she (again)
she read the news and feared the onslaught of the mongol hordes –
the shadows of night time ghouls
she feared the onset of winter
and bought tin food to see her through to the thaw
she carved a biography into the bunker walls in case bird pecked at her corpse
Eatmorewords's Blog 
IF A WOMAN CAN HAVE ACTUALITY THEN HER ACTUALITY IS MINIMIZED
A HIGH REGARD FOR A WOMAN IN SPITE OF THE GRAVEST DOUBTS
TIRESOME AND PRETENTIOUS WOMEN AT A PARTY ALL DRESSED IN GRAYS
THEIR VOICES LIKE A ZAPA SYMPHONY OF MUTED GRAVIES
LUMPY LANDSCAPE BREASTS AND UNMISTAKABLE MAN HIPS
FACE TO FACE WITH AN ACROBAT AFTER SEVERAL TWISTS AND TURNS
DESOLATE JISM ON THE SHORE….ABANDONMENT ?
JISM FROM THE HOOK—STRUGGLE AND SACRIFICE
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I SAW 5 NAMES CARVED IN THE BUNKER WALL:
MOMMA BIRD: GAIL
BABY BIRDS: DWEEZIL, MOON, AHMET, AND DIVA
————————————————————————
IN THE PREVIOUS COMMENT, ONE OF THE “P”s IN ZAPPA WASN’T FEELING WELL
AND LEFT EARLY….THUS I TYPED ZAPA AND NOT ZAPPA
I KNOW THAT THERE ARE A LOT OF THIEVES BUT NO ONE STOLE THE MISSING “P”
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I’M CONFUSED…..IS A BIOGRAPHY THE SAME THING AS A SAD HONEYMOON ?
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people often ask about lubricating the buttocks of a horse
I always blame overlapping masculinities
DETOUR—DETOUR !!! sexuality has collapsed
no more need for pornographic serpents or snakes
camouflage tent flaps……..nude cave-liners
the world of gender imaginary
sticky fingers grubbing past the rough spot
undisciplined overlapping masculinity
soft masculinity blurring the distinction
unappeasable hunger—indiscriminate appetite
cowboy stamina with slick horse buttocks
mutual pleasure in SPOKEN COITUS
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should I write about a river of secretions ?
grumbling, snarling, sizzling
going…going with swelling dough
engine rigged for silent running
in and out….pistoning
burlesqued in the MultipleMichael comments
poetry wrestling like clocks that accelerate at will
indulging in Eskimo smells
black-clad butt grease
seal, shark, or whale ?
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sewer secretions
such stench
underground but banks are bursting, approaching the surface,
no more silent running,
tributaries open up like veins spreading across the surface of her body,
the accelerating clocks make it hard to pin point this exact moment in time – time is man made yet it is relative to me or you, or her (or them) –
and as for the Eskimos I alway leave them to their own devices –
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fully submerged in the sewer secretions
I waded in where the stream seeps through the ground
I would have to throw my shoes and clothes away
the smell was ungodly….very Nagasaki after the bombing
mental amputation….inch by inch
“sane voices” from the past
my friends fraught with self-loathing
the burden of gender anxiety with no proof
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everywhere I go I see the icons of masculinity
friends who resemble more than differ
men who hold hands and smoke seductive Italian cigarettes
men troubled at their inability to be men
that crazy transition from boyhood to manhood
coming-of-age is a lonely stretch
relentless tests and visible proof
SHE IS IN THE KITCHEN
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SHE is the slippery word…the living proof
SHE is more than the surface of her skin
SHE is ancestral and self-splitting if given a chance
a muscular outlet with a hairless backside
a lingo maniac awkward in the automobile
SHE dreams in triumph and disappointment
violent pride and rigid living space regulations
SHE is John Wayne and I am her sixgun
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a flesh shaft that grows from the ground
I could see the reinforced divide
the poetic wound
the hole
my silence made me a part of the crime
frightening childhood dreams
going to jail
soft odd-colored excrement
her thigh chasm
her Canada in the shrubs
the abandonment from God and his city
filth and decay on the menu
on the lap of Santa
growers crawling in the hideaway
once you die, jail is not so bad
leave the sensory language to the poets
rockets in the night explode
sexual trauma on the muddy road
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that horrible sin not to be mentioned in the daylight
the children of Adam playing
smudged with the dirt of the earth
not the clouds or above the clouds
smudged with the dirt of endless relatives
the giant river of family blood
proud creatures
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you fall down going to work and no one notices
you are not Chinese
all your life you have been running away from your Fathering
appetite for language—are you free to trespass ?
a mutty blend of poppa bear and momma bear
not really bears….more like hominids
no right to peek into anyone else’s 24/7
the genes combined during the marriage transaction
your mother viewed as a piece of meat—as a commodity
daddy was the butcher and mommy was the meat
the sign on your door says “ME”
you fall down going to work and people try to shatter you as if you were made of glass
Norman’s mother saved you from being a zoo creature
self-alienation always deepens
like meat…feminized, married, grinning in obscenity
you don’t want to be on television
you don’t want to be a mutty blend
20 minutes standing up
20 minutes with those magic thumbs
20 minutes a righteous man
one hour of the bespectacled boy
Johnny Boy…one sure thing, you’re not Chinese
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the children of Adam playing
you remained inside, cleansing and purifying
you could not take the smudge of earth
teeth grazing your privates
superstition made you stay inside
the fear of death
of being flooded with sin
other children were full of salt
common peril………………self-destruction
the character development of a mutty blend
willing arms around the hole of your psyche
fingers like the blades of scissors
snip you genetically free
as you erase yourself you also erase me
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Norman’s mother saved you from all the pokey stuff
saltine men, condensed fluids, authenticity
words exploit another’s appetite
love-hate/father-son
the coax to give it a try
to have the smudge of dirt
the special secret recipe
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people who live the awful sameness on earth in order to get to heaven
crush ice for mixed drinks in heaven
when you die you lose your uncontrollable impulses
your puppet can no longer use his legs
animal instincts out the window at 90 mph
life becomes a drama of rot and stench
the smell of meat causes sex nausea
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MILLIONS OF TIMES YOU HAVE SPOKEN OF THE AHABS OF THE WORLD
AHAB HAD SKIN OF AMAZING THICKNESS—HE WAS MAN-MADE
WHEN YOU THINK OF HIM, HE BECOMES PARALYZED
HIS LEGS REFUSE TO STAND OR WALK
TO WHAT EXTENT SELF-INFLICTED ?
OH SURE, HE HAD A DISTURBED MIND
A TORTURED IMAGINATION
A POOR STREAM OF PISS
————————————-
on the birthday card: “dead, gone to unknown address”
except for his signature these were possibly his only written words
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men in black with spyglasses, hidden narrative identified
somewhat peculiar narrative…..are you an amateur sleuth ?
discovery makes a mystery a mystery….artistic calculation
events often appear to be accidents or coincidences
try to focus on the known and not the unknown
everyday reality is the lead-dog, the “upfront”
try not to leave the hard feel of reality
softness turns to blur
leave dreams in bed
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HOW MAGNIFICENT IT WOULD BE TO DIE AND NOT BE CHINESE
FROM THE PAST TO THE PRESENT, GEOMETRIC SHAPES MELT
SQUIRRELS STAY ON SHORE WITH THEIR NUTS
WOMEN SWITCH FROM BEING PARTICIPANTS TO MANIPULATORS
EXCRUCIATINGLY… LOSS OF BLOOD ON BROWN RAGS
FUTURE MOTHERS TOTTER ON THE BRINK OF HELL
SATAN WITH HIS OUTSTRETCHED LIMBS READY TO CATCH THE FALLEN
THEY SAY THAT MOTIVATION IS EVERYTHING
REPULSIVE RATS THE ENTIRE LOT
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seven degrees of separation must mean we are part Chinese – somewhere – it’s all just numbers but they add up – there are patterns –
stock market numbers fluctuate – green diodes –
red flickering numbers – up and down and down then up –
like boats on waves –
stockbrokers and sailors
her stock is high
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straightforward face value—readers with outstretched arms totter
just try to orient yourself—suck it up and be real—your fancy memory did not occur
if you retrace your steps, you haven’t gone the long miles you claim
not your intolerable brother but your other self…..your double, your reflection
sarcastic noble-birds spit at you—they’ve had dealings with your imitation
if you could understand their tongue, you would hear them call you, “Imp of the Poddy”
they seem to speak in whispers unlike your voice which is an echo of an angry kodiak
I know you chuckle at your split, you pride yourself in your trek away from conscience
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almost tranquility and then the rat gets stuck in the elevator lung
and the elevator coughs up photographs
not just any photographs
but photographs of you
the entire dramatic reversal takes place in seconds
metropolitan toothpicks and hobo structures
you were quoted, “life is controlled motion”
“LIFE IS CONTROLLED MOTION”
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when other girls and boys were kissing photographs of Gary Cooper
you were sticking push pins in a foothold on reality
you found it so important to know the difference between thousandths of an inch
vexing white string strung from push pin to push pin
you had caught Americanism at an early age
you were more American than actual Americans
of course, you did have a Swiss knife
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all these people kept telling me that the face must be relaxed to the point of emptiness
relax, relax and then and only then expression will appear of itself
( the ringmaster smacks of sour grapes ) feelings cannot be extorted
remember when you dropped all intellectual inhibitions and let your feelings have free access ?
you called it your Johnny Boy Method and your mother called it torment
“all expression should be spontaneous” and then your father almost made contact
somehow you pulled yourself together and wished him under the wheels of anything onrushing
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YOU HAVE POSTPONED AND AVOIDED GOD AND THE DEVIL
YOU HAVE HIDDEN A LADDER UNDER YOUR BED
YOUR SOCKS WILL NOT PROTECT YOU FROM THE FLAMES
THE LADDER IS NOT TALL ENOUGH
ALL THE WORDS WRITTEN AND HALF OF THE CHEESE MADE IN DENMARK
——————-WILL NOT SAVE YOU———————————–
it is a problem best not left till after death
the screaming in the flames sounds worse when your screams join in
contemplate the past
erase and erase some more
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Eskimo people are distant and untouchable
(remember: if an Eskimo tries to kiss you
hesitation only makes matters worse)
HOWLING WIND AS A COMPANION
never seen outside his rigidly ordered underwear
feelings have ceased to exist yet he has feelings nevertheless
physical movement implies romance
“OPPORTUNITY IS THE DEVIL’S BEST FRIEND”
when responses are blocked, tension boils
Norman’s mother was mute on this topic
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I AM HARDLY THE FIRST PERSON TO SAY THAT ESKIMO MEN
ARE FAMOUS FOR RUBBING GREEN PERSIMMON PASTE
ON THEIR LOVER’S FLAPS
the question is——where do you purchase the paste ?
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HELL WOULD SURELY REPLACE THE EXPECTED HEAVENLY BLISS
REFLECTIONS ON THE BLUE-BLACK BULLS IN THE MOONLIGHT
SUBJECT MATTER FOR NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD
THE WEDDING BED STUCK IN A DARK CORNER
DEFLOWERED AND DEFLOWERED AGAIN
SO MUCH MISDIRECTED FORCE
PSYCHIC IMPOTENCE
IN A SHOEBOX
FORGOTTEN
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A THING IN ITSELF AND A TOKEN OF SOMETHING MORE
HE SAID THAT HE WAS SELF-INDULGENT
AND YOU WERE THINKING OF SISTERS
AFFECTATION…..IS IT DIFFERENT THAN THE REAL THING ?
MORNING AND NIGHT ARE NO LONGER DISTINGUISHABLE
THE HAND WITH THE GLOVE SEEMS SO MUCH HEAVIER
THE HEAVENS FROWN ON AIMLESS SPEWS
EDDIES OF HONEYMOON-LIKE MOVEMENT
NOTHING DRAB OR ORDINARY ABOUT LIFE
THE SEASHORE OF EMOTIONAL CLOSENESS
WHAT A SHADOW YOUR MANHOOD CASTS !!!
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is it true on your first date she asked you to sniff her behind ?
the simple stink of rotted cabbage
you were so happy it wasn’t in the family of horse pee and week-old straw
your nose was always an outdoor kind of nose
no more heavenly a smell than a fresh paved road
you with your coal tar on a rag
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POISONED RELATIONSHIPS—EITHER TOO MUCH TALK OR NOT ENOUGH
AS A CHILD YOU WERE DEALT A SEVERE BLOW—CROSSED WIRES
FRIGHTENED BY UNZIPPED FEMALE GENITALIA—GANGLING GIRL SKIN
WOULD YOU BE PINCHED ?
ALL THAT MOANING AND PANTING AND CLIMAXING
THE FLOOR COVERED WITH JUICES
LOVE REALLY WAS A BATTLE
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playing fields
battle fields – frosted ground – a Hansel and Gretel trail of clothes lead eyes to the bedroom – zip fumbled buttons shiny – there is a dark subtext here –
running hands across smooth surfaces
everyone looks like someone else today
on this plain
death does not exist
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POETRY COMES FROM SOWING-REAPING
THE DEVIL’S BACKSIDE
YOU MAY BE MATURE
WITH AN IMPRESSIVE TOOL KIT
BUT WHAT WILL YOU SAY
WHEN THEY ASK YOU
“WHAT DID YOU SOW ?”
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GNAWING QUESTIONS
***********************************************************************the mollusk in your underpants********
DID YOU MAKE A TERRIBLE BARGAIN ?
POSSIBLY MISINFORMED ABOUT CERTAINTIES
PEOPLE DEMAND TO KNOW OF YOUR HARVEST
SHE CUT YOUR HEAD IN ANGER
YOU SEEMED SO RIGID
WHY WOULD YOUR CO-SLEUTH HARM YOU ?
(impending death makes people nervous about the harvest)
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this is not the season to talk of sowing seeds – cold earth & the frustrated gravediggers – nothing can grow now
good intentions count for nothing
she wrote all the questions down that gnawed away –
“Oh Captain”…she often murmured – the cold fear of mutineers – go look out the window,
move the curtain and have a look,
the mountains are getting smaller and that tree is dead the clouds no longer resemble anything you’ve said
night is coming
cloaking us and it sets as we walk
away
the detectives are being watched
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she kept picking at the mole
she dug inside under her skin
revulsion pinches every inch of skin
the wind in her sails
reversed the polarity
she ran and glanced at her feet separated from their motion
and the direction in which she was going
the stem the nub the length
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————oh my goodness, you mentioned the MOLE—————–
is the MOLE the mother of all wombs ?
She put her finger inside under the skin
tampon after tampon was inserted
the strings were a challenge
revulsion pinches every inch of skin
WORMS IN A SHOEBOX POINT NORTH
I told you about a forgotten form of sleep
shut out, we no longer hear the serpent
readers ask me to veil my words
not to mention the visitations
to find divinity in drugs
all notion of poetry
attack–destroy
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A WELL-WORN MOLE—THE WRITER’S BLOCK MOLE
SHE PUT HER FINGER INSIDE UNDER THE SKIN
A SCHOOLGIRL ADVENTURE
PRESSED TO DIVULGE THE SOURCE
GROPING FOR ANY MEDIUM OF EXPRESSION
TOUCHING THE MOLE MADE HER WET
THE SMALL SPRING INSIDE HER GROOVE
SO DRY UNTIL YOU TOUCH THE FLOW
ONE FAT FINGER IS ALL SHE CAN HOLD
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sights, sounds, and smells are characterized
always another source of departure
any opening that a finger might slip inside
schoolgirls have a peculiar perfection
in slipping a finger inside
labored under the skin
that specific pressure point
no better reception for poetry
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SEWER SECRETIONS LINGERING IN THE NIGHT
A NOCTURNAL REVERIE OR TWO
A CROWD OF ESKIMOS IN A TIGHT SPACE
NO ONE CAN GO OUTSIDE
TO POOP OR PEE
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she told me she wouldn’t return till the trees began to live again – were clothed with leaves
she had supplies:
( cigarettes etc)
last year she wanted to visit every American state in alphabetical order,
she wanted to climb Europes highest peak but though language would be a barrier
she promised to send postcards every fourth day
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the detectives have photographs of you kissing Yoko
through the dull dead curtains
did romance really lurch to a halt like a truck with bad brakes ?
did you get right to the point ? were you instructed to circle the fuzzy zone ?
she told me that you had a pocket full of half-rotten bananas
( paydirt to a psychoanalyst ????????)
