Word Stream 01

December 2, 2011 § Leave a comment

words to ban from

all American poetry

relationship  stars  junkie  love dream  lonely  money

luminous suicide  mother  father  cocksucker

names of greek deities shadow

wound  deep  rich  names

of european poets tender

lather  seaweed  moon

names of  european

cities

straw  drunk

bird  resonate  brother

names  of european  painters  resonant  sister

snow  falling  cedars  Paris  human world heart boundary

numinous nightmare diaphanous  tide  ghetto  panties  oppression

Untitled

O ebony world

how you love to set me desiring

such opposite flowers

like the nimble skipping moon

now nestled in the groin of a tree

now in the bath of your hair

now spreads that white canopy

that beautiful smile of death

The Frenchman

He’s seen it all by the age of three.

He’s got the book on you and me.

But of course! Mon Dieu!

(we come into view)

Il est tre evident!”

his encantory refrain.

His eyes follow his nez:

Voila! Dedain, dedain.

My Friend Fred

(Who Looks Like the Philosopher)

He’s handsome, the eyes gleam

His hair’s even combed volcanically

So why don’t he think like Nietzsche?

He’s got the look can’t you see?

Even his mustache droops walrusly;

So why don’t he think like Nietzsche?

Tokyo at Night & Kanji

busted cart wheels

twisted umbrella ribs

cracks in the sidewalk

electric fishhooks

brush smash to paper

collided coathangers

hang blue and red giant

hologrammic dye

at night in Tokyo

 

 

TP

24 rolls of tp on sale a mini wall of pale pink

sorry we don’t have bags that big says the

winking checker so out goes the poet where

she must walk a block downtown during the

busiest time of day she must cross Madison

everyone in the world  watching her tp wall

together she and it get their attention and

before she can make it to her apartment door

the viewing public has her bent over trying

out a fresh roll she knows she feels them imaging

her trying all bent over her anklecuff pants

and now their eyes up her eyelet and the pressure

she applies they apply to their eyes to blot out

that too vivid reminder of where we’re all joined

Venus rises from the parking lot

is there no end to this river

I see you cross the parking lot

red miniskirt, minding the sun

mocha ice cream scoop shoulders

generous shadows across your chest

the sun so melting on you

so action full of summer roundness

your legs get me like the white parts of a river

my limbs feel cartwheeled

a spoke of your fragrance

halves my head at the core

the ache to swim in your dreams

throws me down this endless river

 

Two bathroom poems

 Ode to the faucet

My galaxy, my tender lover

My bringer of life and form

My improviser steady as a bank

Why not an ocean a river a bay a lake

determined and cooperative with the lay

of the land or the engineer’s torques

screws gaskets and pressure

bring me your gleaming noise

fountain cousins parcel delivery

Stand and serve and obey yet

you know your power

you own us and

we ignore you in return

 

Ode to the toilet

white empty may you always be

A clean throat of many favors

a courier not unpleasing in shape

(like an elephant embryo)

You let us decide anytime your hospitality

Firm or choked your gargle your flush

Recedes all from the surface

how you welcome our hugs when at our lowest

we give back to you our blasphemed essences

Without reproach blameless dutiful

with such joyful sush and rush

you force on us the celebration

of commodious internal wash

 

 

Lazy Poem, summer 2000

I just love sitting around being American and lazy

Nothing is required of me

Only that I let the blue sky rain down on my crown

I can sleep in the park I can smoke I can be stupid

sitting around being American and lazy

A bit puzzled because every beautiful girl I see

doesn’t want to get laid by me

So I’m sitting around being American and lazy

And looking at American leaves and lazy American trees

Thinking about our lazy food our lazy seasons

our lazy sports like golf and baseball

(don’t worry, it’s only one game; it’s a long season)

our lazy minds that swirl like lazy bottomfish

I love our lazy birds and our lazy suspicion

I love our lazy greetings Hey-ho-hi-sup

I love our lazy shrewdness and our lazy honesty

which astounds the world

I love our lazy jazz and rock and blues

I love our big lazy guts and our jelly donut hearts

that make us cry at ball games,

anthems, sunsets and dog rescue stories

hail lazy dragonflies who raze the man in the lazy hammock twirling his lazy bar-b-q fork

hail summer sun lazy as a slow twirling cement truck

pouring dopey lazy light everywhere and too lazy to really set

hail lazy poets who walk their words ten twelve twenty! to a leash

(so fucking lazy!)

where like curs they nip the barefoot feet of lazy neighbor kids

hail lazy brother, lazy sister hail your dandelion minds fly-blown

borne on lazy winds this lazy American summer

 

 

Two Stations

 

Spring

winter swaddling just drops

red tips sprout from buds and dogs

the smell of cooking greens and clay

small busts rounding on fruit trees

boys hook and girls arch and

from a nest with Christmas tinsel

I swear I heard a robin chirp “batter up!”

there is no way to love you more

if I could train seals to speak

or live a thousand years

I couldn’t love you more

we cannot stay is old news

our first ripe thought

until then I walk to your weather

and everywhere with my ear

on the belly of everything

I hear heartbeats

Fall

how do you do it beautiful

make death so grand

your orchards of color

your theatrical drop

the firing squad falling off

your last sales-job before winter

you make it all seem worthwhile

to wither and die in your embrace

what causes night will come for us too

we’ll go for your red lips

and find ourselves on the side

of so many used things


 

 

 

 I’ve got you before me but you’re gone

on the suicide of Guillermo my apartment neighbor

 

I steady your shoulder with one hand

then take a swing at you with the other

of course my fist goes right through you

because you’ve gone suicided to leave

we hadn’t even gotten started:

Mexican movies of the 40’s, Chávez,

Augusto Monterroso, Villa Lobos

and have you met the Divine Barrios yet

didn’t we agree how much you had to give

you fooled me with smiles and elevator greetings

revolving girlfriends and a note under my door

after our talk in the laundry room

thanks for your words of encouragement

thanks for the ghost and no poem

thanks for just the facts:

the hole in your head the gun in the street

I wish I could have said come back

put the gun down and come back

we’re tired of ghosts and memories

to kick live ass Guillermo is what a life is

not punching ghosts and always missing


  

troubadour moon

the full moon is a sound hole

my bars the strings

they make a guitar of my cell

I’ll play for faces bodies

unnamed and unknown

I am mostly longing I see

for touch and smells un uned

can a man be carved of such nothing

but when I die I’ll be uncontained

a hole in space that plays

songs of every longed for thing


The Cave Painters of Lascaux

you left us bison color action while

professor expounds: utilitarian worship

superstition before the hunt ta dum ta da

isn’t there a knock-this-off-my-shoulder

excellence, who were you trying to impress

as though you knew what would happen

that we’d make wonderful things, shuffle kidneys

drive in the air or take it to breathe on the moon

visit whales dance down ocean home

your love of fire presaged our turning screws on the sun

but we stand before your animals unknowing as prayer

estranged in the fifty fiftyishness of what our life is now

tell us how far we’ve come O Neolith

tell us why we seem to be doing some bidding

and tell us why we seem to be in the way

you get a laugh scratching in your furs

of course you knew what you were doing

you had to know you struck the rock of beauty

your cast for the ages in unlit visitation: take this

 

 

