journey through staples
I’ll meet you in the bottom left hand corner of the map before we move across the great expanse of the middle ground – past staples that hold the pages together
through the middle ground of open space and forests
– we’ll push on
towards the top right hand corner through to the small print
across the page references and place names
names that roll off the tongue
names that stick and choke
like swallowing a mountain
we will move across a geography of dry river beds
common land and ex towns
we’ll arrive before the new edition removed our path
Daniel Libeskind designed a museum
known as “Between the Staples”
being very uptight about everything
he made a pillow out of history
but found it too difficult to rest his head on
when asked about the staircases that lead nowhere
even to non-rooms
he holds up a photo of himself at 12 years of age
seems therapy and erasure have not been helpful
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THE ALTERNATIVES WERE TO KILL—OR TO DIE
NOT TO BECOME ROOTED AND LIVE WITHOUT GRACE
TO BECOME SETTLED IN THE WASTELAND
TO INHABIT THE DENS OF DEMONS AND DOGS
HUMILIATED AND BARKING LIKE A BETRAYER
(GOD IS A DESTINATION AND NOT A PROMISE)
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all this crazy talk about perspiration lacking inspiration
so easy to write the last word and not the first
people outside begging to be reborn
I see readers stuck between the staples
(the really bad ones are hitching up to shed a skin)
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cheap watercolors and a dose of fact becomes fiction
the poet with an obstetrical stick
trying to rip the living embryo from the poem
the mother gives up her words
the lucky ones sink back into the darkness
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the building had existed in his head for years
no blueprint was ever drawn
all in the mind, the angles, corridors, the non rooms,
toilets with glamorous views,
a spurting fountain
– head of concrete and glass
the only workable therapy is amnesia
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a stroll on the boulevard where artists had planted strange trees
where flowers grew directly from the concrete
small women with large eyes smiled
young men with no underpants
plumbing for a price
supreme idleness
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backwards writing
working back from a full stop
setting the parameters as wide as possible
breathing space and wriggle room
remove the staples and the pages flutter away
baby birds
people want to be reborn but refuse to live
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sink back below the water
frantic movement splash and puddles
ripples and ever decreasing circles succumb to physics
inertia
then
stillness
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“POP OUT THAT STAPLE AND EXERCISE YOUR VOICE”
to sound in text as one sounds in speech
to start living one must stop living
pseudo-paramount passion
knife-thrusting sex
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terrible dreams about the death of everything sensitive
when Republicans walk it sounds like they have an accordion
located in their butt
ventriloquising smells as well as sounds
———a life perplexed and tormented by anal dust
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fragments of questions—what was he thinking ?
Abraham Lincoln with his thoughts like logs
Moses with his gay tailor on his knees
———–total surrender to the staple
the path of least resistance
flesh falls quickly from the bone
POET SKELETON ALONE IN A ROOM
outside the sound of history marching by
naked savages around a roaring fire
blue-black bulls outside a bedroom window
that damn magic mirror with its beggar-vagabond
feeding on men and women like a cannibal
covered in animal skins and promoting himself a poet
****strong meat and healthy sperm
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a nice thought about Johnny Boy
—————-you sneak-reading
can you imagine ?
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men with hammers here to build preconceptions and prejudices
stacks of litigation beside the trash can
four-letter words drifting from next door
resistance down to 3 packs a day
the smoke of paganism
the courage to explode at work
lesbians attracted to the smell of semen
poetry by the truckload unread
limited staple literature
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if not done publicly it will be done privately
the police camera to capture nuisance
imbeciles come and go
weak medication
thermometer sticking up
like a flag at the North Pole
****she wanted to sniff it
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artists impressions of standard scenes
the pool hall painted in mauve
blue shadows convey a deep sense of longing
wistful woman with saucer eyes
– the weeds that grow through the concrete gaps life will always find a way
underpants chaff the exit
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stapled this and that
one thing to another
metal glue
move both ways at once
between the living and the dead
partially always zombies
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dust in the gaps of particles and strands of her hair caught in the breeze
– republicans hang to the right
deep inside the barrel of a gun
– the comedy sound of loud clown honks followed them everywhere
the view for the outsider is confusing & dangerous
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healthy sperm has done it job
all walking around on two legs talking
– skeletal attempts to find its skin – appearing from the cave
sunshine eyes squinting
– wall painting poetry and pictures of bison
– ex animals extinct and cannibalised by basic needs
gay tailors and flamboyant costumes – sequins like stars
the sky on the floor
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a thin line between private and public
– snapchat cocks
– Instagram vaginas
– body images sent to whole address books – what’s in ya pants
exposed on the superhighway delivered by email
spammed with questions “how wides your girth?” – pills for this
pills for that –
sagging in the South Pole
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a glass jar full of a crude distillation
the bohemians called it “three swallows”
subterranean thoughts
grade school mechanism plus behaviorism
she said “no go buddy—impenetrable undergrowth”
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the thought of a poor girl
who pursued marriage to a golden staple
the resultant crime of passion
his peculiar grip
creative ideas with no genesis
endless suspicions
limitations
and yet—forces were constantly trying
to outstrip his attainments
that determination to hold tight
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rub-a-dub-dub underpants
the poet can entertain almost any idea
diving down past the palate and the stomach
searching, probing, delving in the land of farts
at the dispenser who stands taller—the realist or the romanticist ?
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hammers and sickles
symbols of the old east
– strap on lesbian confusion
found a staple in my meat
found a staple in my meat
found a staple in my meat
– simmering at work by the tea machine
angry emails
emoji blindness
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IN THE CAR SHE SMELLED LIKE DAY-OLD CHICKEN
squatting one could see her catcher
gnats and hair like pine needles
squeezing down there she could make a comical O-shape
sleek moist eel greasy with under the hood tomboy cheese
real women make gunk and orange-red stains
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a collection of staples in the mental health hospital folder
staples having erotic dreams about the word, “JUICINESS”
glossy surface intercourse
vagina flavoring
incredible constriction
varicolored paper
Ouija board strong staples
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mow the undergrowth
new life forms found
go nocturnal
go subterranean
the secrets hidden inside beards
a brain in a jar
a door stop in a Scandinavian university
six cigarettes smoked to the butt
feeling the gravitational pull of the situation
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when I mentioned that the remedy for suppressed talent
might be a personal size lawn mower
you could hear the floorboard creak
puritans welcome growth
plusses and minuses
often mismanaged
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how much life is shuttered and buckled in the words ?
gay tailors and flamboyant Pearl Harbor sailor suits
jism-crusted zippers in the morning light
old queens tell stories at breakfast
sleep doesn’t come quick enough
the roommate is a religious fanatic
on her back with relapses and setbacks
old wrinkle in hand making wrinkled wisdom
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a sign over the coffee maker:
PLEASE DO NOT RUMINATE ON COMPANY TIME
a real insult to the girl-studded office
doll masks and doll clothes…yes
apples on the chest—the smell of chartreuse
not a bare spot on any crotch
the cocoon of sexuality finalized
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poetry stapled inside coffins
poems about death and resurrection
words that make plank paths
crossings and re-crossings
angry about pleasure squandered
pink-walled memories—butter for lube
“it feels like Friday Night” when you touch it
owl-eyed— burdened under the force of a session
teaching and learning love—repetition of schooling
living among ghosts without jackets of flesh
yes—living among ghosts
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men who survived terrible women
yes, there are men who survived
the world of stinks–constant fatigue–idle dreams
men who were forced to compost the vegetable scrapings
———————–++++++++++++++—————————
men who stand at the urinals of life
with their lollipop size heads
and withered shaft skin
thinking back to when they were sex hammers
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thunderous farts that bounced from the back wall
faces stitched in disbelief— the discomfort was oddly satisfying
———I know she has finicky nerves
but I mailed Emily Dickinson a postcard today
(a shut-in in a white slip with a man-size external)
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Emily Dickinson once told me that the only workable therapy
was to have her external sucked as if it were a horn
to indulge in the vulgar heat of religious wrong
a female penis with a fever
cowardice is common
I suffer not
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the room was full of suspects
only I knew who the baby bird was
other poets were proud of their intuition
but they were on the far edges
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decreasing circles succumb to a navel
a husband on a leash
lilac-scented
—————-bawdy poetry about an upholstered crotch
applause without misgiving
the chances one takes
has to take
will take
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something so dangerous as to write down what was on my mind
working back through the day—sacrificing time and time again
disquieting questions about the space ship
lesser devils I called them
they spoke German
and seemed angry
****I offered my best upswing
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unschooled eyes—overlapping circles of the outer world
signifying my operations…a periphery of contact
the womenfolk with their healthy eggs
one kiss and the hunger ignited
the tube thickens
fluid secreted
life oozed
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at the pool hall they often spoke of
“YANKING UP THE OYSTER”
had nothing to do with the hardships of poetry
singleness indulged
continual practice
ignoring the footsteps of history
ignoring the ricochets of readers
what price—unattached virile vigor ?
