Part Three…
Concrete climbs up from the surface, pipes attach it to the ground.
There is a whole exterior hidden away. Skeletons of wires. Buildings of arteries. Thousands of buildings. Edging up. There is claustrophobia here. A sinister sensation amongst a canopy of aerials.
Eatmorewords's Blog 
YOU DON’T MENTION THE RECRUITER WHO CONTROLS THE FATE OF ALL CHILDREN
NOT ONLY YOUR CHILDREN BUT ALSO ALL THE CHILDREN WHO LIVE IN AFRICA WHO ARE HUNGRY AND DISEASED ——I ONLY MENTION THE RECRUITER BECAUSE HE IS TRYING TO OUTSMART YOU WITH CONCRETE AND METAL AND WIRES OF ALL BREEDS
( I think he is Swiss )
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they don’t recognise him
the recruiter
error 404 – there was a failure to authenticate – the other side of 8am
– no –
no one saw him
tendrils & intestines in the shape of infinity
I was never her favourite regardless of the rumours
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MESMERIZED BY THE SPECTACLE OF RAW MEAT
SHE WAS IN A FEMALE HARNESS
IT WAS LEGAL
what I thought was the Rolling Stones turned out to be the fife and drums of a blind marching band ———-blind people hungry for tenderness
I SAW HER SQUATTING BEHIND A BUSH
THERE WERE COINS DROPPING TO THE GROUND
what I thought was the Rolling Stones turned out to be the fife and drums of a blind
marching band———–blind people don’t have a chance…sharks prevail
BLIND STUBBORNNESS IS A SHADOW OF COURAGE
THE RECRUITER IS A BIG FISH—-THE CONTEST IS UNWINNABLE
I SAW HER MONEY MAKER——–HUMAN HYDRAULICS ELBOWDEEP
I TOLD THE MEN-FOLK BACK AT CHURCH
IT WAS A MUTUAL AROUSAL SCENE WITH PRAYER
ONANISM IS KING
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don’t fall into the trap of thinking five Englishman together are the Rolling Stones – and a marching band needs to have motion, fluidity movement other wise they are just people with instruments – this is all true
the sound of coins dropping from the slots at the arcade – end of the pier and flashing lights –
the puppeteer has had his puppets burned – his naked hands are all knuckles and calloused – thy pass the collection book at church – it rattled like the shoebox under your bed
Four Englishman together are not the Beatles – they could be moneylenders or clowns with their make up removed
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(fall into a trap) A PERCEPTUAL TRAP—A DISATROUS FALL—YOUTH TURNS SOUR
THE NEIGHBORS ARE BLIND… THEY LIVE BY A TICKING CLOCK
A VINEGARY SMELL LIKE CAT URINE MASKED WITH MEDICINE
WHAT ARE THEIR ODDS OF HARVEST ?
GOD IS HARD-BITTEN AND CRUEL
GOD SO OFTEN PAINTS WITH MENOPAUSE GRAY
HE/SHE WRITES POETRY WITH INJURIES AND SCARS
UNDEREQUIPPED FEMALES WITH LARGE SCABS
ANYTHING SEXUAL IS A STUBBORN THING
NOTHING GENTLE IN THE NIGHT
THE FAT FINGERS OF EROS
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THE HIGHWAY OF SEEKING, FINDING, TAKING
ANONYMOUS POETRY
FREE FROM NAME TAGS AND PITCHBLACK
EXPERT HANDS LOST IN THE SEAL
WHAT WAS COILED INSIDE HER ?
SHE LAUGHED AT HIS SCIENCE
HIS PUSH PINS AND STRING
HIS COMPASS HAVING NEVER KNOWN PLEASURE
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WENT FOR A JOY RIDE WITH TENNESSEE WILLIAMS YESTERDAY
TALK ABOUT A WATER-SPOUT—GOOD HEAVENS !!!
ALWAYS WEIRD WHEN MEN STAND FAR BACK FROM THE URINAL
AND DISPLAY WHAT CAN ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS “HORSE-LIKE”
SIZE SPEAKS VOLUMES—MENTALLY OBLIGED TO MEASURE
ARE YOU MORE LIKELY TO PERFORM ?
CAN THE BIG PICTURE SUSTAIN DIRECT LIGHT ?
HOW STRONG IS THE ANIMAL REGIME ?
