wall
The wall is always there.
Brick upon brick.
Upon brick. It blocks out the sun. A wall of bricks. I can’t see over it. Its not real. It’s a metaphor. The wall.
I bang my head against it daily. Sometimes hourly.
I am in the office.
I always seem to be here. Surrounded by computers,
coats hanging from stands,
filling cabinets,
people.
I know some of them.
Others are just faces on bodies. We all happen to be here at the same time. Bodies on legs. Heads.
I see them everyday but don’t know them. Occasionally we may pass in a corridor or I may hold a door open for them.
A nod.
A thanks.
We move on.
There are rules.
There are hundreds of faces here.
I know some of them. Faces. Desks. Computers. Doors.
All part of this daily geography.
I sit at my desk and electronically talk to people I’ll never meet. Entire relationships built on words. Words sent through systems I don’t understand how they / this / it works. But it does.
It does work.
I press a button and something changes somewhere in this world. A number on a spreadsheet. A keystroke and a I’m telling a another computer to do something. I will never see the outcome.
I will never see the end.
Eatmorewords's Blog 
WHEN YOU PRESS A BUTTON:
——————————————-
A POETRY MACHINE ROLLS OUT ON AN EMPTY STAGE AND EXPRESSES A CRISIS
A BREAKDOWN IN THE UFO SILICON CHIPS
THE POET IS A WELL-CATALOGUED FELLOW
THE CORRECT NUMBER OF BONES
HE IS MOST AWARE OF THE MEMORY TRACES EARLY IN THE MORNING
AS A FETUS HE EXPERIENCED ANXIETY OVER THOUGHTS OF HIS REMOVAL
HE NEVER RECEIVED GOOD GRADES FOR MANIPULATING LANGUAGE
HE TOUCHED THE ROOTS OF HIS IDENITY IN A PLAYFUL MANNER
PEOPLE IN HIS CLOSE PROXIMITY DISPLAYED OSSIFIED LAYERS OF CONVENTION
A WELCOME SIGN WAS NAILED TO EVERY POINT OF DEPARTURE
HUNDREDS OF FACES, INSOMNIACS AT THE WORKPLACE, PALE PILGRIMS
THE POET WAS ALONE WITH HIS OVERPOWERING FEELING OF IMMEDIACY
HE HAD PHOTOGRAPHS OF BLUE BULLS STRIPPED AND SHAVED TO THE NUB
THE TRUE MEANING OF HIS POETRY WAS CAPTURED IN THE ABSENCE OF MEANING
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THE TRUE MEANING OF POETRY IS OFTEN CAPTURED IN THE ABSENCE OF MEANING
PEOPLE WANT TO TOUCH YOU…TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE REAL
THEY HAVE EXAMINED YOUR POETRY
YOUR COMMENT ABOUT IMITATION
ARE YOU THAT ROMANTIC ECCENTRIC ?
A MAN WITH A PRIVATE LANGUAGE
HE GOT LANGUAGE FOR TWO
UNCONSTRAINED BY RULES OF GRAMMER, SYNTAX, OR MEANING
ENDEARING NONSENSE TALK OVER A CUP OF TEA
MOLECULAR FLAKES OF METH CALLED SOUP WITH TEA
CUP AFTER CUP AND EVERYTHING BECOMES READILY APPARENT
A CHILDISH ENTHUSIASM, CHEMICAL NURSERY RHYMES
GRATUITOUS BUT PLEASURABLE, WORDS BEGET WORDS
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the moon suspended by invisible strings
the pioneers used boats to move here
forward towards…something towards
dreaming..she pictured a world where you have a quota of words your’re allowed to use in a lifetime and once you hit that limit you’re muted –
silenced –
choose your words careful mothers would say to sons
and fathers to daughters –
the government would allocate new word quotas depending on jobs –
imagine with a singer with no words
a poet reaching the limit
black market trades
they say everyone has a book in them and there songs
she told me the story as we hid under jackets
hidden at party
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BLOOD IS THE ONLY PASSPORT
YOU THOUGHT I WAS A WOMAN
BUT I WAS A MAN
YOU SAID THAT A MAN BRINGS LESS JOY
I SAID THAT A MAN BRINGS LESS SORROW
BRILLIANT AND TELLING PHRASES
UNDER THE JACKETS
WE WERE YOUNG
YOU THE RACE-HORSE
HAVING READ EVERY BOOK IN THE LIBRARY
GROWN FAMILIAR THROUGH WORDS
EKING OUT WHAT BE POSSIBLE
ME A SINNER, YOU A SAINT
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THAT BOOZE FEST AT YOUR HOME WAS AN EYE-OPENER
I MET 27 PEOPLE NAMED OLGA/ELENA/MIKHAIL/VLADIMIR
MUST BE A SHORTAGE OF NAMES IN THE HOMELAND
POETS/PAINTERS/MUSICIANS THEY ALL HAD THE SAME EYES
I WAS AFRAID I WAS IN SOME SORT OF EXPERIMENT
I DIDN’T MENTION THE CURIE HOUSE OR THE HOT DUST
YOU WERE SO EXCITED ABOUT THE YOUNG POETS
YOU WANTED UNDER THE CULTURAL UMBRELLA
A TRUCKLOAD OF ASPIRATION TOWARD SYNTHESISM
ENDLESS TALK ABOUT CROSS-FERTILIZATION
“CAN I PAINT YOU A POEM ?”