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stream-of-consciousness
(+) butt dust or inconsequential butt dust
(+) yank up the oyster
(+) banjo players never wear pajamas
(+) masturbate and then recuperate
(+) oral sex whispering
(+) SHE had a squirrel cage inside her skull
(+) a healthy pink inside the repetitive rut
(+) a tiny pucker unfenced
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her catcher
like a leather mitt
aged and smelling of sweat
– a hoard of buzzing flies
buzzing round the smell
– the mound the pitcher stands on
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staples replaced push pins on the chalkboard up and down the country
– homeless people in one shoe heard secret messages telling them to congregate at the edge of dark town
all eyes
To the sky
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suits with lapels a mile long
like runaways for alien craft
– wide legged suits to hide contraband
– room mates stealing each other’s ideas while the food in the fridge rots –
wisdom aged like a church steeple
I need some air
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she phoned up late night radio shows and spoke for hours – free wheelin words
– other callers called in to request 1980s hair metal songs –
– she continued to talk when the line went dead
– pink walled entrance
dark exits
– she awore she saw ufos and ghosts and her dead grandma in the frozen section of the local supermarket
– life was a gift that became a burden
something to discard like a moth eaten jackets
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I found a secret in box
247,876 unread messages
some offering financial security
some offering unrequited love
I deleted them all
set fire to the computer and picked up a pen
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we drifted apart
slow icebergs in cold waters of seal fat and fish bones
above sunken ships
– never realised the distance till i turned around and saw small people on the horizon –
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the awful responsibility of finding the secret
a rather large unfenced thing—this secret
like running madly in a crowded circle
a life full of suspects
only one baby bird
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talking, kissing, laughing, and all the fun stuff
came to a halt
icebergs
large hairy icebergs
so much more above the surface
work and isolation and sleep
small frightened people on the distant shore
like eggs waiting to be re-inserted into the chicken
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WISDOM COMES IN ALL SHAPES
A CHURCH STEEPLE
ELIZABETH TAYLOR
scanning titles at the library
endless books on loneliness
one direction things go bad
the other direction things go really bad
introverts standing in a cynical, hard-bitten line
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the edge of Dark Town
where men have skyrockets
in their pants
when children ask about babies
all eyes to the sky
going naked around the house
the loose ends of sexuality
sordid alleys and filth
wallowing in the sludge
paralyzed
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HER CATCHER
a warm bun from an oven of religious mysticism
after the baby it was just dawdling
desperate dawdling–sudden veerings
it would just fall out with no pledge
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it would fall off the wall when its usage run out
an empty tube
squeezed of all life
useless and dangling umbilically
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when I walk past mobile phone masts I can hear conversations : talk of schemes
dirty secrets
life long dreams people talking a low hum of consonants of code words and nicknames –
sordid laundry aired
all eyes to the sky
people transported in machines eating nuts in a metal box all the sludge is below
miles below
in a metal box above mountains eating nuts
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the choice meaning no choice two ways bad one direction bad
the other, bad no direction home the cynical servants
the poisoned kippers the
library books of Cleopatra loaned and not returned like
the unwanted post from unknown sources
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the library books of Cleopatra were on the topic of kissing
when to kiss—when not to kiss
the constant fear of infected lips—STDs of the mouth
withered lips—the fear of lip shrivel
( dreams about lips coated with the frost of tuberculosis germs )
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people who palm your nuts
are they equal in size ?
reciprocal nut sucking
I quietly left in a hurry
mental pictures
****mustache hairs are one thing
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people at the airport were swallowing pills
to place them in a numb core of nonfeeling
pills that stop the questioning
all the criticizing fades away
36 hours before one can defecate
vertical moving people seem to be in a hurry
rich people in gingerbread colors
burlap-textured clothing
Russian—nothing before 1850
gesticulating cigarettes and huge diamond rings
I sat up front next to the boy genius
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DANGLING UMBILICALLY: BLACK MEN IN THE SHOWER
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Daniel Libeskind—the man with the lightening-crackling mind
——doubts of past convictions———–
ignore the defects and discrepancies
at one time he was young
I saw a certificate guaranteeing it so
I thought of him as pedestrian butter
a macaroon cake easy to swallow
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poets were saying things like “stubborn horse”
and “deadly venom”
almost impossible to look them in the eye
the coffee machine was sweating
the petrol stove low on fuel
the promise of cotton bottom tomorrow
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yolks outside the shell of
Rothko eggs – isolated from other people –
emotions like icebergs 80% submerged and out of sight like a criminal on the run
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I rejected the responsibility
the secret should remain that, a
secret
far from the maddening crowd
one bird at a time
fly away Peter
fly away Paul
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fly away magnificent handsome brilliant baby bird Peter
fly away magnificent handsome brilliant baby bird Paul
find your ego-satisfaction in heaven
heaven with its limited interruptions
heaven with its limited goat droppings
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I bought a copy of the Christian Science Monitor
thinking there would be information on icebergs
the whole issue was dedicated to your missing father
there was a poem on the back page
“THE HOWLING VOID OF YOUR LONG ABSENCE”
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I saw Daniel Libeskind holding hands
with thick-ankled tweed-coated
women of the hawthorn hedges
interested and sincerely seeking information
doors that refuse to open
windows that face brick walls
steps that lead no where
words floating in waterless soup
——————————————-
*************************************
where corpses embrace
quarantined from poetry
famous and yet a life not worth living
deprived of sanitary thoughts
sadism skin-tight
multiple blurs
prayers for a refuge from memories
EXTERIORITY UPSTAGES INTERIORITY
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the CSM propaganda machine
no mention of dinosaurs
the rigorous search for truth stops at the door of religion
– icebergs aren’t melting just drifting away
over the horizon
– humans arrived in boats wearing black cloaks
secret sects hidden away
sharing fathers with those who have none –
a father figure
a strong backbone
a centre point with hands bigger than shovels
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nuts in a leather nut sack
concealed
like a gun in a holster
ready to fire
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heavy eggs
healthy eggs
– the yolk that binds
JFK shot by his own man
53 year old secret irony of history
a story in a story
world inside a world interior blurs where the exterior starts –
one kiss and the blood courses
it would be fair to say the word she used was throbbing
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eggs in an exterior room outside the phallocentric museum
eggs governed by science, church, and state
eggs with a history of insecurity
eggs go unexpressed—perhaps “unspoken”
in Kentucky a mouth with an egg in it is a foul mouth
the tongue that has licked an egg
is a tool of the Devil
an apparatus of heresy
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the leather nut sack
ye dare not speak its name
****we have heard rumors and hints of rumors
about the scaffolding of oppression
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readers either embraced
or repulsed
by the explicit statement
“HANDS BIGGER THAN SHOVELS”
pool hall articulation
exploratory—suggestive
the text like a sign turned in the wrong direction
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poets speak of the dream-ladder down
late at night, the climb up
experimentation and self-discovery
autofellatio being the watchword
voyeurism with a bonus…TASTE
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the umbrella was very functional
life resists containment
words from the newspaper were falling
thank God for the polarities of white and black
brakes applied and applied again
the force of inertia upset the daddy cart
giddy circles in high gear lad (giddy circles)
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pass unnoticed until they become involved
martial problems
library card problems
basic defects in personality and character
skid row derelicts
heavy users
the motel was home to the upper end
the source of the heavy-user spectrum
Europeans on the edge of Dark Town
asking for a room with a rear entrance
Canadian guests asking for a night bucket
no one brave enough to leave the locked room
spoils and booty in high demand
awkward and uneven sorts
a knife–a club– Biblical Sodomy
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the guys on the street
were selling beef raised on beer
when they noticed that I was checking them out
I asked if they had bootleg library cards
(unbearable urges to get my hands on some free books)
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forgo the knife and the fork
it is modern times
greet poets on the edge of Dark Town
———–sincere HELLOS
simple things can become complicated
how many tokens in your life ?
platforms at the station ?
upside-down maps ?
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a safe zone for bodily functions
psychologically strange
yes I do—yes I do
black and brown
a small lake of strong tea
———–adoring audiences of idiosyncrasies
with their layers of narrative to decipher
evils and lesser of evils
thinly disguised diarrhea
thought-provoking diarrhea
wacky danced steps
each one a word for a future poem
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the uncracked egg
life inside
a dusty church of creaking knees
the French have no religion
– teaching your grandmother to suck eggs is a strange phrase*
– happy birthday devil man
*she was an expert egg sucker in her day
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remove the scaffolding
ONE NUT AT TIME
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ONE NUT WAS EQUAL TO 15 MINUTES ON MTV
HAUNTING AND DISTURBING
****the small blond nut went first
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sink back to the world of orifices
photographs in magazines
a busy robbery with the hand
a mechanical exercise
(parents) with their editorial scissors
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a stroll in the bedroom
yellow purse snatch
protruding
watching someone orgasm
a quick visitor
(later the wet bulging purse will boast)
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stream-of-consciousness
(+) the usual male diminution
(+) surgery with large scissors
(+) a helping hand with the moustache
(+) make-believe guns from Dark Town
(+) alphabetical erections—arithmetical erections
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SHE said, “You’re a real runny, glutinous yellow puddle”
my cousin said that he thought the job title was “cook”
little did he know that it was at minimum 7 inches
words can have such unpalatable meanings
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gloved hands to grip the gun
only in Hollywood
a fried egg in the underpants
and off to work
cooked food next to the cave entrance
an oozing incision in a paranoid-critical kind of way
men on the elevator were quick to take notice
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having just squirted from a throbbing tube
no time for self-dislike
all psychological associations are absent
edible excuses for disordered thoughts
——-the when and the where of ingesting
years of college and that being the crux of the biscuit
****someone taught you to kill your food with your teeth
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SHE asked, “Am I just a twinge in your life ?”
