washing out all this time
in the rain and snow
like a miracle
the sun just came out
now a gentle breeze doth blow
.
Friday, April 29, 2016
"... and of those tenne, one doth signifie nothing, which is made like an O, and is privately called a Cypher.” (Robert Recorde, The Grounde of Arte, 1543)
"now thou art an O / without a figure. I am better than thou art now. I / am a Fool, thou art nothing" (Shakespeare, King Lear, 1605/6)
"Nothing can come of nothing" (Socrates)
"Nothing will come of nothing" (Shakespeare, King Lear)
.
"now thou art an O / without a figure. I am better than thou art now. I / am a Fool, thou art nothing" (Shakespeare, King Lear, 1605/6)
"Nothing can come of nothing" (Socrates)
"Nothing will come of nothing" (Shakespeare, King Lear)
.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Saturday, April 23, 2016
Thursday, April 21, 2016
The Doherty Threshold
Damned American rhotacism: I just misheard "hit the Doherty Threshold" as "hit the Dorrity threshold," and assumed someone had tripped on a Dickensian doorstep into some tragic and sooty apotheosis.
.
.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Must-watch TV ...
This is about the most disturbing and addictive thing I've watched for some time:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Americans_(2013_TV_series)
I wanted to be a spy before I saw this, but now I think it's probably incompatible with credible parenthood.
More seriously, it reminded me of how we are all running cover stories and living double lives all the time, mostly beyond our recognition. Other things than ourselves drive us, and we don't usually operate with our own voices, whatever they are, assuming they exist... Perhaps there is a way to discover them, but generally we are already given over to some monstrous, overriding agenda before we even become aware of ourselves and start gasping about it. It's not really me speaking, and it's not really you responding; the entities engaged in what Bakhtin calls a 'dialogue' here are others, positioned further back, instilled through pain and urgency. They are survival functions and responses to the imposed scripts of others, often to others whose scripts we would least wish to internalise.
Watch this weird series with some self-reflection to feel the deep dislocation of yourself, and perhaps to recognise that really, however clichéd, the best shot we may ever have at decoding our own hermeneutics might just be to accept some versions of our ancient, most primitive narratives of love. Already that concept backs itself up into philosophical emetics, of course, but keep following the wheel, and just perhaps us humans really don't have much else with which to calibrate our compasses. Or we just keep recycling the same self-deceptions forever. It feels like the drive to address Global Warming: even if the entire theory was wrong, it would still be the right thing to do...
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Americans_(2013_TV_series)
I wanted to be a spy before I saw this, but now I think it's probably incompatible with credible parenthood.
More seriously, it reminded me of how we are all running cover stories and living double lives all the time, mostly beyond our recognition. Other things than ourselves drive us, and we don't usually operate with our own voices, whatever they are, assuming they exist... Perhaps there is a way to discover them, but generally we are already given over to some monstrous, overriding agenda before we even become aware of ourselves and start gasping about it. It's not really me speaking, and it's not really you responding; the entities engaged in what Bakhtin calls a 'dialogue' here are others, positioned further back, instilled through pain and urgency. They are survival functions and responses to the imposed scripts of others, often to others whose scripts we would least wish to internalise.
Watch this weird series with some self-reflection to feel the deep dislocation of yourself, and perhaps to recognise that really, however clichéd, the best shot we may ever have at decoding our own hermeneutics might just be to accept some versions of our ancient, most primitive narratives of love. Already that concept backs itself up into philosophical emetics, of course, but keep following the wheel, and just perhaps us humans really don't have much else with which to calibrate our compasses. Or we just keep recycling the same self-deceptions forever. It feels like the drive to address Global Warming: even if the entire theory was wrong, it would still be the right thing to do...
the night's travel (2009)
in and now out the same door
like all knives whirling
our utter politics in collisions
of limestone pavements
across all this she travailed
with sepia sandbags
of County Clare
all sailroads to traverse
and only 8 O-clock
by the whale's chime
this big hand by the night's wild travel
points to 12
the little hand
flickers and stops
iris of heart attack hope
—love of small things
and wild places
be certain now be sure
it's that time
in between
where the hands don't count
it's okay to be scared here
to lie down and breathe
to lie a little
before waking
(Published in PoetrySZ 2009)
.
like all knives whirling
our utter politics in collisions
of limestone pavements
across all this she travailed
with sepia sandbags
of County Clare
all sailroads to traverse
and only 8 O-clock
by the whale's chime
this big hand by the night's wild travel
points to 12
the little hand
flickers and stops
iris of heart attack hope
—love of small things
and wild places
be certain now be sure
it's that time
in between
where the hands don't count
it's okay to be scared here
to lie down and breathe
to lie a little
before waking
(Published in PoetrySZ 2009)
.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
sex squalls
the TV people always have sex rapidly
without foreplay, sweeping the papers
off desks, breaking things, tearing
clothing, thrusting against walls. grunt
they say and uh uh, then gone. i guess
they want it over quick, the TV people
with everyone watching. i would too.
.
without foreplay, sweeping the papers
off desks, breaking things, tearing
clothing, thrusting against walls. grunt
they say and uh uh, then gone. i guess
they want it over quick, the TV people
with everyone watching. i would too.