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haunting THE CAGED LIFE OF THE BLIND
throw in a bad marriage THE CAGED LIFE OF THE BLIND
everyone is a male at the duck hunt PLEASE, I’M NOT A DUCK
egocentric and infantile BLIND WITH SYPHILIS
WISHING I WAS NORWEGIAN
THAT I COULD SEE THE MOON
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BLIND AT BIRTH FROM A PARENTAL STD
PEOPLE ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT IF SATAN OFFERED ME SIGHT
THAT I WAS TO REFUSE THE TICKET
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WAS THE TOPIC OF CONVERSATION:
SUCCESSFUL MATURATION
SUCCESSFUL MASTURBATION
???????????????????????????
BLIND CHILDREN WORRY ABOUT FALLING OUT OF MOVING VEHICLES
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IN A PONDEROUS AND PROBLEMATIC WAY
YOU WERE HER FAVORITE
ALCHEMIC CHANGE OR NOT
YOU WERE HER FAVORITE
I WAS TOO FULL OF THE BASER ELEMENTS
I WAS WALLOWING IN DREAMS
I WAS OUTDOORS ROOFED WITH THE BLUE
YOU WERE THE MATHEMATICAL CHILD
SCHOOLING QUALIFICATIONS
DOMESTICATED
I WAS GROUNDED BY GLACIERS, SEAS, AND THE LACK OF TIME
YOU’VE SEEN PHOTOS OF ME KISSING ABORIGINES
I WAS NEVER THE ONE TO TURN DOWN PLATYPUS ON SPANISH FLY
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I COULD HAVE BROUGHT A JAR OF ACTIVE ATOMS TO THE MEETING
ATOMS WITH A SWIRL—-YOUR FAVORITE
YOU ALWAYS SAY HOW HARD THEY ARE TO COME BY
JUST THINK “CURIE”
THEY MADE THAT STUFF WITHOUT THE COMFORTING COVER OF LEAD
SPEAKING OF CUPBOARDS….ARE YOU IN THE DWELL OF LOVINGLY ?
LAST TIME I WAS OVER THERE YOU WERE HANDLING RATTLESNAKES
AND PREACHING MATHEMATICAL GLORY IN A PONDEROUS WAY
I REMEMBER YOU SAID, ” WITHOUT WORDS PEOPLE WOULD BE BLIND”
WHAT A HISTORIC REASSERTION OF THE MAGIC OF WORDS
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I was the one who started the rumors
at the funeral I was the minister
he was in training for the Elder service
but he slipped and collided with a foreigner
he still thinks the solid impact was an accident
he still thinks Emily Dickinson is the Queen of his Evangelical Enterprise
it was a church of Man but he thought of it as the church of Meat
was I a worthy pastor ?
was I an Elder in a secret society ?
a finer scheme….I think not
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PULLING ON YOUR DIAGONAL TO STRAIGHTEN THE WARP
KISSING ABORIGINES—LAUGHING ABOUT MATHEMATICAL METH
A SWIRL OF ATOMS—EARLY MORNING WITH A CUP OF COFFEE
A SWIRL OF ATOMS—LATE AFTERNOON WITH AN ITALIAN CIGARETTE
THE BASER ELEMENTS ARE PUT TO BED—ALL INFORMATION FILTERED
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it’s evening here – it’s wet here
sitting at the office here, waiting – all the terminals buzz static
electric
hair on ends
magnetic
reading about the baser things and the ephemeral things – I need a strong drink – I kissed an aboriginal girl once, in a desert under a burning sun – it didn’t last long – we never met again – I never returned
to her or there
a memory, occasionally
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OH, THE JUSTIFICATION FOR THIS BLUE-PENCILING MEMORY
INTO THE INNER LIFE OF THE CHARACTER, JOHNNY BOY
EIGHT MILES OF TENSION BETWEEN DESIRES AND CONSCIENCE
“BEING MILKED” JOHNNY BOY KEPT PLAYING SWITCHEROO
WITH THE YOUNG BUSHMOTHER’S BABY
A KISS IS A KISS AND A LIQUID FEAST
IS A TRESPASS OF SORTS
HAVING LIVED ON THE DANGEROUS EDGES
WHAT TYPE OF REHEARSAL WAS HIS LIFE ?
CROOKED AND UNCERTAIN
PEEKS THROUGH THE CRACK IN THE DOOR
WAS IT A VIOLENT QUARREL OR LOVEMAKING GONE ROUGH ?