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Syringes at the burial ground
– fake artist a daub paint on their trousers before entering public space – he looked l like Tom Waits
– she spoke like Tom Waits / a dog becomes like it’s owner not vice versa – tied to a leash – free booze at the arts party – offers to grow me a poem – write me a picture –
– so cultured with a K
– machine plagiarists –
all words means to ends all ends word to mean
so many dead eyes in the village that tried to invent a new colour –
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DO YOU STILL RESIDE BETWEEN THE UNIVERSITY AND THE MEAT MARKET ?
I RECALL THAT ART HISTORIAN ON THE STREET CORNER
WHO PREACHED ABOUT CAPTURING AS MANY IMAGES
AS POSSIBLE FOR THE OTHER SIDE
YOU HAVE YOUR SPECIALTY
AND I HAVE MINE
I’VE TAKEN TO SLEEPING IN THE CEMETERY
MY NEW FRIENDS ARE MULTIDIMENSIONAL
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dirt bag jazz man speaks code, daddio –
university waster – green bag handler – Charlie big potato
– big man on campus
– pushing Russian jazz on the uninitiated -profiteering from those wet behind the ears – grown man with hairy balls – not everyone’s cup of tea – pubic floss dormitory fingering a – lights out at sunset
a meat free butcher of
silent words of
sign language with broken hands
modern history rife with contradiction – caught in the cross hair of psychology
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JUST THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW
THAT THE MESSIAH WILL DESTROY SATAN
RELIGIOUS PEOPLE WITH TITLES
WILL BE NO MORE
FLORIDA WILL RETURN
TO THE OCEAN FLOOR
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ADAM AND EVE CRIED DRY TEARS
AS THEY MARCHED FROM EDEN
————————————————–
THE PROMISED SEED
VERY LITTLE COULD BE ACHIEVED
WITH INNOCENCE
————————————————–
I SAW PHOTOS OF YOU
NAKED IN A TREE
BEHIND THE CURIE HOUSE
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thanks for the heads up,
the battle will take place yes,
on pay per view –
Evil in the blue corner weighing heavier then a tumour and good in the red corner
smoking Italian cigarettes –
silk trunks shining –
months training at the chateau a diet of raw meat and anger –
Florida will rise again after this
it will rise into the sky – heavenly and bright
buried under bath salts
peoples eating faces
let’s take a minute to think about the numbers while we burn the titles
sun
Kill
moon
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YOU HAVING READ EVERY BOOK IN THE LIBRARY
EARTHBOUND, MISSING A TOE AND HEALTHY IN PROPORTION
BEAUTY INCIDENTAL TO LENGTH AND KNOB
THE SELF-CONTAINED PERFECTION OF JOHNNY BOY
SENSITIVE TO ISSUES OF GENDER AND SEXUALITY
POETRY MACHINE WITH FLIPPERLIKE HANDS
ASPIRATIONS REFLECTED IN DROOL
WANNA MAKE PATTYCAKE ?