.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Alice Aforethought
a little tremor shook the house
and all she had ever written
meant something slightly new
but before she could even wonder
if the words might all change back
her eyes were adjusting too ...
.
and all she had ever written
meant something slightly new
but before she could even wonder
if the words might all change back
her eyes were adjusting too ...
.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Saturday, April 09, 2016
Thursday, April 07, 2016
Wednesday, April 06, 2016
just a-walking in the rain
sorry about the timing
;this isn't my fucking clock—Madeleine Shine
this Papua New Guinean thing of wearing
the thighbone of one's grandfather
I embrace the concept even for more recent ancestors
though one might usefully hasten the moment
of availability
.
;this isn't my fucking clock—Madeleine Shine
this Papua New Guinean thing of wearing
the thighbone of one's grandfather
I embrace the concept even for more recent ancestors
though one might usefully hasten the moment
of availability
.
Monday, March 21, 2016
battue at easter riff
On this matter, the oracle of which your contributor
is the prophet has never yet been prevailed on to declare itself
—JS Mill
Also, ð and Ð (eth)
[can a plane on a conveyor belt take off?]
_,,,
_/::o・ｧ ..................... _,,,
_/::o・ｧ
∈ミ;;;ﾉ,ﾉ
∈ミ;;;ﾉ,ﾉ
the ochre mask of the heath fire a colonial subtext
shamanism in the word deceit a managed landscape
enough in this to occupy
(can a plane on the ground
lower its landing gear?)
(Left: House Sparrow hatchling (altricial-naked, blind and helpless on hatching).
Right: Ruffed Grouse hatchling (precocial 3-downy, open-eyed, mobile on hatching,
follows parents and is shown food)).
each thing in its place presenting/obscuring the other thing
we are walking/passing along a corridor
leading to everywhere stop anywhere
"alight here for the rest of the world"—KWVR
the old man in the palace trying to find
the old man in the palace trying
each door in turn
(him there astonished six years-old
with his feet in the mud. .all around him are
red grouse erupting like springs)
poisoned vultures rising in gyres until falling back
into the story running towards you the funicular
rail of it stop look the funicular door of the running
in the mud the broken
spring whirring silent as disturbed birds
.
each thing in its place presenting/obscuring the other thing
we are walking/passing along a corridor
leading to everywhere stop anywhere
"alight here for the rest of the world"—KWVR
the old man in the palace trying to find
the old man in the palace trying
each door in turn
forever
this could take
and like birds in the battue
you come sweeping low
across the moor
towards
(him there astonished six years-old
with his feet in the mud. .all around him are
red grouse erupting like springs)
poisoned vultures rising in gyres until falling back
into the story running towards you the funicular
rail of it stop look the funicular door of the running
in the mud the broken
spring whirring silent as disturbed birds
((falling lead))
.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Monday, March 07, 2016
fond numbskulls of the Gregorian sashay
... not a word!—Madeleine Shine
... to the whys—Derrida (or another)
....................this text:txet siht
(boy) leans over 'is Jack Black?
that (old now) (how) (old) do you (exc')
as old as he looks-or-as-old-as /he is/
as old as he is meant [to look in this [Au]
as-old-as-he-seems- to-you\/ from a generation
((yawning back his/(my) sorrow))at this *gulfing* back—
back . time . lamp . black . this stretches pain yawns
(yaws) back and back-er (why, somnolent) (chasms) of-the-skull
as a cockencroach top-eero-utsi-de (it the sci-fi genus venus)
through some s-i-d-e-h-o-l-e to see O mere "to see what ...
—thereof and of the flit and flitmost the skull (skirl here)
to see what (to-be-borne) so (.frit he is and all afear)—
... Blackjack be" (nothing—slouches ho!—
(is to -be- done about any of it)
in the thing he awakes (don't s(t)(r)(op)(h)(e) it ('me') [now]
exactly not that ...
(the movie
the (picture plane)(the) screen is of course all-screaming-woman
onto which a film of)
"and the irrecoverable (open mid-back rounded)
sickness of what he just said"
—everyonesaysthis.org
.
... to the whys—Derrida (or another)
....................this text:txet siht
(boy) leans over 'is Jack Black?
that (old now) (how) (old) do you (exc')
as old as he looks-or-as-old-as /he is/
as old as he is meant [to look in this [Au]
as-old-as-he-seems- to-you\/ from a generation
((yawning back his/(my) sorrow))at this *gulfing* back—
back . time . lamp . black . this stretches pain yawns
(yaws) back and back-er (why, somnolent) (chasms) of-the-skull
—more of here the jug-jug bird—
a prophetess of course in sibilants sussurates as
'SO' a man awakes in there a man who sleeps
afraid he-will-wake-no-more awakes yawingas a cockencroach top-eero-utsi-de (it the sci-fi genus venus)
through some s-i-d-e-h-o-l-e to see O mere "to see what ...
—thereof and of the flit and flitmost the skull (skirl here)
to see what (to-be-borne) so (.frit he is and all afear)—
... Blackjack be" (nothing—slouches ho!—
(is to -be- done about any of it)
in the thing he awakes (don't s(t)(r)(op)(h)(e) it ('me') [now]
exactly not that ...