  

have you felt like this

 

if you’re not here then why am I on fire

I can’t stand sit for thinking of you

I move and want to walk into you

to heft your tits to thumb your nipples

but you’re where me I can’t only

visioning in some itching mind

harrowing as a trapeze artist

fuck the spinning miracle galaxy

I can’t walk across the street

it’s all you scraping the sky

all I want is to toss your cushions

grunt the way I can’t do anything else

flop frolic spread myself out with you

bounce your waves like a kid on inner tubes

move my head big like a cow over your pasture

pulverize desire where close discovery is

behold a tree so calm so uninitiated

before my rude indigestible solitude

desire’s dropped over me like a net

keeled me if you could see

I’m writhing and you’re not here

Corners

 

 

sorry, europe

I could fold your country

into the shadow

of the mountain

in our back yard

waiting for foreplay

the rivery swish

of clothes sliding off

limbs in the dark

nothing left for fantasy

I forget the last time

I lay down outside

something about a bucket of berries

the sun had a rude backhand smash to it

the river was hot

blues

I gave you my heart

I gave you my soul

where they went when you left

I don’t know I don’t know

death’s nail file

an icicle at noon

dripping onto a boy’s

tongue below

some dead

lonely dead so lonely

the wind blows them flowers

off other graves

Piano

A white piano world?

Sweet sweet child!

Beware the white piano.

It’s black piano world.

the beauty of war

helmets with heads, still in them

gloves with hands, still in them

boots with legs, still in them

shirts with chests, still in them

still in them

scattered over the red red grass

it’s the beauty of war boys

our daddy’s lesson never learned

it’s the beauty of war boys

kick back and blast

hey, we’re brothers at last

a blond head here

a black leg there

a torso wags a wag

soon to be all nature

it’s the thrill of war boys

a lesson never learned

let’s just break all our toys

and say we never heard

and the general sent them to die

how could you he doesn’t ask

a thousand cars drive over the bridge

he dreams of dead boys

driving lit cars over the bridge

how could you he won’t ask

cause it’s the beauty of war boys

our daddy’s lesson never learned

it’s the beauty of war boys

just kick back and blast

hey we’re brothers at last

The Sun  Skids

The sun  skids

a flat stone

above the clouds

the  Square Cat

his square sun

our sponsor

takes on time

gives good run

does without darkness

rich with children

infinite golden coins

through his spokes

a golondrina flies

many children flying

through his spokes &

we older than the sun &

his square cat

his juicy flirtations

going before him we

know nothing lasts

 

  

The Sleeping Juggler

the sleeping juggler sleeps

uncocked on the bench

the children walk by

sad & curious

the world arcs

the sleeping juggler sleeps

the children walk by

timid as stray planets

watch children watch

the sleeping juggler wakes

he’ll throw it to you

Mr. Piano Scale

 

Mr. Piano Scale

bucks and plunkers

down the street

checkered Stetson cocked

at a too cool angle

he stops at our place

says hello chile’

on his way back

into the street he trips

but rights himself

quickly sees a lovelyette

slides into one of her ears

and out the other

he strides into an ice cream parlor

sometimes you can’t understand him

hell say take that cat out and beat him like a high hat!

or darlin’ you in full bloom sweet

yes you a full sweet blossom oh yeah

he strolls on

he strolls he looks so good

in black and white

sometimes folks don’t notice

he just keeps on winding

turning crashin’ and yes

sometimes tripping

since he is beautiful

and nothin’ beautiful

is perfect

yeah!

  

 

Sky

I can’t believe I’ll be gone someday

no eyes wet with living

to catch the ricocheting sun

off bottles in the grass

no guitar clacking the canister of my skull

I’ll take the scratchiness of living

the sweetness of just before sleep

the frenzy of sugar

who’ll scream at TV when I’m gone

who’ll flip the bird at idiots

O vague sky who’ll get my thinking done

who will kick the rock in the road

who will love the world when I’m gone

 

 Aquarium

backwards stripes upwards polka dots

poofing fish sticks and poison

fishy snakes spiny swimming birds

crust and bone sand shots inky salady fish

garden slow motion garden this

neighborhood of toughs thorns and stripes

take out and gobblemeister crunch kings

venom tails and quiet tiny mirrors

tipping spokes of sun in your eyes

far from the delight of porpoises

to think a thought through such a long swim

further from the delights of coffee

big dumb ocean avant guard ocean

murderous bouquet of tethered magicians

 

Guatemala Sequence

Río Dulce

A body floats in a green pool

a twig cracks under a native paw

a bird fusses with its leaves

the sun coasts on lily disks

a frog blinks in the shade.

noiselessly in this drifting world

the finger’s caught on a tough vine

bowed over the bank

the finger lets go and the body

leisurely cartwheels in the pond

the finger’s green and letting go

Point of Destination as Point of Departure

a quiet house Puerto Barrios

a blowing horn in harbor

the quiet ones sit and stare

the noisy ones go with the horn

the metal’s hoisted, the dock recedes

the cranes are cocked

whores and families eye the ocean

 

it’s

it’s love good ol’ goddamned love

there it is you can’t wish it think it

sleep it throw it away it just stays around

like a rangy cat on the edge of your yard

good ol’ goddamned love

like a hunk of leftover cement

like a Chev up on blocks on your front lawn

O Christ it’s love goddamned love

it’s love you can’t wish it think it

shove it stow it away it’s love

that broke-tooth old cat snifflin’ round the porch

it’s love good ol’ goddamned love

it’s

 

 Jazz River

A cathedral in the river?

The effluence swings the bass lines clamp

Unsteepled rocks toil underneath.

A cathedral in the river?

My Africanized ear assures me

The rattling river cuts whichaways.

(Clamshells on the shore worth millions

Coyote steps into the frame and sips

The song sounds the same at night.)

A cathedral in the river?

You can’t hear everything

Except sitting by the river;

The river is that jazz: laughter

That annihilates mountains

  

Even Now

After Bilhana Bhartrihari

Even now

I hear your cry

the sound of love’s attack

from your throat

down past

your belly

Even now

I hear the hiss

of your skin

under my nails

Even now

teeth-dented

your breasts

my lips recall

Even now

I smell your temple

your sweat

the scent

of my annihilation

Small Caps

 

Beware: 3 L Word

In a room totally wallless

You’d have to call it flawless

Unless, of course, the ceiling’s fallen

Unless, of course, you’re half inch tall n’

Then your just a spreading mess

Gumersindo

(drinking song)

                           If my name were Gumersindo

I’d join a traveling show,

Put on big green shoes

Juggle fat frogs on my toes;

Dance merengue, cha cha n’ tango,

Learn to skywrite with my nose.

And all the kids would shout:

OO!    EE!    OH!

Gumersindo! Gumersindo! Gumersindo!

I’d join the wildest rodeo

If my name were Gumersindo.

I’d lasso Great Bull Brahmah

Jump in the stands and kiss yo’ mama;

I’d kick a fat calf, nail a buckin’ bronc, O!

I’d bounce roll spring and grin

Land feet first in a tank of gin.

And all the kids would shout:

OO!    EE!    OH!

Gumersindo! Gumersindo! Gumersindo!

If my name were Gumersindo

I’d be the star of a traveling show,

I’d twirl an elephant by the tail,

swim in the air, dive into a pail.

I’d whack a guitar with requinto

           Climb down a cannon  – BOOM! – Gumer? Ohhh!

And all the kids would shout:

OO!    EE!    OH!