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DETECTIVE WHISPERS, “GEOGRAPHY IS EVERYWHERE”
IRASCIBLE, DOGMATIC, APHORISTIC
LUMPS IN THE OTHERWISE SOFT POETIC BEDDING
POETS MUST EXPAND THE RANGE OF EXPERIENCE
NOT JUST WEAR BRIGHT YELLOW RUBBER BOOTS
AND TALK SALTY
( or live with a woman who sprays avant-garde bathroom scents like “FELICITOUS”
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lost track of the thread – unravelled jumper, a cats plaything the ball of twine, uncoiled
and tried to pull it tight but it snapped
two ends no middle
nothing attached to the hobo – no connections all jangled and frayed
( romanticised image of the hob
infected with wanderlust, a desire to get back to better time,
a rejection of modern things,
MODERN WAYS
him alone with his thoughts, the landscape, mountains, travelling hither and yon –
through geography
over geography (but no one mentions railroad sodomy and the smell of alcohol)
the poet can make this all sound better
can dismiss the detective and solve the crime
YELLO BOOTS ON A MARTIAN LANDSCAPE SOMEWHERE IN NEVADA
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Johnny Boy dangled by his hands from a limb of a tree
naked and politely dormant, his intellect caged
solitary time in that skull, possibly hiding
from motions and sounds
and other creatures
and commitments
I’ve asked him to separate
the animal from the civilized
being savage and guilty of carnivorous suddenness
always maintaining the necessary distance and control
terrified of being psychologically maimed
rolled in a carpet of bleakness
and forgotten, misplaced
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what could not be overcome had to be securely hidden
all the things others did that were beyond doing
or even attempting to do
tempting reality was kept outdoors
there was a strong dividing line
——the good compass points north———-
unpalatable realities were to go to neighboring homes
big fat rats ready to explode
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THOSE WHO DO NOT SHARE IT
???????????????????????????
the savage, the barbarian, the unenlightened
I wanted the singers of songs to enjoy the songs
I prayed to my STARWHEEL
the alternative worlds of poets are not good enough
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no one talks about same-sex play
propulsion in the shadows
aggressive testicles
architectural placement
mathematical movements
rotation and release
the first time
you notice
peanut butter
on your stick
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autopilot:
the narrow plank
between her legs
serpent spit
shoo away the genital snake
———————————————-
private acts of daily life
leap and plunge in the shower
dog in hand safe from curious eyes
hush, hush—not too much noise
shuddering man milk unmothered
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varying degrees of pleasure
detectives with peculiar powers
blurring of sexual boundaries
a mixture of sticks and holes
a juxtaposition of narrative
men clinging to men
women lodging with women
feminine oral tenderness
singing birds in the hair
all circles touched
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ALL CIRCLES IN NEVADA TOUCHED !!!
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“WHAT DID YOU SOW ?”
hope, pleasure, pain, self-recognition, passivity, weakness, myth, sexuality
poetic inspiration, unacknowledged desire, aggression, dark vision
ambivalent response, subtle reciprocity, heroic grandeur, byways
unashamed articulations, blanched vision
and when I was younger—-peanut butter on my stick
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ARE YOU LOYAL TO THE MEMORY OF YOUR CHILDHOOD ?
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somebody said that the moment we sin
we develop the freedom to act independently
self-knowledge has a lot of responsibility
I know that they have a gun pointed at your family
they want the plutonium 239 and the Curie diary
our story assumes a new and different meaning
the rules we honor have been invalidated
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it is difficult to act out of free will
big fat rats are ready to explode
life is full of painful losses
interplay is so dangerous
jazz is often a combination
jazz is what is left after the rats explode
with no definite proof:
right 12 left 15 right 18
good luck
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my childhood was full of melting ice cream and tall buildings, distorted memories of constant suns on this island – walking on the bones of history – dead dinosaurs, carbons crumbling churches, the toll of the bells, long grass
the people in the shadow never began to emerge until hairs started to grow – I can’t remain true to a memory that may be wrong to a me that isn’t here longer
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jazz is freedom
it’s fresh air that not everyone can breath
some can choke
time signatures that follow no mathematical rules – you can’t tabulate your soul
miles Davis was big in France where he smoked their cigarettes and learned their language – ( only small bits though)
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rules are there to be moulded
changed
The diaries are written in hieroglyphics, pictures for letters, people are words, she died with the cipher that computers can’t fathom
my family are safe, R.Nevilles gun only shot blanks we can only sin if we are free and independent
this story is a story of our time
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Italian cigarettes are 100% better than French cigarettes
Miles Davis may have played jazz and made jazz albums
but he never listened to the crap in his free time
Intellectuals praise jazz as being so special
but it is all a LIE
not one person in America listens to jazz
unless they are forced to
unless they make money from it
unless they are pulling the wool over someone’s eyes
jazz sucks big time
it makes you feel like you’re driving blind on the freeway
like you’re riding a bicycle with no handlebars
like you’re kissing a duck or a chicken
if anyone does listen to jazz—they are a villain
you should put hundreds of miles between you and them
people who listen to jazz are like those people who stomp on baby animals
they often suffer from venereal disease and/or leprosy of the brain and/or worse
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there is ice in Florida and jazz on the radio
strange days indeed
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ice is just cold water
jazz is not music
it may be on the radio
real people do not listen to it
where jazz is playing—fraud, corruption, and deception can’t be far off
having ignored warning—birds who listen to jazz often find themselves cooked
jazz is imitation music——–no meat in that nut
if you listen to jazz—-make it your most deepest darkest secret
never—and I mean never confess to that deed
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– confessions from hither and yon –
like her exposed hem
I tried not to touch
and like the mushroom cloud worn like a hat over Nagasaki I tried to not look
and with the unrelenting questions she asked, i tried not to think
answer suppressed at source
and with the jazz I tried to resist but some things have a greater pull then gravity – a stronger pull then love
something magnetic washed over me – like waves
like Emily’s touch it was soft and hard and slow and fast and confusing and sensual and painful and tender and it’s an argument i see both sides of but I don’t kill baby animals and I hide in the open under the sun and this is my jazz confession –
you can judge a man by the secrets he can keep
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I tried to touch the smile in science
I underlined imperfections in the Curie Diary
fault-finding (vigorous devil)
Curie Science was a real hatchet-job
it was a miracle they could cultivate the green
I say, “pierces the veil”
you say, “pierces the curtain”
who would follow their tracks ?
wayside shelter—warm arms to hold you
Miles Davis pumping out background music
the notes like a boisterous elevator
or a carnival ride gone wild
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to imagine with other imaginations
the luxury of another day
you watch the world pass by
a thousand or more of everything
you must bring clarity to mind
sort through multiplicity
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if one is in France, “a thousand or more of everything” may be confusing
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every creeping thing that creeps
fears of homelessness
self-satisfied living
often connected with memory
hungry creatures live in dark memories
wanting to be at home in the darkness
wanting to forget horrific fragmented scenes
those snapshots of the grave
dreaming in a state of death
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let’s hear a laugh at sharing our moment of creation
with all the other creatures
nuclear numbers
number our days
to be reawakened
vice-regents and no more
understanding God
to rule and have dominion
standing in sewer secretions
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delays in replies hunkered down across the border in another land where they have done away with vowels
destroyed language
carry colourful currency
have no concept of jazz
they speak of abduction freely – cow carcasses tot in open fields
there is a french word for the gap between when you think something and when you write it down
it’s untranslatable but I’ve seen it
So had dearest Emily
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notes like cries of help from a boisterous elevator
or a small child hanging by one foot from a carnival ride gone wild
Michael of the upward curve
having just returned from Paris
where he was permitted to run wild
and get a taste of freedom
having taken the Devil’s advice
and drowned in backroom dialogue
yes, life is populated with serpents
face-to-face encounters ?
when God arrives
He will be covered in the faces of humanity
ARE YOU A FACE OF GOD ?
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SEX-LINKED BEHAVIORAL SNAPSHOTS
EXPLORATION
PURSUIT
ROUGH PLAY
horrific levels of testosterone
alone with aggression
ready for nonverbal intercourse
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in the bushes before the bus
mating behavior and copulation
pheromones are everywhere
motivation is switched to “high alert”
friendly intentions are a red flag
all focus glued to bust size
waist-to-hip ratio
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according to pictures Jesus was a young man with a beard – hippyish – hoboish – possible unclean?
the beard as a sign of devoutness itches away at those nagging doubts, those unanswered questions but the beard is part of the masquerade – an attempt to hide something
do you trust men with beards?
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copulation from the tube where impurities drain –
someone
something
somewhere had a sense of humour –
meat fountains
sex sticks
laughter at school book diagrams pointing as it goes in
filled many with terror – gave many the screaming heebeegeebeeies
no blushing in the elevator
puddles left at the bus stop
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someone told me that life is short but the hours are long –
wear two watches
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PEOPLE WHO WORK THE LOVE CIRCUIT AT MOTELS
WEAR MULTIPLE WATCHES
SO SAD TO SEE WOMEN WHO WEAR DRAPERY
CURTAINS FROM FUNERAL HOMES
CURTAINS DUSTED WITH HARSH LANGUAGE
SO SAD TO SEE WOMEN WITH NO SENSE OF RHYTHM
HAVING LIVED A LIFE OF DEFECTIVE RHYTHM
FORCED TO SWALLOW SALTY RHYMES
AN AMATORY GOURD WITH OPENINGS
—3D—DIMINISHED, DERIVATIVE, AND DOOMED
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A LIFE WITH AN UNSUITABLE MAN
SILENT AND GIVEN TO RAGE
8000 HOURS OF BEING A WARM SACK
AN OPENING FOR HIS SEX STICK
LOVE REALLY WAS A TAWDRY BATTLE
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AT THE MOUTH OF HELL:
A SIGN POINTS TO THE LEFT WITH THE WORDS, “LARGE-BRAINED WOMEN”
ANOTHER SIGN POINTS TO THE RIGHT, “LARGE-HEARTED MEN”
STRAIGHT AHEAD LEADS TO THE BURNING LAKE
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unsuitable man incompatible woman square pegs in round holes – square woman and holes – smooth out rough edges
all my woman have been the same
two arms
head and eyes
hair and legs
a variety of organs varying in size
I’ve been in love for 5246 days
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he even nonsensified himself as being multiple
(proud of his cutlery)
nonsense geography outside the window
prolonged adolescence
a boy on the threshold of knowledge
forced to fritter away his life
the drudgery of employment
trekking on concrete stained
with asthma and bronchitis
one dries yellow to brown
the other odd green—cloudy
at night one still hears the sirens
little to no silence in the grave
betrayal by the words of the world
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when it comes to love
I’m no better than a petrified gorilla
possibly far better
rather than far worse
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A VARIETY OF ORGANS VARYING IN SIZE
—does that include Liverpool ?—-
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although he’s never seen it
or touched it
Charles Manson revered Liverpool –
saw it as the birthplace of the four horsemen – (the Beatle King high on his saddle) –
a spiritual land by a river
a sound and a place
he keeps a map of the of the city hidden in his cell – he looks at it and hums Ob-la-di Ob-la-da to himself
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we find ourselves rooted in ordinary life
extraordinarily sensitive
—so lucky to have someone
a cool person even in the bucket of hard times
the sulphorous smell of an old fashioned match
lighting an Italian cigarette
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all human endeavor is absurd
except for Charles Manson
he is the big fish
even in Liverpool
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a commentator registering through his poetry
complex motives—ones often badly misunderstood
floating about in a world of words
very little to provide stability and direction
he often asks—“what hold on identity ?”
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Johnny Boy seems to cut through the surface of things
LIKE AN X-RAY
intense sensory knowledge
a warehouse of information
the proud parent of blood touching blood
an authentic self on the globe
*Black Sabbath when Black Sabbath was really Black Sabbath
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a big fish in a small pond
in Liverpool he’s known by another name
an invisible name
a name you wouldn’t understand (it’s dialect – fat to tongue and magical vowels)
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French Neurologists came up with a term, “coma depasse”
basically it means that the victim is 20 miles past a coma
but not dead
it is far worse than dead
expensive and time consuming
a waste of warm organs
———-you can call demons from the phone at the ICU nurse station
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permanent loss of intellect
do you remember
when they poured ice water in your ears ?
suddenly Norwegians were driving Buicks
burlesque style automobiles
words to be read
for comedic effect
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the poet with his foot in intended immediacy
immediate gratification
a gift without outcome
do-all and then piddle-paddle
around the interior world
rooms are only walls
long ago sacrificed
the most valuable commodity
no glue will do
the rip is torn
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your extended finger spits
———————————————-I’ve called a priest
so no one can separate our grasp
severed parts no more
religion be strong glue
unnatural should not
be a stumbling block
blissfully unnatural
siphons of love
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the gaps between the vignettes are Italian cigarettes
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inappropriate quacking with Emily Dickinson
one becomes a poet and poetry is revenge
animals in underwear—all that human training
mutual regard is premium but will it be tolerated ?
displacement is everywhere
insects and people
overheated
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to topple man’s sense of importance
cage and domesticate
myth becomes upside down
poets classify and control
unsettling rides on elephants
can I take a photograph now ?
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they kept kissing him on the head—love given love returned
sealed off from the outside world you listen to the soundtrack of the Exorcist
it is no secret that you have been shirtless only two times in your adulthood
people in Florida go topless all the time “show your shell”
ever-changing, ceaselessly shifting dong in the pouch
what about scientific control ? a golden crown ?
you just wanting to pin things down
Push Pin Johnny
restless, knowing soon there will be atomic explosions
smiles to be found in the past, possibly in backrooms
the storm cloud becomes the Lord
the book of Genesis from the start
*seven folders of explosion photos
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WHY DON’T YOU PUT ON YOUR WILLIAM FAULKNER COSTUME AND WRITE A SHORT STORY ABOUT THE ATOMIC EXPLOSION BEING THE RESULT OF A NEGRO BOMB ?
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creational word of God, bursting outward
the dance and the drums are a thing of the past
angel voices in the blackness
birds have plucked the sky clean
the twinkling eyes are gone
onlookers have lost their importance
no one counts the crows
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the detectives have magazines of slick underage mollusk
well-proportioned port—parts rejoined
longing for home
beggars with their hands
gift-givers with five fingers
at a wild party once
the host screamed, “change hands”
*the hope of homecoming
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traced bloodline through a snake of veins – degrees of separation – linked from afar – a backstory of faces half hidden behind rumours and lost paragraphs
a coat of arms
syringes and broken toys
watched by people with small heads and big eyes in municipal rooms –
avoiding the temptation to touch – her body and the Pavlovian reaction –
the rocking chair by the window
vantage point across the horizon
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BARRICADING THEMSELVES IN THE HOUSE
HARDLY CREEPING UP UNNOTICED
THE TADS WERE BARKING
WHO WOULD LIVE TO SEE THE PARADE FLOW OUT OF TOWN ?
JUXTAPOSED WORDS WITH PIDDLE STAINS
THE SMELL OF MEDICINE…WARM SWOLLEN WORM
INDOORS, UP THE CHUTE
CHAMBER NEIGHBORING
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VARYING LENGTHS DEPENDING
SERPENTINE AND UNPREDICTABLE
INVITED TO YOUR FRUSTRATION
HE TRIED NOT TO HISS
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An aside
she was kidnapped by disgruntled clowns and spend evenings tied to a spinning wheel
rotating
sharp knives were thrown in her direction by a down on his luck greasy haired lothario with holes in the knees of his dungarees
one clown (the one with the biggest feet) cried tears at her plight – his make up smudged nightly – you could see the tracks – from eye to chin
each night knives would whack the wooden wheel – hairs breadth away from her skin
the crying clown tried to steal her away under a werewolf moon but his car collapsed –
the doors fell off,
the wheels feel of
the only thing that worked was his big black rubber horn
HONK HONK
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I WENT TO THE LIBRARY AND ERASED THAT FRENCH WORD
THAT MEANS THE TIME GAP BETWEEN THINKING SOMETHING
AND ACTUALLY WRITING IT DOWN
I HAD TO GIVE THE HEAD-BOSS LADY $50 AND MULTIPLE INVITATIONS
I TOLD HER THAT IT WAS AN ACT OF ARTISTIC NONSENSE
SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS INTO NOMADIC SEXUALITY
DOES THAT HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH WEARING TOO TIGHT SHOES ?
——————————————————————————–TWO TIGHT SHOES ?
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NOMADIC SEXUALITY:
IRREDUCIBILITY OF SEXUAL DIFFERENCE
IN KENTUCKY: ANTISOCIAL SEXUALITY
ALL WORDS PERFORM FOR AN AUDIENCE
MYSTERIOUS RATES HIGHER THAN INAPPROPRIATE
“SO HE TORE OFF HIS CLOTHES AND BEHAVED LIKE A BEAR”
CHILDREN BECAME RECUPERATIVE SNACKS
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CRIES FROM A BOISTEROUS ELEVATOR
STRANGERS INSIDE THE ROOM BEING RAPED
THE “HUSBANDRY” OF GOING UP AND DOWN
ONGOING GENITAL DIALOGUE
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essential oil of Emily
to smell her armpits
to taste the dry dust of her skin
significant smells
transcendental
summon up the tongue
sorry, no can do
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poetry written by married women without husbands
men who searched and found women with tight oysters
eager to sign up for nomadic sexuality
ravishing climax after climax
changing colors
eerie oral
*buttering up new verbs
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the rough tongue of a cat
ball scratcher
she smells like cinnamon
and snores like fat man at a peculiar angle
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without seeming either insulting or discourteous
the bedroom door was nailed shut
“there will be no sleep or funny stuff in there”
a particular discourtesy perhaps
a man or a number of men
personal concern for chastity
succumbing to a wet command
social or sexual ?
this pretense of waking
with wood and hunger
uncertain ground
she said, “size alone is permission”
circumcision of flesh and spirit
the perils of red herring
clarity significantly blurred
beard or bush ?
kicked by fears
physical deformity
accompanies
the
disproportion of size
a girdle one must never remove
ADAM HAS MADE HIMSELF SAFE
ADAM HAS TIED HIMSELF INTO AN ENDLESS KNOT
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Emily & the Otis men
the faces of Joan
radium at the Curie house, unsold and curtainless
curdled filth inside
oozes out side
bookended life
like a well thumbed volume
paper chase paper chased
pyramids of “what if”
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Adam has made himself safe
Adam has tied himself into an endless knot
(I copied that from the Curie Diary)
Atomic Adam will reveal himself in increasing nakedness
he stands with his hand high in the air
he is beautiful
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speech no longer demonstrates skill
within your silks and tapestries
verbal insulation
trumpet fanfare
winter will yield
comfort and cinematic outdoors
the curtains of privacy will open wide
weird events to be experienced
a miniature world nightmarishly complete
the challenge of nature
Adam is naked before us
naked to his circumstances
what is most important—his integrity or his identity ?
his hand raised high
his lower charms exposed
should he bend for probing ?
private language in public ?
an expression of love ?