7000 demons silently whispered “nuisance”
there was the girl with the rubbery gums
she had that look
like she lived too near a cemetery
agonized nerves in the groin
tweezers darling—half the night
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STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS
——————————————–
(+) a female taxidermist calls you every day
(+) on the ride home you notice several male and female halves meet
(+) you try not to stare at things sandwiched between the teeth of strangers
(+) you try not to write poems about teeth being tombstones
(+) death: a cure for ailments
(+) a treasured DVD of industrious chewing
(+) pool hall regulars with implacable serrated teeth
(+) lip hair on a meat grinder
(+) Sean Connery
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teeth left in the coat that covered the meat
raw and uncooked
night time classes in taxidermy
– being able to separate this from that lie from fact
– ambiguity and confusion
man or woman, you decide.
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over in Hollywood a movie is being made featuring the ghosts of everyone who’s died in between 2010 – 2016 –
bedsheet projectors
– I’ve fallen behind with my correspondence
– it has been noted
– finding the effort to employ ghost writers and an actor to play me while I sleep
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bookish, bespectacled, white-sheeted ghost
leaky nut sac below the hamburger tube
the savage practice of masturbation
the smell of sphincters plural
his nose a tool to the cipher
post-coital prophylactic jitters
uncorked jism curds
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STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS
•seeing the same people every day like life is a loop
•desire to rummage through neighbours trash
•the smell of petrol
•drawing outlines of undiscovered islands in the back of library books
•collecting combs you find on the floor
•pubic hair knotted like dreadlocks
•a first kiss tasting of chewing gum and nicotine
•Buddhist monks help cremate the dead after natural disaster
•John Wayne
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secret thoughts about post-mortem rape
fur and choppers and a finger in
the pleasure outside shadows
———–they say the prison cell is the living death
no barred windows only stained concrete
people weigh an alibi against forgetfulness
a corroborated alibi please
endless misunderstandings
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booby-trapped stomach heaves
obstacle course to the latrine
frazzled and disoriented
open to risk
crowds of bowler-hatted employees
stifled wishes on your daily loop
****ashy residue from Germany
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life inside the cage becomes progressively more unmanageable
daily behavior that ultimately causes more discomfort
all social contact is supported by dishonesty
pulling out because of shame
and then sticking again
and getting stuck
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everyone in the circle blames somebody
it is nearly impossible to accurately assess
the condition of any family member
grade school to arrest
prosecution and incarceration
the diversion from discomfort
drives one to the ultimate trauma
****prison is the castle of historical traumas
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all living creatures suffer some manner of molestation
hidden maps and crazy clocks
ever-increasing anxiety
——the flashlight violates the value system of darkness
darkness remains unmanageable
POETS BEG TO BE VOLUNTEERS
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medical field meats
meat as a free choice not a compulsion
dressing up meat to display
a private image of meat and a public image
surrender to meat
macho type—hanging (hung)
powerless to walk away
non-communicative
free-floating shame
inappropriate nicknames for meat
lewd meat jokes
thoughts about seduction
meat abstinence
speaking in a foreign language in the meat department
meat as a shortcut to avoid discomfort
unspoken deals with the butcher
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painful anxiety when the poet leaves the room
343 promises that he will return
residues everywhere
he (the poet) has leaked poetry
he will leak again
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not once did I ask about your high school yearbook
page after page of Rorschach ink blots
your unique personal history
sodomy—definable, diagnosable
****others have had to find their way
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the tormenting question
the wound in Christ’s side
…………………..
tight trousers
another form of nakedness
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a world of booby-traps
look before you leap
look before you walk
green man says go
red man says stop
potholes that lead subterranean
a world within a world
stomach so empty and throat that feels like it’s been sliced
still better then fighting in a trench
the fear of
the rise of
the robots
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a cage with revolving doors and windows – the office of computers and filling cabinets
important information highlighted in fluorescent green
– daily behaviour is Pavlovian
salivating hounds
we love the master that beats us
the glue that binds the yeasts that sticks
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naked on a cross
cross at being naked
all eyes staring
all fingers pointing at the meat
THE MEAT
small, maybe
but meat all the same
you can see through the hole in Christ’s side
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heavy users of all things
drink drug words
no passport to get you over the border
no ladder to climb the walls
the manager demanded a signature
he demanded an upfront payment
– not brave enough to say hello to her
a lost library card
a credit card expired
a pocket full of change
useless verbs
I’m going
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the manifestations of Pocahontas
stolen library cards
credit cards of dead relatives
poetic wheels in the sky
the curveship of the man-organ
an instant recognition of oneself
unspoken affection
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the wound in Christ’s side:
so-called primitive thought
that each sin is an act of intercourse
with that vagina man-made
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———————-PRELOGICAL MIND————
sin returns the seed
to the native clay of heaven
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WE LIVE THE MASTER THAT GLUES OUR FEET TO THE FLOOR
submission to the pressures
sailors who drown in love
and yet find themselves reborn
(people in Kentucky know nothing of Phoenician Sodomy)
a heap of maps beached on the shore
coated in sperm and procreative jelly
possibly a flush from above
YES—SOMEONE ORCHESTRATES THE RELEASE OF ANGEL SEMEN
beyond the death obsessions of earth
beyond the acceptance of death
the true abandonment of striving
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the trouble with ordinariness
THE TROUBLE WITH ORDINARINESS
the trouble with ordinariness
————–it purchases an American firearm
and kills and injures innocent people
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poetry that shifts attention from the abstract
to an actual experience
impulses at the pool hall
seeking expression
pounding blood
panting
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kept down there smoldering
suppressed since puberty
manly love in all its glory
wrecked automobiles and broken arms
friendship ripped like a scab
( a harsher Judaic code )
no one spoke of self-definition
(+) eccentricities
(+) pathologies
————“do” it without “being” it
going too fast in the curve
wave at the circle jerk
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a circle of blame
a culture that grows
no test can clarify 100% where
when the rot set in
– propel follow A to B sometimes
people jump the steps
jump from birth straight to death – forget the living in between
a doctors notebook reveals deviations from the norm
they took an oath
and some actually kept it
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the police turned the lights on
over a thousand busy bodies
in every form of activity
not a single homosexual
only three circles in the group
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the police turned the lights on
997 men were emerging in self-awareness
“doing it” without “being it”
acceptance was a tall ladder
new skins on the top shelf
****watch your step—abandoned indirect language everywhere
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WE LIVE THE MASTER WHO WRITES THE REARRANGEMENT
———-the artful rearrangement of life
self-definition in the truck stop restroom
each manuscript with adjustments
introductory consequences
core sinfulness without a face
aromatic tongues galore
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——————————WORDS CHANNELED
solitude in dark places
and then the words attack
words demanding to be brought to the surface
the wooded undergrowth cannot contain them
sexual incense burning—the smell of the pubis
the good and the bad are thoroughly intertwined
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sounding like over exposed mantras
a disenchanted actor
12 automobiles in his garage
motivational nonsense
unable to find the end of the rope
unable to find the middle of the woods
how can you define yourself when the definitions change?
I saw a car crash
metal into metal glass scattered and the radio kept playing
kept playing on and on and on
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male genitals with Pentecostal voices
giant ten foot tall dongs
———-MELVILLE STANDS PROUD
his famous book stuck up the secluded spot
of every student studying literature
****posters of the beast hung in the bathroom of the pool hall
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a tin of red blood paint
red blood
painting hanging on a wall where passer-bys look up and stare
but never enough time to make an assessment
to reach a conclusion
naive expressions
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clay wet to bind
lump on lump
all things always return*
*try and name some French rock band
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——————-DISENCHANTED ACTOR
the wife saying, “we’ll sing no song today”
fresh locks on the love-nest
the lack of celebration
the birth of revelation
poetry
the jargon of isolation
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SEQUENCES OF GREAT JOY
seed of all nature drops from the sky
temporary impotence is over
GREEN is the magic color
summer is outside shaking hands
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****you were seven years old
and the Sunday School teacher told the class
“re-erection equals resurrection”
the same sentiment was written
on the pool hall bathroom stall
—in a more vulgar tone
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the guys at the coffee shop were talking
about medical masturbation (?)
hungering desires
lead to “UNDERNEATH YOURSELVES”
people just fold up and turn to death
stifled and white from the sham
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daily thoughts of cutting off a hand
a message from the symbolic father of the Beatles
—-the Daddy of the archetypal family
“empty feelings will pour out”
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prophets and pushers
disenfranchised fringes
unfinished ballads
Dark Town streets
pharmaceutical poetry
crude—almost amateurish
faraway violins behind the words
American souls so blank as to be colorless
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sink back in the shadows of Dark Town
perpetual erection—perpetual conflict
the repressed self is knocking
—————–where is the unfolding ?
the warm hand, the warm mouth, the open hole
an evasive partner——reality not appearance
the sham is a bulldozer in high gear
****remove the mask and it is soon replaced
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(a pithy observation)
A man and woman stand next to each other. They are both wearing glasses and matching football shirts. They could be siblings or lovers. I don’t know. They say a dog will resemble its owner. There is a shop in the background.