(the movie
the (picture plane)(the) screen is of course all-screaming-woman
onto which a film of)
"and the irrecoverable (open mid-back rounded)
sickness of what he just said"
—everyonesaysthis.org
.
Saturday, March 05, 2016
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Sunday, February 21, 2016
the Beaker People
lumps of sandstone at dusk's
hunch
of ancestry at the littoral
of day/night the wash where the half
makes way to the deeper the deepen
the ground that *is/is/not* un/ground
askance to discern silhouettes
of what moves
as tides to deposit drift
from the pelagic the benthos (slick
and(
the creep and /erratic/
flowers, say, dead, in the dead—
hands of a mariner.hands.dead.off.of
again look (what is) the offshore ground
its lurks (and attack). reared
as eggs of the deeper cast—off
in such tempest hove to hove
,
hunch
of ancestry at the littoral
of day/night the wash where the half
makes way to the deeper the deepen
the ground that *is/is/not* un/ground
askance to discern silhouettes
of what moves
as tides to deposit drift
from the pelagic the benthos (slick
and(
the creep and /erratic/
flowers, say, dead, in the dead—
hands of a mariner.hands.dead.off.of
again look (what is) the offshore ground
its lurks (and attack). reared
as eggs of the deeper cast—off
in such tempest hove to hove
,
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Yorvik
in Yorvik are some coprolites
rich in intestinal mites
set like stony stalactites
sit these historic Viking shites
.
rich in intestinal mites
set like stony stalactites
sit these historic Viking shites
.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Language Acquisition Limerick
our foremost most urgent volition
is the host language acquisition
there's no test for device
but young zest will suffice
to boast this proficient munition
.
is the host language acquisition
there's no test for device
but young zest will suffice
to boast this proficient munition
.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
the third person
Come on, baby, do the low commotion—Alice Aforethought
she doesn't say
take (James Brown, say)
"it is a channel a fuzing [glass] in which the newborn
swell (8) alchemic (such commotion in the materia
is by and large) (you don't say)" O take it O take it to ...
we are trying to speak but they won't hear
from afar we are trying to speak—
cable-stayed, clappered, cantilevered,
the pontoon and moon of a goose's neck o'erreached
(1 Across: ancient archbishop comes as a wrench?
—eek the whiplash curve of dispatches, communiqué—
(in which a both ways flux it hangs between
as potency and potential forth and back both
ways they are talking as mist in the talking glass
shapes that arise one upon another)
now take matters into your own s/pan
between us a co-motion an interflow that is the place
where we must look)(the hole in the sky)
the airbridge across which [a secret] terror passes
(puntus and pontifex and the Etruscan blank
sacred waters, confluence [mytholm] rising
to emit you—of sighs and foaming size
(such a dazzle and swirl I thought upon me)
(such the topography of the converse
streaks they were)
(such streaks that fell slow as wartime)
....................(cloud)(static)(cloud-)
chamber between us, speak (your desire)
...............................of fear
(life) stasis in this
our most honest
engine
.
she doesn't say
take (James Brown, say)
"it is a channel a fuzing [glass] in which the newborn
swell (8) alchemic (such commotion in the materia
is by and large) (you don't say)" O take it O take it to ...
we are trying to speak but they won't hear
from afar we are trying to speak—
cable-stayed, clappered, cantilevered,
the pontoon and moon of a goose's neck o'erreached
(1 Across: ancient archbishop comes as a wrench?
—eek the whiplash curve of dispatches, communiqué—
(in which a both ways flux it hangs between
as potency and potential forth and back both
ways they are talking as mist in the talking glass
shapes that arise one upon another)
now take matters into your own s/pan
between us a co-motion an interflow that is the place
where we must look)(the hole in the sky)
the airbridge across which [a secret] terror passes
(puntus and pontifex and the Etruscan blank
sacred waters, confluence [mytholm] rising
to emit you—of sighs and foaming size
(such a dazzle and swirl I thought upon me)
(such the topography of the converse
streaks they were)
(such streaks that fell slow as wartime)
....................(cloud)(static)(cloud-)
chamber between us, speak (your desire)
...............................of fear
(life) stasis in this
our most honest
engine
.
Saturday, February 06, 2016
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Dmitri's secret dissent in the parrot axis (impetrarc sonnet)
(to his loving wraith, Suliko ...)
whether (it) were (Shostakovich) in the mind
of the Leningrad metronome—the dead
resistant pulse of a city ... life-lined,
thin, hollow—(was) the subsistent onward /z/ed
of a living corpse propagandized into legend
.("... Baby, Zed's dead"—Pulp Fiction) end (war) to end
all (beat); the rat-walk; the invasion themed
(water or feet) or scurry—(for all) immanentizing of despair
a (-) semic shift—Stalin's Walk perhaps re-dreamed
by Pixar—[¿memed?] resistance en plein air
.....(not) .........his polysemics on display for all (to see)
—at home he pulses with the secrecy
they'll never even know (how hard)—their fall (or call)
he feels with music, pride and secret glee
.
