Jul 31, 2009

 

laterality
wet with time

five questions
who

is an artist
that does nothing

but perceive
and sift

assembling collections
of his own garbage

when
will the moon fall

from my sight
tonight

provided i do not look
how

could a chimp
trained

to untrain itself
not do this task

where
there are den

of bear
what

bright nonsense



 

 

 

 

 

 
 


delay postponement; postponement delays

why are most polarbears lefthanded?
most humans are right.

we are flawed
incrementals--

once upon a time upon a bed of moss
once a grave.


 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 29, 2009

 

12-18 people
understand the theory of
relativity; 12-18
people understand
and profess proficiency
enough to play
the rach 3; that's silly--
if parallels between
the two exist, if any
of the twelve to
eighteen can do both,
i'd like to sit, dreaming
as i heard such things
explained; no, really--

let me say that again
another way: everything
exists self-consciously
alone; the arrowroot
cold, yes, and the lock-
spur; the finest map
of water known; entang-
lements of quiddity; yes,
well, so?-- so this: reap-
prehension of the mean
in flame; some minds
burn clean and all sense
the breadth and depth
and innocence of reach.


unutterable precision
would not be a gift;
men are lost, and what
is man?-- within the same
realm as selachii, auroras
and infinite imaginings
as much as the moon
light dusts even the rocks
without moss; metaphorically:
here is a boat, and a boat
is not man; islands where
display is effective; bedrock
again sand-- that animal
which waves knowing it does--

proof exists in perpetual
application-- what is string
that can not be tied; what warmth
that does not fall; the time
is the tone of what there is
to be felt; all of hope an ocean
without home; love as intricate
as starlight which has no fear--
there is no god but blue above
a tree that is leaves upon leaves
against sky; these hemispheres
of laughter hum before they hit
to again sing-- my voice
is of the indelibility of everything.

 


 

 


 

 


 

Jul 25, 2009

 

It storms. The sky, lit blue and frightening.
The good dog, still dead; skull in a duffel.
Tomorrow's ozoned humidity, tinted with viridity.
Silence bottlenecks and the rain, unstopped.

It storms. The night is high and near and wise.
The electrical hum within the walls, lullabyes.
Tomorrow is an eddy in a dream that resonates:
Resign yourself to fate; fate yourself to life.

Lies. I am a half-drawn sword. My irises rot
with balletic thought upon grapevine and fire.
Justice seems the lucidity of snow and winds
that cello. What do you know, analysed; do you?

With what inertia intellect possesses, I go:
A laser thru morning fog; an epitaph of nonce.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 24, 2009

 

Two Too True Stories


Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Bang.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 23, 2009

 

My Klein bottle for Moebius strips and souls.

On your left, Irony's Blaacccccccckkkkkkkkkkk
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
kkkhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
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ooooooooooooooooooo--



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 19, 2009

 


Good: infinity.

Evil: eternity.


 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

Jul 18, 2009

 

 

possum
in the aftermath

pocket washed


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 17, 2009

 



whirling silver winds
gasping grasp--


foxes



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 16, 2009

where do the eyes go?

they go to follow lines 
without arrows, those curved 
continuities of femininity 
disrobed-- they go coolly
upon calf relaxed and upraised
hand and travel nervelessly
over form to wordlessly linger 
as they warm upon function-- 
the cunt and the tit trap
and the world-- it burns
in the paroxysm of orgasm
in its presque vu revelation--
all is known, nothing fact.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

the key to great art

add wallpaper


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 15, 2009

 

genius doesn't steal--
it owns
and then gives away--

the sun is not an eye--
but every ray
lashes out at night--

three butterflies--
each tasteful foot
tasting feet--

black bodilessnesses
and cherubs everywhere--
so life seethes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 14, 2009

 


sylph, dryad, nymph--
lysph, addyr, phymn--
lisps, adder, femme.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 13, 2009

 

 

blue-bedded azure ozone beaded brightly
built of twentyfold layers of translucent
crosshatch strokes--

one strata gold
two strata white

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Apropocalypse


Everyone is dead or has been
evacuated, love--
We are left in a city of ghosts
in a cataleptic land
of the cirrus world, love--
(the soldier toys hum)
Dress now in your mother's dress
as I wear my father's jacket--
Love, let us climb into their bed--
(the soldier toys run)
Love, let us tuck ourselves in--
(the soldier toys come)
Love, let us love--
We are happy without end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

anechoic--
choice (na-

oi) chance

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

a pun without a chline

if not nothing then would be
metaphoristry
chnine.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 12, 2009

 


counterclockwork--
painting daily a new twelfth
as the fruit rots

hypermutation--
pine realistically depicted
then limn warholian

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
knowledge is fractal--
the chaos of these fields
intertwine

here is wisdom--
you are as saturated
as i; goedelian

fore & backgrounds
thriving, writhe--
hull & thresh

strip & sliver
brocade & irradiate--
time is a throat

no ledge is actual--
i am a note.


i am a note
--no ledge is actual

--time is a throat
brocade & irradiate
strip & sliver

--hull & thresh
thriving, writhe
fore & backgrounds

as i; goedelian
--you are as saturated
here is wisdom

intertwine
--the chaos of these fields
knowledge is fractal.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 10, 2009

 

 

country snigger.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 9, 2009

 


buddha as a lawn gnome
christ with a crucified erection
a pig called allah
brahma eating diseased cattle
and the three monkeys of no-evil
with YHWH tattoos

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 5, 2009

 

as if there are never more storms, or other calms
as if each step is not a thing to pivot upon and draw from
as if a large enough finity, is not itself an infinity

furthermore, we are naked to better devour sensoria
moreover, insignifigance itself poignantly perfumed
what is more, love acknowledges death and supercedes

some of which or all of which or none of which
may be true at any given time in any given weather
or not or partially or indefinitely, perpetually

you would not believe what i truly believe, i think
the stars are beyond my concern but they drive me
to create the terror that is immaculate kindness

and my wings are hands and my blades are eyes
and my tongue is mind and my thought is rain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 4, 2009

 

born in december and conceived in may
father a drunkard and mother deranged
brother a loser and sisters twice-sane
home a vaccuum and house set aflame
dreams of high ground and work without pay
born in december and conceived in may

married in june and divorced in september
children unnamed and lovers surrendered
dogs are all shot and cats are each wired
trees lose their bark and grasses dew-moire
the sky is a rubric and half-moons retire
married in june and divorced in september

dead at march-end and buried in april
friends but as close as familiarity fickle
melodies of birds over a hiss-roar of drizzle
dinner is dandelion and dessert an old nickel
this fire is starlight and this water bevels
dead at march-end and buried in april

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jul 2, 2009

 

 

The rising sparks of a dying fire
twist, released by the tongue of a stick
and deflect as glass and smoke, stars
in dry golds of rosemary and rose
as these naked oak river night
and the breath I breathe, the sea.