(fear-based acts in 2014)
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the axe descending over Emily’s head
social constraints haunt her
my dear little Emily
flinching to fear
Otis men run
strengths and weaknesses
all disagreements are one of degree
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elevators take one to different levels of the intellect
abstract thinking in the rational mind
call the Otis repairmen
————————————
early symptoms of radium on bourgeois sensibility
to reacquaint with the small worm-like brain
precocious thoughts hungry
palpable text
leaking the imagery of blood
retrograde pagan anxiety and fear
endless years around the fire
the drum beats
fuzzy infantilism
the pure dark black of night
warm inside mother…good or bad
the grimace of horror on father’s face
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originated and stored in the dark recesses of a woman’s anatomy
a woman with actuality—innermost actuality
hind-quarters problematic
degraded monkey butt genitalized with bright blue hues
your soul seems twisted out of normal shape
explosive letter combinations
have left your hands
guilty blue
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HOW MANY TIMES DID YOU HANDLE THE CURIE DIARY ?
MEANINGLESS NUMBERS TO THE FRENCH
MEAN EVERYTHING TO EVERYONE ELSE
………………………………………………………………..A THICK PANE OF GLASS SEPARATES
………………………………………………………………..THE GOOD ATOMS FROM THE BAD
SCAMPER ON THE MOORS
YOU WROTE THAT FAMOUS POEM
ME AND MY LADY SCAMPER ON THE MOORS
HOLLYWOOD ADDED A CLOAK
LIKE AMERICANS WOULD KNOW WHAT A CLOAK IS
ONE MUST HAVE A CLOAK WHEN THEY SCAMPER ON THE MOORS
ANTICIPATION OF THE EVENT MADE ME HAVE TO PEE
OUTDOOR EMOTIONAL LIFE—SIGN ME UP
LIFE IS NAMED NOT FOR ITS OWN SAKE
LIFE IS A REGION OF COMPROMISE
LIFE OPENED UP
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your famous poem about the moors—-the discovery of symbolism
naughty words make dirty dots in the diary
acquisition of new perceptions
100 mph and eroticization nearly stands still
the wife is the Desexualizer
need not becomes could not
Johnny Boy the Poet not wholly cured or emptied out
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“please shine a light over there—I think I see desolate jism on the shore”
the breath of life in goo form abandoned
————back to pleasant earlier days when an acrobat would ride you in cowgirl fashion
back to the true circle of friction
the mighty grasp of the starting-place
the unclosable eye of God
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The moors are desolate empty and barren –
the home of ghosts
dead children
werewolves
Sherlock Holme
the ground is damp
(under the glow of a full moon STAY OFF THE MOORS) –
no need for caps and cloaks
(the colonists have bonuses for those)
Johnny Boy the husk
a vessel joined by dots
lost of the moors no compass as a companion but silver bulletts melted from Leviathan cutlery
remember that place?
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I still chuckle at your poem about the moors
“your creaking boots all-enveloping as if there be no exit, clowning and cursing on the moors”
The Vaudeville Times gave it a thumbs-up for overall structure and theatricality
a honeymoon night that ended with a failed suicide attempt
people in France asked, “how does he sustain the ‘tragicomic tone’ ?”
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my uncle, Percy had a physical and spiritual enslavement to two things
Shakespeare and the beautiful cutlery from The House of Leviathan
Percy had a moist human organ that secreted words
it knew not abbreviation
*it answered to however-insamuch
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you say that the moors are desolate empty and barren
10,000 photographs say otherwise
but I trust you
the moors are the home of ghosts
I stood tip-toe with a ghost
written on a tombstone
by muscular effort, an arrival an occurrence
woke up on the moors
something whittling my leg bone
——————————————-
I do not know about dead children on the moors
but I know you cannot find food in France that children will eat
everything is turnips and green eggs
the really big question: how many zeros in a million ?
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if you want to escape the uncertainties of an unknowable future:
DO NOT HONEYMOON ON THE MOORS !!!
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sticky fingers grubbing past the rough spot
SHE SAID, “THAT’S ME MOORS”
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the failed honeymoon suicide was an attempt to avoid conjugal duties
a desire to avoid southerly intrusion
to remonstrate against a soft caress
– a touch seen as provocation – But Biblical no doubt
anyway the matter is now in the hands a divorce lawyer and the local police force
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married on the moors amongst fog banks low hanging clouds and the marshlands under foot –
a desolate scene
barren land for a barren bride
ripped underwear as cheap confetti a honeymoon in France to visit Museum la Cutlery –
and in the tiny hotel
amongst high ceilings
the unknowable become knowable
tangible
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almost uncontrollable adolescent anticipating a sequence of sexual surprises
there were no clues that suicide was soon to enter the picture
after years of dating—thinking about it and talking about it
checking out all those books from the library on sex
often unable to sleep after reading the illustrated text
the wedding night was to be the biggest Christmas of all
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EMILY DICKINSON WOULD OFTEN READ AN UNDERGROUND PAPER, ‘TOHU-BOHU’
THE SUBJECT MATERIAL WAS OFTEN THREATENINGLY ROTTEN AND DISGUSTING
EUROPE’S BEST !!! CIRCUMCISION BY THE POPE !!! BYE-BYE PREPUCE !!!
UNCONTROLLABLE ADOLESCENTS SENT FOR SECOND CUTTING !!!
HER FAVORITE READ WAS THE FOILED SUICIDE ATTEMPT OF THE NEW BRIDE
WHEN ASKED TO SPEAK THE UNSPEAKABLE, THE BRIDE TOOK A DIVE
EMILY WROTE A SHORT PIECE, ‘THE AMORAL BATTLEGROUND OF MATRIMONY’
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people call me crazy, but I once saw a photograph of Abraham Lincoln
naked from the waist down
having his prepuce cut away
to reveal the corona of his penis
it was in the Americano Room in the Museum la Cutlery
marked by the Stigmata of Bliss and Blunder
his seed could only produce beardless children
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BEHEADING !!!
above or below ???
Kosher silver cutlery (Leviathan) please
leave a little extra on the side
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sometimes Emily would practice saying, “turn around”
her mental recreation of the nude Adam
having never known the scissors of shame
“take that which makes you different than God”
what Christian can reject collective identity ?
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lubricating the buttocks of the reluctant bride
Honey, coitus spoken tonight !!!
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she collected all the first editions of her first anthology –
a confusion of different languages
a car wreck of signs and symbols, alien hieroglyphics
each cover was different
– rotting fruit
– shaved vagina
– moor landscape
– Floridian sands
– a portrait in oil
– rocking chair on water
– shining cutlery
some editions were worthless –
no more than fuel for fires
eager for pulp
the French edition with priceless –
a sepia toned x-Ray of her soul on the cover and a back blurb written by Joan’s publicist
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the man told him there was a thin line between comedy and farce
– and the line between horror and comedy is thiner
invisible nearly
is there a Floridian version of the moors?
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in a basement under a derelict house
(a house where once 27 detectives once held fort, compiled notes, pinned pictures on blackboards, searched for motives,
tried to join dots…
a room full if hunches)
in this basement we fiddled with an radio, returned the knob along FM tracks, from the darkness
some far flung hinterland came muffled sob
a crying man
the moon was there
you can count it on one finger
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the object of the love-hunt………the new bride………..to fall in the clutches of the new husband
the discovery of self-knowledge is a bad thing…..the soul befriends the Devil
yielding to the unconscious…..flinches of fear……..the ego holding hands with evil
the sex act is a powerful test….will she yield only slightly ?
insects can speak of the significance
stand on her back and pull her eyes from her face
the powers of fascination go with vision
BLIND TO THE WORLD
*the sinfulness of sin sucks
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certain sins contain disgusting and humiliating characteristics
the new bride so hyperconscious of her failing
love is a never-ending painful experience
*love is more than a spit inside
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the new husband, benevolent or malevolent ?
head-to-toe with a long pause near the middle
at the very beginning the puzzling penis
a grotesquely bearded rat
a handsomely dressed banana
manhood as a weapon
a threatening opponent
the key to Marital Merrymount
the warm moist church of paganism
hidden from prying eyes
objectionable at times
the new bride said, “I must die first”
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how many times did you handle the Curie Diary ?
slum-dwellers who deal in nickel-and-dime bags of atomic waste
stolen from the Curie backdoor
in the ghetto there are no ordinary people
radium trade is very theatrical, accelerated and intensified
it can reduce even the superhumans to helpless hurt
rule #1…..don’t get emotionally involved
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payday in France is a problem
all those numbers on paper
the whirl of activity violates every rule of naturalistic counting
should I add or subtract ? numbers like ballet dancers
surreal pirouettes carry over into other columns
how many vantage-points ?
*the range of flexibility in metaphors
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ME AND MY LADY SCAMPER ON THE MOORS
LOVE ENDOWS THE SCENE WITH PALPABLE REALITY
EACH OF US TRAPPED IN THE CLUMSY COSTUME OF SKIN
EXISTENTIAL EXPERIENCE AS ENTERTAINMENT
LIFE VIEWED FROM A DISTANCE
LITTLE CONCERN FOR AUTHENTICITY
COMEDY SEEMS TOO THRIVE ON TENSION
FEAR AND DESPERATION SERVE AS SUBSOIL
SOGGY AND SUBMERGED ME AND MY LADY SCAMPER
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the young Emily Dickinson belonged to a group of ladies: The Sewing Society
they pretended to sew quilts and curtains
actual cloth products were made by Mexican women
mothers of young daughters who worked the sex trade in Amherst
Emily probably knew nothing about the sex market
she was too busy enjoying the luxury of feeling
she was naive and vibrant and ready to trot
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something was beginning to percolate inside Emily
SEXUAL anger, rage, hurt, and anguish
she was a highly charged, emotional, hormone-crazed woman
James Kimball was a rat-bastard….pure and simple
he had pushed her into exploring the resources of her womanhood
pulled her up a notch from the slapstick farce of youth
introduced her to the physical pressures of adult sexuality
took her to the dripping blanket of the moors and discarded her
our innocent sweet Emily was never to return
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LUST WAS A TERRIBLE TACTILE SENSATION FOR EMILY
SHE WOULD SLEEP ON A URINE SOAKED MATTRESS
HER PILLOW WET WITH TEARS
HER SENSORY WORLD COVERED WITH A HORSE-HAIR BLANKET
EACH NIGHT WAS A TEETER ON THE ABYSS
WOULD SHE FALL AND SUFFER THE FATE OF EVE ?
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Extracts from a pillow wet with tears
PART SIX
There is a fever. A malaise. A sickness seems to be spreading.
You can see it in their faces.
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the vindictive last laugh… life-size
Adam and Eve piggyback on sky witnesses
multiplicities of meaning
ever-changing tenderness
forbidden tryst in the bushes
Freudian snakes wet with jism
other men have tried to melt the ice
on the fringes of skin
wedding night goo
nut sack dwellers
unstudied
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DETECTIVES WERE HUNGRY FOR THE MEREST ADJECTIVE
ANY DEGREE OF NONCONFORMITY
THE POUNDS ON THE DOOR BRING CHILLS
HAVING ONLY FOUR WORDS
AND THEY WANT EIGHT
IMPOSING CHAINS AND BARS
SADISTIC LEGAL WORMS
WHY DID YOU TURN THE COMPUTER ON ?
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SOLITARY SELF OF THE EXISTENTIAL PLANE
FLAWED THOUGHTS
RAISED UNDER A GOD
WITH NO ENTRANCE OR EXIT
UNNAMED AGENTS ARE READING YOUR WORDS
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DEATH FROM THE DEUTSCHLAND
PARTICIPANTS IN THE DARKNESS
WERE THEY BOMBS FROM THE BIBLE ?
THE LIPS OF THE DEAD CANNOT BE SILENCED
PAINFUL, DISTURBING SOUNDS ARE MUSIC DOWN BELOW
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THEY WRAPPED YOU IN WOOL
AND CALLED YOU A WORM
CARNIVOROUS BEINGS
CONSUMED THE DEAD BLIND FOLKS
BIRDS CRAZY FOR SCRAPS
RAW FLESH NUTRITION
BLOOD-HUNGER IS IN THE BOOK
MONSTERS MASQUERADING AS CHRIST
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ONLY A MAN CAN BE BECOME A VICTIM OF A POISONOUS SNAKE
IN THE NAME OF THE LORD
IN ALL RECORDED HISTORY, NOT A SINGLE WOMAN
HAS GONE FARTHER THAN BAREFOOT
*boyhood denied to Eve and the girls
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scientific words lacking sympathetic emotion
reductions of life, blind people leaping
like a giraffe with its legs removed
memorial pages
for poetry
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unwilling to disturb the fallen bodies
the moment of death past
soundless and wet
no longer bending
was it a happy death ?
jostled onlookers
agitated knowing the dead
lacked images
*snakes are a source of entertainment for men
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snakes are handbags and shoes waiting to happen – slither in the house of The Lord (if you believe in that) – slither on your belly through detritus
waste
waist high wading in flotsam – snake skeletons –
i save the drowning then head up stream to see who’s pushing them in – The people at Gideon must be told – remove the snake and save the world
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seven rings of hell
and the lift stops at each one
sweating Otis men demand payrises for working in these harsh conditions
Christ was just seen as Chris,
the man who bought the Curie house
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FOR THE MERRIMENT OF MEN
THE SHAFT OF ENTERTAINMENT
A SOURCE OF FEAR
A WEIGHTY LOAD IN THE SACK
BLIND PEOPLE IN JEOPARDY
THE TRANSPORT OF UNBORN CHILDREN
A PONDEROUS LENGTH OF TUBE
DRIVES ITSELF INTO THE CORE
SAFELY INDOORS THEY START THEIR SWIM
THANK YOU LORD FOR THE HEAVENLY DEPOSIT
* the agitated ship mother (white ape from Kentucky #27)
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BLIND PEOPLE WITH THEIR INWARD VIRTUE
ALL THAT GRACE AND ONE CANNOT SEE THE FLOOR
SEWED-UP UNDERWEAR BECAUSE OF THE BUDGET
A USE FOR BROOMS OFTEN IGNORED
NICODEMUS POINTING A FINGER
NO ONE NOTICES
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seven rings of hell
and the lift stops at each one
sweating Otis men demand payrises for working in these harsh conditions – the job description never mentioned burning souls – never ending vertigo the constant elevation constant descent like a yo-yo
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*******************************
said to his Lord, The Christ
Verily, Verily, I say unto thee:
beggars for bones
no skeleton safe
savages without proper words
visitors missing stew parts
Cherubim welcome
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defenseless as though he were naked
he longed for death
pressing a knife against his throat
“this hotel will tumble”
imagistic poetry: the hotel was blue
10,000 years of living in a cave in Kentucky
plots, metaphors, dollar store extrinsic associations
all that Bob Dylan music
stark visions of the wife and the little ones
they were sticking outside the outlines
Norman’s mother was complaining
she had died a thousand deaths of neglect
tuberculosis in her main tube
if you had only reached down there
with a long spoon
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Jesus was a man and he found it uncomfortable to do his manful occupation
to trample on other men, women, and children
he was constantly dazzled by the size of his ego
he was not only a man but also a hero
he was a man with all the fun parts cut out
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all situations are the end result of a choice
words become bullets
victims unworthy of mercy
the spotlight being on “nonintervention”
the central concern of life-like poetry
earthbound carrying an ocean of blood
everything of value beyond our sight
the cruel enigma of nature
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breakdown and recovery services aren’t just for cars –
lost people crumbling inside
by the side of a road,
in an office corner late at night –
tear stains and trembling regrets
Normans mother requested being picked up – her internals were not as they should be – she need someone to put her right – a professional hand, hairy, to direct and reconnect her to right path – time and money was not a problem – however it would take time to locate the appropriate long spoon
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the tender stem
non-intervention
things run their course
stick to the path and stay off the moor – werewolves hide in the shadow of the blue bulls – urban myths have a slither of truth – a stains of reality –
stuck to the path –
Joan has disappeared , possibly melted under the sun – dead but full of vitamin c – 78% plastic with a half life of 5,000years – the future men will find her attractive but odd looking
The cruel enigma of nature
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you speak of poor Joan as if she were a peculiarity of Kentucky
as if her name was a hideous word
as if all insults have lost their savor
Joan is the Queen of Profanity
her language could set rocks on fire
you are kindly and generous to her face
it seems to be an open book
a source of the unspellable
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Joan rubbed horseradish down there on her honeymoon
her husband was quoted as saying,
“thank God, I don’t have to do that again”
utilitarian sex had signed the signature of the law
neighbors complained about the cries
graphic pain in five languages
jism poured out red
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-CONTINUOUS SWEARING
-PEAK SWEARING
-SWEARER’S REPERTOIRE
-GODLESS HEATHENS
-BIBLE THUMPERS
-NIHILIST, AGNOSTIC, ATHEIST
-BLUE WORDS
-UNCOMFORTABLE HOLES
-EXTRAORDINARY INSULTS
-UNEXPECTED INSULTS
-POLITE BUT PROFANE
-STOUT AND PROFANE
-UNDER THE BRIDGE LANGUAGE
-MEXICAN CURSING
-MOANS FROM A KNIFE FIGHT
-AN EPITHET, A BLACKGUARD CURSE
-ANT BITES ON THE SCROTUM
-OLD URINE IN A PEPSI BOTTLE
-GIGANTIC CURSES
-STRINGS OF EXPLETIVES
-RECTUM WORMS
-A DICTIONARY OF PROFANITY
-BANDAGED SWEAR WORDS
-WORDS FROM BELOW THE BELT
-DIRTY FINGERS FROM TENDING SHEEP
-NUMBER 2, DOGGY BROWN
-LOWERED EXPECTATIONS
-LOUD STUPIDITIES
-DRENCHING SARCASM
-DRIPPING FAT
-DRUNKEN FATHER
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MICK JAGGER SINGING ABOUT WHEN YOU GET OLD
HIS INFLATED HORSE BOUNCING AROUND INSIDE HIS SHORTS
THEY SAY HE GOES TO THE SAME BIRD DOCTOR AS YOKO
AS AN ARTIST HE CONSTANTLY COPIES A DETERMINATE REALITY
THERE CAN BE NO MISREPRESENTATION
IT MUST BE TRUE JAGGER
NO FLUIDLY INDETERMINATE MOMENTS
REAL LIFE MAY BE COMPLEX–MULTILAYERED
MICK JAGGER MUST BE MICK JAGGER
NO HUCKLEBERRY SWEET-ASS FERNS
NO FREEZE-DRIED NUGGETS OF BOWIE
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EACH DAY FILLED WITH EAGER FACES
HAVING LIVED WITHOUT DYING
HOW EMBARRASSING TO FORGET YOUR FEET
BEFORE A RACE—UNNOTICED CHILD-ADULT ANTICS
TOO MODEST FOR A SINGLE SENTENCE RESPONSE
TO BIND HIMSELF TO A DOMESTIC EXISTENCE
TRAPPINGS COATED WITH SLOW DEATH
A TUBERCULOSIS BORN OF WIFE AND CHILDREN
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ANGER TURNED BACK LIKE COMMANDMENTS
SELF-METAMORPHOSIS IN PRIVATE
LINES OF POETRY ERASED
BOHEMIAN THOUGHTS
A CHAIR CUSHION THAT SMELLS LIKE HENRY MILLER
WORM-SWARMING BOTTOM RESTRAINED
THEY SLIDE OFF THE BED AND CRAWL ON THE FLOOR
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Jagger is nothing but bones covered in slack skin – but he is true to himself – he has been for the past 200years – all that time in the limelight – he’s only 2ft tall – friend of Yoko
Lover of Joan
a secret stash of Kentuckian tobacco on the tour bus
if life’s path diverged at different points he could have been a fisherman
a farmer of the land
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WHAT COUNTS AS A POEM ?