Monday, January 25, 2016
primus inter pares as pathology
all that big stuff she says how showy how
now too big for poetry keep it undramatic no
big words no climactics or adornings resist meaning
interest and the urge to didacticism for it
as though some pidgin yes how lookee
we are pre-creole in our perhaps trinket-junkets
shattered and bereft along like foam the beaches of Marseilles
and Syracuse and new fabrics like lollipop martyrs
in ruinated Leptis what history a lens to examine the fall of light
between future reflection and here the passing
breaking wave a waking flood-node origo a pulse or what a period what of we
think how these junglee ferals of apertures
close and how there will have been
have been the age of smoking the age of cancers
the age of a primus inter pares affect when
the default script of even the most peaceful
.....................war
handed down with the carnivorism the hero-complex
that you are not striking
.......................in appearance she will say later
having left the other now little more than a bag
carried off and this the children so cruel learning
of her complaint made fun carrier bag his wrist
a smoothless clunk and click of the unlubricated
she all abdomen as all wilted balloon shrinking
back to a little puff in which all of future immanence
of origo-bang therein uncontained in joy at this aging so
granted immoderacy and eccentre by her position
in time will now frolic as never before
settling in her own sand
become like Billie
all finally
mouth
.
.
now too big for poetry keep it undramatic no
big words no climactics or adornings resist meaning
interest and the urge to didacticism for it
as though some pidgin yes how lookee
we are pre-creole in our perhaps trinket-junkets
shattered and bereft along like foam the beaches of Marseilles
and Syracuse and new fabrics like lollipop martyrs
in ruinated Leptis what history a lens to examine the fall of light
between future reflection and here the passing
breaking wave a waking flood-node origo a pulse or what a period what of we
think how these junglee ferals of apertures
close and how there will have been
have been the age of smoking the age of cancers
the age of a primus inter pares affect when
the default script of even the most peaceful
.....................war
handed down with the carnivorism the hero-complex
that you are not striking
.......................in appearance she will say later
having left the other now little more than a bag
carried off and this the children so cruel learning
of her complaint made fun carrier bag his wrist
a smoothless clunk and click of the unlubricated
she all abdomen as all wilted balloon shrinking
back to a little puff in which all of future immanence
of origo-bang therein uncontained in joy at this aging so
granted immoderacy and eccentre by her position
in time will now frolic as never before
settling in her own sand
become like Billie
all finally
mouth
.
.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Thursday, January 14, 2016
articles of a pantomime ghazal at this odeon near you
the anxiety of breathing under conscious(....)
control-the-tiny-filament that0separates
the animal in the brush from sunlight
—neither-no-hiatus-nor-no-diphthong—
[will do it for us now][death also autonomic]
scattering the focus the you the I the in
between penumbra of persistence only
the will and the wight who is that who
)echoic) O
will/s not and yet waits
sand is to glass, un-echo
.
control-the-tiny-filament that0separates
the animal in the brush from sunlight
—neither-no-hiatus-nor-no-diphthong—
[will do it for us now][death also autonomic]
scattering the focus the you the I the in
between penumbra of persistence only
the will and the wight who is that who
)echoic) O
will/s not and yet waits
sand is to glass, un-echo
.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Monday, December 28, 2015
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
three and a half seconds of pure light (a poem for the Time Being)
unlike the whip-pan, which is used to rip the viewer
into a tangential reality, the dead-pan uses a melting rack-focus
to engage the death-posture of the character onscreen
—Madeleine Shine
1. (he sees himself laying onward
in the rain stone
after stone
into the mist towards a horizon
which will not be known
this the Zen-pan or stone-pan)
2. the boy the silhouette only of the boy
the long-dead seen from behind
hobbles along the alleyway
leaving his merest forensics barely
stroked into silver emulsion
3. another who reaches the vanishing point
who leaves nothing
—undiscoverable archaeology
of light
a creature of soft parts only
who dances but will not keep
who leaves no fossil for the reliquary
4. where at the table the hands work in shards
—of flint, itself fossil, compression,
the metamorphic dead—
knappings, rebuild in three dimensions
the stone jigsaws—each when finished
yet incomplete—brooding an inner hollow
where something was once eased forth
now only a void, a lost core felt
as disturbance
of the night air but nothing
when we stir
only nothing
lost there
in all our rolling fingers of dream
(2009)
(2009)
.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
le dormeur du val: an inflected cyborg translation of Rimbaud for Remembrance Sunday 2008
it is a hole of greenery where a river sings
hanging madly to grasses
................................tatters of money
......................where sun of the proud mountain shone
it is a small valley which foams of rays a young soldier
stops open, naked head, and the nape
bathes in cool blue cresses
....................sleep it is wide in grass, under the naked one
pale in its green bed where the light rains the feet
...................................in the gladeoli, it sleeps smiling
as would smile a sick child, it makes a nap Nature
.......................rocks it warmly: it is cold
the perfumes do not make any more shiver
..........................its nostril; It sleeps in the sun
.......................the hand on its tranquille chest
two red holes on the right
(Translated by Steve Parker 2008)
.