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YOU OWE IT TO YOURSELF TO INDULGE
INTERIOR AMUSEMENTS OUTDOORS
ALONE WITH SELF-TAUGHT ART
OCCULT ENERGIES MAKE YOU STRONG
SEVEN STROKES AND LUMPS OF HARD CHEESE
*sometimes squalling tubes like you passed broken glass
*orgasmic expression then the sting of bleach
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self contained perfection
held in by a rib cage –
a bone Bastille
Jonahs holiday home, a
smokey lung – I AM GROUNDED –
belly of the whale –
a library well thumbed pages – smell of other peoples fingers – strange bookmarks – a bent page like a tattered ear – a sleep in the reference section a book under P – drool on the cuff
head bowed sleepy in crook of arm
an elbow of bone
multiple micheal argues with god
**librarians at not silent in their own life
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THE STRUGGLE WITH THE ISOLATION OF THE SELF
ASKING FORGIVENESS WILL NOT REMOVE THE CORPSE
NOTHING CAN BREAK THE BOND OF THE SPIRIT GLUE
THE CHAMELEON SELF DAYDREAMING OF REPLACEMENT
A POSSIBLE ROAD OF RETURN ?
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——————————————-CHAMELEON SELF—————————————-
THEY PULLED YOUR GRANDMOTHER FROM THE GROUND WITH A TRACTOR
“IS THIS THE BOY WITH THE SANITARY PROBLEMS ?”
WE DO NOT RID OURSELVES OF THESE THINGS
TORN LIMB AND TORN LIMB—ARMLESS LIVING SPINE
WHAT CAN YOU DO AT THE FACTORY WITH BLOODY STUMPS ?
YOU HAVE YOUR PRIVATE SELF AND POETIC LANGUAGE
MOVE TO FRANCE AND PERFORM MATH
TALK DIRTY ON THE TELEPHONE
TO LONELY GAY AMERICANS
“FAT WORM MATE ?”
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third person sits beside the second version – the salt of the sea – lick your lips – dada is pronounced dad, it has a silent a –
– the dad art movement – reactionary views and an eye on the past –
– diggers dig up yesterday
– she has more limbs then I had initially expected – a trick of the light. octopus shadow exposed
– criminal record russian jazz
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we must move away from this Russian jazz – we know it’s a fantasy, something yet to be made,
yet to be discovered
it doesn’t chime with mentality west of the Urals – time moves different in them parts –
a town of clocks with no hands –
time in a vacuum
the only sound they like is hammer on anvil, the sound of heavy industry – foundry as orchestra
– a jumper with no arms
can never be isolated when your surrounded by voices
– or noise
noises and voices are the same –
when the daydream invades the nighttime that’s when you need to look at your self in the toothpaste splattered mirror and slap yourself six times
buried underneath
inside hospital wards full of coughs
and sexy nurses I need a cold shower
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SEXY NURSES TODAY—-SADLY, DECAY IS ON THE WAY
CLEAR WARNING, GERM BAGS THE LOT
EXHAUSTIBLE AGENTS OF REALITY
THE MOON SMILES ON YOUNG POETS
HAUNTED BY FLYING SAUCERS
BY UNKNOWN MODES OF BEING
IN YOUTH JOHNNY BOY
DRANK FROM THE CREEK
OF TROUBLED PLEASURE
ONE BOYISH ESCAPADE AFTER ANOTHER