INFORMALITY AND PLAYFULNESS
MADE IN THE CORNER OF A ROOM
HANDWRITTEN ON PUBLIC TRANSPORT
ALIEN DISCOURSE
OUTER SPACE CODES
NOTES OF BACKSEAT REJECTIONS
CONVENTIONAL ERECTIONS
MUTUAL ERECTIONS
VOCABULARIES WITH LOCKS ON THE DOOR
JISM PUT TO ARTISTIC USE
*poetically skillful at producing jism
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one must participate imaginatively with Mick Jagger
he is filthy rich but lives like a caged animal
a programmed machine loyal to his specific programming
he was introduced to Joan at a rebirthing party
Joan being the mother lode of stretched skin
entertained Mick with kill-or-be-killed stories of plastic surgery
her favorite doctor, The Dark Lord prophesied Mick
that the three-dimensional face would come
the face that no sane surgeon would touch
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WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE CUTLERY COMMERCIALS ?
I REMEMBER WHEN DAN RATHER COULD BE SEEN SNIFFING AROUND THE FACTORY
EXPENSIVE STUFF FOR THE UPPER FRINGE
REAL LIFE CAN QUICKLY DESCEND TO SILLINESS
SELF-MOCKERY WITH SMALL HANDLE SPOONS
YOUNG WHITE MALES BEING BULLIED BY INCHES
TEENAGE GIRLS SNICKER AT THE WEAKLY ENDOWED
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—————————-THE NUMBER ONE SONG, “KEEP THOSE ZIPPERS ZIPPED”
—————————-VORACIOUS APPETITE
—————————-AMPHETAMINES
THE POET DRESSED IN OUTWARD VIEW, THE INNER CHAP NUDE
IN TREMBLING MEMORY OF SODOMY WITH A FRIEND
THE DIFFICULTY OF SUCCESS WITH THE GRIMMER CHEEKS
DEEP PERSONAL NEEDS, LAID LOW WITH A FROWN
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IT IS DEATH’S INDIFFERENCE TO STATUS OR SKILL
THAT TROUBLES MICK JAGGER
DEAD TODAY—THE SPEAKER AND THE SPOKEN
THE DIRT IS ALL THAT HE CAN INHERIT
FANCY BLANKETS WILL NOT LAST LONG
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THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS
PREACHERS MUTE FROM SNAKE BITE
PHYSICAL WORLD BECOMES A PRISON
SPIRITUAL COUNTERPARTS DRIFT AWAY
NATURE CONTINUES TO MAKE NOISE
CLOUDS MAY MAKE RAIN
BIRDS MAY POOP
THE DEAD ARE NEVER FREED
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I’ve never been involved in a ticker tape parade – never sat in a leather chair in a slow moving motorcade – history moves slow
decades unravel ahead
moving like ice bergs, slow, like a couple falling out of love
incremental trajectory cuts through –
– Voodoo Jagger
half man half joke
snake hipped with lips from Joan’s facial castoff – at the crossroad he sold his soul for cheap cutlery and a smallpox blanket
(Joan nowadays resembles a melting candle)
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JOAN OFTEN HAS DREAMS ABOUT AL JOLSON’S BLACKFACE
COLOR AND THE OUTER SKIN—BEARSKIN ON THE KODIAKS
RUMORS THAT HER FACE WAS MADE FROM INFANT POSTERIORS
THE NEW PHYSICALITY—THE EXTERIOR SURFACE
MASQUERADE INSIDE THE BEARSKIN—WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE ?
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JOAN OFTEN FOUND HERSELF BEING PREYED UPON
SALACIOUS MEN WERE EVERYWHERE
EVERY SEXUAL BOUT WAS OPENING-NIGHT
JOAN WAS FAMOUS FOR HER BROADWAY PERFORMANCE
THE BACKSEAT OF A TAXI—TWICE IN ONE NIGHT
CHUBBY MEN WITH CABBAGE ON THEIR BREATH
MUSCULAR MEN WHO WENT SO MUCH DEEPER
THE SYNAGOGUE CROWD—MELODRAMATIC VICE
FEMALE SPECIMENS WERE OKAY IF THEY WERE CLEAN
FRESH LAUNDERED SHORTS AND SERIOUS HYGIENE
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THE HANDLING OF UNDERGARMENTS
ORAL GYMNASTICS
ONE-PIECE ZIPPYJAMAS
*puritanical hysteria about a female banana ready to be peeled
**one-piece zippyjamas with a musky smell in the crotch
***one long, strong pull
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JOAN WAS A LIVING VIBRO-VACUUM
KNEADING AND SUCKING
WONDERFULLY PNEUMATIC
NO GUILT IN THAT PLEASURE
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I LOVE TO TALK TO MICK JAGGER ABOUT THE MANAGEMENT OF PLEASURE
LIVING INSIDE A DOCUMENTARY
A PLACE WHERE FEW CAN VISIT
A SOCIAL WORLD OF ODD PEOPLE, QUEERS, EXOTIC CREATURES
I SELDOM LIVE THERE, MY DARLING CRIB ON THE THIRD FLOOR
AS THEY SAY, “MY UNIT”
*safe to be silly or sentimental
**edifying pleasure
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WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO HAVE A SYNTHETIC VICE?
——-A SYNTHETIC FACE—————————————
JOAN LAID DOWN THE MONEY FOR STANDARDIZED
BABOONS WITH KNIVES AND SUPER-GLUE
WHIMSICAL SONGS, SLEEPY TIME
“HELLO NEW FACE”
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an appetite for gramophone records
fancy pants and American jazz
Joan in the scenario, “happy being unhappy”
soured romance over twice in the backseat of a taxi
embracing polarities, money and sex
learned polarity, no maps or compass proud
spectator and performer, something that can’t be photographed
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a sense of broken community
everyone holding a load of deprived selfhood
autobiography of coffee and Italian cigarettes
some people say that there can be recuperation
readers exit quickly–automatic associations
the man with the solitary hand
just think…a bed at the Graveyard Manor
you speak the tombstone for entry
inscriptional activation
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can you give voice to the tombstone words ?
deceased but not silent
Johnny Boy in the shadows
made to pause in reality
“HALT” seems to be the word of the day
friends with an apostrophe ?
*consciousness can be language/fragmented words of a disconnected poop-fest
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JOHNNY BOY IN THE AUDIENCE: CASUALTIES OF FATE
POWERFUL OTHERS WHO CONTROL HIM
UNRELENTING BLEAKNESS OUT THE PUBLIC TRANSPORT
UNSYMPATHETIC WORKMATES
WHO SABOTAGE THEMSELVES
BOREDOM, FRUSTRATION, PARALYSIS
POETS DRINK AWAY THEIR WAGES
PISSING AWAY THEIR SEX LIVES
UGLY FEELINGS HELP OVERRIDE THE ANXIETY
THE SHAME OF BEING A LOW-LIFE ROBOT
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TWO MILES NORTH OF GRAVEYARD MANOR IS HANGOVER SQUARE
WOMEN AND BOOZE AND NARCOTIZED BEDROOM POLO
ALCOHOL-SODDEN PILLOWCASES AND SHEETS OF PROSTITUTION
MASS-PRODUCED UNPLEASANT EFFECTS
POPULAR SONGS ON THE RADIO
A REPERTOIRE OF NASTY CAT SOUNDS
ORAL IMMEDIACY FOLLOWED BY PURIFYING RELEASE
OBSTRUCTED MISERY TURNS A TERRIBLE GREEN
TRAUMATIZED GENDER WITH JISM FOR SNOT
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FAMILY TIME COMPLETE WITH CLICHES IN DRAWN DIALOGUE BALLOONS
ESCAPE TO THE BATHROOM—A MIRRORED PORTAL
MEANINGLESS MASTURBATION IS NEVER MEANINGLESS
CONTORTED FACES OF BLISS
DELAY WAS THE KEY TO MASOCHIST PLEASURE
LIBIDINALLY CHARGED—RAVENOUS
THE PRELUDE TO YET ANOTHER STICKY MESS
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the nuclear family radiates a strong glow
misshapen heads and extra fingers
YOU CAN COOK BURGERS ON THEIR BACKS
hire them for a bbq
their jism is electric bolt lightening and glows in the dark
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the night of the never ending burglar album has come to pass
the night of doors slamming has ended
the new dawn
her soft skin
another day
I can’t remember my childhood dreams. I remember the taste of sweat on my top lip on summer days. Dali ants crawling over dropped ice creams. Vanilla dropped onto postcards Japanese tourists send home. Green grass and new trees. I wrote a story about a contraption. I had a brother. I have a brother. Lacrosse sticks left in the garden overnight. Scribbles in a notepad. I don’t remember everything, little nuances, the first time I saw a mountain. Rain.
they cut the cloth to fit
nice and tight
corpses before their time
zombie in waiting
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you opened the door on childhood memories
the terrible sounds of angry dogs
I never saw the dogs
endless hours of black and some days gray
there was no fresh air
going to the bathroom was a real negative experience
everyone spoke German, I spoke German
my early life was suffering
it is amazing how many directions agony can take
still trying to secure sanity
still trying not to think of punishment and revenge
*a new life in Indiana (years of treatment) all happy and squeaky clean
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the hard vowels of the Germanic tongue
a hundred new ideas nailed to a tree
the phone falls behind cushions on a sofa
the phone rings
I think the sofa is a phone
she tells me things she thinks I need to hear
pensioners leave this soil for foreign sun (Florida, somewhere else hot)
tan tourists die with no insurance
ashes shipped back in Coke cans
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YOU TOLD ME THAT REAL POETRY WAS PASSED ON BY WORD OF MOUTH
NOTHING OUTDOORS BUT TOURISTS, BABBLING TOURISTS
NO THANKS, VENTRILOQUIZED POETRY IS FOR NON-READERS
I HAVE A THOUSAND EYES TO READ
I NEVER LEAVE MY SLEEP
I DRIVE BY READING
*90 mph on the ironies
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you may be richly fitted with the spoils of knowledge
but you must not resign to silence
tourist muttering, tourist babbling
so much better than quiet tongue
smash your finger with a hammer
give yourself something to write about
the epitaph on your gravestone
I MADE YOKO PROUD
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plane fall from sky, people temporarily unhappy
plane fall from sky, ethical and moral considerations
what is it that the poet thinks ?
things said in jest—are they true ?
anxiety is a loyal pet
people are earning an income trying to locate the missing plane
many words are spoken about it, stolen passports
ideas evolve, endless interviews
* inmates pray for an extra-inning during sodomy
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luddites world view – man should not fly we are not birds we have feet not wings – planes are the work of the devil – heathen transport and old world views – they write this on computers their is confusion over facts THERE IS NO CONFUSION WITH POETRY
black box recordings
faint noises and whispers in foreign – theories of alien abduction suicide pacts mass hallucinations none of this is real
inmates dream of planes
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possibly the missing airplane is a part of our self that fell away
we try to preserve the whole chunk of our being
but rarely succeed
we grow up, we mature
we drop shameful stale handfuls
goblin hair on the shower drain
goblin hair around the toilet bowl
*do not try to pull back parts that have slipped away
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——————————–LUDDITES————————–
GOOD LORD, OPPONENENTS OF MACHINE-MADE UNDERWEAR
ALL DAY PROTECTION…TECHNOLOGICAL PROGRESS
THE TORMENT OF CHOICE
BAITED WORDS—CRAZY WANTING THE BAIT
FRUIT FALLEN FROM HEAVEN ?
ENDLESS MIDDLEMEN AND STRANGE SOILS
*24 hour protection for the 24 hour man and woman
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JOHNNY BOY WITH HIS CUBIST MATHEMATICAL LANGUAGE
FAMOUS FOR PUSH PINS AND NEUTRALIZATION OF TRIGGERS
SEXUAL CUTLERY: HE FORKED HER WITH INTENSE DEVOTION
SHE CUTS HIM AND HE KNOWS NOT THAT HE HAS BEEN CUT
THERE WAS A PAUSE AT THE END AND JISM STUCK TO THE CEILING
VERY FLUIDITY, A SURPRISINGLY PETER NORTH FINALE
DRAMATICALLY EXPRESSIVE, NOT THE USUAL TEASPOON
*a man loves a tight anonymous snare
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people fall from the sky every day but it happens so often we don’t notice. Until someone points it out…
They buried her face down and she dug her way to China where she had a meteoric rise through the ranks of the Communist party. She is remembered on stamps and has national holiday name after her.
…but not everything works out THAT well.
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POETRY BECOMES TRANSCRIPTIONS OF CONVERSATIONS
I WANTED SO BAD TO TALK TO YOU
I TRIED AND TRIED TO TALK TO YOU
YOU WERE AFRAID OF ME
YOU SAID THAT I WAS THAT GUY
THAT STABBED PICASSO 27 TIMES
WITH A VERY SHARP KNIFE
THAT I KILLED HIM
THAT I REALLY KILLED HIM
YOU SAID THAT YOU WOULD CALL THE POLICE
IF I STOOD OUTSIDE ON THE STREET
YOU MISTAKENLY THINK THAT I MURDERED
THE FATHER OF MODERN ART
THAT MY WORDS ARE WORSE THAN BEDBUGS
THAT MY POETRY IS CONVERSATIONAL FLOTSAM
MY POETRY MAY BE TRANSCRIPTIONS
OF CONVERSATIONS NEVER SPOKEN
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THE ROAR OF A FIRE ENGINE PASSING OUT POETIC WORDS
AVENUES WITH RED FLASHING LIGHTS
ORDINARY CITIZENS ON THE STREET
GRUBBY, VULGAR, MEN WITH GLAZE ON THEIR ZIPPERS
CAN THEY FALL BACK ON WORDS ?
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THE MIGHTY GRASP OF THE STARTING-PLACE
AVANT-GARDE GIRLFRIENDS PAINTED UP
TO LOOK LIKE MOM
WHITE-FACE AND PLUM
THE ROAR OF THE FIRE ENGINE
GAY FIREMEN WHO PASS OUT CONDOMS
“RUBBERS FOR YOUR PURPLE PASSENECK”
THE GREATEST POET BEING THE PECKER PROUD
TRANSCRIPTIONS OF OUR CONVERSATIONS
FRONT PAGE POETRY IN THE BACK
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YOU WRITE THAT SERIOUS POETRY
ABOUT BEING FOUND DEAD IN BED
LOVED ONES SCREAM
HAVE THEY WON THE LOTTERY ?
WERE YOU FEELING BREATHTAKINGLY BAD WHEN YOU RETIRED ?
CAN YOU FALL BACK ON YOUR WORDS ?
CAN YOU TELL ME THAT JESUS ISN’T REAL ?
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RESIDUE OF ROMANTIC LONGING
SOLITARY MAN IN TOUCH WITH HIMSELF
LOCKED INSIDE A WORLD OF OTHERS
HE NEEDS NEW WORDS
A SWEEPING REVALUATION
VOYEURISTIC THOUGHTS
LUSTFUL EYES
SUPPLEMENTED BY IMAGINATION
LOVING LIKE A ROCK AND ROLL STAR
VERY VIBRANT, ROCK-HARD WOOD
THE DEAD HORSE IS MISSING
DREAMS OF FRUITION AND FULFILMENT
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this is all part of something bigger, something outside of us, incomprehensible to our understanding, possibly we are smaller parts of a bigger plan, of maybe something else, something sinister and computerised? She was adamant I dedicate some thinking time to this. I looked at the mountains that were not outside
they were but in a book.