jargon debased all her favourite words – a new language devoid of vowel
words spoken via fingers and thumbs
only language and knowledge evolves these days
everything else
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spring the bastard off spring of summer
hidden away behind the cloak of winter
always in someone’s shadow
the bridegroom
never the bride
green fingered monster
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at that time
horrific nightmares about being beaten up by villains and henchman from old arcade games – your fingers smelt of coins
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your man and woman
disturbing
based on reality
based on appearance
possibly platonic
phallic arousal kept under a rock
ashamed in the bathroom
future spouse can penetrate the door
****imprisonment of the poet (procreation)
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—————————————–THE BRIDEGROOM
—————————————–NEVER THE BRIDE
simple answer: the persona of Christ
the difficulty of following him—his gospel
poets ponder his personal loneliness and isolation
church fathers ponder his fulfillment in death
****the promise of union with God
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CONFORMITY TO THE LIVES AROUND YOU
—————old arcade games——————–
smell my fingers and put me down
depart on your way
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fumbling with a rubbery face
a simple cater to curiosity
claustrophobic Beatle music
drugs and buttoned-up wigs
replaced Paul twice
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I SAW YOU SITTING THERE WITH AMNESIA IN A RAT TRAP
follow that through Johnny with domestication of poetry
produce more poetry in captivity
optimum conditions
knots of thoughts
kinky knots
and all you had to do
was show your shot record
and have a navel
education was a breeze
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YOUR AMNESIA IN AN EFFLORESCENCE OF GREEN
bright Hungarian gypsy pants
current literary fashion
no doubt
the little lady in 20 pounds
of denim
is denim autobiographical ?
belly up or be clobbered by the view
payment (repayment)
****toting around an image no one knows
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YOU FORGOT YOUR PENCIL AND PAPER
no two poets can agree how to escape
ninety-nine percent of all poetry has been thrown away
sometimes it is shoved in tailpipes
I remember that you had special Christmas dreams
stuffing your words in the tailpipe of Elvis Presley
****your chatter at the table angered Dad’s nervous malady
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artful arrangement of all these words
there will be consequences if the wrong exit is used
methodical approach to honeymoon gymnastics
the prince is dead
Long live the prince
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PATTED ON THE HEAD————–PATTED ON THE HEAD
twice-over words like the rails for the TRAIN
shenanigans at best
the tangles remain
****people who can read and write have a hobby
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remember how Dad would stand
alone in the auditorium
and ask, “where is your audience ?”
brave enough to think out loud
—–poetry as a pastime—–
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pillowcase dreams about the applause
INTELLIGENT APPLAUSE
not the cheering and stamping of the pool hall
not the wearing of an octopus as a hat
contemporary poetry
outspoken by the tailpipes of Elvis Presley
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I often think about when Father put a gun to your head
and told you to redefine every minute of your future
he cared nothing for philosophy or entertainment
he was trying to force you to evaluate
your inner worth
****outer manifestation of inner worth
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on the cover of “Raw Honeymoon”
Adam and Eve nearly nude
Adam is saying,
“Hold your tongue and let me love”
corrosive romance on the dark earth itself
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the dark self stored on the higher shelf
out of reach and covered in dust
small hands reach
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the inner worth was sold for a penny an inch
memories filed under headings:
•first album
•grazed knee
•cloud of death
•the teeth of dead leader
•skin
• her and / she
all to aid the memory
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****(small hands)
——————————————————small hands
the tree grows… the limbs become large
another suicide to the wind
a nameless city wind
more meaningfully here than elsewhere
the dialect of a hairy lip
biblical tobacco in a pipe
painless to the point of tears
(Robert Frost—a painkiller that doesn’t work)
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I tried to stay awake
on your promise of cotton bottom tomorrow
thoughts of husbands and wives and wacky lovers
celebrity-chaser pills and bath salt powerhouses
women who talked about Manhattan all night
but thought true romance was found in Ohio
——————+++++++++++——————–
a sneak peek gynecologist with a handy Kleenex
strangers arrived knowing their “privates” were to be on display
elastic skin that knew sexual jubilation and off-putting sorrow
communication with the nose—communication around the mommy-hole
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a dream where you had tiny hands and couldn’t pick anything up
– total frustration
– objects dropped around your feet
– a city with a river that runs through it
– dead computers at the bottom of the lake
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the ladies at the coffee shop were talking about celebrity deaths
– rating them
•how much did they cry?
•did they like them?
•had they seen their film
heard their my music?
reason for death:speculation
death is waiting at the pool hall
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the applause was lost in the roll of thunder cracking open the sky
a raw wound
the daily horoscope were cut and pasted from a year ago
flarf and assorted mumbo jumbo
a pocket full of vouchers from cheap food and discounted shoes
in 1974 the sun shone down and glistened & reflected of Elvis’s rhinestone suit –
people reported a kaleidoscope of colours
ethereal light shining
some report ailments had vanished
the lame walked
tumours gone
CTRL ALT DELETE
CTRL ALT DELETE
CTRL ALT DELETE
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solo pleasure
away from the crowds
behind doors
no audience needed
no tickets sold
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I ALWAYS PONDER HOW ONE MEASURES AN INCH
———–WHAT SIZE IS AN INCH ?———————-
astronomers searching for a flaw
interior space behind the belly button
the place before trees and grass
servants there and servants here
instructions to remain
behind the camouflage
originality
please don’t show your face
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current misconceptions about poets
a tiny shelf in a bookstore
with books of primitive poetry
paper with all the color
boiled out
I TOLD THEM THAT YOU HAD POKED PROFESSORS
THAT YOU HAD POKED OTHER GUARDIANS OF LITERATURE
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a photo of himself at 12 years of age
the phenomena of puberty
was attacking his comrades
he had driven through that city
the definition was not new
a bathhouse is a bathhouse
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a photo of a small boy standing in front of a 13ft fork
little knees Nike feet
the dream of the small hands
comrades sheltering each other from the bombs
tanks on the horizon
bullets in a gun
the fallen church the rubble of sentences erased
feeble attempts at escape
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between World Wars or after World Wars
the 13ft Fork will be used
to remove the rubble of sentences
to build the New Jerusalem
a city free of historical poetry
heirs of the past will be refused entrance
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****continuous flesh not joined
not a single hippy
or drug-visionary
or sodomite
FLARF became unpublishable
Americans sold mattresses stuffed with it
foot-traffic in the sleep world
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snag one little point
————————————Daniel Libeskind
7000 phone calls—conversations
immediate and often unexpected
spinning spiel baby bird
achievements that have gone before
residues on the cutlery
motivations—pervasive influences
the baton passed in the dark
YES—-THAT WAS ME !!!
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————-SEEING THE SAME PEOPLE EVERY DAY LIKE LIFE IS A LOOP
sequential discoveries that validate themselves
poets often come to terms with immediate feelings
disquieting cutlery in America
a spoon is a spoon
a knife is a knife
but a fork is almost never just a fork
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size is relative and the number don’t alway add up
inch on inch becomes a mile
to be seen from space was her dream –
– the thicket below the belly button the camouflage along her fuselage-
– hidden below the main subject
the comments are for the explorers
off the beaten track
birthday cards from your father
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refused entrance at the night club
– turned tail
all signs point to the pool room
jive talking bohemians creating a new lexicon
– the first brick of Babel was stolen from the library
– left a hole to look through
where is your passport?
show the Otis man you Id
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bonfire flarf
mattress flarf
scarecrow flarf
keep the home fires burning
we’ll use their words
footfall at the poetry stand
awake for 156hrs when the finishing line became visible
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the question of the day:
WHY DOES HEAVEN HAVE WALLS AND A GATE ?
========================================
easy to find disappointment
even with clean underpants
readers speak highly
of WILLINGNESS to allow development
they want you to bend over in the prison shower
to drop to your knees in the truck stop latrine
to vomit the religion of your ancestors
LIFE IS A RELAY-RACE IN THE DARK
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YEARS OF PLAYING BEATLE MUSIC BACKWARDS
The Beatles were a tribe
their music was accumulated experience
noises picked up from daily haunts
lyrics of polished artifacts
that possibly flared
damaged romance
countless losses
scholarly snot
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IRRATIONAL ACTS OF SURRENDER
harp-strings over people now dead
John and Yoko horizontal
propeller-less now
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HOPE FOR AN UNDERSTANDING
employees at the cutlery factory printed those words
on folded paper for the wish box at Christmas
the lack of sufficient information killed the cat
suitcases full of incomprehensible prose
words that looked like cabbages—zucchini dongs
afternoons full of static on the radio
reversals of direction
naked afterthoughts
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Otis Man at his truck
———–if only his work might be more palatable
a bitten tongue and a funky big toe
fond characterizations of his wife
and her apples—DNA straight from Genesis
****Adam thought, “check out them apples”
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the pigment washed off the paragraphs as the words literally fell from the page –
– a storm of letters falling and no umbrella can keep you safe –
a harsh K imbedded in a vagrants head
the fat O that bounced down the street crushing patrol cars
full stop raindrops
this poem is available free on line
edit as you seem fit
easy to disappoint
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backwards messages spelt out the name Jagger and gave the secret of Nazi gold –
however it was high pitched and only dogs could hear it
the joke was on us
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no propeller before the crash landing
an outline of the body in the ground
on the honeymoon bed
strangled and chocked on words to large to roll around your mouth
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AN UNTIMELY DEATH PREVENTED (famous musician)
FROM REVEALING HIS GENDER CHANGE
DAYS EARLIER IT TURNED GREEN
————which was worse ?