NORMAN KEPT A SCRAPBOOK OF JOHNNY
THERE WAS A FLOW TO THE SENSUOUS MATERIAL
NORMAN’S MOTHER LOVED TO THUMB THROUGH IT
THERE WAS GREAT PRIMORDIAL STRENGTH IN HER THUMBS
I DARE NOT HINT AT THE TURF THEY SOMETIMES PARTED
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LONELY GAY AMERICANS LISTEN TO GENITAL MUSIC
WHISPERING ABOUT KISSING, SCATTTERED ORIGIN
THE POCKETKNIFE OF BABEL COMES TO MIND
POETS SOLD SHORT, SURRENDERING TO DESIRE
NATURE BETRAYED, NO BABY BIRDS IN THE NEST
THE WAY EXTENDS HERE
WARM LOVE AND GENTLE HANDS
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POETS WHOOPING AND HOOTING AT A PASSING VERB
SO OFTEN BEHIND A WALL NEVER TO CROSS
I HAVE MY MAPS AND MY CERAL BOX COMPASS
A GRAND PASSION AND A NEED FOR THE UNFAMILIAR
A THOUSAND INTERRUPTIONS
BIOLOGY AND HISTORY
AND RUSTY NAILS
IN BOARDS
*my camera has claustrophobia
*I second-guess everything around me
AT WORK I CARESS OTHER WOMEN
IT IS EXPECTED AND PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE
THEY ARE MOVIE STARS AND I AM A NOVELIST
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legs like kayaks on waterlogged memories – oh daddy
was a drunk
spinning like a tornado down the hall – dropping things as he spun
– loose change, sweet wrappers, full stops – a Hansel and Gretel trail leading to the scene
– chalk outlines a forensic scene
–
– we write in the same language so we can shot the interpreters –
– the grand passion can not be expressed in words only actions –
a touch
her elbow
– the colleagues in the office are unaware of the thought process, of multiple Michael
– he writes their sentences and paints a scene
– oh daddy the drunk falls down the stairs like a video replay that’s stuck in a comedic loop
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LATE NIGHT PHONE CALLS
ABOUT THE CONTRAST BETWEEN THE WAY
YOU BEHAVE AND THE WAY YOU ACT
——you asked your wife to conceal her purse (seemed sinister)
CLARITY OF PRESENTATION
SO MANY THINGS SEEM APART
FROM THEIR FUNCTION IN THE PLOT
I SEE YOU CRYING ABOUT THE ORDINARY INGREDIENTS
THAT BAKE UP TO BE YOUR DAILY LIFE
LACKING IMPEDIMENTS AND DANGERS
PERFECTLY MUNDANE OFFICE PEOPLE
NO TALES OF BACKSEAT SODOMY
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ENDLESS SOBS IN THE PILLOW
FEELING EMASCULATED—HUMILIATED
HORDES OF WORDS ON PAGES
UNDESERVING (SO IT SEEMS)
EROSION OF POETRY
NEANDERTHAL
OR WORSE
*penniless poets thousands of miles from Mexico
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YOUR LUXURY IS PURCHASED WITH THE YOUTH OF LOWER CLASSES
ADVANCED DECAY IN TRUTHFULNESS, MORAL BANKRUPTCY
SUBMERGED POETRY, OUTLINES IN THE SOIL
ANATOMY RUNNING AROUND, CLEAN AND UNCLEAN
THE NONSENSE OF THE PROSE, MISPLACED COMMAS
WANTON DISREGARD OF ANYTHING CONVENTIONAL
LAWLESS COMPANIONS ON WORDPRESS
PETTY CRIMES IN POETRY
OPPOSITE GENDER CRIMES
DAILY YEARNINGS
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LOUD LED ZEPPELIN AND BACKSEAT SODOMY
THE MEDIUM OF THE MESSAGE
THE PAST SLEEPS ON MEMORY
THE FUTURE FUELS ITSELF WITH ANTICIPATION
SNOUTS POKING OUT, MISSING TONGUE
HOW MANY NIGHTS DID I CRY ?