How can I remember thing I never did?
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WRITING DOWN THE WAY THINGS SEEM
MISGUIDED IDEALISTS FAINT
SENTIMENTALISTS AT THE POKER TABLE
A POET—CREDITABLE OR DISCREDITABLE
SOMEONE TURNED ON A FLASHLIGHT
THEY WANTED TO SEE THE MAN BEHIND THE WORDS
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PEOPLE HAVE ENDLESS LISTS OF THE MOST WONDERFUL THING IN THE WORLD
——————THE MOST WONDERFUL THING IS “ACCESSIBILITY TO EXPERIENCE”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
A TOURIST IN A BOOK OF MOUNTAIN PHOTOGRAPHS
FREE OF MACHINE-PARTS
AND A SHACK THAT SOLD OUTDATED SNACKS
ROWS OF PICKLED EGGS WITH SMALL EMBRYO-LIKE CREATURES INSIDE THEM
ROWS OF PICKLED PIG’S FEET IN PINK BRINE (MOSAIC CHUNKS ON THE BOTTOM)
ANCIENT HUSTLER MAGAZINES WITH VIGOROUS WOMEN WIDE OPEN
A HOO-HAW IS A HOO-HAW WHETHER IT BE IN EDEN OR A TWO-BIT POEM
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SOILED WORDS————————————————-SOILED WORDS
————————-FREE FROM PAST FIXATIONS—————————-
IN NEED OF A CERTAIN KIND OF LANGUAGE
A SAFE LANGUAGE, A NEW BED WITH FRESH LINEN
CLEAN WITH A HINT OF MYSTERY
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The poet knows the sound of the gaps between the words – they can spell it – misguided directed lost and circulating – removal of the warts the long talons – I buy sentiment from vending machines – I trade it in at thrift stores – I was the future I’m now the past – I will cross the mountains with bags of books
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Soiled word buried and dug up again and again –
recycled nothing
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A SOILED WORD FROM AN ORDINARY FELLOW
A SOLITARY WORD—–ABHORRED
FILTHY, HORRID, NAUSEATING
ONE CANNOT BE MOTHERLESS
WITHOUT BEING A MONSTER
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—————-SOILED WORD COLLABORATOR—————————
YOUR PRIVATE JAIL-YARD CONVERSATIONS
YOUR PERSONAL CUSTODY
HISTORICAL ISSUES
WEARING A MASK IN PUBLIC
EXCESSIVE HAND-WASHING
A BROTHER WHO STANDS BAREFOOT
IN A TUB OF FALSE SERIOUSNESS
SO SAD TO HAVE GROWN UP IN EROSION
MUD REPLACES VOCABULARY
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a threat of blackout back to the stone age – Kentucky cave dwellers will have an evolutionary advantage but a third of Americans don’t believe in evolution – meat monkeys swinging and scratching hairy arses – God knows what they believe in then
– a belief in words,
no matter how soiled, leaving a dirty taste
sore larynx
she touches my coccyx
there is the horizon and there are things beyond it
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NO DICTIONARY OR GRAMMER NECESSARY IN KENTUCKY
LIFE BEING AN INARTISTIC STREAM OF BANAL GRUNTS
EVERYTHING IS ANONYMOUS OR SHOULD BE
PASSIVE SOILED WORDS
EVOLUTION WENT BEYOND THE TYPEWRITER
MECHANIZED WRITING
POSSIBLE LONGHAND
A CLEVER CAPTION FOR EACH EVENT
“HOW TO SUCCEED IN LITERATURE”
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IF YOU’RE GOING TO MENTION MEAT-MONKEYS
WHY NOT MAKE THEM INFANTILE MEAT-MONKEYS ?
THAT WAY YOU MAY ATTRACT THAT GROUP OF MEN
WHO HAVE THEIR PRIVATES ON A CONVEYER BELT
just moving the meat
MEAT-MONKEYS JABBERING PSEUDO-BABY TALK
GIRL MEAT-MONKEYS OFTEN HAVE DIRTY KNEES
THEY ARE BUILT BETTER THAN ONE WOULD GUESS
*stay away from monkey champagne
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MEAT-MONKEYS WITH HEROIC STRENGTH
HARDWOOD AND WALNUTS KENTUCKY-STYLE
SQUIRRELS FRIED UP FOR BREAKFAST
THE TASTE OF A SQUIRREL LIVER
ANOTHER UNSPENT PENNY
LIFE A CONSTANT CONTEST
CHEAP MUSTARD AND DRY HUMOR
LONG-OVERDUE RECOGNITION
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in those hours before sunlight
the thoughts that kept sleep at bay
re-emerge from the ether to beat you awake –
my dream machine is broke
the film flaps at the end of the spool like a loose lace
a lace undone
a loose shoe
the man on the corner with fingers running through an overgrown beard,
one shoe, flapping sole,
a flapping soul (?)
electric chord belt with toaster still attached
leaves a breadcrumb trail
he is constantly followed by pecking birds
flapping ominously overhead
a thread loose at the centre of this,
the equator and time,
like pyramids,
like shirts
like colouring books
all man made
the thoughts scratch inside
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THE THOUGHTS SCRATCH INSIDE
TO VENTURE FROM THE EARTH
TO LEAVE THE SWELTERING HEAT OF FLORIDA
TO HURTLE OUT OF CONTROL
TO NO LONGER HAVE LETTERS IN MY WORDS
NO LONGER HOPELESS
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THE THOUGHTS SCRATCH INSIDE
BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE TOO CHEAP
FOR GOLD-STITCHING
YOU, THE MASTER OF THE HURT
LOVE ARROWS
CARRYING THE BOW OF A PROUD MAN
I AM SILENT IN YOUR SILENCE
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no more letters in your words
no more sound in the vowels
an empty voice
just a mouth
flapping tongue and teeth
here, there is no sweltering heat, just wind and rain,
Scattered relic of bones
A spattering an animal shit
My dream machine is broken
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THE THOUGHTS SCRATCH INSIDE
YOUR WORDS TO FATHER
YOUR SUGAR SO WELCOME
HIDING FROM THE WORLD
WAITING FOR A SIGNAL
A BLAST OF THE TRUMPET ?
YOU SPEAK OF ORIGIN
( a hungry, thirsty Nazi bastard orphan raised in Southern Indiana )
RAISED IN THE SWEET WATERS
SAFE FROM STRANGERS
NOT A SINGLE WOLF IN THE WOODS
KENTUCKY WAS TO THE SOUTH
A WORLD OF CAVES AND A FEAR OF FIRE
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A DREAM MACHINE THAT SOUNDS LIKE HANDS CLAPPING
FACELESS CLAPPERS, PEOPLE FROM SEXUAL DAYDREAMS
WHO IS YOUR BOW ? YOUR ARROWS ?
SWEET EXPRESSIONS ARE NICE
BUT THE BOTTOM LINE
IS THE QUALITY OF THE SMACK
THE GOOD STUFF, DUST FROM PARADISE
UNDER HUNDREDS OF VEILS
A SINGLE CLEAR THOUGHT
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I have no clear thoughts
she purged everything
sandblasted the remnants into nothing
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AN EXTRAORDINARY ATTACHMENT TO Norman’s MOTHER
SEXUAL MANACLES, CHAINS, HANDCUFFS
RULE ONE: SLEEP WITH ARMS SECURED
ONCE MOTHER LEFT THE HOUSE
NOTHING WAS TOO TEDIOUS, BIZARRE, OR DIFFICULT
A MAELSTROM OF SEXUALITY
SELF-DEFINITION KNOCKING AT THE DOOR
INITIATION INTO ADULTHOOD, TICKET PLEASE
JOHNNY BOY COLORING THE DETECTIVE BLUE
HAPPY-FOOTED DARLINGS ON THE DANCE FLOOR
DIABOLICAL FALLEN ANGELS IN STOLEN UNDERWEAR
LAUGHING ABOUT HOW INCESTUOUS ADAM AND EVE WERE
INSTANT ADULTS, EVE BEING THE DAUGHTER OF ADAM
BORN OF A BONE, A PLAYTHING FROM A RIB
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the attachment became unattached – just plain feel off – landed with a dull thud – in a playground of bones – a rib a jawbone – she feel as a child and had sheep bone fused to her skull – as she grew her DNA changed
she eats grass and has a hairy exterior
Normans mum predict this in the tea leaves
she was not an angel but she had fallen far from the tree
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the silence allows some freedom
breathing space to let the words congeal
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Norman’s mother said their home was a charnelhouse of sorts
all them sticks of the human frame
I’m so happy that you remember her
she was like a life coach to you
your curiosity like a hungry wolf
one time when she sat down
you saw the op’ning wide
deformed flaps
odd gray flesh
OUTSIDE THE CHARNELHOUSE WAS THE PLAYGROUND OF BONES
FILTHY CREATURES THAT HAD LIVED AND FALLEN
HUMAN FRAMES BENT AND BROKEN
ABORTIONS AND MISCARRIAGES
AMERICAN PRESIDENTS
PAINFUL WORMS
Norman’s mother felt inadequate because she lacked a penis
she knew only too well the pain of being invaded
she wanted to sodomize the sucking backsides of men
to lick the aftershave off their necks
as she shot hot lava inside them
jism from her heart and soul o’erflowed
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PEOPLE OF FAULTLESS REPUTATION
CLERKS AT THE LOCAL DOLLAR STORE
UNWASHED MEN WHO WORK IN THE BACKROOM
OF THE FUNERAL HOME
FLICKERING MOMENTS OF ROMANCE
TO CONFRONT EACH OTHER BECAME AN ISSUE
CONVERSATION WEAKENED THE BOND
IT TURNED INTO SHIFTING MOVEMENTS
WITHOUT EMOTION AND DRAMA
A VIOLENT RELEASE
IF SHE POSITIONED THE TARGET
SHE WHO MADE THE GRAND SACRIFICE
SHE WHO CARRIED THE PAINFUL APOSTROPHE
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apostrophe was the first Zappa album she owned – she carried it in a hessian bag – wore countless needles out playing – the men at the record store called her the apostrophe girl –
Normans mother modelled her facial hair on zappas – it tickled Norman when they embraced
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MICROSCOPIC FACIAL HAIR !!!
YOU LEFT THOSE THREE IMPORTANT WORDS OUT
PEOPLE ON eBAY ASKED FOR THEIR MONEY BACK
cash-money plummets (one steep drop)
your roller-coaster ride may leave you on the street
guardian angels warn you away from France
renewal and desire may lead to some new numbers
this is not the time to reassemble your sense of self
correct language folded in your backpocket
you’ve charged the vowels with super feeling
when you pronounce them
people in cars stop
and look up at the sky
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I ADMIT I LAUGHED AT YOU
WHEN YOU STRUGGLED
THROUGH THE DARKNESS
TOWARDS GOD
where is that evolutionary escalator ?
(stairs ? ladder ? stilts ?)
YOU WERE SAYING THAT YOU COULDN’T BE JUDGED BY YOUR PAST
YOU SAID THERE WAS NO HISTORY AND IF THERE WAS—IT WAS A LIE
SATAN WAS MAKING A SLOW ENCIRCLEMENT
HE LIKED WHAT HE WAS HEARING
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TIME IS ONE-DIRECTIONAL
even in financial straits it is important to use the correct amount of toilet tissue
Joan uses a sea shell as a scoop and then washes it for reuse
this is dangerous on atomic and molecular regimes
remember, other people share your world
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HISTORY MAY JUST BE INTERVALS
(in the dream world blind people are groping for a signpost or marker)
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history is subsequent links in the chain that happened yesterday
or last week – Or anytime but now
feminist bemoan the word HIStory
– they want a new word
they hold meetings in after hour libraries and public spaces –
history causes to much trouble Because they are no signposts
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UNIQUE PERSONALITIES IN YOUR FAMILY MUDDLE
YOU CALLED HOME A SANCTUARY
A DREAMY VAGUENESS AND A BUSY HAND
ALWAYS TRYING TO DETECT AND RESTRAIN THE BRUTE
FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS ARE DICKENSIAN CARICATURES
WOVEN IN A REALISTIC FABRIC, UNRAVELLING INNUENDOES
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A DIARY OF ONE-NIGHT STANDS
AND THEN THE TERRIBLE COUGH
THE CONJUGAL BED WITH BROKEN GLASS
NEIGHBORS HYPOTHESIZING
LONGING FOR GUILTLESS INDULGENCE
ALPHABET SEX—FORBIDDEN POSTURES
IMAGINATIVE VIBRATING
CASANOVA TONGUE
THREE FINGER EXPLOIT
A BROWN PROBE
MANIACAL REGULARITY
PLEASE RESERVE A ROOM AT THE HOTEL
ONE WITH THEATRICAL PROPS
AND COSTUMES AND MAKE-UP
STEPLADDERS FOR MATHEMATICAL CAMERAS
THAT IMITATE WITHOUT COMPREHENSION
THE VARIOUS ILLUSIONS OF EXTERIORS
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The poetic language of hereditary
with it’s reference to trees
the root and branch of their relationship
the distance between DNA – more than two people in that marriage – more than four hands as far as I could see – conjugal rights granted in triplicate – wet signature on the bottom of the page
–
thin necks with white heads they wobble on thin stems –
flowers in the breeze
dried
frozen and edible
casanova triggers rough feline tongues
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dealing with the incoming information about family portraits
snapping and cracking reports of broken necks
I fear for you Johnny Boy, detectives curious about your limericks
sympathies are constantly shifting…loneliness is punishable
never a happy end for euphoria
respectable kitchen woman not a friction excursion
rub your emotions elsewhere, Lollipop
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TALK OF A PLACE OF SEXUAL FULFILMENT
COMPLETED BY DEATH
THE LIVING WATERS TAINTED
BUT THE WORM SMILES
————————————————————————JUST THINK, JOHNNY BOY
————————————————————————UNDER AN APPLE TREE
————————————————————————WITH A HAPPY WORM
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HE DEFERS HIS JOURNEY FOR YET ANOTHER DAY
STIFF-NECKED WORN-OUT TOOL
THE POET WITH NEVER A WORD
COMETH AND GOETH
SELF-SUFFICIENT
A MALE IN A FEMALE-DOMINATED MARRIAGE
A RAT IN THE CHEESE ROOM
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I SAW YOU ON A HILLTOP
THE COMING DAY OF JUDGMENT
DESTRUCTION UPON US ALL
THE INTENSITY OF OUR EARTHLY WOES
GHOULS IN THE CLOUDS
INFECTED BY PARABLES
OBSESSIONAL WITH THE HANDS
YOU TOUCH ALL THE LETTERS
FELLOW-VOYAGERS
SILENT IN THE REGION OF SHADOWS
BEG YOU NOT TO HANDLE THAT WHICH IS THEM
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CRAZY TALK ABOUT THE MARRIAGE BED
ARTFULLY CONTRIVED WET SPOTS
WILL YOU RISK EVERYTHING ?