TORMENTED BY DEMONIC IMAGINATION
HYPERMODERN, HE COULD WEAR LIPSTICK
AND HOLD HANDS WITH ANOTHER MAN IN PUBLIC
ENMESHED IN SUPERSTITION AND MAGIK
MULTISENSORY EXPERIENCE
A DIORAMA INSIDE HIS PANTS
THINGS ALIVE AND MOVING
HIS BELOVED KUBLA KHAN
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the aboriginal girl you kissed
she didn’t think the kiss was wrong
just incomplete
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unshaded—-angels have moved the tree
split personality people in charge
Science or Surgery (you pick)
stimulate and then the bulge
expectations
feelings associated with the swim suit areas
cottage cheese noodle
explode like a bomb through tiny tubes
splintering off parts of the body
poems about otherness
about separation from the past
“merciful” forgettings
a stolen kiss
(*****) siphoned off
they had no phones
you got away safe
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you mention your sharp haircut—hair from the Greek “graphe” having something to do with HER
SHE stuck a knife in your head this morning—a real slash with bright red blood
back-and-forth, SHE went back-and-forth with the knife and you seemed unwilling
and I was worried because there was a lot of blood and it seemed too bright red
you used foul language and seemed frightened and in pain—all messy with blood
I wanted to take a photo of the ragged streak but She pointed the knife my way
I was only an observer—I was afraid of being cut—I said, “sorry may be next time”
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too shy to employ male pronouns
———————————————
latent sexual anxieties on the shelf covered with the dust of time
silent secret courtship in almost every photograph
no real injury in being honest
SHE said, “one day we will publish”
so proud of the manliness of a literary life
through other disciplines and wearing pants
a little surgery and a sharp haircut
“how about a little cut on the head ?”
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WHAT A RIOT—-A LITTLE CUT ON THE HEAD !!!
WORDS GATHERED FROM MANY WANDERINGS
DEATHBED JITTERS, THE BLOOD MADE EVERYONE
HAVE SECOND THOUGHTS
THE BRIGHT RED COLOR
YOU BROUGHT HER DAISIES
AND SHE WANTED ROSES
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the blood is always red
but like the bulls it changed colour under certain lights –
tonight she bled oil –
blackest oil –
crude it dripped as the petals fell – I won’t bring her flowers again (flowers are for artists to paint or decorate graves)
this wasn’t a time to laugh
this wasn’t a time to consider the angels or puzzle at the maths –
the jitters &
she shivers so hard
I thought there were two of her
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I UNDERLINED THE CIRCULAR REASONING IN YOUR POST
PRYING INTO MOMENTS OF LIFE: A SIMPLE CUT ON THE HEAD
POETS CONSTANTLY TRY TO REDEFINE THE ALL-TOO-DEFINABLE
THE SAME THING SAID IN DIFFERENT WAYS
TALKING ABOUT EACH MORNING WHEN THE ALARM GOES OFF
UNREALIZED POSSIBILITIES NEVER COME TO LIGHT
—-YOUR BLOOD WAS FULL OF EXCLAMATION MARKS—
NO ONE HAS YOUR ANSWER—NO ONE YOU CAN FIND
WHEN I LOOK OUT THE WINDOW
THE YARD IS FULL OF COMPLACENT READERS
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CONSTANTLY REWORKING TRYING TO EXCLUDE THE COMMON READER
SELF-EXPRESSION THROWS DARTS AT THE COMMON READER
NO ROOM FOR MELODRAMA AND YET THE WORLD IS EMPTY
THAT’S WHY YOU SLEEP—SO EVERYTHING GOES BLANK
THE COLORS LEAVE THE COLORING-BOOK
WORDS BECOME LETTERS AND THEN DUST
IF YOU LOOK OUT THE WINDOW
YOU WILL SEE PEOPLE LIKE ME REWORKING
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YOU ARE DEEPLY INDEBTED TO THAT ABORIGINAL GIRL
PICTURESQUE AS THE WHOLE THING MAY BE
AVANT-GARDE LIP SMACKING
IN THE BUSH (?)