THE TIMETABLE OF NO TOBACCO OR COFFEE
A SORRY STATE WITH NO WORDS
MOMMA TALKING FOR THE BOTH OF US
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afraid of back seat sodomy in the Bible Belt –
the congregation is told “don’t knock it till you’ve tried it” –
funeral conducted around the clock – some buried facedown – there are teeth in the ground;
others buried miles from home
and when they rise with cannabalistic intent,
a taste for meat,
separated from their past by the dividing live of death,
they will be lost
downwind of her perfume the stench of this city street is temporarily lost
the dead will roam unfamiliar streets
scratch my eye
scratch the lens
51 sorry states
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BURIED FACEDOWN WITH TEETH IN THE GROUND
NO NEED FOR WOOD, METAL, OR CONCRETE
KENTUCKY IS KENTUCKY
CHANGING SEASONS AND CHANGING RED RAGS
THE HARDWARE SELLS POISON
DRIVING AROUND ON BACKROADS
I LIKE MY POISON STRAIGHT
OTHERS LIKE SODOMY IN THE BACKSEAT
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MUTUAL LOVE
AND THEN A LIFE OF MISERY
I HAD NO SAY IN ANYTHING
TRUCKLOADS OF QUESTIONS
UPBRINGING MEANS EVERYTHING
THE LACK OF EXPECTATIONS
BUM BOTTOM BOREDOM
HUSTLER MAGAZINE
RECOMMENDS
KENTUCKY
SODOMY
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religious kids can not tell the difference between fact and fiction –
– confusion about dinosaurs
– mans relationship with the chimps
– sodomy and love
truckloads of questions set alight at the barn dance
burnt words & lost souls
8 out 10 American kids couldn’t point to Kentucky on a map
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MEMORIES AND ANXIETIES ABOUT BIOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS
THE ABILITY TO BEAR CHILDREN IGNITES THE TORTURE
MOTHERS DRAG THEIR DAUGHTERS OVER THE FLAMES
SOCIAL CONNECTIONS AND THE SUFFOCATION OF TOUCH
MOTHER’S APPROVAL, HER PERSONAL HISTORY KNOWN
FRICTION AND MARRIAGE AND TROUBLESOME CHILDBIRTH
HAD TO KILL THE BROKEN, PULLED APART IN PIECES
POETRY—-EXPRESSED IN SIN OR THE RESULT OF SIN
THE POET AGAINST HIS OWN VITALS
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once they removed the head
everything became significantly less jarring
the initial ugly shock of black bloody neck
silently screaming, “LOOK AT ME !”
became a sentimental conversation piece
like a table lamp from a dead pet
life cut off for the sake of poetry
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DOWN ON OUR KNEES
THANKING GOD FOR THE PURITAN CULTURE
IN OUR FAMILY TREES
THE EARLY HOLY-ROLLERS
NOT THOSE CHUBBY GIRLS ON ROLLERSKATES
KEEPSAKES ON SKATES ?
FEELINGS WILL ERUPT IN THE DRAMA
FRENETIC ACTIVITY A-GO-GO
WANNA WIN—GOTTA WIN !!!
NOTHING MUST CLOG THOSE WHEELS
DEAD TO PLEASURE SERIOUS
WITH MACHINELIKE RESISTANCE
GOING TO TAKE AN ELBOW OR TWO
A KICK IN THE CABOOSE
SATURDAY NIGHT IS BLACK EYE
BRUISES THAT BULGE
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erotic images stuck behind a firewall – TV executive in taxi
traffic jam
gridlock, as still as a drawing –
powder falling from nose –
powdered bones we shall become
the defacto president of Pomerania –
I learnt kung fu from watching films –
days spent in the tomb with manuals how to make cakes
Notre Dame from lolly pop sticks
bombs and wires
save the children in the silence before the rocket hits
more than Saturday night black eyes
the mathematics of explosions, sounds waves bouncing off walls,
strangely,
the room was destroyed,
all windows smashed
the sofa found two streets away but the teapot next to the explosion
untouched in the vacuum
man makes the machine
no man
no machine
I sent her a postcard
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SHE SHOWED ME THE POSTCARD