I SPEAK OF THE RESTRICTED AREA
WHERE NARRATIVE GROWS COLD
A CHILDHOOD FILLED WITH EXILED ANGELS
PUSHED AWAY WITH INDIRECTNESS
PUSHED AWAY WITH INDIRECTNESS
SLEEPING IN DISCARDED EMOTIONS
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THE MARRIAGE BED WAS REMOVED
MINISTERS FROM THE CHURCH
AND THE SISTER’S CHURCH
THE BOY MAY BECOME A POET
RITUALISTIC VERBAL MISUSE
COPIED SO OTHERS MIGHT SHARE
HISSING MELODIOUS
RESPONSIVE SOUNDS
CREEPING STEADILY
SHE WAS SWATHED
IN GIRLIE GARMENTS
AN ELDER BROTHER OUTLET
*the rounding of all those years has been but preparation
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the word ward is ravaged by nurses wielding erasers
rubbing away at the letters
one at a time
the walls painted a municipal sludge colour
inmates painted forgotten landscapes of their childhood – all the pictures and all the scribbles and they,
the inmates,
light one cigarette from the burning embers of the other – burnt nubs
Empty corridors echo the wails of those at the end of their tethers
the marriage bed now comes with strap to restrain the tremors – a bed for one –
a gurney
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your wife was a knife-grinder at the factory
you told everyone that you were a paid astronomer
you have been to school
had all the shots
your sodomy was agreeable
while sodomy at the factory was rape at its worse
easily 3000 years of DNA spewed
children of Adam—-what can I say ?
science is an enemy of imagination
those famous words were erased
I remember when you owned all the tokens of your life
when you were married to a knife-grinder
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I remember laughing with you about the adhesive attachment
you had developed with the knife-grinder at the factory
transient, possibly a criminal—disordered heaps on her chest
you said, “she will be a source of heat”
I had no idea how soon the coffin would arrive
a nasty black sleep with a coma to boot
she had been a collector of subtle significances
a miraculous source of heat and merriment
a mystic mystery—your best friend
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I am afraid that I am just sediment in your life
an outlet for you to sing your song
measureless fragments of the past
washed up on this shore
amniotic fluid boy
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sodomy was socially acceptable in some schools – it was encouraged – but those schools were full of centuries of inbreeding – it was the English way –
but I am distanced from that scene
I left the factory at the end of the day with the knife wife glistening in the spring sun – she was sharp lines
– years of DNA all mixed in primordial soup – breeding idiot savants without the savants –
just armies of idiots erasing words
re-
routing paths of history into brick walls and cul-de-sacs
sagging hairy and empty the wrinkle sac the leather purse sewn from hairs swept from the factory floor
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Black sheep mate with the blue balls a new breed
evolved
darker in the moonlight
the little pieces of sediment
the afterbirth of thoughts
parallel trajectories intersect
moving in and out
lustfull sweats from the consumption of meat
cannabalism is never far away
when the town becomes an abbatoir
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THE UPPER WORLD OF ADULTS
TEA PARTIES AND DRY COOKIES
POETS ESTABLISHING IDENTITIES
SELF-MULTIPLICATION
CONSTANT QUEST FOR COMMUNICATION
SELFHOOD REPRESSED—NAUGHTINESS IS EVERYTHING
EMOTIONAL FISHHOOKS—LANGUAGE JUDGED ON SIZE
*exterior words are often muddy—-momma don’t like that on the clean floor
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OBLIVIOUS TO THE OBVIOUS
POETRY ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR
LESS DUST, MORE SPICE
INTERROGATION
THOSE DAMN WORDS FROM THE CURIE HOUSE
AVANT-GARDE FLASHLIGHTS THAT SHINE ON STOLEN GOODS
LOBOTOMY, ALL I EVER WANTED WAS A LOBOTOMY
*the head nurse was Presbyterian and unhappy
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AFRAID OF RUNNING OUT OF SOILED WORDS
“FATTY HILLOCKS OF THE MONS VENERIS”
do soiled words have any requirement hurdles ?
a pseudonym for legal reasons
—Humpty Dumpty—
really short pants….after all, Humpty wasn’t a man
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INTERLUDE
no Humpty Dumpty was never a ma. And he never fell
a government agency feared him –
a talking egg –
something that was but shouldn’t be – they tried to pay him to go away – they threatened family members –
they had plans
diagrams
schematics
HD had psychic powers
could lift a bus
a train
whole families
with just a thought from inside his shiny
shell brain
If the Russians got hold of him…
(the thought was unthinkable)
(but they thought it anyway)
he had to go
and they just needed for him to sit
on a high wall on a day when all the kings horses and all the kings men were off
away
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I have sold the words Humpty Dumpty many times
sometimes to the same people
spoiled words are often intoxicating
glow in the dark letters become a torment
curie house specials are no exceptions
eternal want as a perpetual activity
these very words are all ready being sold
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Pink Floyd were on top of “shiny shell brain”
shine on you crazy diamond
shiny shell brain all day long
a talking egg—who could ask for more ?
happy laughter come to me
————no more blank verse———–
words from the black market
“lady crocodiles in my pocket”
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BABBLE OUT WORDS JOHNNY BOY
SIMPLE PLEASURES AT FIRST
LITTLE TINY BIRDS OF TENDERNESS
FEED THEM FROM YOUR LIPS
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ETERNAL WANT AS A PERPETUAL ACTIVITY
LOVED ONES OUTSIDE THE COLORING ZONE
NO ONE CAN TRANSLATE…TIME IS TOO FAST
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ESKIMOS USE DOG POOP FOR BAIT
THE ANGUISH OF BEING KILLED
FOR WANT OF A CLOSER SMELL
possibly a relative….
POETRY SWINGS ON HEAVY HINGES
NOSTALGIA FOR DOORS
ACCEPTANCE OF THE WORLD AS IT IS
HALF DENYING SUBSTITUTES
HOLDING HANDS THAT YOU PURCHASED
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BEING A POET IS ONE THING…ACTING LIKE A POET IS ANOTHER
EVER LESS MERCY FOR A LARGE EGG
A CHILD OF PROMISCUITY ?
I sold the word, “insomnium” today
everything religious seems to be about violating the natural laws
just think what happened when GOD violated natural laws
ALMOST PLAGIARIZED——–WRITERS GET ALL NERVOUS
NO CHOICE BUT TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE TRUTH
EVERY WORD HAS BEEN OWNED AND SOLD
WRITERS ARE THE SLAUGHTERERS
THEY WALK ON FLESH AND BLOOD
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every poem that can ever be written is already there –
the words just need someone to arrange them –
nothing is new nowadays –
the cinemas are full remakes of remakes of remakes of books in 3D – books smell of popcorn
they don’t remake poems do they?
they don’t release then with authors commentary?
Inuit alphabet could never fully describe the dog poop
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I SAW MEAT WEARING PANTIES TODAY
JAILBAIT UNDER FOOT
RIGHT OUT OF A SLICK MAGAZINE
WHY DOES EVERY POEM START OUT:
STOPPED OFF AT A BAR AFTER WORK ?
TOO MANY SOILED WORDS
AND YOU LOSE CONFIDENCE
*you never have time for a full-length crime
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GROOM’S THREATENING WEAPON
called a “TRESPASSER”
THE PEOPLE AT THE FRONT DESK
QUESTION—NOT EVEN A DRY RUN ?
WERE THEY NEVER IN WANT
OF SOMETHING TO DO ?
8000 KISSES
AND NOT EVEN A FULL-LENGTH CRIME ?
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THE HORN OF THE GROOM
TRUST IN WHAT YOU KNOW
THRUST IN THERE
SHE SAID, “I AM TO FIND
MYSELF GORED”
PEOPLE AT THE FRONT DESK
CHUCKLED, NOT SURPRISINGLY
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wedding night kerffules didn’t go down well in the expensive hotel room – the Gideon’s in a foreign language
– those involved should have paid the money for the night school course in WEDDING NIGHT ETIQUETTE (how to avoid a lifetime of misery) –
thoughts of rampant trespass –
conjugal rights – the fear turns to tears at the limpness – fingers point – never the best start
excitement trepidation leading to disappointment – the beginning
she told her to read some cold European prose to cool down
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a straight-faced recap of the fall, pompously solemn on the evening news full of reconstructions of the eggmans fateful day – auditions were held – a costume ordered – pants had to be tailored made to fit his circumference – once inside the costume the actor couldn’t piss for hours – the crows were just taxidermist cast offs nailed to roof – they had eyes but couldn’t see –
they bore no witness
Facebook campaigns to find the culprits – rewards offered –
tiny fragments of shells started to appear on eBAY – no certification of authenticity –
the eggman as martyr –
the future people would wear eggs pedants round skinny necks
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IN THE HOMINID LINE EVEN DEAD RELATIVES HAVE EXPRESSION ON THEIR FACES
DEATH IS REGULATED BY LAW—TO SPEAK WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING
ONE-TO-ONE CORRESPONDENCE NOT FAR FROM A DICTIONARY
THE WHITE RABBIT OFTEN PASSED THE WALL WHERE THE EGG MAN SAT
IT DIDN’T LOOK RIGHT IN PRINT OR SPOKEN LANGUAGE
———–BROWN MARMALADE ON A STICK—————–
WHERE DO THE DYING FLAMES GO ? PROBLEMATICAL MEN AROUND A FIRE DRUM
SHIRTLESS BUT TRAPPED IN LUST—A JOG ON A SLICK SEMANTIC PATH
SIGNPOSTS AND MILESTONES AND THE PSYCHOPATHOLOGY OF SODOMY
SLEIGHT-OF-HAND ROMANCE, TOSS-AWAY-PETS THAT COME HOME
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LICKING COMMUNICATES INFORMATION
HOW DOES YOUR MIND WORK AFTER EXPOSURE ?
ROMANCE-NOVELS AND VAGINAL PRESSURE
MEN SEEM TO WANT ONE THAT CLOSES TIGHT AND FAST
IN KENTUCKY THEY ARE REFERRED TO AS “SNAPPING COOTER”
LIKE A HOLLYWOOD MOVIE UNTIL OWNERSHIP POPS UP
BETWEEN-THE-EARS DECISIONS ABOUT MARRIAGE
ONE NIGHT YOU JUST WAKE UP IN THE UNWELCOME BED
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YOU WAKE UP IN THE UNWELCOME BED
WHEN DID YOU HAVE TIME FOR A FULL-LENGTH CRIME ?
YOU WERE BUILDING UP FOR THE BETTER PART OF THE BIOLOGICAL PROGRAM
POSSIBLY LEAVE BEHIND THE NORMAL STUFF AND ENTER KINKY
SLIP PAST THE “HEALTHY” ZONE—-PAST WHAT NATURE INTENDED
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REMEMBER WHEN YOUR WIFE BOUGHT THAT PLETHYSMOGRAPHIC DEVICE
AT THE DOLLAR STORE AND HOOKED IT UP TO YOUR WANG
AND MADE YOU TALK ABOUT “TOSS-AWAY-PETS”
GIRLS YOU HAD DATED IN SCHOOL
EXPLICIT WARM-UPS
NORMAN’S MOTHER
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all things will stop
they will fade
all things do –
the morning bleeds into the afternoon the sky falls on to the ground – she is powerless to hold it up – the TV told me something yesterday – the world is full of jesters and rodeo clowns
physical exercise at the Bates house
push ups and salty sweat
she hold me like a bear trap
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“SHE HOLD ME LIKE A BEAR TRAP”
IS A DANGEROUS BOOK
SHOULD BE KEPT LOCKED
IN A DREAM-FREE UNDERGROUND
THEY TRIED TO DESTROY
THAT BOOK DURING THE
SPANISH INQUISITION
I KNOW THAT THERE
IS A COPY
IN THE
KENTUCKY
STATE
MENTAL
HOSPITAL
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THAT CATCH-ALL GARBAGE CAN OF YOUTHFUL EMPLOYMENT
————-THE RODEO CLOWN—————
THERE ARE NO WOMEN IN THE SHOWER ROOM
AFTER THE SHOW
OUTSIDE
SMALL RURAL CHURCH SECTS MAY PICNIC
INSIDE
NAKED MEN GREASE AMUSEMENT
THE ESCAPADES OF SODOMY
MAY NEVER RIGHT THE WRONGS
IT DOES DELIVER REWARDS
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they had lived in the city for years but they were recently hypnotised into thinking they were tourists –
this way they could find beauty in their city – they now carried cameras and sketch pads to capture the new sights –
– this went on for weeks
they then decided to be hypnotised so they would be strangers and they could start their romantic life all over again –
they hated each at first sight –
they ran away and found solace in the alleyways of their city –
occasionally they pass each other in the street – passing acquaintances – ripped posters of the eggman parade –
———- NASCAR is beamed into english homes just for a laugh ———–
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—–NASCAR IS BEAMED INTO AMERICAN HOMES JUST FOR A LAUGH—-
AUTOMOBILE CIRCLES LIKE CROP CIRCLES ARE BEST-KNOWN YET LEAST-UNDERSTOOD
IT ALL HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH GOD REALIZATION
ECSTATIC PRACTICES ARE RESERVED FOR THE QUALIFIED
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THE EGG MAN WAS WORKING ON A POEM
BEFORE THE TRAGIC FALL
“THE SANITY OF CRAZINESS”
SOMETHING ABOUT THERE BEING A CAVE INSIDE HIS SHELL
WHERE AN ANCIENT CREATURE (PSYCHOSIS) LIVED
IT WAS ALWAYS THERE BUT RARELY EXPERIENCED
SOME SAY THAT HIS FALL WAS AN INSIDE JOB
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a cult of personality grew up around Humpty – egg worship ritual and pageantry – chickens revered as gods – pregnant woman on pedestals –
men in far flung corners and caves experienced phantom symptoms of birth – of passing an egg – clucking men – but not the NASCAR men – humpy didn’t smell of grease or gasoline – they had no time for him
or his ways
no DNA amongst the shells square peg in a round hole (wedding night flashbacks)
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she looked out of the window to see if Leviathan was still there – it was –
it stood there it’s gothic facade formidable – it is and always will be –
– the sun somewhere up there –
trees casting shadows of knifes and forks –
she looked out of the window – the curtains open and parted like hair (I stole that line…)
– steady stream of workers going in, entering the darkness, wayward soldiers through the doors – on their way –
she looked out of the window and Leviathan stared back
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THE SIGN STATED, NO SMOKING ENVIRONMENT
NO MENTION OF CIGARETTES
PEOPLE NO LONGER TRY TO SPEAK
FLAMES LEAK FROM THEIR ORAL CIRCLES
RICH PEOPLE IN ALASKA PAY GUIDES TO KILL LARGE ANIMALS
SOMETIMES JESUS WEARS SKINS AND PRETENDS DEATH
IT MUST MEAN SOMETHING
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people smoking electric cigarettes
robots smoking real cigarettes
cancer is rife now amongst androids
electric death from now till then
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FAMOUS PEOPLE ON TELEVISION MAKE FALSE STATEMENTS ABOUT ELECTRIC DEATH
SMALL CHILDREN FOLLOW THEIR EVERY WORD, ANDROID IN HAND
ANTS LEAK FROM THEIR EARS, REAL OR MANMADE ?
ANTS WITH YELLOW WAX ON THEIR HAIRY LEGS
WAX COLLECTED BECOMES CHEESE CURDS
OLDER PEOPLE ARE WARNED ABOUT POSSIBLE BACK-UPS
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ELECTRIC CIGARETTES MAKE THE HAIR ON YOUR LEGS
GROW OUT OF CONTROL
SMOKE A DOZEN AND STAND
FREE OF A BREEZE
SHORT PANTS BECOME OBSCENE
SALONS COLOR THE LOCKS TO LOOK LIKE EXOTIC FUR
HUSTLER MAGAZINE DROPS THE BEAVER
FOCUS ON LEGS BECOMES UPCLOSE
NONSMOKERS BUY FALSE LEG-WIGS
ONE CAN NEVER BE TOO EXTREME
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PEOPLE COME AND GO
BUT LEVIATHAN REMAINS THE SAME
LUBE COLLECTED FROM THE CORNERS
OF EYES
MOIST GRIEF
HAVING WITNESSED A LARGE LIVING ANIMAL
FALL TO THE BULLET OF WEALTH
TWO SHOTS AND DEATH
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famous TV faces pontificate through cathode rays – electric death the needle sharp and reborn on re-runs your children’s children’s will see again
and again
and again in time the ants will die and be replaced in their nests or holes or whatever or
wherever they live or exist
old people crease and dust in skin have been there seen it but can’t remember it or this
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I know a woman with two legs and three knees –
it takes all things
different varieties
– underground black markets spring up offering legs and limbs – short and long – hairy smooth skinless hanging like carcasses in a butchers window –
through electronic cigarettes
inhaling a steady stream of current – plugging TV into humans aerials on heads –
a wig weavers future
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STRAIGHT-FACED WIG WEAVERS OF THE FUTURE
ANTS SWARMING OVER PUBIC-LIKE PINE NEEDLES
ACADEMIC-FEMINIST UNDERWEAR HIDDEN
UP, AND I DO MEAN UP
AN AREA ENDOWED WITH AN IDENTITY
I SAY, “INTELLIGENT FEMALE PERSON,
I WANT TO PLANT A FLAG IN YOUR WOMAN-CENTEREDNESS”
I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW WHERE POETRY SLEEPS
*our escape cannot be measured in miles
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poets always ask, WHAT IF JESUS HAD A WOODEN LEG ?
carrying a cross in jungle mud and being lashed with blackguard humor
being forced to think about sex, merrily carouse with the pre-wedding genitals
washed or unwashed ?
you just kind of stand in the wind, rough edges with Jewish pubic hair
is it anything like oxen ?
marriage and mourning………….no thanks
heaven is not accidental
negligent——the blank space is filled with the word, negligent
you probably didn’t ride the schoolbus
or wear muddy pants in Forks, Washington
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WHEN I BOUGHT MY POETRY WRITING MACHINE
I WANTED THE ONE WITH THE CHARISMATIC BAD-BOY PERSONA
AT FIRST I MADE IT GROW A MUSTACHE
THEN I MADE IT SHAVE IT OFF
IN A SEXY KIND OF WAY
—————————————–I COMMANDED IT TO STRING WORDS TOGETHER
IT WAS GUILTY OF BEING INTELLECTUALLY SELF-CONSCIOUS
MYSTERIOUS AND MENTALLY EXPERIMENTAL
NOTHING WAS TOO TRIVIAL AND EVERYTHING WAS TOO TRIVIAL
SOMETIMES THE MACHINE WOULD MOAN AND PRETEND TO HAVE AMNESIA
A BRAIN-DAMAGED POETRY WRITING MACHINE
ONE THAT OFTEN SPAT OUT AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL TIDBITS
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WANTING TO DO YOUR DEEDS
ON PERFECTLY DRY LAND
NOT LIKE THE OLD DAYS
HAIRY AND ON STAGE
——–YOUR FRIENDS ARE PAID ACTORS
UNIQUE SITUATIONS FOR A FEW BUCKS
BACKDOOR RIDES OFTEN NOT ALLOWED
NOW PAVED WITH LUBED PERMISSION
*the newspaper article said that you were trying to dismantle a television set ?
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A BOX FULL OF GLOVES, VICTIMS LONG GONE
POETS WHO ORIENT THE REST OF THEIR LIVES
AROUND THEIR VICTIMIZATION
HOME BEING A PSYCHOLOGICAL POST OFFICE
EACH NUMBERED BOX FULL OF CLICHES
THEY ASK YOU TO REMOVE YOUR SHELL
“COME OUTSIDE” SUNSHINE AS ANTIDOTE
A WORLD OF DOG POOP AND SPIDERS
FOCUSING ON AGGRAVATIONS
BIRTHDAY CAKE FROM A CURIO SHOP
WANTING TO SMOKE WITH SHERLOCK HOLMES
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Birthday cake minus the candles = cake
forgotten the day you spat forth from your mother – covered in matter
– it was shinning, the sun – the fingerless glove is still a glove – the secondhand shop, sells hands, I’ve said this before, elephant tusk ornaments
moist animal waste blots the savannah
their blood dries on menstrual rags
Sherlock Holmes, the homosexual, Watson the lover, heroin and violins
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I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND YOUR “LOVING” AT A WRESTLING MATCH
THE ENGAGEMENT OF FLYING FISTS AND YOUR LIPS LOCKED WITH SOME FEMALE ELEMENT
I ASKED HER IDENTITY BUT SHE WAS UNSTABLE, POSSIBLY DILATING
“OH GOD, WHERE DOES HE FIND THEM ?”