Gumersindo! Gumersindo! Gumersindo!

The I.O.O.F.

          915 E. Pine

(drinking song)

One hundred F’s all in a row?

You bet, odd fellows every one,

We’re odd fellows under the sun.

We’ve got stairs in flights (maybe a ton)

And rooms galore (a hundred and probably one);

High ceilings and brass, silent actors and clowns

A panic-pink elevator on parade up and down;

The I double O F’s by god we got it all

Because we’re odd fellows under the sun

Odd fellows every one.

We’ve got hundreds of F’s all in a row,

Fools like FlinFlattery, gals named Joe;

The Eye Oh Oh Eff they call it a hall

It’s really a park, but one inside walls.

You’re there, you betcha, standing in line

(How do I know? Your hand’s in mine)

Because we’re odd fellows every one

Odd fellows under the sun.

To the Students Examining My Skeleton

you see the rational part, the design.

the chassis tells what it tells

pelvic nicks, striations of muscle on bone

interkinked vertebrae

nature’s imitation of stone

but the upholstery the cushions

at a Guatemala city bus stop

I ate the universal orange

from a beautiful wrinkled lady

the bus was late she packed up her stand

and slept by her fare with coins in her ears

then my eyes were blue as a spider’s belly

I loved an African with perfect walnut ears

my hands and feet were unused dictionaries

I clung to life like a man hoisting a piano

to have rolled in the spokes of the sun

and tasted electric rain

to stand for a time in affluent weather

to have been a part of this beautiful blue tree

to have felt that restless bird in my pants

look on my fellow twigs

I have neither leaves nor laughter

inhale to the top your smoky tree

rise on flat leaves your watery life

Bi-Poem

Where’s my cowboy girl

Gone to ride the sawhorses

Flung from a country mile

Where’s my cowboy girl

Gone to ride the seahorse

Tossed to humping waves

The steers are loose and looking

Find me my cowboy girl

The beasts are firing and free

Where’s my cowboy girl

So Much

So much muscle

Underground

So many used throats

Underground

So much combed hair

Underground

So still the eyes

Underground

Does one one eye open

Underground?

20th Century

you took our virginity, last century

a brain attached to an unbounded fire

gone thanks to some wet animals

and fine machines stoked on babies and prayers

we stood with the wind soft as nipples

barely touching our necks and without

the mercy of an old blade

we breathed

we burned

we were gone.

did we have to know this

that leaves have grown back into trees

that rain can be knives and blood

the after air is now a bath of loss

and our thoughts are wary animals

afraid always afraid of the human

poet plots his first adultery

How easy to adapt to my own image as law

The trees go by me on my way

I am king a small god

driven by things higher than trees or vows

Am not myself you see but a force

the sparker of planets drives me

drives me like a bull his grip on my neck

his whip on my ass I can’t shake him

you must fall between those breasts

I am as rational as a torrent, help me Allah,

the invisible is giving me a bear hug

I must suck that body to work free of this blind burning

Where I live, (the Nettleton on 8th & Madison)

Don’t say canary yellow

if you haven’t seen a canary in years

if you live in a mangoless world

my frontier seems like a brain

full of gray and electric storms

broken cherry trees unsent prayers

where drug boys and girls suck at the corner phonebooth

old ladies with talcumed skin and done up hair for church

leave perfume ghosts in the elevators that take me back to the 40’s

beggars mind the electric door at Shop Rite

jonsing to the musclely spirit of Bruce Lee

standing watch over his old dojo

between us and a brown sun burly mountains

survey us like angry older brothers

guarding our long-ago cheaply swapped virginity

time is throwing light and light

a shrinking fabric around the day

simple waking is not enough

collapsing birds, depressive health

overnight capsules thick windows

uncloud uncorked clouds undrizzle

a moon spooning through the night

tells time and falls into the fried sun

it’s an animal age of warning drums

where fresh breaking orgasms scamper the walls like mice

now there’s music where a man once was

the uninvited universe a gate crasher with song

like a muscle beach party in my head

and a scream outside in the night goes

wo ist mein geld? wo ist mein geld?

how I love the moon’s cold blade

how I love the sun’s citric morning

fist anglo-saxon

cage fike base fact uggh

scrim want ow choo choo

wife mite moo come file cast

core keen kem cal bank scan do

fuck dough git tor geld corn fro

kay sun shit bit look hit pay

cool snore core grrr foot

burp pill hat knife gore

gut prick fuck kick

Gravity is my Middle Name

the stairs crawl up the roof

the stars skip in the sky

under pillows the rivers rush

rush river rush river rush

with too much life

my bones are spokes

wheeling me down the mountain

 

 

 

Hello Kitty

Hello Kitty where you been

someone’s lapping at your bowl

while I’ve been gone

No  don’t tell me kitty

you’ve been with old cat Tom

saw him the other day

your milk on his whiskers

Hello Kitty where you been

someone’s lapping at your bowl

while I’ve been gone

Hello Kitty where you been?

saw you just the other day

cozin’ dozin’with old cat Tom

Went to see you Kitty

just the other day

just missed your fur, Kitty

(even missed your claws Kitty)

O Kitty! where you been?

hear you been sunnin’ runnin’

funnin’ with old cat Tom

Hello Kitty where you been?

someone’s lapping at your bowl

while I’ve been gone


 

 

 

 

Is this Love or Hemophilia?

 

Talking to a young dog

he points out the naked spy

look at the pinpoint cotton

the sweaty collar the cotton fly

dream up a friend: Jaime Solorio

What do you know Jaime Solorio?

scream the usual: “Juevo! Jaime! Juevo!”

the demonized flow the giant flood

the great bloodbath the bags of blood

throw the young dog out the airplane door

let the carnys bark their mortal fun

they’re louts and we love ‘em

But

Tell me is this love or Hemophilia?

Give me your gift of drag

 

 

Nothin’ But Future

(Ain’t no gettin’ off this train)

 

There’s nothin’ here but future

Tomorrow’s on display

There’s future future everywhere

Mañana  on instant replay

There’s future in the bathtub,

There’s future in the crib

There’s future in the boneyard

And future twixt mah ribs O-

There’s future in the rocking chair

There’s future in the gin

There’s future in despair—uurrrp!

Future future in each swig

There’s future in the outhouse

There’s future in the womb

There’s future on your fork

There’s future in your tomb

There’s nothing here but future

It all we’ve got to show

Let all the clocks run backwards

Into the future we will go

There’s nothin’ here but future

Tomorrow’s on display

There’s future future everywhere

Mañana’s instant replay

 

Miss Despair

 

she got tits out to there

she got video hair

she got ass to spare

when I stare she’s there, Miss Despair

I can do anything at all to you

I can clean you I can taste you

I can ram and jam you

and I can do anything but touch you babe

I just can’t touch you Miss Despair

She’s got tits in the air

truly Ferris wheel hair

she’s all that and more

and I can do anything but touch you babe

she got tits out to there

she got video hair

she got ass to spare

and I would do anything to touch you babe

 


 

 

Critical Mass

 

I’ve got critical mass,

building for you, babe

getting dangerous

take care of my critical mass, babe

 

Dead End Swimming Pool

 