NEUROTIC IMPULSES ARE ALWAYS BEYOND CONTROL
I PURCHASED STILTS FOR THE SHORT PEOPLE IN MY FAMILY
THEY COMPLAINED NOT REALIZING THEIR NEW RANGE OF VISION
THEY COULD EASILY SEE HEAVEN OVER THE INHUMANE AND SELFISH
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the stilts gave splinters deep but it was worth it for the elevated views – enlightened moments are few and fleeting –
remember what you can
keepsakes and I heard someone say souvenirs only remind you of buying them
she leaves me gifts
She is a fifth columnist
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THEY WERE SO UNHAPPY WITH MY SMILE
—-INAPPROPRIATE PLAYFULNESS—-
AGGRESSIVE CIGARETTE SMOKING
DIFFICULT MATERIAL — A REAL THUMB-SUCKER
THE OPEN SPACES IN LIFE—I WAVE FROM INSOMNIA
BEGGARS ON THE BRANCHES OF THE FAMILY TREE
RELIGION AND GENDER HAVE A REAL TUSSLE
SHE CUT YOUR HEAD TODAY—TOMORROW POSSIBLY AN EAR
HER CHILDREN SING IN THE CHOIR OF DARKNESS
THEY CARRY SMALL COMPUTER WINDOWS AND TALK TO HEAVEN
THEY PASS JUDGEMENT ON THOSE WHO DO NOT ADHERE
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ILLUSTRATE THE LARGER ARGUMENT ON THOSE WHO DO NOT ADHERE
WE FIND OURSELVES IN THE REFLECTING—LIFE AS AN EASTER EGG HUNT
A GRAND VISIONARY MOMENT—-AN ENTIRE REPERTOIRE WITHOUT SHADOW
THE REALITY OF LIVING IS FAR MORE THAN THE UNFURLING OF EACH DAY
CUED TO THE FATES OF MANY—WE DROWN IN THE GRASP OF OTHERS
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THOSE WHO DO NOT ADHERE OFTEN HAVE A LARGE MOLLUSK
IN THEIR UNDERPANTS !!!
*the stubborn undying hold of the mollusk
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I TRIED TO MAKE THE OTHERS
TURN OFF THEIR FLASHLIGHTS
LIFE ITSELF WAS ABOUT TO SHINE
I DESIRED IT TO SHINE THROUGH ME
NO LONGER LABORING TO DISTANCE MYSELF
TO HIDE BEHIND BUSHES OR RUDE WORDS
I AM LEAVING THE OLD CAMP
I MAY DIE
BUT I WILL FEAST ON THE NEW BEAUTY
THE GOODNESS OF THE FLESH
THE THORNS ARE GONE
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UNAWARE THAT SHE WAS UNBUTTONED
YOU COULD SEE THE SCARS OF REWORKING
PEOPLE LIKE HER EAT AND END THEMSELVES
A BRIEF METAPHYSICAL FLASH IN THE POETIC DARKNESS
A WOMAN WHO WOULD PEE OUTDOORS
AND ASK OTHERS TO COME SEE THE GOLDEN SPRAY
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THE CONTAMINATIONS OF INHERITANCE HAUNTED HER
DEPRIVATION IN MARRIED LOVE—CRUCIFIXION SEX
NAILED TO THE BED—JISM OOZED FROM HER SOCIAL WOUND
THERE WAS NO NORMAL RANGE OF HUMAN COMMUNICATION
HER SEX HOLE LIKE AN EMPTY CHURCH
HIS SEX STICK LIKE A TORMENTED SCORPION
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WHEN YOU KISSED THAT ABORIGINAL GIRL
SHE WAS ELBOWED BY THE AWARENESS OF GOD
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“BUT GOD, HE IS MADE FROM DUST”
“THERE ARE WORSE THINGS THAN DUST”
*varying degrees of pleasure or distress in musical polkas
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SHE WITH HER FOUR GREAT LIMBS
FEELS “FAILED” BY ALL MEN
A DOMESTIC ATTENDANT
A BEDROOM PASTIME
BLURRED AND WELL-WORN
WITH A SPEAKING FINGER
DEVIATE FROM THE KNOWN
TRACE THE BROWN ROSE
SUCH AN ODIOUS LESSON
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WALKED THE FIELD BEYOND THE GATE
ALL ALONE AND ASHAMED FACING NORTH
LIFE HAD DOMESTICATED ME
MY PARENTS WERE NATIVE STOCK
AND SOMEHOW, I WAS TWO-BIT GRAFT
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what you thought was red paint on your white trousers
was really psychological blood
or
was it ink that leaked from a photograph
that you held at an awkward angle ?