HOW IT LOOKED or HOW IT SMELLED
WHEN PEOPLE TALK ABOUT THAT VAULT
CRAZY DOLLAR SIGNS FLASH IN THEIR EYES
THE VAULT WAS TO LIBERATE HIM FROM ALL CONSTRAINTS
AN EASY ACESS WHERE MEN COULD TOUCH HIS FEMININITY
****with the lights on, it looked like a holiday turkey without the stuffing
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dollar sign eyes with no binary
a bit of this
51% that
liberated but not from chains
trussed up meat plucked and ready
read into it what you will
what you read into it will change
just put yourself in that position get yourself a new haircut
inches taller in heels
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it only works at night
it only works at night
daylight shakes
apple cores never eaten discarded like chicken bones
the dizzy NASCAR man looking for equilibrium
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don’t rush into it
or your’ll only have to extricate yourself from it
helicopter rescue
for one
ITS BEEN A PRETTY MISERABLE
DAY ROUND HERE
cash: hand out
money likes to escape from my hand
in a pocket inside
a puppets stomach
I CAN TALK WITH MY HANDS
I TALK WITH MY HANDS
– that famous writer you used to love
I burnt his words the other night
no fireman with hoses or
red vans with ringing bells to
wake the town
there is alarm here
————————————-
•1970s safety awareness film
•meat and circling flies
•tripping on loose paving stone
•stay off the moors
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DRIFTING IN THE CLOUDS
storybook—in the bedroom sleeping
any rescue requires rehearsal
words become legal
one says this and later that
one says that and later this
relatives with lethal anecdotes
relatives with mold inside their ears
dead lichen and dust down deep
granted they speak but never listen
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who knew the rescue would be crowded with clouds ?
often we fail those in their direst hour
help can never be soon enough
—————————-(+)———
burning words
old words already eaten away by worms
not freshly scrawled words
I pray
the ink smells like pistachios
****please remove the Christian Pipings from your trousers
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GELATINOUS POETRY WITH INSEPARABLE KNOTS
just think if your lover brought a saxophone to bed
you could solo to the spirit of Coltrane
a rhythm basket of trick crimes
globs of reminiscences
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POETRY ABOUT A CLIPPED BIRD
a master technician
from OTIS
one testicle was a reptile egg
one testicle was a billiard ball
small constricted pouch
HIS LIFE NOT BEING A NOVEL
and yet it had a novel’s progression
escalators and elevators
the feet saved flashbacks
expressive silent steps
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HE HOLDS UP A PHOTO OF HIMSELF AT 12 YEARS OF AGE
YEARS BEFORE THE UNISEX COCAINE—THE TIGHT-FITTING SKIN
ORGANS ON AUTOMATIC PILOT—THE SECRET KENNEDY GLAND
——CHILDHOOD ANGST IS COMMONPLACE
OBSESSED WITH PUSH PINS AND STATISTICS
INSTRUCTIONAL MASTURBATION NOT RECREATIONAL
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AROUND THE FIRE STAYING WARM ON ONE SIDE
relatives with distended bellies
starving babies
odd pancake breasts
dermatological frights
reality was misdiagnosed
****all the way in the halfway world
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I know how much you enjoy buying cigars
from pretty cigar girls
(transcendent sublimity)
thinking constantly
“does one take a final pee
before entering the portals of heaven ?”
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the cigar girl said,
“underscoring, annotating, marginal comments
———that’s what makes modern poetry”
I was thinking criticism and chastening
revelation and sodomy
unpredictable behavior
being kept off balance
****poets in green jackets playing golf on black sand
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the cigar girl sells cigars
rolled in escapades of childhood
women friends in all their glory
flowering
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birthday cards from your father
and other desperadoes
adopted aliases
multiple identities
slickers
——————————-polka-dancing
a real “harpooner” with the lady folks
gallons of seed deposited
the fancy ones had nicknames
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well moistened with the brew
chatting to women on ladders
rollicking without falling off
what genius put ladders here ?
birth control without ice
or cutlery
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REPUTATION
a simple way to discourage overnight guests
ransacked maidens—their tunnels slick
luxuriantly bearded
****Innate Depravity and the thinking mind
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a reputation of repetition
repetition repetition
the ins and the outs
the tunnels and passages
dry river beds
moist verdant hills
here in Albion
reputation & repetition
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moist perspiration
she literally melted away
drop by drop to late to freeze her into an ice cube for storage
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help requested
Morse code translated
good intentions picked up by dirty hands
smoke signals from the reservation blown away in the breeze
or lost in translation
–
help us always on its way
the trousers were removed and burnt
follow the trail of pistachio shells
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IRRITABLE WITH THE SURROGATE HUSBAND
asking for
an open invitation to explore his lower parts
not
as simple as playing the piano
physical intimacy with other humans
bawdy pillow talk
****smuggling a tobacco pipe into Heaven
Moby Dick (a spouting fish)
hardly
a fish
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I saw you outside with the flashlight
YES, there are limitations to scientific knowledge
——————————Biblical Echoes
the impossibility of achieving certainty
childlike perception in the grasp of the flashlight
hugged up tightly that bridegroom
wolfish ways in a savage land
toils, trials, tribulations
renegades and castaways
sentences in the bathroom
paragraphs in the stall
blocks of blackness in Dark Town
a bold tomahawk makes a man
would-be poets cover their holes
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———————-BLASPHEMOUS LEVIATHAN———————-
just today those words jumped off the page
the strangling hands of Jesus and God
the strangling control of all religions
ye who is orphaned
and vulgar white
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ONCE THE INITIAL SHOCK AND EMBARRASSMENT WORE OFF
THE HONEYMOON BUMPY ROUGH RIDE BEGAN
HE PRAYED THAT THE WAND WOULD SLIP IN UNOBSERVED
“SLIPPED IN UNOBSERVED” what a pleasant thought
BUT LIKE A GIANT EGG-MAN ON A WALL
THINGS DIDN’T HOLD UP AS PLANNED
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with the burden of being a man
why do we reside inside ourselves ?
we sleep with the spoons and forks
a link in the fleshly chain
we sleep with the broom and the dust pan
having grown cold-hearted and worn
WE HAVE ENDURED TOO MUCH TOO OFTEN
———————–AUTO-INTOXICATION———–
who was famous for saying
“I can see but not touch” ?
romantically broken
each new Adam
each new Eve
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piano keys and door keys that scratch car doors
names carved into trees to declare you once existed
did you RSVP to the invitation?
harpooned the meat and store it ice
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I’ve seen words jump off a page and just walk straight into the sunset
– do you really want a Hollywood ending?
– vulgar and white
– a speeding car
– the confusion of will
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DO I REALLY WANT A HOLLYWOOD ENDING ?
with endless bouts of panic outside my front door
I would enjoy the hum from the engines of fornication
———they call it, “UNUTTERABLE BLISS”
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MASTURBATORY SCENARIOS should replace
the need to scratch automobile doors
adaptive relatives and friends
to assist the sexual imagination
xxx dictionaries if necessary
sexual fodder—dead or alive
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HARPOONED THE MEAT
and everyone in the village had their fill
the bridegroom had no idea
that his sex life would evolve
EROSION
that his sex life would become a mudslide
UNWILLINGNESS AND BOREDOM
would turn intense desire into intense revulsion
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photographs of the resuscitation of Johnny Boy
over the side of the Ark
inside the Leviathan
one silent minute to smoke
a pipe
and
swallow
a sip of strong tea
one minute to liberate his mind
to be free of the fear
****the shadowy background always in sight
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pulled from the inside of the creature
Johnny Boy concerned
“what has he missed during his dormancy ?”
relatives chase and retrieve what is thrown their way
the summertime wife has turned to late fall
her alphabet on the pillow and the shower floor
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just try and fit TAXIDERMY into a single sentence
————————————-into a single skin
overexposed on the online dating circuit
a boy—no, a man
having gone only halfway
forgivable caresses—overeager caresses
forgivable kisses—mistimed kisses
playacting lips
****poseurs and piddlers from Dark Town
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what was thought to be vulgar white
turns out to be just well-cleaned white
although I am not Adam
I can smell the aromatic Eve
on my right hand
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topic of the day at the pool hall
———-HUMPTY DUMPTY—-
couldn’t take the earthquake
and sit upright like a man
****somewhere there is a parable
about the value of advanced mathematics
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the pigment washed off the paragraphs as the words literally fell from the page*
– a storm of letters falling and no umbrella can keep you safe –
a harsh K imbedded in a vagrants head
the fat O that bounced down the street crushing patrol cars
full stop raindrops
*this poem is available free on line
edit as you seem fit
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pity the poor bridegroom
who comments about his wife
“your backside and thighs are indicative
of descent with modification”
later in life he will learn to self-correct
and never mention
that is wife may be a native
from New Guinea
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the honeymoon
checkered with false starts
and chaotic restarts
the itch—the burn
almost violating natural laws
****the randomness of jism
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the reality of being a “generalized” character
it seems the other person always erupts
with explosive force
———–the persistent clicking
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your latest poem about the Otis man
in his truck honking the horn
the janitorial staff emptying waste baskets
potato skins and honeymoon evidence
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a generalised character
amalgamation of a five photofits
a police line up –
Dillingers chin
the eyes of suspect #4
eruption and the aftermath of fallen factories
–
– constant click bait kills the mouse
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he went on the starters gun
& finished with a flurry
– curtains at the cleaners
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inaudible whispers at the CLEANERS
“curtains no good”
(thank God for lip-readers)
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A CHRISTMAS CARD WITH A ROW OF PRISONERS
LIKE A ROBERT FROST POEM
WHEN WILL THE RIFLE FIRE ?