Hit your head it’s the end of the line

There’s an alligator suitcase

But it’s made out of you

Floating with the leaves

There’s a beach ball, a parasol

A glass of gin and memories of thou

It’s the end of summer

In the dead-end swimming pool

And  still I’m going for the insides of a bikini

I’ll float here a little Longer

I’ll wait until next year for you

Miss top of a bikini bottom of a bikini

Sexy red onion sandwich the floating bartender

negative scum gone till next year

the parasol

 


 

 

 

The Beauty of War

Helmets with heads

gloves with hands, still in them

boots with legs

shirts with chests, still in them

still in them

scattered over the red red grass

it’s the beauty of war boys

our daddy’s thrilling lesson never learned

it’s the beauty of war boys

kick back and blast

hey, we’re brothers at last

a blond head here

a black leg there

a torso wags a wag

soon to be all nature

it’s the thrill of war boys

the beautiful lesson never learned

let’s just break all our toys

and say we never heard

our daddy’s simple lesson

and the general sent them to die

how could you he doesn’t ask

a thousand cars drive over the bridge

he dreams of dead boys

driving lit cars over the bridge

how could I he won’t ask

cause it’s the beauty of war boys

our daddy’s thrilling lesson never learned

it’s the beauty of war boys

just kick back and blast

hey! We’re brothers at last

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Poetry Workshop

December 2, 2011 § Leave a comment

Muscular Thinking Prowls

 

Poem without Stars

 

As I walked across the sky

 

While I turned away

 

The skill of the skull

 

Where does consolation exit?

-There isn’t any consolation in my mind.
-There isn’t any consolation in my soul.
-There isn’t any consolation in my heart.

 

Coaxial brain the

Which sentence sounds right to you?

What will bring you back to me?

We know each other’s secrets

The time-spattered world

 

Fill in the poem poem

 

Sweet

Time

Last

Petal

Desire

Hardened

Entered

Lap

Lull

Ridgid

Parted

Cooing

Sighed

Lying

Breast

Languor

Munch

Blush

Sweat

Hungry

Greedily

Graze

Kisses

Lips

Sucked

Heave

Gaze

Delights

 

Spring

The season is new and flying in the sparrow’s beak.

 

Dialogue with Nature

(in the style of Japanese Noh plays)

Soul: You are so beautiful row of poplars above the iron smelter

the auto junk yard the rivet factory the bread factory the bakery

the mill the cement factory the steel yard the row of yellow poplars

and the occasional blush colored tree.

Nature: No matter. Your enjoyment is yours alone.

I do what I do.

Soul: Yes you are beautiful to no purpose;

just chance color coordinates thrown together

to designs far removed from delight.

Nature: Well, let’s not get carried away here.

You get all tantalized but don’t get angry

if there is nothing more. Can’t you be satisfied

with what you’re given. Why do you want more?

Soul: It would be nice to know if there is a message for us.

This tree has grown like a twisted wash cloth

And that one has the sheen of tumescence

The other tree is dark brick

the color of French roast coffee

Nature: How about French roast coffee the color of dark brick?

Soul: Don’t be a wiseacre.

 

There 45 non-performing words

45 retired words

45 non-functioning words

45 non sensible words

Poems for vindication

 

Dial Vindicating smiles like Nazi salutes

 

There’s No Thought Too Unshapely for the Skull

 

An uncocked wind swallows the corner sky

The weathercock chews the scenery

Hard-swallowing clouds the sleazy pornographic wind

the solar system is like an old black dial phone

the same crusted dialing finger

yanks dreams like the long long magician’s kerchief

but there are no sudden mountains

telephone lines like a musical stave host robins, singing quarter notes

the mountain stops our thoughts from going too far beyond the mountain

everything is gold when you’re about to lose everything

betrayal is a clever description of the world with its

creamy topless air melon skies and candied sunsets

he who speaks fluently speaks to himself

but not seeing is how we begin to see

goodness might taste even better in the curl of a trigger

and laughing back at death might force

the monster back into the storybook

and knowledge a gift hot to the touch.

even death is a foundling here

in the pestilential lair they find

beauty made useless by poison mirrors

back In the monster’s lair

death laughs up his well-worn sleeve.

the fever of things moves slowly

 

While I turned away

You became a boy and then a man

Stand hair like lazy smoke

Uncurdled stream of freshness

That one man could rake a country so

Hard to believe that this is life this pressure

A performance request demand and usurpers demand

Blame so fresh and pertinent a bargain a garage sale

Let stellae befuddle, for this is life a strip of nostalgia

The afterburn of lozenge shaped pie a winter kitchen of warmth and pie

Let last your frolic in the riverbank among the bramble while we watch

A fresh fuck on the foothills a months worth of doses a pile of winter rakings

A nice walk or a long bike ride to the islands a page of not nice warm trailers and books lice device a thrice a cave of Ali Bagmen sit stoned before the fireplace

Let unleash your tamers tale let flow your land free limbs grown if freedom

Spiked anger doused with furrel banked with bonks crusted with enzyme a kneaded population, scarcely shepherded, pruned upon a meat cleaver

Rushed into blivion basked in the well cloven by caves nethered by naked time and vanquished by a compassionate mouth sprinkled over clouds tractors and dirt and spread by failure hold your fire! A fistful of credit a lonely balcony seeping views and nihilist views of the water an approachable military off limits eyes; 40 dollars per eye. You pay nothing for the first eye. State of the art pounds; Larry Lanyard, smuggled himself in a tree, in the studio ceaseless questions muscling around the fire a maiden crack of the covers, more needles more packages, less color, less foxes, more paper; even stones have a life; we’re in whether we’re in or not; you can’t ignore skidmarks; the nauseous arrogance, the noxious arrogance, criminal doves, illegal birds, canned brain, canned brawn victorious brawn; stiff reminders, stiff shoes, help me I am a mouse; give it to me, Jacob; country eggs, stereo eggs, virgin clouds, stiff virgins, mountain breasts, sloshing breasts, glycerin guns; living fat; hot epigrams, foxfam; Phoxpham; growing bars, are your dimples still deep, Italy adulterates, drive and look; a turret, a cornice a dentil

 

dingy coordinates

with become food for a sudden mountain

 

and its dirty blanket

the dirty blanket of wind

“Hey! That was a real knob-job rain storm!”

the mountain a large toll-both

storm like a muscular knob-job

 

and their drifting infections borrowed dreams

from a common well this could be time or music

where do you come from what is your name

snoring wind scalpel O sun unmindful bird

rhyming birds and purposeful wind scoring

blanketing the dreamy pangris that you have surgered

scoring blanketing and embraced time itself

the quiet of your auditors the siege of them

by the dream a feeling that you are seizing time itself

stopping it holding it fondling it when you hear music

countersinging a drug happy drag

music this strong, wind this hungry

 

key of G major

Let’s sing: you break it you pay for it

 

from a hat it goes on forever, in fact

fugitive water

scalpel sun

you’re pulling something from our dreams

somewhere where does it come from what is your name

 

Kumquat, the word, demands a bigger piece of the action

 

What will bring you back to me?