................................tatters of money
......................where sun of the proud mountain shone
it is a small valley which foams of rays a young soldier
stops open, naked head, and the nape
bathes in cool blue cresses
....................sleep it is wide in grass, under the naked one
pale in its green bed where the light rains the feet
...................................in the gladeoli, it sleeps smiling
as would smile a sick child, it makes a nap Nature
.......................rocks it warmly: it is cold
the perfumes do not make any more shiver
..........................its nostril; It sleeps in the sun
.......................the hand on its tranquille chest
two red holes on the right
(Translated by Steve Parker 2008)
.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Wednesday, December 09, 2015
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
payment protocol (lacuna)
make a hole in the self-text
into which (which?) fluid
a lake to fill the lack
which yourself luna-like
from below-above one
(second of the all-poem)—you
,you
.
into which (which?) fluid
a lake to fill the lack
which yourself luna-like
from below-above one
(second of the all-poem)—you
,you
.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
if so how (Cézanne of Green Fables) ]now you're for it/
Don't throw the dog—Tibetan Buddhist monk
from Drepung monastery (speaking to Tashi Tsering,
alleged four year-old reincarnation
of the deceased high lama, Khensur Rinpoche. 1991)
... rich oil and wine into the earth slap—Aeschylus
For the love of God, have pity on yourself—Bob Dylan
(in sacrifice: S-A-C-C-A-D-E—3: Callas the elf,
2: Cézanne the woodcutter ... 1:
)
(add fool to the fire) fairies parallel in the offing the day
the music died 23/10 the day on which
there are fairies/fairies in the offing look how
if ever so how then not so how the distance
closes in light in light's rush (inlight he names the third
brush with the law names he the second in outlight
fury of love, his father-(died harmony)-in the off and only—what
I want to use by you says (he) died of harmony only for it
—for it is a spirit smell not given—
eighty-four days in the outwrites all over
its assay on Cézanne, paracelebrant
and vocative I, O, think that—may have been the south pole
or dipole but this
............................in your face it is now at moments after
it (what) is spring either that May not floruits its rill-
-its koanica not its the first he names
(the conscience of the town ... the ditch of truth
—Victor Hugo)
and then he knew ...
......................that was [not] where he was going—
(Hemingway/Burroughs)
.
from Drepung monastery (speaking to Tashi Tsering,
alleged four year-old reincarnation
of the deceased high lama, Khensur Rinpoche. 1991)
... rich oil and wine into the earth slap—Aeschylus
For the love of God, have pity on yourself—Bob Dylan
(in sacrifice: S-A-C-C-A-D-E—3: Callas the elf,
2: Cézanne the woodcutter ... 1:
)
(add fool to the fire) fairies parallel in the offing the day
the music died 23/10 the day on which
there are fairies/fairies in the offing look how
if ever so how then not so how the distance
closes in light in light's rush (inlight he names the third
brush with the law names he the second in outlight
fury of love, his father-(died harmony)-in the off and only—what
I want to use by you says (he) died of harmony only for it
—for it is a spirit smell not given—
eighty-four days in the outwrites all over
its assay on Cézanne, paracelebrant
and vocative I, O, think that—may have been the south pole
or dipole but this
............................in your face it is now at moments after
it (what) is spring either that May not floruits its rill-
-its koanica not its the first he names
(the conscience of the town ... the ditch of truth
—Victor Hugo)
and then he knew ...
......................that was [not] where he was going—
(Hemingway/Burroughs)
.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
older by an idiot (Immaterial Culture) (unfinished otherwise overfinished)(high, heeled posture and bearing)
In September 2006, the U.S. government announced
it had moved Mohammed—Wikipedia
[seemingly its entire being in lordus though its vocal response so monomoraic as to appear pulse or spike of the silence which surrounded it than any genuine phonology merely a swell or gathering in of the tacit a rousing almost but not quite a wakening into true utterance]
—the second sunday in june 1144 the first dedication of the arch gothic—
(2015, 9/11: 111 people killed when a crawler crane collapses in Mecca during preparations for the Hajj
an inquiry is ordered, presumably into the mysteries of predestiny and the mind of Allah.urgent also numerology)
{In 1912 a group of women calling itself the Heterodoxy begins to convene a Feminist luncheon symposium (one supposes) this association for unorthodox women includes prominent lesbians and will meet regularly in Greenwich Village until the 1940s]
—oh this antipodean retroussé of the language oh it I will not have?¿albeits pointing up of the question innate to every word—'for'
(Every animal is sad after coitus except the human female and the rooster—Galen)
instance the Nazi side-co-opting of astika and nastika
(oh god I want to hide—my side issues—in the useful penumbra of yours ...)