short-circuiting on the honeymoon
well-laid plans gone wrong (awry)
ricocheting sperms
jism on the lampshade
8000 cigarette burns on the nightstand
the smell of the oil refinery
the sound of bowling pins
flashing lights from the complaint board
legitimate and illegitimate children
naked in the knee-deep pool
one twelve o’clock and three midnights
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comment after comment–masturbative jabber
educated and dexterous
peppered with roach dung
my crime—I asked where the electricity came from
that powered their electric toys
fire feeds color to black and white
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it was loneliness that knocked
on the honeymoon door
nimble variations were possible
but only repetition made root
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curtains stained trousers for clowns
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view of headboard getting closer then moving away
lose change next to the Gideon
loose wires
her circuits were fizzing
best laid plans of mice and men lost in time
– ed gein lampshades of indiscriminate origin cast tattoo shadows –
clatter of pins & the balls at the pool hall
– chalked the tip
wet the rim
the lady at reception knew it was fake name
the broken clock is right twice a day
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the mysterious origins of magnets and lights
of rocks and milk
– rifle fire at the mall
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the nervous cleaner at the hotel
not sure of what lurked behind the door
(it was just dirty sheets and embarrassment)
– a leaflet in the lobby advising of local attractions*
*no mention of the Jazz men of dark town
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—BACKPEDALING IN THE BEDROOM
—(SHE) TIPTOEING TO TAKE A PEE
a small number of people fascinated
by honeymoon phenomena
scientific pressures and jism trails
rural activities—Appalachian “Dung Frolic”
followed by “giraffe necking”
NOT POLITICALLY INCORRECT
BUT, CHEAP WHISKEY INCORRECT
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and then the lady at the front desk said,
“traditional narrative is dead”
as she examined my ID with microscopic intensity
I left the sexual persuasion question blank
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A GATHERING OF POETS IN THE BONE SOUP
hairy legs and baritone voices
big dreams and small dreams
grammatical errors
overlapping diapers
knowing there be plenty of room
underground with melancholy
triumphant splendor in the dirt
DNA straight from Genesis
survival walking on the earth map
doesn’t seem like too much to ask
reliance on fragments and a morning bus
diary scraps on the floor
the driver—seamless and stubborn
Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac
mean less than speed bumps
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mischievous children
carry the keys of language
slabs of nameless graves
sleep outside the front door
geometrical demons
haunt poets
with rudiments of architecture
****architecture swerving
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hibernation inside fur
the entrails hung out of every open pore
trails left like snails
the winter time thaw &
spring time clean reveals things that were lost and buried
her wedding dress at the pawn shop, the ripped knee of her jeans
“For richer or poorer” he reminded her daily,”For richer or poorer”
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HIBERNATION: A HOBBY INVOLVING A SKELETAL BARGE
———————————————————————————–
a room full of men with hairy stalks
slender little tongues exercising
poetry with a cranium crust
daddy quoted from the system of whatnot
word after word—spreaders and interceptors
closing the eyes and listening
————————————-
hiding in a small room
and dropping a load
(the commode smiles as it swallows)
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THE FABRIC THREADS OF HIBERNATION
———————————————————–
trousers from curtains
trousers from a tapestry
uneducated cloth
****exaggeration-prone
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architectural frustrations
20years of schooling and they won’t let you built a cabin
– wasted time with blueprints of slanted roofs and south facing gardens –
– the strange lights in Kentucky haunted the skyline
– the photographs you took were fuzzy and out of focus
– you tried to recreate the scene with mashed potato*
*close encounters
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it’s not the trouser
ITS WHAT LAY BENEATH
silver teeth zipped down
THE REVEAL
short term hibernation
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hairy men at the lodge
dead animal head on the wall
trophies like brides
daddies diaries* seemed to miss some days
blank pages leading to rumour and speculation
*i remember the day my parents were revealed as soviet spies
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UNJUSTLY ACCUSED OF BEING SOVIET SPIES—FORENSICALLY
how does one not differentiate between us and them ?
bickering about a missing bomb or two
bickering about the shaving mirror
and her personal gash
Elizabethan hairs
like a monkey
a demonic
monkey
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catching a plane to toss a ____
a hard-boiled ____
a bomb with a skin
and a wardrobe
the corpse
inside
——————————–soviet spies as parents
with extinction in the back of educated minds
with extinction in the back of their minds
a gaping grave for us all
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the clink of ice cubes in a cocktail glass
children struggle to remain afloat
every rope becomes a noose
they escape
but gravity
rules
question not
the length of robe
transvestites maniacally printing your name
the letters of your name —flapping wings
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the clues were there
– smell of cabbage
– fur hats in the hatstand
– sleep taking in Cyrillic
– everyone being called comrade
they stored their secrets in biscuit jars and buried them with the potatoes –
the only monkey they knew was sent into space
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we can all fill in the blanks but the narrative will change
– the motive
the motivation to veer from the path*
(they know how the corpse got inside;
they numbered the skeletons under the bed
amongst the dust)
*were they double agents? playing both ends off?
– never extinct
just missing for a while
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jars from the sanatorium
spoons with portraits of Mozart
portrayals and betrayals
scissory sharp questions
about how much you knew
the sound of swivels late at night
illicit dialogue between strangers
tiptoes into the bathroom
accordion-like noises
possibly alien mathematics
expertise at nervous torment
the word “Casablanca”
written on your report card
seems preoccupied
with personal hygiene
often asks if it is possible
to irrigate the body internally
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Johnny Boy on holiday in St Moritz
puzzled by the motivations
of relatives
soviet performers as parents
the morning roll-call of spies
the play-acts of death
the guns
the knives
pungent cruelty
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——————the hardships of poetry
the original and the copies
obscure words from lifted knees
words that need a handler
someone
to control the residue of guilt
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poetry reinforced with chicken wire
letters printed on sheets of tissue
homespun thoughts
not shy
naked many times
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ice dissolves and is gone
glasses from sand
knife and sword and heavy gravity
– the letters of my name are not unique they can be found in the small print of all things –
flapping wings*
*if man was to fly he’d need wings and a chest 15foot wide
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Casablanca associated with piano and Nazis – of all the places in all the world –
upside down portraits in spoon reflections
sharp questions
the sound of the factory at night
WHAT ARE THEY MAKING THERE?
WHAT ARE THEY MAKING THERE?
multiple Michael projected imagery across three cities
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guilt stored or suppressed
buried in the woods
the thing of fables
reconstruct your childhood
the summer grazed knees sweat on top lip the memory of things that never end
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the letters of any name may not be unique
however, cunning and unscrupulous letters
crafty letters devised to attain a particular end
poets love to hammer things home
bizarre experiments with practitioners of JOHNNY
———————idols of the cave
human eyes lead to errors of judgment
ape-identifying contests
theatrical performances
around the camp fire
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richer or poorer
counterparts from the pool hall
playwright—no
novelist—no
Russian spy—yes
hidden drawings of subterranean pleasure
****an uneasiness (no sweeter suffering)
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sources of contamination
the king of poetry: solitary indulgence
sexual gymnastics—misconduct
without diplomas
=============
versemakers in debt with no resuscitation
the full bellows of others
they sleep sound
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unperceived debt
and debt customarily seen
riddling poetry about soviet spies
half-closed eyes on a rather small pony
enlarging lenses of binoculars
like Hollywood upside down
====================
I know you tried to hook me up
with Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop
I thank you dearly—such exemplars of the first order
“birch white flesh to the broken halves
and there just a touch of pink”
sorry to say that the opening was cramped and dry
I swear I could smell Robert Frost in the roof of hair
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the savage drums were silent tonight
the aluminum sphere is back
the shadows from abduction bounce about
I fear not—I am domesticated and attentive
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your life is a series of questions and speculations
so many contradictory
a pocket full of alphabetical devices
spy stuff like in the movies and on television
early relationships with elevator men
physics-chemistry-biology-sodomy
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poetry with an irregular pulse
that Lady Angina
always on the opposite street
moving lips turn blue
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—————–TENACIOUSNESS——————-
a common term at the pool hall
youth bathed in the pale radiance
of nicotine-coated lighting
empty youth
having never contained
or been expressible
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———what about the retention of the copyright ?
a pungent smell of satire
windbags in the soup kitchen
mischievous children trained with candy
images of Sputnik on nameless graves
higher mathematics with biblical overtones
seeds stuck in flawed tubes
the bulk of pilgrims
just leg jelly
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when one tries to cross the Russian border
and the guard wants you to spell “Mississippi” backwards
do you capitalize the “I” ?