 

When did you have to beg last

 

Professor Throw-me-a hump

 

A fork in your dried stool

 

from the smell of a sand bed we create past

musculature ligature armature davenports lace

breaks hulls deities beaks bones puddles of ink

such aplomb turns our vindicating smiles homely

 

how perfunctory it is

 

we find civilization in greetings and romance and gardens

we stride we don’t walk we fly

but it’s well known though unspoken

the sound of the burning fire that carries us into the transporting air

is the sound of the tearing curtain between being and non-being

 

summered memory

wisdom beyond blossom

 

stocks antiques statistics and wine

a boy swimming rivers who touched blurry green fish

and by the way live beyond taiga

at least enough to let slide fills of disquietude for life

seems a mountain it takes a heroin of effort to ignore

 

the burly mountains in our back yard whose shadows

could shroud small European countries

the mountains survey us like angry older brothers

guarding our long-ago cheaply-swapped virginity

for time is throwing light and light is shrinking fabric around the day

here’s the moon spooning through the night like a trigger

telling time and falling into a sun bath

whose skin’s an animal age of warning drums

fresh breaking the uninvited universe pounds outside in the night

wo ist mein geld till

I could grasp the moon’s cold blade or

Slurp the sun’s citric shadows forever

in our world we are so certain about unseen things

from the undisturbed sand bed we create musculature

ligature armature davenports smells breaks hulls deities

beaks bones piles of ink lace

 

our aplomb how perfunctory it is

things are mysteries but we’re sure of them

things pass us by but we understand them

our lives feel short and pasted with dream

we find civilization in greetings and romance and gardens

 

you wouldn’t believe our confidence

we stride we don’t walk we fly

it’s well known though unspoken

the sound of the burning fire

that carries us into the air

is the sound of the tearing curtain

between being and non-being

 

I saw a goose bathing herself in the Duwamish

how honeyed the water she shook in the sun,

a tug pushed a barge, tender monsters, without a ripple.

 

Our world summered beyond blossom, but how?

what wisdom have we but nothing and money?

Gold speaking fluently at the party? A boor

interested only in the sound of his own metal

in stocks, antiques, and statistics and wine

 

 

What I couldn’t do

The writer’s life you know

Wanting to tough it out

Better than taking notes or folding clothes

 

The Yankee Moon

 

Drainage

 

Oh my god
It’s the drainage, coming at you, babe…
I think it’s a special business get this monkey off my back; grief
beyond the sun
The appalling mane of the sun,

I can’t have seen it can I have?
Everything turns on the sun

the outward leaves and jumping horses
the men like jumping horses with their summer hooves

Look at the pussy look at the fists

look at the mud and the spray and
 
You’re not very clever
He’s a tackle box waiting to happen
A ton of tankle and mytox
Hard breath
Fox heat the cursive air the plotless sky

so far from the shaving kit

at the bottom of the train yard
Blowing mint
Tomato massage
Crude dieting glaciers Creamy time narcotic sun air topless planets

sharp-shooting fat sun dieting wind a farting sun

the whole beach is on a diet
 
range of candied sunset
comely hatchets and brine pickles and gears hold up and sense pilots and
sense and machines and last froth oh shit we’re going down

bless the melon sky
the ground tracks the subtle skin
the peachy sky the peppery sky
the gifted grime
sweaty palms

the dated palms
logical melons homey peaches
the winning wanger

Crude and deceptive bones

Toy bones playing with bones

There is a purity to crystallization

Being frisked by the sun the overlord of water

The play of frisky play of green light

under the leaves the vivid silver of the raccoon’s back

there are no boring bridges

muscular toned buffed,

 

Oliver on His Pedestal Chants at the Sea

 

My green youth thanks me, old now,

For giving my memories a chance to live.

 

Most things are mysteries but we’re sure of them,

Most things pass us by though we understand them.

 

Conservative waves are gate crashers with song

Like a uninvited muscle beach party in my head.

 

Your love was a mountain

I hadn’t the guts to climb

 

We live beyond shadows now

We live beneath the sun’s wings

Even water comes from the sun

Gloveless

 

It took such effort to ignore.

 

 

Emptiness is the Fullness of Unfinished Statues

 

Jimmy Guts Happy is Your Name

 

Fried bullet holes

 

Cracking handsome worms

 

A Mountain of Prescience Doesn’t Matter

 

The Arpeggios Crumble

The beleaguered guitar that has a

The souls derivations and tuggings

 

The Diaper of Surprise, the Ascot of Despair

 

Forest kicked and beaten as if by overeager cops

 

Marxist Mountains, Capitalist Water

burly mountains discharge

simple waking between us

and a browning sun is not enough

I might be eaten or at least poked

like angry older brothers surveys us

guarding our cheaply swapped virginity

collapsing birds, depressive health overnight capsules,

windows thin clouded uncorked drizzle O spitting moon

the uninvited universe a gate crasher with song

runs a muscle beach party in my head

the moon spooning through the night

like the nervous trigger of a first time assassin

ours an animal neighborhood of warning drums

and now there’s music where a man once was

a scream outside in the night goes wo ist mein geld?

wo ist mein geld?

you love the sun’s citric morning

The open-air desuetude of her moods

 

Sunsets are homosexual in origin

 

untie the musculature of thugs,

 

Lament

 

someone’s mama read

about the death of a monster

bursting from a book.

and everything will be OK,

and tomorrow’s another day

pity snorts and shakes her mane,

wanderers slashed and pulped,

And prayers are plentiful as smoke.

old timers bet on the death-frying

on young men filled with fuck

on imbecility well-shaded by fake trees

on wounds rinsed in vengeance

on anchors and anvils filling the air

on a shredding sky sneezing over the city

on horizons that will roll and liquefy

the ribs of our listing world press bonily

while you sling your buddy’s hide

and back in the monster’s lair

death laughs up his well-worn sleeve

the fever of things is moving slowly

as through a screen of not wanting to

we perceive the kickings, the howls

the artful blood across the walls

but not seeing is a way of seeing

(goodness might taste even better

your tongue curls softly

like the trigger’s curl

and laughing might force

the monster back into the pages)

such knowledge hot to the touch

makes Death himself a foundling

where Beauty’s a barely breathing stream

and everything is held hostage inside 

a thousand poison tiny mirrors

everything’s going to be OK

a mother sings, knowing, closing the book

 

 everything is all fire, all ice

Still she sings in the pestilential lair.

 

 

a strewn basket of roses

before the all a terrifying, voiding,

calling for mother

 

In the the story ends

Close the book

 

 

Mirrors with one image holding beauty hostage,

they find

(The seam of a cracked ice in the mountain lake is a temporary puzzle,

 

 

The forces of even

The monster back in the book

 

 

 with a single reflection

Steel themselves knowing the worst of the dragon is in its tailsomewhere hearing

 

 

But Monster licks his poison tail

frowns as we say:

everything will be OK,

tomorrow’s another day.

 

O lord treat me like a child

“dear God please, don’t please,

don’t give us contrasts just now,

 

 

hungry enemies sharpen teeth

on the gristles of hatred.

Takers bleed

,

Swinging blood or;

Yes, we share the world with bugs.
[unwanted blessings score the sky.]