you’ve been looking at old photographs of HER again
with three doctors diagnosing your ills
and you slip right back to HER
sorry, you will never live up to your legend
may be that you should get rid of the pants
that may be blood and not yours
your degree of control
may be out of control
take them to the humorless side of town
where ruffians drink, fight, and womanize
and not necessarily in that order
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to satisfy the wife’s peevish demands
more rungs to nail to the ladder
the weight has become almost intolerable
as she searches the attic
for her ego-ideal
don’t worry
she will soon
entrust the task to someone
she believes more suitable
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sometimes she secretly erases what I have written
my parade of words disappear like a line of ants
everything has become a struggle to keep control
I stand muddy outside normal civilized existence
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I saw Norman’s mother trying to fill a word with meaning
she was in hollow underwear with flames and sparks
domesticated and made docile …. lovingly employed
a full range of face….groping for the right one
she was an insomniac in the backseat of lust
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a rather bad accident
one foot made of paper-mache
nothing will ever deliver right
that which was long lost
Christians fail to attend the circus
it is a curse on fallen expression
the naked heart is not for view
swooning women fall by the wayside
God himself was a clown
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THOSE WHO DO NOT ADHERE ARE OFTEN SEDUCED INTO THE SIN OF IMITATION
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DID ANYONE NOTICE NORMAN’S DEVELOPMENTAL MILESTONES ?
THE SUCCESS AND SURVIVAL OF THE FUTURE
CIRCUITRY ABOVE THE SHOULDERS
FIX-IT-FAST BOYS
UNIDENTIFIED FACTORS
ARE HIDING IN THE BUSHES
ANYTHING EMOTION-RELATED
IS TO BE DESTROYED
OR PLACED UNDER A LARGE ROCK
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you never talk about the ink that leaked from a photograph
I tried to get Emily to write a poem about it
she was more interested in sex and risky behavior
her brain was wired for sexual amplification
even at a young age
her play was differentiated
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just think
an entire repertoire without shadow
the exploratory behavior of a female poet
roughhousing between her legs
when would her penis grow ?
Emily prayed to Jesus about it
Jesus answered with one large word:
PSEUDOHERMAPHRODITISM
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red paint on your trousers
(from an ancient memory—your mother’s reaction to your genitals)
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the bright red color
was possibly a fear signal
mother didn’t ignore your genitals
it was her chance to explore
as father was private
and your scrotum was adult size
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genital reaction involved laughter and pointing then red shame
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the get-away is only temporary
justice awaits in the afterlife
Yoko colored the photo solid black
the bad guys got away with their badness
it was not enough—it never is
is crime heartless fun ?
carnivores are criminals
little ones make an easy snack
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words at face value—opinionated
controlled entirely by appetite
willing to pervert reason
to expose essential animality
to poop on the dunghill
and call it chocolate
*household rubbish and bestial aspects of human conduct
**sufficient poverty is like rat poison to poets
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having never known pleasure
his compass pointed north
the young Johnny Boy
entirely preoccupied
with the jewel of the crotch
appetite is everything
exemplary function
that is chapter two
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frequent the coffee-houses—ask for debauchery
HER SEX HOLE LIKE AN EMPTY CHURCH
HIS SEX STICK LIKE A TORMENTED SCORPION
please speak about Modern History
be imaginative and picturesque
suck your thumb and write romance
I want you to apologize to God
erase a bunch of those naughty words
buy an expensive pillow
add animation to your dreams
obscurities are a turn-on
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Yoko colored the photograph black
you spilled red ink on your white pants
daily life at the sex church is tinged
transparent sexual suggestiveness
the milkmaids with their buckets
charms and flames
where their perky breasts
dwell blissfully
you hop, skip, and jump
like a schoolboy
free of those odd numbers
the French scream over the fence
———any haven from the world’s vulgarity
poetry and prose outside the artificial world
—————-WHERE——————————
bashful young ladies drop their drawers
and paint with yellow perfumes
the dynamics of such a sight
deeply problematic
what you see may depend on where you stand
————WHAT IF————————————–
the heart of reality be perpetual night
where sight neither touches or hears
the silence of the grave
fresh-poured to earth
heavy heart
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standing in the dark in a grave
I was almost destitute of imaginative invention
was I not a crucial link to the real world ?