(my side issues forth(in and of itself)In and Of
there are messages come through at long the needle
flickering (ectogasm)
forms around the mouth of the silent --------- between us now declared
older by an idiot
gentlemen, a mystery has been committed—The Goons
in bowls of unspoiled human juice
is that you whose presence so frightful
vague in the evenings in the autumn is that you (who does he mean-
spirited are they both and full of sire
who does he?
who does he imagine how that turns
her vocalization her rhotacism her R-marinaded vowels
revealing a febrile eek tenuous wheel upon the air as one
mid-splutter after a breathing (a wreathing) of smokewater
boarded 183 times (gave up not the goods)
put to T h e Q u e s t i o n
(snakes
,,,,,,,,,,,,,the
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,way
..........................and long)
.
it had moved Mohammed—Wikipedia
[seemingly its entire being in lordus though its vocal response so monomoraic as to appear pulse or spike of the silence which surrounded it than any genuine phonology merely a swell or gathering in of the tacit a rousing almost but not quite a wakening into true utterance]
—the second sunday in june 1144 the first dedication of the arch gothic—
(2015, 9/11: 111 people killed when a crawler crane collapses in Mecca during preparations for the Hajj
an inquiry is ordered, presumably into the mysteries of predestiny and the mind of Allah.urgent also numerology)
{In 1912 a group of women calling itself the Heterodoxy begins to convene a Feminist luncheon symposium (one supposes) this association for unorthodox women includes prominent lesbians and will meet regularly in Greenwich Village until the 1940s]
—oh this antipodean retroussé of the language oh it I will not have?¿albeits pointing up of the question innate to every word—'for'
(Every animal is sad after coitus except the human female and the rooster—Galen)
instance the Nazi side-co-opting of astika and nastika
(oh god I want to hide—my side issues—in the useful penumbra of yours ...)
(my side issues forth(in and of itself)In and Of
there are messages come through at long the needle
flickering (ectogasm)
forms around the mouth of the silent --------- between us now declared
older by an idiot
gentlemen, a mystery has been committed—The Goons
in bowls of unspoiled human juice
is that you whose presence so frightful
vague in the evenings in the autumn is that you (who does he mean-
spirited are they both and full of sire
who does he?
who does he imagine how that turns
her vocalization her rhotacism her R-marinaded vowels
revealing a febrile eek tenuous wheel upon the air as one
mid-splutter after a breathing (a wreathing) of smokewater
boarded 183 times (gave up not the goods)
put to T h e Q u e s t i o n
(snakes
,,,,,,,,,,,,,the
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,way
..........................and long)
.
Tuesday, October 06, 2015
Sunday, October 04, 2015
Saturday, October 03, 2015
Friday, October 02, 2015
/ˈmæs.ə.kə(ɹ)/ of the lullababy (work in digress)
this dyad is found deep—Wikipedia
so I says says I—Ireland
that even those who assert that everything
is predestined ... look both ways
before they cross the street—Stephen Hawking
from the pictures it looks
—animals in other language [a look of]
animate of dysnumber
dogs in/of the farflung
frequentative of barbarossa .......................babararian
such ack specialist ack Greek Heterodox ach diet so axo saxo
Fama romance-god of rumour thereby war and the war-floor
and of and unto and the saline
—with the SER and HIS residues required to form—
of the hedgegrows and hedgegogs then
are we—rossa.rosa.eschscholzia
rooted deep through viral floors
of Tom All Alone's
in its very rooking of us we stand parled (parled)
linebroken as dyads.]states the interstitiate]
also “the head of a newly killed stag”
the promiscuous slaughter of many who can
/ˈmæs.ə.kə(ɹ)/ O schwaaaaa
(obsolete) Murder—Gothic-vocative 𐌼𐌰𐌹𐍄𐌰𐌽
(the unidentified in all space exerted
by the unreadable cumulative
of the unbigenough for measure
-for)—mezhaphor-
-O lullababa no
.
so I says says I—Ireland
that even those who assert that everything
is predestined ... look both ways
before they cross the street—Stephen Hawking
from the pictures it looks
—animals in other language [a look of]
animate of dysnumber
dogs in/of the farflung
frequentative of barbarossa .......................babararian
such ack specialist ack Greek Heterodox ach diet so axo saxo
Fama romance-god of rumour thereby war and the war-floor
and of and unto and the saline
—with the SER and HIS residues required to form—
of the hedgegrows and hedgegogs then
are we—rossa.rosa.eschscholzia
rooted deep through viral floors
of Tom All Alone's
in its very rooking of us we stand parled (parled)
linebroken as dyads.]states the interstitiate]
also “the head of a newly killed stag”
the promiscuous slaughter of many who can
/ˈmæs.ə.kə(ɹ)/ O schwaaaaa
(obsolete) Murder—Gothic-vocative 𐌼𐌰𐌹𐍄𐌰𐌽
(the unidentified in all space exerted
by the unreadable cumulative
of the unbigenough for measure
-for)—mezhaphor-
-O lullababa no
what now do we not know
.....................................................................¿chiarascal?.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Virginia Woolf speaking of words ...
... feeling herself carried along in the swirl of many things
—Virginia Woolf: Night and Day, 1919.
A recording of Adeline Virginia sounding rather High Victorian unmodified by Modernism, and her word-thinking evidently in like stasis. One would like to have asked what of structures then? What of houses or churches? Why are they not all caves or at most fashioned of sticks and turves? How unprogressive these Blooms! But one may hear the deep discarnadining sadness in the sea-caverns of her voice, may sense the urge already to retreat therein: her soul pockets filled with ponderous words, with the multitudinous Cs to which her voice ever sinks ... Her love grown heavy now: only four more years of life to be endured...