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sensitive words wasted
poetry too trivial to save
gay tailors with blue eyes
fair complexions
tiny tight mouths
===================
cries of jackals
howls of wolves
anatomy laid bare
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the poet neighbor outside
his thoughts aimless
at best
no trip to the library
necessary
Robert Frost has fouled the system
people who can read
obey his stream of thought
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wake up next to a dough-like body
silent thoughts of “purpose imposed”
before the daily events of life
after the daily events of life
evil men sow but not seed
black face religion people say
“put it away”
****sprouting seed for sensation only
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no cave dwelling for Lincoln
self-dwelling
a solar cone in his pocket
so very significant in his form
the true man never photographed
=========================
upright—an angel born twice
he who slept with men
and dreamed of Swedenborg
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WITH ITS SINGLE SAD STORY
JAZZ NECESSARY
JAZZ UNNECESSARY
ONCE EVOKED
IT STARTS EACH NASCAR RACE
MATHEMATICIANS UNDERSTAND
GOLDEN NUMBERS BURNING ROCKET FUEL
DIVIDED AND MULTIPLIED IN A CIRCLE
CALCULATIONS BEGET CHILDREN AND PETS
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poets hemmed in behind wires
– people in watchtowers with guns
– words written on bedsheets & hung out to dry
you can see the steam rising from the showers
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letters that appear ghost written in the sky
one replaces another
meat
meet
hidden in the open
words with no sounds
– a harsh K and long pauses
words left in the embers of last nights fire
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down on their luck
verse makers begging for inspiration and more “LEND ME A VOWEL”
words in bags
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PSYCHIC WOUNDS IN INFANCY
REPRESSIONS AND WOES FROM YOUTH
RETALIATORY THOUGHTS FROM A SKINNED KNEE
————————–confrontation leads to poetry
your head being interpretation central
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the wealth and comfort in your education
———is that the campfire we speak of ?
the other apes would bluster and brag
glory to the insult
glory to the knee injury
a simple scrape that would fester
and ramify your future
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CHICKEN WIRE
a keener perception of the protective quality
adolescent mooniness on one side
mechanistic sex scars
the Germans will look
and have no pity
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each manifestation of the will
each day calculated
sadistic sketchy secondhand employment
the faces of organic shame
was sodomy on the plate ?
****the deepest recess not spoken of
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talk of tight trousers
and a Mick Jagger jacket
rubdowns and wrestling
mouthpieces all day long
prehistoric workmates
one kiss away
one tiny inch in primeval
prayers
a bit bigger
a bit longer
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WORDS FROM A BAG—–WORDS FROM A BAG
naked of everything
the wind blowing towards death
****faces in the family portrait—emotional frigidity 100%
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=================================================================================================================================================================================================================dreams of poets counting their money out of the presence of women
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no poetry in the Leviathan Book of Algebra
well-intentioned puritan math gone modern
the bridegroom says
“I’ve laid out my penis but no one can jump over it”
muddled explanations—puzzling excuses
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hidden in shadows
badly written cheques bounce in an illegible hand
– confusion over the value of things
she was worth her weight
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spy stuff
hidden camera in the honeymoon suite
bugs behind the picture who eyes followed you around
invisible ink
your public persona vs your personal one
multiple M
all things to all people
once a star on the TV
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all words are free
the copyright is based on how they are strung together –
– my lawyers are checking the small print –
the waft of cabbage from the kitchen,
a table in fire
– ration book vouchers expired
the Sputnik factory, empty
except for children in the corners
what would Jesus say?
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the Russian border in only in the mind
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gay tailors
inside leg measurements
a brush against the thigh
embarrassed glances
needle point at midnight
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people who can read and those that can draw
the schematics of library
the secret room
the book that was never lent
overdue books carry substantial fines
a handgun in a bag
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lucky dip bags of words
too many J’s
scrabble scores tripled with an X
– family portrait minus eyes
the comfort of knowing you can spell
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Jagger and the zombies in tight jeans someone reckons he was frozen in a vault
preserved like a pickle
– cemetery strut at the edge of town
buried in shallow grave
one inch and he’ll surface
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selected the counterparts
a counterpoint at the start
– the spies debriefed by the detectives
a thousand lies told to cover a thousand lies
– the covers exposed
double names
identity times 2
Multiple M surround by boxes of words
attempts to fold them up
pack them away
the non-combatant in the war of words – silent and mute
(powerless mouth)
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300 cryptologists in the front yard
perhaps today they will break the code
cemetery pants on Jagger
the inch of soil holding him down
the openness of his shallow grave
has Robert Frost in a froth
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a pickle covered with nuanced vocabulary
a touch of mustard and subtle syntax
a psychotherapist with a huge butt
so large that she sits on a bench
the poet fails the free-association test
bits and pieces assembled mean nothing
“definitive” analysis seems wasted on the poet
****material in question—curtain cloth turned into trousers
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gestures and facial expressions on paper money
clenched hands in the latrine
frozen thoughts
time for layered study
an extra zero
did you print an extra zero ?
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—————FAMILY PORTRAIT—————-
not the minus eyes
rather the extra eye
camera snapped image
blow-up after blow-up
detail daddy
**** I counted nine
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the guys down at the pool hall
are still talking about
how much you got paid
for those schoolboy wrestling photos
AND YOU WEREN’T EVEN NUDE
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TESTAMENTS TO YOUR LOST YOUTH
and you weren’t even nude
****snap your fingers to the snapshots
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down at headquarters they say that the spy camera
couldn’t capture the whole you
the honeymoon suite wasn’t big enough
chatter about her budding rose
and your trouser-blimp inflating
but that’s just bittersweet
marvel and melancholy
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to hell with the smell of cabbage from the kitchen
the cabbage message comes from parted lips
reminiscent of sauerkraut
naughtiness
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the women who come to America
as mail-order brides
they know about the Russian border
the ringmaster may be the same
but the circus is different
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needle point at midnight
raw intensity
commitment
—=====—–
gay tailor living in a fishbowl
a theatrical artist
with sensitive fingers
free of tawdriness and degeneracy
(poetry written about unguarded moments)
intimate touch that projects emotion
baptismal at best
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I KEPT TELLING THE SPY
THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND WAS PREPUBESCENT
“YOU’VE TOLD A 1000 LIES AND NOW YOU’RE LAYING ANOTHER EGG”
I THOUGHT TO MYSELF—‘honey, if they made a pill for unreachableness
I would make you swallow a handful”
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rumor has it that Robert Frost was born with ambiguous genitalia
obsessed with tree leaves and blades of grass
Jacqueline Kennedy called him Eleanor
a good girl who asked permission to potty
(a boy who dreamed of a Christmas clitoris)
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Adam the battering ram
Adam the assaulter
Eve the assaulted
God commands the attacks
the ravished single vagina
the front door of the church
crawl in or crawl out
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nuanced pickle
mustard hot
fence sitter gather the splinters
– poet upon the hill &a on the corners of dark town
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paper money looks nice
holding it is like being there but it’s ultimately worthless
– the extra zero confused the system
– the concept on zero, the theory of nothing – a walk through the numbers, a forest of signs
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nine eyes but three heads –
but maths always needs to balance up
– the portrait with the extra shadow
– the Census figures revealed more people than expected
– couldn’t count it all on two bands
detail daddy
devil in the details
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it was the hair and the smile
the pose and the promise of maybe
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the tourniquet tightened focusing the vision where pictures were painted by the chemtrails in the sky, the
Nazca lines & aluminium rain
failing on the carrion
near misses across the fuselage
(not reported when they landed)
sleep depravation experiments in underground facilities
– futile attempts to find the centre of space –
self control not guaranteed
– the man who invented the concept of zero
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just think, a Sumerian number zero
with a super giant butt
so large
that she has to sit on a bench
starts reciting strings of words
ROBERT FROST steps in and says,
“Her murmurs become the sound of nature
like the waves of the ocean
like the wind in the trees”
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Jagger with his illusion of uniqueness
his manhood standing tall above the soil
garbage collects next to it
from the flow of time
****HE will take root
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$500 to explore the limits of a promised maybe
rhapsodic and emotional
offstage poetry
THE ORGAN WITH NO VOICE
unfinished, Lord
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Sumerians get credit for selling the concept of zero
peel back the layers to anything
and you will have a Sumerian
wide eyed and looking at you
————=======————-
opposite the rest of the world
dirty sodomy
was more expensive
than clean
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mail order brides delivered in boxes with holes poked throwing them
– delivered by strong postman carrying them down the path as the neighbours dog barks
–
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unique Jagger in a room of mirrors
multiple dancing man
loose limb pensioner thinking of bingo
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once we incorporate the body of Christ
there is no need for mail-order brides
Noah was a clever remnant
the person delivering the mail
not so much
Russians dream of tearing The Tree of Life
limb by limb—-the arms and legs
of poor souls trying to cross a border
trying to locate the bones of Moses
dyings and risings by the truckload
genuine rewriting—the nature of words
forgetting and reinventing—-sex out of sight
Eve with her single disobedience
difficult to keep crotch rotation secret
an altered vagina with benefits
grazing relatives and herders
distortions began with mislabeling
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the play-acts of death to produce the play-act feeling
—————-pure pagan joy———————-
high-stepping like the expensive horse
high-stepping towards the unattainable
squeezed between Mick Jagger
and his huge tombstone
“I’m not dead yet”
****the journey was fair but now—GOOD LORD, THE ARRIVAL
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THE WOULD-BE COMFORTERS
FOR THE LIBRARY CLERK
WHO WAS “LET GO”
FOR WRITING ABOUT THE EMPTINESS
OF WORDS
****Satan shall deprive words of substance
****speech will stop and become a whirlwind
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I explored the limits of a promised maybe
got lost amongst the trash cans and abandoned cars –
a repressed longing
a weakness
I asked for change at the exit
I asked to see the manager who laughed in my face
an invisible voice from the tannoy screamed “YOU HAVE COME THIS FAR
TURN BACK NOW
TURN BACK NOW”
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——THE SIGN SAID “SORRY BUT PROSE IS NOT POETRY”———
not being immune I cried
having entered LIFE
one way
no escape
no return
prose paragraphs sleeping on the bed
poet under the bed thinking about experimental sex
airlines keep calling offering free flight and coffee
absurdists fly and drink for free
****monastic life with an experimental frisky hand
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—————information provided————
ROBERT FROST never wrote anything
about the church door being a vagina
————————————————–
=============================
keep eyes ahead
the church is not without hair
reproduction is fulltime overwork
God thought of himself as being singularly inventive
****Satan said, “dogs do it….why not humans ?”
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—————————-THE PROMISED MAYBE
what is the nearest approach ?