THE CURIE HOUSE ?
THE PATH BEHIND THE CUTLERY BINGO BARN ?
MY POETRY WRITING MACHINE HAS BEEN FASCINATED WITH THE GREAT TABERNACLE
PAIN AND DEATH GO OUT THE WINDOW, GOD FLOATS INTO TOWN MAKING FACE TO FACE
THE GREAT TABERNACLE BABY—-GET WITH THE GROOVE !!!
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SO YOU WON THE CURIE HOUSE CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD
MEN STANDING AROUND WITH THEIR BEST FEET FORWARD
DEAD WRITERS AND WELL-READ FRIENDS, BASSET HOUND GIRLFRIENDS
GRITTY TOUGH LANGUAGE PAINTED WHITE TWICE BUT STILL LEWD
OPENING CHAPTERS ALWAYS START, “WHILE EMPLOYED AT THE LEVIATHAN…”
FLEETING RECAPITULATIONS, CHARLIE ZERO PASSED A VIOLIN AND POTATO SALAD
POETRY REMAINS REFLECTED IN A BROKEN MIRROR, NEUROTIC OR WORSE
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the prize was unexpected but there is always victory in validation – but alway look who is awarding the awards –
normally a cabal of like minded demographics – but I bathed in applause
to drunk to eat I spilt the salad down my turquoise tuxedo – onlookers gawped girlfriends just coast hangers – bone under clothes – GIVE ME MEAT OVER BONE ANYDAY –
I never prepared a speech but all was not lost
I had my poetry machine with me
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FIRST YOU PASS A VIOLIN-SHAPED LOG AND POTATO SALAD
THEN YOU HAVE DREAMS ABOUT BARBRA STREISAND
WASHING YOUR GENITALS WITH A SANDPAPER RAG
THE WHOLE TIME SAYING THAT SHE WILL STOP
IF IT CAUSES PAIN
AND YOU REMAIN SILENT
ALTHOUGH YOUR JUNK
LOOKS LIKE A LOBSTER
BOILED FAR TOO LONG
———————————
SECRET IDENTITIES AND MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES
LONG-DISTANCE FRIENDSHIPS, SLIPPERY AT BEST
SOCIOPATH CON ARTISTS WHO SLEEP AT TRUCK STOPS
STARTLING THROWBACKS SOME TIME, MUST LOCK DOORS
POETS FILLING IN THE BLANK SPOTS OF LIFE
SECONDHAND DADDY WITH WELL WORN CLICHES
ISOLATED INDIVIDUALS UNEXAMINED, PULP POETS
OUTLAWS OF THE WORD WORLD
KILLERS OF TREES
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COME UP GASPING FOR AIR
WEIRD CREATURES IN BED WITH POETS
INJURIES OF LOVE, EXCUSABLE FEAR
ALL MANNER OF SOUP LADLED UP
FANTASTIC ELEMENTS, EXPLICITLY PERSONAL
THE TEST OF SELF-IDENTIFICATION
THE HAUNTED HOUSE INSIDE THE HEAD
EACH OF US BEAR FULL RESPONSIBILITY
SATAN AND EVIL ARE NEVER REFLECTED
*the detectives say that Satan and Evil are not grains of sand in the desert
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they pulped all the words produced by the poetry machine and buried them in violin shaped boxes –
long distance daddy
absent –
mummy close warm breast
a reminder the smell of milk
suckling in the dawn
suckling like pigs on teats
pigs fuck in mud
but by god they’re happy
the black box was retrieved weeks after the crash –
they pulled the voice from it –
streams of data water dripped from it
it offers up nothing except a recipe for a dam fine peach Melba
the worst thing he said a woman could say to him was “Is that it?!”
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“IS THAT IT ?”
OR YOU HAVE BRIGHT RED PUBIC HAIR
EVEN STRAIGHT MEN SEEM TO WANT TO DEVOUR THE IMAGE
A PANIC-STRICKEN THREE WORD PARAGRAPH
————IT OPERATES ITSELF———————–
——————————————————————
I SAW McCAULEY CULKIN DRINKING CORN SYRUP
STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE
VERY SCARY EYES
HIS SOUL SEEMED SEMI-ARTICULATE
LIFE HAS MADE HIM REPOSITIONED
DELINQUENCY AND WAYWARD BEHAVIOR
NARCISSISTIC AND SELF-HATING
WHAT IF HE TRIED TO FINGER YOUR POETRY MACHINE ?
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POETRY ABOUT A LUCKLESS APPLE
ON HER HONEYMOON
LONG BEARDED VIRGINITY
FROM THE BED TO THE TOMB
IMAGINATIVE SYMPATHY
THE SERPENT LIES HIDDEN THERE
A FINAL SURRENDER TO JAZZ
*the shame of being apes
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fruit ad it’s part in the demise
the apparent reason for our fall
the juicy apple contains within it
the seeds of destruction –
the serpent wasn’t reptilian – it was a crude joke – all illusion to something swinging like a hammer between Adams thigh –
don’t believe a word I have written
eviscerate the correspondence
don’t touch a hair on her head with those hands
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ALL I CAN THINK OF IS THE PATH BEHIND THE CUTLERY BINGO BARN
THE FUTILITY OF LIFE, I SAW SHADOWS AND I KNEW IT WAS THE BEAST
I WALKED IN WORN FOOTSTEPS
DRAMATIC ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
HISTORY IS FULL OF BURNT-OUT RUINS
DAILY CIRCUS AT HOME
CLOSE THE DOOR
PSEUDO-POETRY
QUESTION MARKS
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BYGONE DAYS FALL FROM THE BACKSIDES OF CATTLE
LOVE AFFAIRS THAT ONE STEPS IN, THEN THROWS THE SHOES AWAY
A NOSTALGIA FOR A PLACE WITHOUT A LANGUAGE
WHERE ARTISTS AND POETS ARE BURIED OR BURNED
GOD BLESS THE PEOPLE IN KENTUCKY
THEY HAVE LIVED SO LONG
WITH THE DISSATISFACTION
OF CAVES
*one will never find a blue bird in Kentucky
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MAYA ANGELOU DREW A CIRCLE AROUND YOUR NAME
POETRY THIEVES ON A GEOGRAPHICAL QUEST
UNMAPPED REGIONS DEAR BOY
NO RETURN
EACH WORD IS A JOURNEY
DO NOT TURN BACK
YOUR KITE WILL FLY AWAY
YOU HOLDING THE STRING
*her sense of duty has Maya Angelou in flames
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COLLABORATIVE SEEDING ON THE HEMS OF FANCY UNDERPANTS
CURVES LEADING TO THE CANAL, HAIR AND FEATHERS, SOAP IRRITANTS
WHEN IT COMES TO BEING CLEAN—THE CHEATER IS CHEATED TOO
PLEADING LARYNGITIS ON HER BACK LIKE AN INSECT, HER FEELERS EXPOSED
I THOUGHT, “DON’T LOOK JOHNNY BOY !!! DON’T LOOK !!!”
SOME POETS GO TO PARIS WHILE OTHERS GO TO PRISON
TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS IN DEBT, MENTAL LETTER-PERFECT POETRY
YOKO WITH HER PORCELAIN TEETH AND BRITISH TWEEDS
HER LITTLE NEST IN THE AVIARY, NEW YORK CITY SANCTUARY
YOU’VE POKED AT HER SO NUMBING A NUMBER OF TIMES
YOUR BONNETED CLAWHAMMER SWOLLEN, ODDLY RED AND OILY
IT WAS SILENTLY SCREAMING, “ONLY THE VULGAR SURVIVE”
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the astronaut was lonely in space beyond the limits of the known universe above Africa he missed the ground and his wife he looked down into the blue he missed real meat and he knew Yoko was down there
somewhere
the collaboration moves
release the poets free
the words
sign the petition march on the capital
multiple michael is but one man keeping he home fires burning – he kissed the girls
made them cry
and meanwhile,
in a shopping mall near you
a mother has bought her daughter a Micky Mouse balloon which she thinks is giving her evil stares.
Later this evening she will burst it with a pin, breaking her young daughters heart.
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SLEEPY-EYED AND MISSING MEAT
BANGING BONGO DRUMS
AROUND YOKO
WHO ONCE SAID
“DEATH IS MY FAVORITE FLIRT”
COMPATIBLE BEDFELLOWS ?
POETRY ABOUT HURT THAT HURTS
PAIN IS A CLUMSY COSTUME
YOKO FLAPS HER WINGS
THEATRICAL LOVE CLOSED
PUNCTURED ROMANCE
—————————————————-
WANTED TO PULL JOHN UP
A 1000 MILES ABOVE THE GUILLOTINE
DEATH IS THE GREAT BOURGEOIS CRIME
*a self-satisfied amateur in bye-bye
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yesterday’s meat the maggots pupate insects burrow in deep
death is the fruit her hair
quicksilver through my hands
on this day we remember the dead we remember
in the morning we ache from the night before
puddles pools around our feet
a leak has sprung 50 fathoms deep
she was clean shaven
smooth like a pebble
we remain coupled like trains
*i don’t need no stinking machine to recreate these feelings
**the postcards stopped coming
***the nib is broken
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AT THE FACTORY THEY USE A BILINGUAL DICTIONARY
SEVERAL PAGES ARE MISSING
POSSIBLY USED TO START A FIRE
OR ROLL A CIGARETTE
EVEN THE YOUNG GIRLS HAVE A MUSTACHE
TOBACCO-COLORED TEETH
BUXOM WOMEN
UNSANITARY FINGERS AND TOES
OLD FASHIONED BLOOMERS
THE SMELL OF SAUSAGE AND CABBAGE
THEY CALLED THE ACT, “PLAYING THE ACCORDION”
TAKING TURNS IN THE BACK ROOM
LONG-LEGGED, PURPLE BIRTH CONTROL JELLY
BAREHEADED, UNMINDFUL, HUSBANDS AND YOUNG FELLOWS
JISM RAGS TWO FEET DEEP IN THE CORNER
IT COST MORE TO FINISH INSIDE, A HELL-UVA RIDE
MORAL FAILING IN THE FAST LANE
THE AFTERLIFE SOON BE KNOCKING
DIRECT AND PAINFUL, LINGUISTIC SENSITIVITY
POETRY DEMANDS A DEEP FINAL THRUST
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a thousand monkey banging on a typewriter drawing blood picking nits from the hair balls blowing through the poem like tumbleweed in a dead end town (the shutters are down)
a child throwing alphabet spaghetti at the wall (look what I did spell Mummy)
fridge magnet words
eating the dictionary shitting out the contents of
an index of a
glossary
the prologue and an epilogue in the middle because it’s to good to wait till the end
Flarf is liking taking an exam with the answers written on your arm – I have told my children to keep a safe distance
tie him to the nose of the rocket and point him towards the darkness
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resurrected snakebite jagger
(cousin once removed from Amish Jagger, him of pilgrim hat and beard)
played narco swing at the Mambo lounge blasphemous beats
banging bongos with prehistoric bones –
let’s all do drugs and deny christ
let’s all do drugs and deny christ
the audience wasn’t there
the room was empty like the factories the Chinese built on the moon
small particles of gas escaped the hatch the astronaut knew he was flying in his coffin
the Egyptians carved this day inside the tombs they predicted this event
built monuments in preparation
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—last comment retrieved and feed like meat through the grinder if a poetry machine —
resurrected the all built coffin snakebite Mambo do on
the jagger
lounge drugs the Egyptians cousin blasphemous and moon carved once beats deny
small this removed
christ particles day from banging
the of inside Amish bongos audience gas the Jagger with wasn’t escaped tombs him prehistoric there the they of bones
the hatch predicted pilgrim – room the this hat
let’s was astronaut event
built and all empty knew monuments beard do like he in
played drugs the was preparation narco and factories flying
swing deny the in at christ
let’s Chinese his
— sir
madam
I do not flarf and the Luddite
the caveman in me prefers the archaic tools of pen
paper and imagination —
**pen and paper (more computer and keys)
***but an imagination
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I OPENED MY EYES
AND THERE WERE DEAD FLIES FROM LAST YEAR
THEIR ERRANDS NO LONGER CARRIED OUT
THE CRICKETS HAVE LEFT TOWN
GROUP HUMS IN THE REST STOP
REBEL-ANGELS ON THE TURNPIKE
SKULLS AND METH AND DESPAIR
I THOUGHT ABOUT EMILY DICKINSON
AS STRANGERS WATCHED ME WHIZZ
CURIOUS IF I HAD BETHLEHEM MEAT
HOW MUCH SKIN WAS LEFT ?
RELIGION WITH INJURY
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WEARING THE SAME COLOR SOCKS JUST TO RETAIN COHERENCE
RELATIVES AND FRIENDS TRY TO SOBER YOU UP WITH PAIN
MINUTE TRIUMPHS EVEN UNDER A GIANT MAGNIFYING GLASS
LIQUOR IN SHAVED ICE GOING FAST
TESTAMENTS OF BEING EVER-INCREASED
WORDS THAT TOY WITH BLASPHEMY
READ THEM AND ANTICIPATE THE WORST
—————THE BOOK OF REVELATION
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————————————LIBERATION FROM FEAR———————————-
NAKED AND TRANSPARENT, ODD ADULT-SIZE ORGANS
BLIND PEOPLE MAKING THREATS TO CHRISTIANS
ALL FANGS OF STRUGGLE, BANISHMENT ON THE TABLE
I WANTED TO RETURN TO MY LIFE
TO GAZE AT THE BULLS IN THE MOONLIGHT
TO SMOKE AND BE SMOKED, TO LISTEN TO TREX
HOLLOW ABSTRACTION YEARS OFF
THE TOLLING OF THE POETIC BELL
SILENT, MUFFLED LOVERS COME AND GO
WERE THEY SUSCEPTIBLE TO UNDERSTANDING
OR JUST MOURNERS ON THE SIDELINE ?
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LINEAR TIME WOULD CEASE TO PASS
THE YOUNG JOHNNY BOY WITH COMPASS
TWICE HAVING A DOCTOR REMOVE
THE THREAT OF NORTH
POETIC LANGUAGE WAS SHARP
HAVING INHERITED CREATURAL PATHS
HAVING SENT THE SELF AHEAD OF ITSELF
JOHNNY BOY ON A QUEST TO LOCATE HIMSELF
DOLLAR STORES SELL PASSIVITY, MELANCHOLY,
NONLIFE COMES IN DIFFERENT FLAVORS
MANY THINGS HAVE BEEN ROUNDED OFF
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we came in naked between legs
in municipal wards amongst beeping machines & the smell of detergent –
knife wounds on the floor above
babies screaming blood curdling
covered the stench
of the first feaces
slimed
– all white babies look like GG Allin
– susceptible to the pull of gravity, from day on I had an erection
– bystander to history
assimilating piece by piece
– a blown fuse in the poetry machine jammed and spitting out nonsense – gagging on syllables
I applied for job of matador for the blue bulls
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sorry to inform you that the blue bulls
do not have need of a matador
they are of a higher intellect
the sickening sweep of descent
passes them by
*only citizens of the burning bush can stare at the flames
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your rejection letter was received via cyberspace – it talks of a higher intellect – of the bulls? or the matador?
– I can obtain references from learned people – man and woman of words – I can show you blueprint and schematics – photographs and manuscripts –
– you speak of citizens of the burning bush – but I know they are just shadows
cast by the flames
– things pass by
– GG Allin babies
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DARK IMPRESSIONS OF THE ERUPTIONS
HERE IN FLORIDA
MINSTREL SHOWS CONNECT SINGLES
BIRTH CONTROL IS TOO VIOLENT
TOURISTS FROM KENTUCKY
THROW BABIES OUT THE WINDOW
ONE CAN SEE WILD BOARS
FAT ON THE SIDES OF I-95
SMALL BONES MADE INTO JEWELRY
OFTEN SOLD AT FLEA MARKETS
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GRAVITY AT THE EXPLOSION
I TRIED TO HOLD TIGHT
BUT I HAD GIRLIE HANDS
MY CHURCH ON SUNDAY WEAK
UNLIGHTED, UNDREDGED, UNTAMED
WOMEN IN MY LIFE, ANALYZED IN DETAIL
THE PERSON WITH THE HEART STAKE WAS ME
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CAN’T REMEMBER IF YOU COLLECT CONSECRATED WAFERS
OR YOU ARE MARRIED TO ONE
YOU SPEAK OF THE DIURNAL RHYTHM
WOMEN AROUND THE CAMPFIRE
SHOW THEIR BREASTS
THEY ARE ATTUNED TO THE BURNING BUSH
FIVE FINGERS FREE OF TAIL
A CONSTANT CALCULATING OF RISK
ANGER IS OFTEN EXPRESSED
IN BEING DEVOURED
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johnny boy saw time as something that spreads off in all directions – linear but bending back on itself – never ending
a futile attempt to find himself within the turmoil – Johnny Boy speaks about himself in third person
feet firmly in two camps –
stuck in a hotel void – chambermaid trolleys rattle on dirty linoleum
the witch cackle of the detuned radio-
– space interference from the beginning of time –
in the church you can see through the roof
see through to the firmament
dot to dot lines draw between the stars inked badly on floppy shoddy skin ——
the hotel bill was extortionate – but had been there for an eternity
– news coverage of war torn areas always have children in football kits and rebel soldiers in Iron Maiden t-shirts
—— weeping because I know
there’s nothing I can do to protect them —-
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WHEN IT COMES TO TIME
IT ALL DEPENDS HOW FAR DOWNSTREAM ONE IS
SWOLLEN IN DEATH, BETROTHED TO SIN
WAVES CRASHING ON THE SHORES
INTELLECTUAL LIBERATION
SLEEP IS NOT A WELCOME FRIEND
SUBATOMIC PARTICLES NEVER REST
ALL THINGS BY MEASURE
NUMBER AND WEIGHT
INGENIOUS YOU SAY
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I filled the form in,
all 67 pages,
completed the
multiple choice questionnaire
a cross here,
only use black pen,
a cross there –
I was sent to another plastic window to get another form from another head
another face I speak to through a tiny speaker that only muffles my voice –
I join a queue of humans
the only species who will stand
in line – all this to gain entry to the curie house
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YOU CALLED THEM SQUAT APES—I KNOW NOT WHY
THEY WOULD DROP CLOUDS OF GAS
PEOPLE WOULD RUN OUTSIDE
SOMEWHERE IN OHIO CHICKENS WERE CACKLING
EMBARRASSED POETS
CAUGHT WITH SLICK PORNOGRAPHIC PARTS
ONLY NORMAN’S MOTHER WAS PURITANICAL
NO PROMISCUOUS CALLOUS
“ARE YOU HALF READY TO MAKE SQUAT APE ?”