———–a relic of the past——————
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REJECTED RELATIVES STAND OUTSIDE THE CLOSED BEDROOM DOOR
EACH PERSON REALIZES DEFEAT IS INEVITABLE
I TRY NOT TO STARE BUT EVERYONE HAS SMALL HANDS
THEY ARE AS HELPLESS AS A LITTLE GIRL
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PILGRIM SHOES IN THE GRAVE
IMAGINATION AND AUDIENCE
DREDGE MURKIER DEPTHS
I–THE NARRATOR, THE HUMAN LIZARD
SUCK THE LIFE FROM PLEASURE
ROB THE WOMB—THE EASY MEAL
WHAT KIND OF CREATURE
LIVES OUTSIDE NATURE ?
CARNIVORES ARE CRIMINALS
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INSTEAD OF MUD AND CLAY
THE SHOVEL BROUGHT UP
AWKWARDNESS AND CLICHE
WRITING A GRAVE IS NOT EASY
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I see you’ve put your 27 cents in the pocket of the Recruiter
you seem to have a haunting gaze
are you an onlooker ?
the “little owls” are at home
something past 6, it all sounded French
contemptuous eyes and a back-pocket flute
huge posters dwarf the street fowl
you so wish to explore behind the picturesque
to measure the size of legs and beaks
to make pencil sketches
the conquest of all distant and exotic lands
nonsense lives require restrictions
say, “HELLO HELL”
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just like Charles Manson, the Recruiter is a big fish
reverse the paintings—loneliness for England
all my people are gypsies, tramps, and bandits
no French blood—no trouble with raw numbers
a hybrid form—sometimes threatening contents
so blind that I failed blind school
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the Recruiter looks for telltale patterns
Lord Child, your fossils and tools from up above
they have collected DNA from love and hate
the Neander Valley Boys put up a real fight
yes, they were nursed but death was long-standing
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the aboriginal girl could radiate power with her lips
the impact of your kiss was suitcase nuclear bomb
VESUVIUS ABOVE THE BELT LINE
—-the violence of your push pins
mechanical wringing
de’ perfume of “eatmorewords”
sweetening decay with poetry
grieving wordpress and the shallow grave
daily visitors ? photographs of unplanted buildings
you erect pencils and workmen cry
—-you might be a squirrel
you’re harboring nuts
*very crafty…getting an aboriginal girl to kiss a squirrel
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pounds, shillings, and pence—Emily was inventoried
seductions merely mockery
pushing love to erotic finish-lines
whimsical from orgasm
the appetitive side of encounter
sometimes I hear you pleading
cheated pleasure—pleasure began but halted
translating frustration into language
always that MALE undercurrent
the withholding—the longed-for return
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unknown to the terrestrial world
pilgrim shoes in the grave
socks made of self-scrutiny
yet only vaguely vaginal
oyster and pearl—a plaything
what man would confess dissatisfaction ?
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Emily said that reality was constantly leading her
down a hallway of mirrors
a labyrinth of this and that
her enclosed shelter
a noun in motion
hollow cells dividing
evil wanting to dismantle
the husband
or someone like a husband
to safeguard against punctuation
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pound for pound she was a heavy weight –
bruised knuckles from the pounding – midnight brawler –
she hide her secret life well –
Emily in training – punching over cows and pulling trains –
more than a pretty face
inside her gloves she hide hard words, four syllables or more
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Emily OFTEN WORE THREE PAIRS OF PANTIES
to safeguard against punctuation
her inner self was inaccessible
her inner self was insusceptible of proof
one could rub the darling bud
but no one including herself
ever touched gold
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Emily found the most blasphemous word she could find
and SHE laid it at your feet as if it were a dead mouse
one does not need to go beyond that
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ERROR 404 IS DIFFERENT IN FLORIDA
SO ARE OUR STANDARDS OF MEASUREMENT
———the anguish of Europe passed us by——–
CHRONIC PAIN AND EMPLOYMENT IN A VULTURE NEST
OLD-TIMERS ARE BEYOND PALE
ONLY A TINY NIGHT-LIGHT BURNS IN THEIR SOUL
HALLMARK CARDS COMMENT ON SOMETHING NOT YET REVEALED
IT IS TRUE THAT POETRY UNNERVES US
*multiplication outside France
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THE BIG TOPIC OF DISCUSSION TODAY AT THE PRISON:
——-WAS JESUS A PROXY FOR JEHOVAH ?——————-
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WHAT WORLD THIS…….