GUILTY OF SINGLE-MINDED PRESUMPTIONS
THE COLOR OF JOHNNY BOY
AT THE EDGE OF NIGHT
A WORD MAGICIAN REVEALING HIS TRICKS
I THREW ROCKS AT YOU
SHE SHOWED ME THE POSTCARD
YOU SIGNED YOUR NAME
THELONIOUS MONK
POETS LOVE TO ATTRACT IDENTIFICATION
STEPPING THROUGH FIRE
THAT WAS YOUR THING
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EVERY WORD IS A BRICK AND EACH ONE A DELAY
A FIVE DOLLAR SOLILOQUY OF ABDICATION
TAKE A PHOTO OF THE 7000 BOXES
THE FUTURE HOLDS ONLY NUT CRAMPS
AND DRY CONVULSIONS
*the throne wrapped in bubble wrap
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poems become fast-food outlets
POEMS BECOME FAST-FOOD OUTLETS
ALONG THE STREET, PESSIMISTIC POETS SHRINK AND HIDE
along the street, pessimistic poets shrink and hide
the collective disease, reading about the collective disease
THE COLLECTIVE DISEASE, READING ABOUT THE COLLECTIVE DISEASE
HE PUT ALL HIS SELF-EXPLORATION IN CARDBOARD BOXES
he put all his self-exploration in cardboard boxes
special moments with anne rice, mental memories
SPECIAL MOMENTS WITH ANNE RICE, MENTAL MEMORIES
IMAGINARY DIALOGUES WITH SPACECRAFT PEOPLE
imaginary dialogues with spacecraft people
old women positioned in vampire lore
OLD WOMEN POSITIONED IN VAMPIRE LORE
I PAY PEOPLE TO WAVE THEM BY
I pay people to wave them by
ran out of rocks, now they wave them by
RAN OUT OF ROCKS, NOW THEY WAVE THEM BY
STEREOTYPING READERS OFTEN IN SHORT PANTS
stereotyping readers often in short pants
domestication and hot tea, not a single pair of short pants in town
DOMESTICATION AND HOT TEA, NOT A SINGLE PAIR OF SHORT PANTS IN TOWN
GENDER TROUBLES COATED WITH BLACK MENSTRUATION
gender troubles coated with black menstruation
I pay people to wipe them clean
I PAY PEOPLE TO WIPE THEM CLEAN
TORTURED LANGUAGE AND MUTILATED FLESH
tortured language and mutilated flesh
I pay people to wave them by, to wipe them clean
I PAY PEOPLE TO WAVE THEM BY, TO WIPE THEM CLEAN
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POEMS BECOME FAST FOOD OUTLETS
FOCUSING ON THE AGGRAVATIONS OF FAST FOOD OUTLETS
CASUAL EXCHANGE OF GERMS—GLANCES
THEN FRICTION IN THE REST ROOM
DISTURBED PEOPLE TRYING TO EMPTY URINE
IT WAS A BATHROOM NOT A MOTEL
SHERLOCK HOLMES HAD LEFT HIS SIGNATURE
WELCOME-TO-TOWN STRANGER
A PRIVATE CURIO SHOP AND POOP HAVEN
ERECT SENTENCES, LOW HANGERS AND VERBS
GHOSTS OF PREVIOUS EVENTS AND DEEDS
PEARL WHITE GLOBS—THAT BOB DYLAN GLOW
STEP INTO THE HANDICAPPED STALL
PERSONAL SATISFACTION
OUTSIDE ONE CAN ORDER FOOD WITH A SMILE
EACH EMPLOYEE HAS A TUMOR
A STATION WAGON WITH A LOW TIRE
VARIOUS SURVIVORS OF CHILDBIRTH
PLAGUED WITH DIFFERENT AGES
FAKE SNAKES AND NOVELTY VOMIT
MOMMA HAS TURNED THE HOME
INTO A NOAH-LIKE ARK
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MOVING BEYOND THE LIMITS OF FLARF
ROLE PLAYING AND GENDER SHIFTING
THE TEXT BOOK MENTIONED “SELF-EXPLORATION”
ORAL REPORTS OF GENDERED ISSUES
IN COLOR ON A COLOR SCREEN
SHADOWS OF A FORMER SELF
PESSIMISTIC AND DISTURBING
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DARK SILENCE, A SMALL KNIFE CUT THAT CONTINUES TO BLEED
POEMS IN A PINCH, DISORDER AND RANDOMNESS AMONG WORDS
THE SURGES AND WITHDRAWALS OF A HONEYMOON POET
I HAVE MENTIONED SEVERAL TIMES
THAT MY EYES ARE NO LONGER INTELLECTUAL
A LIFE IN BLACK MELANCHOLY
THE FINAL STOP
ALONE
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SUPPLIED ITALICS FOR THAT AFFLICTION
A SAC LIKE A KANGAROO
PRIVATE THEORIES ON SURGERY
LEAVE THE STEM
SENTIMENTAL BOYS IN THE TRASH
LARGER MEANING OF MORTALITY
EXPANSION OUTWARD
FROM THE GRAVE
THE CENTER
SOIL CARPET
*people say that success is dust
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