 

The best-laid family

 

333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

 

The Generally Accepted Sex Scene

To find caress alone the self caress

Let the institution screen

The riling rolling bong

Like Casanova’s prong

who doesn’t root for the bankrobber

A scene to evade boredom’s uzzle [bride]

Washing the centuries away

 

of the long stay in the army bed

 

moving with a flea’s or a punter’s specificity

and knowledge stays a brutal pin a

knowledge, a brutal stray

a glossy mat of bloodied fear

sends prickles to the tender parts

wanton words that flabbergas

conserve design contuse

the bone of ideology cracks another skull

and fear and shards

bird its lonely way a stand

sticking at dusk under the bridge

the deciphering war the prison of pills

they want pale ingredients

to lose their sleep and horns bend

the bowed poor the revenge of the rich

 

hope and snarl and glen and copse

on flat and beaten level stops

find the starry tale of woe

in the harpings of the moe

when the bender brings a fiend

savors dops to final scream

want of force is seen as spam

cooking things not only food

body rot and crow’s feet stew

voices raise and young men die

hangover like a hungry vulture

 

the sun was like being hit with a wet towel

 

the happy ending

Standing still at dusk I saw a melon sky

In silent mid night Women planting rice

Wild geese in writhing takeoff. In this windy nest

Ballet in the air Dew evaporates Black cloudbank broken

Seek on high bare trails in the clouds

One fallen equals two plum trees

Now that eyes of hawks

Spot a lovely bowl of

White cloud mist newly hatched like friends

Amble out for love Now in sad autumn

Fireworks beget Green fingers painting stolen apples

Painting boats and shores

A Seattle nest of rain

A sorry old tom cat. The rubber-booted old fisherman

Carrying message-seeds

Sidewalk writing gutter missives

While I turned away

The lace of you trailed

a spider trails you

Two white turtles trailed you

the lace of you returned

a strong rain unloaded leaves from trees

The bus departed

The bees died

My toes got cold

I prefer you to memories

please don’t give me contrasts

life should be all fire or all ice

don’t imagine harmonics harm

beautiful hands doing beautiful things

In the chair all life has moved on

and you’re still in the chair

Leaves seed the ground

Blow avant-garde seasonals

look behind burning leaves

fires show what fire shows

the creamy topless unfired air

the sun going all helpless

 

everything becomes erotic when you

put the word topless before it

topless stones topless shaving kits topless card decks topless candy

topless peaches and topless boats

and, of course, topless melons.

 

sense pilots a dowsing rod cock

and sense machines sky the peachy sky the peppery sky

Being frisked by the sun the overlord of water

I see her smell

 

drip a message of dripping strokes

but good loving An arm, a blanket, hair on breasts

Clothed you are so beautiful

subject to a Twist of light

to me naked well

Hennaed hair over your breasts

 

 

Towards Evening

our foaming house

of air

knocking pines

ripping not of wind

and afternoon arrives

sun on the side of tall trees

the lord is in heaven and carrots

plugged into dirt.

sick after you to bring myself back

sheathed only in your form means life to me

the porcelain quiet of your crashing life

find a jungle and a friend a mousetrap tied to a chair

you in your light tight dress then

I just barely survive your nakedness

just barely survive you

survive by knowing loving plants

urgent tree baffled light

patient towards stars

and you willing the sea to move

I will now submerge into my sludge delta

and wait for you to carry me back to life

and we’ll hit the earth again

the earth over and over

 

I can’t presume upon your horror

 

 

the fear of burning versus the eternal plunge

 

Oh my god

It’s the drainage, coming at you, babe…
I think it’s a special business get this monkey off my back; grief
beyond the sun
The appalling mane of the sun’s mane I can’t have seen it can I?
Everything turns on the sun begging leaves and jumping horses
the men like jumping horses like pummeling suns
Look at the pussy look at the fists look at the mud and the spray and
betrayal is a word for the world;
You’re not very clever
 
A ton of tankle and mytox
Hard breath tons of breath cursive mouth
Fox heat cursive air plotless sky
Creamy time sun air topless the creamy topless air the sun is going topless

so far from the shaving kit at the bottom of the train yard
Blowing mint
Tomato massage
Crude ice
Candied trees
candied range
melon sky
comes hatches
hatchets and brine pickles and gears hold up and sense pilots and
sense and machines and last froth oh shit we’re going down bless the
melon sky
the ground tracks the subtle skin
the peachy sky the peppery sky
the gifted grime
sweaty palms
crazed melons crazed peaches
the winning wanger

Crude and deceptive bones

Toy bones playing with bones

There is a purity to crystallization

Being frisked by the sun the overlord of water

The play of frisky play of green light under the leaves the vivid sliver of the raccoons back boring bridges muscular toned buffed, the fleshy flames of the sun around his burning nut the fleshy fire around the sun’s hot nut you do not refuse the sun’s kiss daddy O

here’s an apple pie in apology
vivid holdings secrets accidents

The inappropriate touching of privates of the sun. The too intimate suns a too intimate sun our biggest violator.

Tell me how to study the sound and read the air

Let the morning bring me fair

The end is always what we dare

Advance the swing between your legs

Strike a blow for not knowing

Dropping slights and dips and backs

Hold the torch from ear to ear

Gin and beer and vodka stings / strings?

Working on the deadlline seeking

A deadline a humming motor of stealth

Lighting appliances well appointed terms

Teeth the hobby of kindness the battle

The act of cleaning the air the discovery

Of the sunken chest the sense we are at the beginning of things salt pork, murky candy

 

There’s No Thought too Unshapely for the Skull

Tell me about the mind that runs the universe?

Well, he, the mind, is there and he is cold and uncaring

but he loves beauty the long legged woman climbing out of the truck,

the falling sheen of southeast Asian hair; the beauty that torments us

and reminds of what we can’t hold at every minute.

Somewhat like a cold successful homosexual novelist.

He reigns over loud orgasms and quiet libraries bitter beautiful morphine.

He reigns over lava flows floods and the spread of plum blossoms in the wind.

The stuff of jokes: fishing for his cock he cocked himself a glance in the stream and a fish poked through.

And not for the first time noticed he was bald he peed

and he thought himself good looking but under proportion

to the amount of women who should have been hitting on him.

Think of all the math this mind withheld from us until lately

think of all the double h words in English or how about all the double l or even triple l words? Wallless.

The cold is inappropriate, time to move.

Rescue books from the cold. The heat and weight of prancing deer

wake you in the morning.

Gold fillings on front teeth remind you of the gold windowpanes

on the eastern bank of Lake Washington hit by the afternoon sun.

The dust universal we share. The blond boy flings his jean jacket

over the chair at 13 Coins, heedless of the dust he sheds across the plates

of his fellow eaters.

The bald man on the airplane still has a ring of springy orange air

that he fluffs with his knuckles over and over again

as he reads his techno thriller, spreading headly dust

into the food and drink of his fellow passengers.

There has to be a mind. Someone knew how to make

the cunt so practical, so sweet so exalted so ecstatic and elastic.

 

The sunset was cheap as a Japanese fan.

The monkey air

 

In these dark waters

players with minds of drumsticks

The best sandwich in town is the BLT sunset

With flowers on it and fans on them

with Japanese Noh

my cock has the mind of a drumstick

scored ribboned thistled verified

Verbaled throated scarred torn

like a flake

what of the kid who wants to be black?