The only known extant recording of Virginia Woolf, 1937.
.
—Virginia Woolf: Night and Day, 1919.
A recording of Adeline Virginia sounding rather High Victorian unmodified by Modernism, and her word-thinking evidently in like stasis. One would like to have asked what of structures then? What of houses or churches? Why are they not all caves or at most fashioned of sticks and turves? How unprogressive these Blooms! But one may hear the deep discarnadining sadness in the sea-caverns of her voice, may sense the urge already to retreat therein: her soul pockets filled with ponderous words, with the multitudinous Cs to which her voice ever sinks ... Her love grown heavy now: only four more years of life to be endured...
The only known extant recording of Virginia Woolf, 1937.
.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
full text of Pliny the Elder's natural history
~ et in arcadia ego -;*> ; >;.-^>^
le berger traces his own shadow in the script not that of his companion not that of his componionette frZSK** -#> o s*> :. this is not the birth of death or art
clambering hegemony !>"^ c'est l'occupante Poussin et il dit que l'autre vie est aussi l'Arcadie see XXXV 5, 15 "mais qui est elle?" La Justesse, pluk!
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
our savage gentle forthright astronomy (work in regress)
and the item is life whirling
and the auctioneer leans back
says this says this
will not be our future
no this will
expresses most clearly
as extended
that such a thing
metaphor
pataphor in unfact-
o look
an eye-blue tarquin takes off
all its sails set
still set upon this I cannot
[whats, though, whats?]
destination Mars,
a whole genre novel
with alacrity to be hedgehogged
of all its drear love
what he said
what the thunder said
the dunder [the caboche?]
don't play retroracist games for now
is the winter
rip't from the belly of christ's American
hegeMony Mony here she comes
then suddenly she doesn't come
at all
—and without a gasp
oh phrike and great snakes
the way and long
.
and the auctioneer leans back
says this says this
will not be our future
no this will
expresses most clearly
as extended
that such a thing
metaphor
pataphor in unfact-
o look
an eye-blue tarquin takes off
all its sails set
still set upon this I cannot
[whats, though, whats?]
destination Mars,
a whole genre novel
with alacrity to be hedgehogged
of all its drear love
what he said
what the thunder said
the dunder [the caboche?]
don't play retroracist games for now
is the winter
rip't from the belly of christ's American
hegeMony Mony here she comes
then suddenly she doesn't come
at all
—and without a gasp
oh phrike and great snakes
the way and long
.
End of Career
the cruellest thing
Tony Blair did
was not the Iraq War
it was buying Gordon Brown
an ice cream
in public
then watching
it kill him
.
Tony Blair did
was not the Iraq War
it was buying Gordon Brown
an ice cream
in public
then watching
it kill him
.
Monday, July 27, 2015
if you had it in your hands
if you had it in your hands
it would be all purple light
too many voices has the world
and rather too much fight
O I have been rejected
rejecting have I done
those silly distant struggles
have all been lost and won
but love's the real hearted thing
so always keep it near
and be as brave as possible
for all is fucked by fear
and if you had it in your hands
what difference there would be
we'd slide down flumes and ski down flanks
then crash into a tree
.
it would be all purple light
too many voices has the world
and rather too much fight
O I have been rejected
rejecting have I done
those silly distant struggles
have all been lost and won
but love's the real hearted thing
so always keep it near
and be as brave as possible
for all is fucked by fear
and if you had it in your hands
what difference there would be
we'd slide down flumes and ski down flanks
then crash into a tree
.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
of love and dark ways in fragment and phrase
this the cold air of a summer
in which of anyway there was no certainty
even afterwards long after
when he held his head in death
cradling those thoughts
as if they had happened then
as if that had been some point
of gnosis but no it cannot he will think back there
into the garden whose bench was now
or then a gap or space or absence
no he would think in those last times no
it could not be for imagine the unimaginable faery
transport of such a thing and who anyway
could sit upon it there in the air such
an air of hiatus or hubris or harking
anyway to the meek in rows for the showers
of midsummer with a dug-up of poppies
that were anyway fell anyway of light
and anyway of war and rivers undug and
now yes and yes and yes
to what motor or engine or brain
does one prostrate is all after and no
before so yes and come hither
for one has words painted there upon
the sky, look
for an instant
they hold
and all the world shudders
pricked as an anxious pet
but perceiving nothing yet
like so many whirled Buddhas
lapses or relapses or collapses
in all such ways: your absence
.
in which of anyway there was no certainty
even afterwards long after
when he held his head in death
cradling those thoughts
as if they had happened then
as if that had been some point
of gnosis but no it cannot he will think back there
into the garden whose bench was now
or then a gap or space or absence
no he would think in those last times no
it could not be for imagine the unimaginable faery
transport of such a thing and who anyway
could sit upon it there in the air such
an air of hiatus or hubris or harking
anyway to the meek in rows for the showers
of midsummer with a dug-up of poppies
that were anyway fell anyway of light
and anyway of war and rivers undug and
now yes and yes and yes
to what motor or engine or brain
does one prostrate is all after and no
before so yes and come hither
for one has words painted there upon
the sky, look
for an instant
they hold
and all the world shudders
pricked as an anxious pet
but perceiving nothing yet
like so many whirled Buddhas
lapses or relapses or collapses
in all such ways: your absence
.
upon the killing. turnips etc
silence in the lounge
where once as if
some explosion
everyone bated
look at their idiotic
think now, think hard
what comes next
.
where once as if
some explosion
everyone bated
look at their idiotic
think now, think hard
what comes next
.