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Normans family tree was diseased from the seed –
crippled branches like arthritic fingers with gnarled bones –
leaves flapping batting like whores eyelashes –
under the lampposts casting the shadows at I 4o’clock
– Norman loved his mum wore her clothes on dress up Tuesdays – studied himself in the mirror behind closed curtains that held the light out
– her beatings
– signs of struggle
– scene of the crime
– a book on the Masons and UFO sightings –
– footprints of squat apes
– photos of halos
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WHO CAN MASTER THE MANEUVERS OF PRODUCING POETRY ?
HUMAN LADDERS REACHING UP FOR WORDS OUT OF REACH
RUSSIANS STEALING SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS, NAPKINS
SAD PUPPY DOG EYES IN SKULL CAVES, NO LONGER HUMAN
LIVING HELL, SQUAT APES WITH WHITE SKIN AND ODD TEETH
IT IS EVIL TO THINK THAT THERE IS REALITY IN CINEMA
BLOOD IS BLOOD AND PAIN IS PAIN, FREE OF CINEMA-IN-LIFE
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russian cosmonauts return to ticker tape parades –
western literature shredded in death camps and thrown from rooftops at slow moving cavalcades below on cold soviet streets
only ever seen pictures of meat
– no one has a poetry machine in Russian – from Archangel to onwards
– pen and paper the old school way
– pre revolution days
no sad puppy eyes
they eat them a well
skin the carcass nothing to waste
nuclear silos under the factory
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the names of your ancestors have been changed over time – their place of birth obscured –
no one wants a family from Kentucky downwind
– no one wants the paper trail to lead back to them –
that’s why men of words choose
pseudonym from the file of second names –
to distance themselves from the words – to rewrite history in someone else’s shoes drop a vowel
what are we without the bruises?
what are we without the ink stained cuffs?
this is 3D
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EVEN AS A CHILD YOU ASKED WHO WOVE SORROW INTO OUR PERSONAL FABRIC
PEOPLE OUTSIDE ON THE STREET COLD AND HUNGRY, RUSSIAN THIEVES
YOU THOUGHT OF THEM AS COSMONAUTS BUT THEY WERE SODOMITES
STOLEN SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS, CUTLERY
SAD PUPPY DOG EYES LIKE NORMAN’S SISTER
YOU WANTED TO BRING THEM INSIDE
TO PERMIT THEM THEIR SINS
DESPERATE TO DO HARM
UNCLEAN GROPING
REAL SUFFERING
REAL LOSS
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IN FULL KNOWLEDGE OF THE LAW
YOU TURNED THE FLASHLIGHT OFF
ADAM AND EVE IN THE DARK
THE MINUTEST DETAILS COVERED IN BLACK
WRETCHEDNESS LIKE BLOOD DRIPPED FROM THEIR HANDS
THE NIGHT WITH ITS SMELL OF OLD JERUSALEM
STORED-UP POTENTIAL OF HELLFIRE AND HORNED DEVILS
THE WAGES OF SIN, DRUMS DRIVING THE BABY GLANDS
DEATH OVERTAKES THE FUTURE
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YOU WERE QUOTED AS SAYING, “WHAT A PITY IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY”
THINGS YOU STOLE FROM THE LEVIATHAN FACTORY STASHED AT MOMS
SINGLE-VOICED CUTLERY THAT HAD TO BE TAUGHT SILENCE
COMPLICATED TREATMENTS LIKE A JAZZ-HEAD FINGER MAN
TERRIFYINGLY AMBIGUOUS UP AND DOWN THUNDERING NOTES
LIKE A MARCHING BAND AROUND A HEADACHE
EACH WITH THEIR FOREIGN YOKE OF YESTERYEAR
JAGGER, THE MESSENGER (FRUITS AND PRINCELY DELICATES)
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WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO CREATE A POETIC TEXTURE ?
DO POETS LIVING IN THE WOODS CREATE POETIC TEXTURE ?
DREAMS ABOUT SURREALIST AND DADAIST POEMS ON MILK CARTONS
POETRY THAT REFUSES COMPETITION WITH AND IMITATION OF REALITY
IF ONE WANTS STINKING REALITY THEN GET A LIFE
MOVE TO KENTUCKY AND INSTALL BRAKE PADS
MARRY A SQUAT APE AND REPRODUCE
BUY A RED FORD FUSION
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THINGS YOU STOLE FROM THE LEVIATHAN FACTORY
THINGS THAT NEVER TURNED UP ON THE MONITOR
WORDS FROM A GOTHIC NOVEL IN THE BREAKROOM
SYMBOLS FROM THE BATHROOM STALL
EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY MINDED THOUGHTS
FROM A CRUD-CRUSTED SECURITY GUARD
QUINTESSENTIAL MODERN AFFLICTIONS
GENITAL MOTIFS, UNFATHOMABLE LONGINGS
NEVER-TO-BE-IMPARTED SECRETS
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THINGS YOU STOLE FROM THE LEVIATHAN FACTORY
MONEY, CLOTHES, AND DAINTIES
TRIFLING AMENITIES OF LIFE
A LOVING SISTER IN KENTUCKY
ANNOYANCE AND MONOTONY
THE TINKLING OF ANVILS
IN THE ARMORIES
LIKE A DENTIST CHAIR
A DEVOURING EGO
FEIGNS INNOCENCE
SEXUAL WORMS—SEXUAL DUPLICITY
MODES OF PROMISCUITY
GUILTY DIALOGUE
BARGAIN LOVE AT DISCOUNT
CAN YOU HAUL IT AWAY ?
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( scenes from a dentist)
oddly you seem to have no teeth madam,
I’m sorry
you came for a smear test?
oh, that’s next door
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A CHALLENGE TO SEE OURSELVES DIFFERENTLY
PHALLIC AND VULVAL POETRY PALPITATING
CRITICS MENTIONED THE LACK OF A BODY
PEOPLE MAKE WORDS HAVE GENDER
YOU TRANSCENDED ANATOMY
TOUCHED EVERY BOOK IN THE LIBRARY
I SEE YOU IN YOUR FAMILY ROOTS
SURVIVAL TECHNIQUES ON THE BRAIN
SOILED WITH UNCERTAINTY
AS A PSYCHIATRIST
I PRESCRIBE PERMANENT BLINDFOLD
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THINGS YOU STOLE FROM THE LEVIATHAN FACTORY
DARK CHALK TO COVER THE GHOST INSIDE YOU
SOME OTHER SEX BUT NOT YOUR SEX
PHYSICAL DIALOGUE WITHOUT THE WIFE
QUICK BEFORE ERASURE
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this poetry was tested on animals
– a donkey
duck and a monkey were sat in the auditorium as a monotone employee of Leviathan recited comments 345 & 65 to them
– no reaction but their seats were found to be moist when they left
and people who touch all the books in libraries are the same who lick the edges of coins
the same people who see hot air balloons in dreams
I’ve tried to look at things differently
I spend half the days not wearing my glasses
the world is under water and she is drowning
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are their floods in Florida?
will Coral Gables be submerged ?
will it bury everything you’ve stolen?
do shoplift things you can afford?
does the woman in your life ever read these worlds?
is Miami under water?
was this something that was written?
something that was prophesied in that joke book,
leather bound
and stored in hotels
motels
holidays inns?
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CONSTANTLY BEING PUSHED TO FAIL
———MULTIPLEMICHAEL MUST FAIL !!!!!!!
WILL I SURRENDER ?
GIVE UP ?
RELENTLESS ATTACK
THEY CUT MY TEETH OUT
GAVE ME A CLASSIC SMILE FROM KENTUCKY
BEEN THROUGH TWO SISTERS
HAD THE BIBLE FERMENTED
AND FORCED DOWN MY THROAT
SAW MOVIES OF OTHER MEN
POUNDING CUSHIONED FEMININE FLESH
WHERE WAS THE BLOOD AND TEARS ?
WHERE WAS THE BABIES WITH FUNNY HEADS ?
YOU LAUGH BUT I LIVE IN AMERICA
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POETRY WITH MOMENTS OF INTERRUPTION
YOU OPEN THE DOOR 2 HOURS EARLY
SHE WAS PLAYING AND REPLAYING
A BEATING SHE TOOK AS A CHILD
YOU WITH YOUR SUNDAY SCHOOL BOY APPROACH
YOU TALK NO-HOLDS-BARRED, YOU DROP QUICK
BIG GIRL VOCABULARY COMES OUT ON TOP
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multiplemicheal will fail – his pen will run dry – they will remove his teeth – his mouth
a hollow hole – the tooth fairy will sell them a dollar a piece
the mouth a black empty
metallic bloody
but if he fails
I fail
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POTENTIAL VIOLENCE LURKS IN THE HAPPY AMERICAN HOUSEHOLD
VIOLENCE BEYOND ANYTHING YOU AND I HAVE ENCOUNTERED
THE YOUNGEST BABY SLEEPS IN A CARDBOARD BOX
WHEN I VISIT, THE WIFE SAYS THAT SHE WILL OGLE ME
OGLE ME REAL GOOD FOR $20
I THINK ABOUT STD
I THINK ABOUT JESUS
WHY MY BROTHER TOOK THIS PATH
WHY MY PARENTS CAN’T FACE THE TRUTH
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I saw the school portrait –
young multiple micheal in shorts – the rest of the faces stuck on necks – thin and wobbling –
32 faces and they all look the same – identical scars below the eye –
– most likely to succeed
– most likely to murder a small family in a rented apartment with a variety of weapons
– most likely to land on the moon
we don’t have proms here
no year books
here
we keep those memories suppressed – all schools here are haunted –
a 1,000 lines – I must eat more words
– ogle me and ask for change
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LOCKED IN LONELY ISOLATION
WITH INSTITUTIONAL HANDS
THE LUCKY MOTEL ROOM
IS FULL OF SEXUAL ACROBATICS
MASCULINE MYSTIQUE
CONCEPTUAL AT BEST
RITUALS TO MAN UP
AROUND THE FIRE
THE DRUMS POUNDING
TOXIC PILLS
*mythologists make good poets
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UNREPENTANT WOMANIZERS
ARE THROWN OUT LIKE CATS
THAT PISS ON SWEATERS
DILUTED AND POLLUTED BY LIFE
MIDDLE-CLASS MOANING
RELATIONSHIP TOURISTS
RIGGING REALITY ON ALL LEVELS
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SONGS OF WOMEN USING BARBITURATES
WOMEN SINGING THOSE BALLADS
AS THEY LABOR ON THE RAILROAD
FEMALES WITH GET-OUT-OF-JAIL CARDS
AND RECIPES FOR APPLEJACK OR WORSE
NONCUSTODIAL LOVERS, EX-WIVES ON METH
——————WELL-WORN————————–
CONSTANT CHATTER ABOUT THE NATURE
OF BAD BEHAVIOUR
VISUAL IMPACTS OF DAILY PUNISHMENTS
ONE WOULD THINK
THAT READING AN ENTIRE LIBRARY
WOULD STIMULATE THINKING
*sensitivity to uniqueness
*appreciation of nuances
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I PUT YOU IN A CAR AND DROVE IN A CIRCLE
FOR TWO DAYS
IMPRESSIVE ANXIETY
FATIGUE-RIDDEN JOHNNY BOY
AT FIRST YOU WERE NERVOUS
FAST-TALKING, A COFFEE VIRGIN
BUT JESUS TAKES A LOT OUT OF YOU
WHEN I GO TO ARIZONA
THE FLYING SAUCERS FOLLOW
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WHEN I GO TO ARIZONA
THE FLYING SAUCERS FOLLOW
SISTERS IN THE SKY
ARE SO IMPORTANT
THEY CARRY THE SEEDS
BUTTONS NEAR THE SPINE
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POETRY WITH BAD CHILD PSYCHOLOGY
DRAMA WITH CURTAINS DRAWN
OLDER WOMEN WERE SENTIMENTAL
THEY TOOK SNAPSHOTS AND POSTED THEM
WIND-SWEPT LANDSCAPES WITH RAISED OUTLINES
MOTHER-FIXATED BOYS WERE IN CHARGE OF THE CITIES
RELENTLESSLY REPEATED RHYTHMS—FRENZIED BEATS
SELF-RECOGNITION WAS THE FIRST RUNG OF THE LADDER
I TURNED THE FLASHLIGHT ON AND THERE YOU WERE
JOHNNY BOY IN THE CIRCLE OF PROBING ALIENS
YOU WERE DENYING REALITY BUT THE ABDUCTION WAS REAL
YOU WERE THE OBJECT OF FASCINATION
YOU ASKED, “AN EXERCISE IN UNMASKING ?”
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feminists hate the word HIStory –
the story of masculine time – what about HERstory? – they campaign endlessly to join the vaginal threads together – queens and heroines –
you know the names –
Multiple Michael was a singularity once – split into two but alien lasers –
multiplied on a gurney
unmasked and probed
flickering flashlights February skies
didn’t recognise himself in a mirror
fingerprints had changed
they out him down somewhere in Florida and left part of him there
Arizona has a lot to answer for
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the pantomime behind the curtains, deep crimson slash,
hair at the edges,
part them wide
a glimmer of light a
failed actor, a part time waiter covered in juices, living off tips
the embarrassing honeymoon scene
a pocket watch has stopped
both hands overlap and cast shadows
multiple micheal ride into town on a bicycle made for two
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NO KNOWN SOURCE FOR YOUR WORDS
PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS EXPLICITNESS
REIN IN THE INTELLECT
CORE PSYCHOLOGY ON DISPLAY
POETS WITH FLICKERING TONGUES
I HAVE HAD MINE CUT OFF
TIME AFTER TIME
PROPHET ELIJAH HAS DISTANCED HIMSELF
DISTANCING HIMSELF FROM THE MULTIPLEMAN
ONLOOKERS MAKE HIM NERVOUS
I THROW ROCKS AT THEM
BEING BIBLICAL MAKES ME BRAVE
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RAW MATERIAL EVERYWHERE
POETS SAVOR PRIME MATTER
IMPRINTED WITH BIBLICAL NAMES
BETRAYERS WITH KISSING LIPS
WRAPPED IN BLANKETS OF LUST
TINY SCRAPS OF PAPER
WITH THE WORD
SODOMY
ERASED AND ERASED AGAIN
MATHEMATICAL SODOMY
BILLYGOAT IN NATURE
RENDER, RENDER MORE
MULTIPLEMICHAEL IS PLURAL
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The woman in the office have a secret language – everything is post modern – contemporary history –
coy looking at keyboards
squirting perfume after personal breaks
– time of the month –
they are all effected by the moon –
weekend sodomites –
– playful emails hint at things not said
– the computers buzz and whirl
– abandoned telephones ring at the site of the wreckage
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ABANDONED TELEPHONES COLORED COMFORTABLE
EMPTY WHISKEY PINTS HIDDEN FROM VIEW
BETTER OFF SEEKING THAN FINDING
UNDERWEAR THAT SMELLED
LIKE HAM-ON-RYE
TENDERLY POLITE
WITH THE POKING STICK
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ABANDONED TELEPHONES SENSITIVE
BACK POCKET WHISKEY PINTS
HIDDEN FROM VIEW
ROUTINE JABS
THE SKIN PULLED BACK
MOIST PINK MOUSE
PILLS TO COME BACK
NORMALITY
IN LEVELS OF SATISFACTION
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ABANDONED WORDS
FROM EARLY DICTIONARIES
COMPLETE OMISSIONS
UNGRASPABLE MEMORIES
CONFESSIONAL POETRY
EMPTY WHISKEY PINTS
IN THE WASHER
LAUNDRY MAN CUTS FINGER
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dug up versions 24 and 76 of the dictionary,
early edits with more pictures then words, sent back for corrections
ALWAYS SEND BACK FOR CORRECTIONS –
confessional diatribes that secretly you don’t want anyone to read –
– the flarf man need road signs to direct him THIS IS A POEM was at the final destination, just after the full stop,
sto lend from page 7
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