We can only reabsorb him: there ain’t no pick and stomp

Ventrilio is grinding sausage up to his elbows

farm still open basement making a

A cracked moon,

 

Standing still at dusk

I dreamed of battles

In silent mid night

Women planting rice

Wild geese write a line

Dead my old fine hopes

In this windy nest

Ballet in the air

Dew evaporates

Black cloudbank broken

Seek on high bare trails

One fallen flower

My two plum trees

Now that eyes of hawks

Spot a lovely bowl

White cloud of mist

Is newly hatched

Strangers are like friends

Amble out for love

Now in sad autumn virulence

Fireworks begin

Green fingers painting stolen apples

Parting boat and shore

A Burien (Seattle) of rain

Oh sorry tom cat

The old fisherman

Two white butterflies

While I turned my head

The song ended

The lace of a spider trails you

a strong rain raked leaves

from the trees

The bus departed

The bees died

My toes got cold

I prefer my memories to you

please don’t give me contrasts

just now, life should be all fire or all ice

don’t presume harmonics harm

the fear of beautiful hands doing beautiful things

In the chair all life has moved on

and you’re still in the chair

Leaves milk the ground

Carrying messages seeds

Sidewalk writing gutter missives

Blow avant-garde season look behind

burning wood burning leaves

Substitutes for a promenade;

what fire shows these leaves

 

To Face the Old Love

You sit like a murderer of old love

 

A committed murderer of old love

 

How does torture come to me unreasonably

I didn’t chose flux and smoke

 

too many heads

give me back my gears the old house will never live

 

Unhook the bra memories

such a sexy lucky phrase

like landing on a new continent

or leaving earth in a balloon

young men don’t want to free themselves

from the unhooking of bras

young men learning about undoing

I should be free but I am not;

I can’t change change

young men learning about undoing bras

The power of bras over breath

chaste and hemmed fasteners

So much I want to say

What you see is a man hemmed in,

Was I made to test the limits of unreality

A circle of guitars spreads sunsetly

I want to start noise

love to start moving; did I forget love?

did I construct a person

that is now cracking up?

of myself as a captured man to shut up?

Love of blackness is boundless; the kid

that was formed and shaped in the 60s

will choose…black sly in the family stone

What

 

The wife the kids you’ve trained yourself in still life

Everything seems so provisional

The moon is a trigger

 

Cocked moon burning wood burning leaves

 

Substitutes for a promenade

what fire shows

 

Eyebrows and shaved armpits of smoke

 

We’re Old Enough

We’re old enough to know

Someone always plunges

from the river stones

it’s always been precarious

for the beautiful young dead

yet here we are

a kind of snicker

still scratched by love’s greed

renewal is but lust

kicked by hungry hunger

though we’re slightly more than sleeping stones

we’re old enough to have known a while

 

 

Sleeping Alone

It’s too much the dress rehearsal

The ridiculous somberness of it

Floating in the empty canoe adrift

Among forged smoke signals

boundaryless dreams

Accurate barking owls

You alone with your heat your smell of rope

You want hards and softs the taps of toes

to brush other skin from knee to bush

Your hand to swirl

twin hemispheric eminencies

but you bob a near empty barge

you don’t like the lack of future,

boundary, the webby thoughts

in every direction past in future out

give me another prisoner you cry

but this is your gas and juice and knowing

your feet go searching swaying across the flannel

sometimes a blanket feels like an arm.

 

first light the birds go crazy

Blue birds blue notes

Are balls of paper

the poems written on them

that you throw to the audience

 

Imitation Shakespeare

Round O heart and merry unbind thy froth;

unspume the muffled tendrils

That brine the untoward casings of your tongue.

Vulcan’s hammer would yet sing.

 

Tis morning and once more

the turning spoke and the acquiescent spur

Shall awaken the tiled skies

and sliding berth

of nature’s complacent lap.

 

Aye, twas but a tilled sleep

not an earth-boweled quarry of cast dream

That ties all fitted pretenders

into a knot of unquench’d bereavement,

 

For thy love hath sent me earnest conjurings

worthy of my debasement

It is but shine and notion. Can woman

be so trifling of favor? Must I

Await crown headed morning to withdraw

her polished blade and strike

The turning heads of routing clouds

to run with dogged and water-bent dawn?

Nay, I’ll tarry, cloud bruised and barren

as a French farthing, thou makest me

To amend my farewells in knightly embroilment

and with embossed brows,

Our jointed craving is not yet measured.

I shall unfallow thy articulated wound and

So, cleaving, ignite the visible erasure

that cometh to all under Saturn’s wind.

 

 

Around the Apartment

Our frontier seems a brain

full of gray and electric

Storms, broken drug trees and charred phone booths.

Yes baleful old ladies with done up hair for church

Dower talcum and perfume ghosts in the elevators

new passengers our community of love

and recognition how you come to love

the faces hair clothes manners of neighbors

the alarms are always false the firemen always handsome

a good chance to catch up on gossip though

I miss Muriel, she was so good with dogs

I would like to open all my doors

I feel the musclely spirit of Bruce Lee

over the jonsing beggars at the electric door

the hammered parking lot the shot out neon light

the shot out shot out moon

gorgeously preens

In the courtesy of the checkers at Shop Rite

(I will always be thankful for your kindness)

the way a view

is an opening on something but we don’t deserve views

he he dead yes she saw him through, he lingered

and beggars jones the electric door at Shop Rite

a geological harem what to do what to do

sugar cane manifesto

Goodbye morning

McFate the ship captain

Second helpings

Sun as chapel

You gorgeous pumpkin

Gilded floated gorgeous crookedness

The risen names

Municipal poetry

Civil service poetry

Plush cherries

Pearl moon

Women live in their hair and tits

Heap big

mournful muriel

 

 

where I live where I live

you  love the moon’s cold blade

tells time and falls into the fried sun

Do breaking orgasms scamper the walls like mice

 

became a heaving hump like a wave

that to detach the artery of her affections;

the stork decides whether or not to harmonize

in the desultory diet of crunching Muscovites

and dentures up and holy tool use, and design on desire

she applied as if applying a desiccate or rather we ate

desiccated beef but decided not to press on without our horse buggy.

This desideratum was decisive in not getting us to move further.

 

Desks of desire

The despot at the desk

It’s all way to diffuse….

Desire is a despot from which we must detach ourselves

Gotta a run; too much that is deviationist the detergent of detonation…

 

 

Where I live, (the Nettleton on 8th & Madison)

 

Don’t say canary yellow

if you haven’t seen a canary in years

if you live in a mangoless world

my frontier seems like a brain

full of gray and electric storms

broken cherry trees unsent prayers

where drug boys and girls suck at the corner phonebooth

old ladies with talcumed skin and done up hair for church

leave perfume ghosts in the elevators that take me back to the 40’s

beggars mind the electric door at Shop Rite

jonsing to the musclely spirit of Bruce Lee

standing watch over his old dojo

between us and a brown sun burly mountains

survey us like angry older brothers

guarding our long-ago cheaply swapped virginity

time is throwing light and light

a shrinking fabric around the day

simple waking is not enough

collapsing birds, depressive health

overnight capsules thick windows

uncloud uncorked clouds undrizzle

a moon spooning through the night

tells time and falls into the fried sun

it’s an animal age of warning drums

where fresh breaking orgasms scamper the walls like mice

 

the uninvited universe a gate crasher with song

like a muscle beach party in my head

and a scream outside in the night goes

wo ist mein geld? wo ist mein geld?

how I love the moon’s cold blade

how I love the sun’s citric morning

 

Under the Hail

 