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
all the grooming politesse of night
O men dreary rolling their armpits
through the steam
oh look he says to the mirror oh look
that's all
this is what it is to live
to have to cater for secretions and stench
to work with to manage
he lights a cigarette and blows a faceful
of smirking smoke
stuffs it in the plug with hisses
there now, block up, he whispers
you are nothing but a trap
full of hair and death
of most unfortunate breath
suddenly startled at himself
he goes straight back to bed
to perform last vile acts before work
in th bathrm a elephant as if
forms itself
but does not shave
three women of ages without hair appear dead
in the bath
without grace or meaning
the beat and industry
trumpet and jazz
jazz and strumpet
gone to work far-off
in mists of southern slick
signed
Dot
.
.
through the steam
oh look he says to the mirror oh look
that's all
this is what it is to live
to have to cater for secretions and stench
to work with to manage
he lights a cigarette and blows a faceful
of smirking smoke
stuffs it in the plug with hisses
there now, block up, he whispers
you are nothing but a trap
full of hair and death
of most unfortunate breath
suddenly startled at himself
he goes straight back to bed
to perform last vile acts before work
in th bathrm a elephant as if
forms itself
but does not shave
three women of ages without hair appear dead
in the bath
without grace or meaning
the beat and industry
trumpet and jazz
jazz and strumpet
gone to work far-off
in mists of southern slick
signed
Dot
.
.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
miracules
the enclosing lushness of the path
to the Pooh Sticks bridge
Herb Robert is everywhere
reaching, with its tiny pink starlight
offset by the blue walls
with their mossed-up faces
hanging over the beck
where one cannot help but stop (along)
and ask for reassurance
with such miracles
we sleep at riversides
.
to the Pooh Sticks bridge
Herb Robert is everywhere
reaching, with its tiny pink starlight
offset by the blue walls
with their mossed-up faces
hanging over the beck
where one cannot help but stop (along)
and ask for reassurance
with such miracles
we sleep at riversides
.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
schlock and schlock again
all that it ever was A major bouncing like
me and uh you in a bouncy castle by a uh river
no minors no sevenths no augmented
nothing but front out gutloose oh fuck
all of it swirled in smerk
dried up now in petrie dishes
like dead squirrels
in rude postcards from the Front
both dead in the mud
not even not even
squirreling
don't fool yourself
time is what we don't have
sit back anyway
you may as well die comfortable
.
me and uh you in a bouncy castle by a uh river
no minors no sevenths no augmented
nothing but front out gutloose oh fuck
all of it swirled in smerk
dried up now in petrie dishes
like dead squirrels
in rude postcards from the Front
both dead in the mud
not even not even
squirreling
don't fool yourself
time is what we don't have
sit back anyway
you may as well die comfortable
.
machine sea
ugh a dread from over
the far morbay that blackback fells stark
into spluts of early birdscold
a monster inching inthing . that ingrew
[airturtles in lifts of silent drubdead] a waiting grew in-again
and ingrew
until over all.the cock and cocklefield was a mainshout pulked
all-ending the lowscrats
in their long-hauled ruggers lugged hard.
the gutwives widing the redroll to belift
in now the men the drymen in, in
acres now to the barrel-beaches with the uncut catch inwarped.
fishimps and ghosts sidelaying low as lie-low for Jamaico
on the eastlandic scottles .............of west herringbane
and chinee soup schlocked in-out in octofathoms
of hemp drabingers, haulers, menwomen
from the near-sea teeters.a washup iglooed him up in rubs
on a southbeach known by no one.his/her face disglued
the songs of how they wore their sea-sucks unscrewed
now from his beachheart and heave-head for the far Cathay tubs
(published in The Triggerfish Critical Review, 2011)
into spluts of early birdscold
a monster inching inthing . that ingrew
[airturtles in lifts of silent drubdead] a waiting grew in-again
and ingrew
until over all.the cock and cocklefield was a mainshout pulked
all-ending the lowscrats
in their long-hauled ruggers lugged hard.
the gutwives widing the redroll to belift
in now the men the drymen in, in
acres now to the barrel-beaches with the uncut catch inwarped.
fishimps and ghosts sidelaying low as lie-low for Jamaico
on the eastlandic scottles .............of west herringbane
and chinee soup schlocked in-out in octofathoms
of hemp drabingers, haulers, menwomen
from the near-sea teeters.a washup iglooed him up in rubs
on a southbeach known by no one.his/her face disglued
the songs of how they wore their sea-sucks unscrewed
now from his beachheart and heave-head for the far Cathay tubs
(published in The Triggerfish Critical Review, 2011)
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