THAT THE CREATURES DEMAND ATTENTION
A RESPONSE FROM ONE ANOTHER
EVERY POSSIBILITY THAT DOES NOT CONFORM
APPEARS IN A NEGATIVE LIGHT
I HAVE DUG YOUR GRAVE IN LANGUAGE
KNEE-DEEP IN WORDS I ASK YOU TO SLEEP
JOHNNY BOY, PASS IN PEACE
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IN KENTUCKY PEOPLE DIE FOR LACK OF LIGHT
SMALL CHILDREN DIG COAL IN THE TOMBS
WHEN THEY REACH THE END
NEW ONES START OVER
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YOKO URINE WITH A TWIST OF MEDICINE
A FINAL SOLILOQUAY FOR AN OLD QUEEN
REPEATED FOR SUBSEQUENT AUDIENCES
HOUR PILING UPON HOUR
BEING PRESSED INTO THE DIRT
A THREE POUND ASH IN THE ASHBIN
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in some room, a hotel,
lights flicker in the hall, they watch you get dressed through a two way mirror –
chambermaids and the Otis men
– a conference of loan sharks gather in the bar – words are exchanged like illicit dead drops
driving past at speed
vacancy reads as vaccine
you have different measurements then us – some of your words sound better
turnpike
sidewalk
(there are more i think…)
meanings are the same though
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an ad-mans worst nightmare
a world of people with imaginations
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when you kissed the aboriginal girl
did you think about the methane
from cow farts ?
off-kilter lust
a knowing leer
an innocent stumbling
through life
each kiss is a rekindle
of Freudian fire
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I would sneak out my bedroom window at night to stare at the blue-black bulls
they lived in a sterile enclosure, free from bogeyman boyfriends
fear that which is longer than wide, serpents of ejaculation
the father of many faces, children being born outside the graveyard
no one can be that bad yet he was more than a dinosaur or a monster
the dogged will to reproduce, to survive alcoholism and wrecked cars
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Germanic cows add methane to the atmosphere – they are killing your kids kids kids
by the time their dead cows will be robots
all future meat synthetic and meat free
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at one time Emily Dickinson was psychoanalyzed out of existence
she had hot and cold running emotions
and men in general
made her want to shower
her eyes were like cameras
wanting to zoom in on every man’s pay envelope
male babies were photogenic
their privates made her sweat
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the flouting of self-evident rules of poetry
signs of perverse amateurishness
Emily tried to work through cause-and-effect
young poets were starting to go plotless
how could motives go unexplained ?
“I embroider myself in my words”
all any realist could think:
even her clean panties are rust-crusted in the crotch
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Emily once said, “I suffer from obsessional gravity and I masturbate with mechanistic repetitiveness !”
gangs of masked men lived inside her mind
at night in the dark they took turns knowing her
*second-hand and vulgar…..the myths of Emily Dickinson were true
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no sooner than I would be swallowed whole
I would be regurgitated
and swallowed again
*successive devouring in the coils of Satan
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free passage back and forth
first-person…..third-person
—–narration——————-
Emily was an onlooker who rarely left her room
she poured her Technicolor urine out the window
she was a sundial for a candle
isolated even in the land of loneliness
each day was a psychological catastrophe
how did she express her dominant mood ?
one can only ponder the green fog in her chamber
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never wanted more than common pleasures
old-fashioned happiness
to smile at other people’s babies
dozens of birthday parties
no need for last minute rescues
no need for elevators
or an Otis man
with seven inches
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green fog was the remnants of failed experiments from badly translated Curie diaries –
small explosion down south brought a tiny smile to her red lips
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that small explosion down south
Emily was hardly the sort
that could be trusted
with an idle finger
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the green fog has been linked to an emerald
given to Emily by Thomas Wentworth Higginson
rumor has it that Thomas won the jewel in a card game
it being no ordinary beauty but one stolen
from the ‘faery’ world
Emily had great respect for its antiquity
she would often speak to it in private
supposedly it glowed when warm
at night Emily would safeguard
it in her most private region
“kiss, kiss, kiss the hostess”
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rooms on top of rooms on top of room living above someones head with people below your feet living in a room above a room below a room with pipe inside walls
moaning
wearing twenty pairs of underpants is just too much (even in this weather)
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I never read the book but I glued the pages together
hollowed out the pages
and inside
inside I hide the secrets
hidden in plain sight
lost in the open
the feelings of walking through an empty house
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