I see her smell

Survive by knowing loving plants to no end but good loving

An arm but blanket but not me

Clothed you are so beautiful to me naked not so

But I forgive your nakedness knowing your beauty

Let sleep dear thing how black you are

I love your love your smile and eyes

Clothe in your light drip

Settle the sound of day seaplane gull bee

Your love stands me tall

Burning and a message of strokes urgent trees

Quick and gone

The sun’s fare to live to live

Where did I go forever at all

A shingled tree baffled light subject to a morsel

Twist of light

Henna patient to stars and you will the sea

To a patient foam house of air knocking pines

Ripping not of wind

And afternoon arrives

Sun on the side of tall trees

The lord is in heaven

Come for carrots limber ones the night’s about to fall

I want to see you hidden as a dear

In the copse your form means life to me

The quiet is yours in life

Find a jungle and a friend

Like a mousetrap tied to a chair

What permission am I waiting for

Ruthless slog we’ve hit the earth again

Slow carry me carry me

Life’s taken a barge down the river but here it stops

I am in my vast domain

I like the image of myself one who has gained mastery over his fear

Outdoor gear pants tucked into boots

Rolls own cigarettes at the table outside

At peace with birds and woodpeckers

The quiet trees around me like so many big brothers

 

 

The closest I can get to my brain you fill my toes

Pour five into my heart and wake my loins

Peter my fancy neihghnboring my stout shout blood

Ring chorus joy all for brownness blondness joy fight what we caqnnot say sing bell fire riot joy rapine how many begs hove hove you?

 

Your blood is so young

Small spiders joy ring joy

 

The sturdy paint of the sun

Wander theory winter’s run tell the tale of ka and din

let me sail for hampers swim all the not all the swill

can forgive a nimby pill follow a bug our formica

should his wandering shell like a torment of waiting

in somber shack never wait for the sun again

call to fun bodily craze yet stall at poetry

in real killings life is the real sun

it’s paint is red and moves forever

we’ll wait come again never

 

Find it boring ever after

So many signals to tell us what we’re doing

boring in and out drilling what we’re doing

is beyond us are we just exercising?

How much does it cost to learn life is not an exercise

what finality do we live for that leads us to ignore our oblivion?

We see signals so many but never the fading fighting atoms

lets fade now or fight

I’ve heard hand-to-hand combat is the ultimate high

we avoid it here like death to be sure

laugh at death anyway just because

he takes beauty from us or leads us to it.

 

Truth comes in signals

We have not truth but signals sweet pine shedding brown ticks and pins you’re bark like a difficult novel wrapped around your green core what else is there we feel in our feet happy color feasts ambulating what more is it than apple pie I get mine and your get yours is the world a toy we’ve already got a toy a brain that makes us stay and learn give me gimme that gimme that gimme that

 

Nature red tooth and claw

Wait nature dark and bumpy the frosty ant worships his tiny ending it was summer and I came. Called to greena dn darkness and sound and light everything with eyes shall rescue me balance used the earth as an apple core flung now into the forest floor le cackles and le caws draw silliest breath pine and mind death and breath

 

Crossing the ferry

The ticket taker’s bored there’s so many of you each with his urgent question each with his uniqueness soon to be banished. In another world maybe the ticket taker cares for us but I doubt it maybe he asks three questions that begin with … when? Or he drags on a cigarette and answers without looking at you. There are so many of you all unique all with the same question that begins with “when…?” All of you soon to be banished.

 

Ripostes and Ham

It was winter when we swelled so large unbunnied unbruied unhilled a loft of sex and demand where each buried duff desire that unsnuffed cigar that flatiron full of paydirt and fill and extra dahlia bulbs the flowers are not evil but the ferns are old and they have something sinister to say like a mousetrap on a wire tied to a chairleg

Poetry and Ham

Sorry for the meaningless attention getting title

maybe I was just thinking of my Grandmother

and her beautiful ham

just the right amount of brown sugar

and salt I just want a love like a grandmother’s

it’s got to be the purest on earth

parents and children are too bewildered

the kids wondering what brung ‘em

the parents so full of expectation or not

but in all world literature

is there an evil grandparent, I don’t think so.

I want to write a poem but there’s a ham in the oven

no nothing tropical here only smells

of the closed in the elevator of our apartment building

elevator courtesies going in and out of doors

I would like to open all my doors

the way you can in the forest but at night

I might get eaten or at least poked

it’s time not to burn but to pray

thank you for this day like an ocean under the sun

it’s as big as we can really feel

I don’t think the stars would be as kind to us as our ocean.

We’ve got an earth all is leaving at bright moments

such foil and terror a setting of ambition

and pretension against death that fat phony

 

 

Poem to Rex

Rex you’re such a dumb ugly dog

but you are loved by my friend and

so I love you he must have cried at life

as it was first presented to him as a gray

cement wall under Cocescueau that mad

man how a world class scientist he sent

away for parts to an outboard motor and

bullet missed him and maybe he offed some asshole

in uniform what do I know

about as much as you Rex,

you mutt but he loves you

you’re his doorway to the world

 

 

Poem to Horace

in our world we are so certain about unseen things

from the smell of a sand bed we create musculature

ligature armature davenports breaks hulls deities

beaks bones piles of ink lace

 

you would like our aplomb but quickly note how perfunctory it is

most things are mysteries but we’re sure of them

most things pass us by though we understand them

our lives still feel short and the past still seems a dream

like you, we find civilization in greetings and romance and gardens

 

you wouldn’t believe our confidence

we stride we don’t walk we fly

but it’s well known though unspoken

the sound of the burning fire that carries us into the air

is the sound of the tearing curtain between being and non-being

 

The other day I saw a goose bathing herself in the Duwamish

how honeyed and fresh the water she shook in the sun,

a tug pushed a barge up river without a ripple, slowly

 

our world seems summered beyond blossom now

what wisdom have we but nothing and money?

gold speaks fluently and he turns out to be a boor

interested only in the sound of his own metal

in stocks, antiques, and statistics and wine

 

when I was a boy I swam in rivers and touched bright blurry fish

my green youth thanks me for giving my memories a chance to live,

 

we live beyond shadows now

we live beyond the sun now

we live beyond sadness now

We’ve let go sacks of grief and history

Yet wonder after such strange pain

Our life seems a mountain

it takes such effort to ignore

 

To my favorite waitress

At the SeaTac Double Tree Inn

Her name is topsy and she always calls me

dear honey and sweetie

she makes me feel so good

and even told me to go ahead

park free in the front lot

“it’s OK; you’re a guest while you’re eating, hon”

she makes you feel special

she wears her nametag “St. Louis, Mo.”

My coffee cup is full and so is my water glass

 

 

 

how Garcia Lorca has such freedom in his lines he takes what’s at hand and does with it…

 

I’ve drawn lines before but I work to erase questions

In your arms

An improvised world of erased questions

 

our lust amortized we and see what we never saw:

we are toys.

 

An Open Door

An uncocked wind

Swallows a corner the earth the gray sky

with dingy food a sudden mountain

that captures your health toll stops time

so borrowed dream from that we dream

from a common well this could be time or music

where do you come from what is your name

snoring wind scalpel sun unbird mindful

rhyming birds and purposeful wind scoring

blanketing the dreamy pangris that you have surgered

scoring blanketing and embraced time itself

the quiet of your auditors the seige of them

by the dream a feeling that you are seizing time itself

stopping it holding it fondling it when you hear music

countersinging

music this strong and hungry wind

fugitive water scalpel sun you’re pulling something from our dreams

somewhere where does it come from what is your name

 

There is no private sun

A divinity awake but that’s all

When did you have to beg last

Where Am I?

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