look down for human footprints
humans make human footprints
they often go opposite the past
stay clear of the past
little there but poverty and shame
time for you to take back what was yours
THINK HOW MANY EYELASHES GOD MAKES IN A DAY
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on a quiet night
one can hear the trees cry
(the trees Noah cut down to make the Ark)
****nature violated by man
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—————–imprisonment in the womb——–
death laughs at the time-devouring worm
human experience in demand
the constant voyeurism
love offers shade
domesticated sex
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mail order noah
comes with free nails and instructions
sold as seen – (28 days to return if not happy with order) –
Russian brides use the bark from the tree of life to floss their teeth
– Nikola Tesla disliked fat woman – to much meat, interference with his experiments
– strange static (a smell like cooking bacon) – distortions on the printouts
confusion at the laboratory
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“I AM NOT DEAD YET BUT I HAVE BEEN HEADING THAT WAY SINCE BIRTH”
its all a journey
Jagger and his compass looking for truth north
always looking for true north but lost in a world of magnets and late running trains
the english curse
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roll call at Leviathan
– time for cleansing the system
– “THE LET GO” shown the exit – no reason given – sins committed against the father?
– stolen cutlery found hidden, secreted
-INSUBORDIATION in the cafeteria
– devil talk at the water cooler
names scratched off lists
the vanished
inches under the soil
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THE DAY STARTS WITH DIALOGUE
Leviathan tried to imitate the creativity of God
spat out knives, forks, and spoons 24/7
it was a grand old factory
that employed half of England
(the better half some say)
a sign above the exit gate:
“PROLONGED RESISTING PLEASURE IS EXQUISITE”
not a single creature could decipher the message
==================================
==================================
GUILT INAUGURATED
stolen cutlery
autoerotic acts in the latrine stalls
rhetorical games at lunch
cut-price romance
contemplative sodomy
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INTERNAL RUNNING TRAIN—BROWN
AN ODD WINK AND THE LOG DROPS
A FEW DABS TO REDRESS THE WRONG
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WHEN THEY PLACED NOAH’S FACE ON COINS
IT WASN’T TO REPRESENT HOPE FOR THE FUTURE
IT WAS TO REPRESENT GRIEF FOR THE PAST
****religious depopulation—a persistent itch
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———————————TERMITES OF TIME
poets who love to force people to eat things
that they wouldn’t normally consume
your constant dream of borrowing the same book
public transportation and borrowing that book
humiliating sounds from the rectum
kicking cheap paperbacks on the path
old girlfriends like a frozen dinner or a can of soup
cartoon-surreal-visionary jazz-bone near-untouched
sniping other writers—that bastard Frost
WHY WAS THE SOUP LADLE IN THE LATRINE ?
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THE INCONVENIENCES OF THE FLESH
a tight mental allegiance to a morality
that some poor creature thousands of years ago
dreamed up around a campfire
it was always the loss of flesh
the baby died
the baby died
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an enormous serpent winding endlessly
ASTRONOMY
ANATOMY
dialogue between numbers
a compulsive effort to stay human
a Puritan Pistol ready to fire blindly
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the word of life is meat
the rest is river
it has a direction
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the final authority of the white poet
words not subject to sorrows-losses-sickness-pain
what validates poetry ?
continual turning back
CIRCLING
little chance of escaping imitative poetry
countless spots from rubbing off
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IN THE MIDST OF THE WRETCHEDNESS OF LIFE
each day a well-written diary
salvaging and rendering
asking what has been lost
every thought is a kind of translation
words in themselves are not significant
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poetry to distract readers
foreign languages
never the mother tongue
black thoughts from world war two
mattress squeezed with the worst of taste
obituary poetry—peculiarities at best
obituary poetry—no innuendoes
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you can’t avoid the past
you’ve already been there
retrace your footsteps back
to find yourself in a ball
cocooned
womb like and hiding
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we all escape from the womb*
the first sexual experience
*even the still born
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from stolen cutlery the food always tastes better — worth the risk of theft
the better half of England
geographical biased some might say –
the grand old factory amongst the satanic mills on this verdant land
– a country with many names
twice used toilet role
the shame of others knowing
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a few dabs of the secret powder
up all night with visions
– an attempt to redress the imbalance
– we all know someone who’s has erased the facts
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redress the glossary of taboo thoughts
the gradient from flaccid to erect
is ridiculously steep
moral fiber long gone
the pillow flat
nailing the windows shut
is it necessary or even desirable ?
a line of salt in front of the door entrance
discarded sex symbols by the oak tree
masks from the poisonous jungle
half-baked vagina lips
and phallic noses
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twice used toilet tissue
a bucket of hungry grave worms
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standing in the shadows of
RHETORICAL FLIMFLAM
flimflam is a cousin of flarf
real orphaned poets
fake orphaned poets
an apologist is not a poet
the ad in the paper:
“semen for sale
varying consistency”
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the self-schooled poet
the agony of penetrating insight
to witness the unspeakable length
feels like a mandolin
===============
speaking of purification
artistic purification is my obligation
clown trousers
that have outworn their relevance
****discredited Jagger jackets—anything Parisian
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roughhewn edges on the trousers
measured and measured
but never for size
a student of being self-satisfied
freeform and sensual
almost geometrical
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womb like and hiding
7000 private detectives
trying to locate the Civil Rights Movement
not at the Newport Jazz Festival
not at the Duke Ellington Beauty Salon
musicians of the blue notes
pockets of remorse and melancholy
Nat Cole talking color restrictions
Sidney Poitier trying to sell dark glasses
city glasses—rural glasses
a suitcase with thighs
“It talks trash”
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it was worthless
those coins
Noah’s etched face, right profile
– his grief from the past sunk like his ark
rich men in submarines submerged searching for his treasures
his splinters
his drowned grief
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the termites weakened the structure
bit by bit
slow erosion over time
erasing the past
erasing the words
arm has fallen off the statue of the war hero
you borrowed the book but never returned it (the fine is five figures)
humiliating sounds from the rectum*
the sniper on the rooftop
*bum trumpet
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remove the flesh and boil the bones – fashion tips from pampered princesses –
burn the witches
do you dream of strong hair?
do you want your hair to shine?
strong nails
white teeth
DO YOU WANT STRONG LUSCIOUS HAIR??
abort
aghast
aghast
abort
another plane crashed
a sea of suitcases, ringing phones no one will answer
a last text to God
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looking at the world through a lens
looking at the world from a rooftop
periscope astronomy
stars between the gaps in numbers
Kanye West keeps emailing me
wanting advice on this
and that
move to spam
MOVE TO SPAM
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FREEFORM AND SENSUAL
more tonal richness
breadth of emotion
having the imagination tested
weighed down with stolen cutlery
buzzing and growling in the backroom
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dreams being fed by streams of blood
the fallen are everywhere
solitary with eyes open
youth caught in thorns
fearless children
withered pale
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true north
desire points
evil genius poetry
intelligence switched off
with spontaneous overflow
a snatch here a snatch there
hermaphroditical crotch gloves
eyes wanting to catch something shown
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trying to erase words written by scientists
and mathematicians
angry at any stretch of the imagination
gloss or no gloss
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in total darkness
I heard something say
“careful, don’t wrench the rivets
in your quivering manhood”
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foreign languages and words with dots above them – I see a small y
a reversed p –
adopted child no mother tongue
World War Two fighter piloted haunted her dreams
a face in a mask
part of an attempt at mass extinction
not mentioned in an obituary
– distracted by the cost of things in a country where the sales never end
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the woman with the rehearsed hair
was knocking on the window
“got matches need a smoke”
would-be poets copied her words
in neat little yellow journals
burn, burning, burnt
SHE became a perpetuation
her lungs whispering grief
her woman part being charred
it was not from fire
it was from something else
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all those people who “loved” things
standing in a circle in the background
their keys in their hands ready to transport
white poets across from Dark Town
dying unrecognized
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steep gradients where the brave breath in the view
at the the summit
at the opening
the sound of the waterfall
1960s sex symbol is laughably ugly these days – heavy set thighs
– heavy hair –
phallic camera lenses catch the filth
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“semen for sale – no guarantees given. Will provide origin if required. 36hour delivery”
£100 a deposits at the sperm bank
I’ve thrown thousands away
my curtains are worth more than me dead*
*when I die
don’t let them test the curtains
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conversely, Parisian clowns in Jagger jackets
they strut and clap their hands
strut and thrust like little red roosters
– purified by custard pies in the face – licked off by backstage parasites
sometime you have to do bad to do good
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REAL POETS TORTURE OTHER POETS
—————-no reasonable alternative
each night
curtains descend to hide the last word of the day
****your father, “I shall be obeyed”
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to determine how the readers have gone wrong
====================================
what error may be the oddest and most debilitating ?
too many voices in a small area
an echo from the church
direct proportions
strangers in the bathroom
critical stares at the worm
helpful head gloss
tight-knit underwear
a finger first
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CUSTARD PIES IN THE FACE
custard pies have nothing to do with jigsaw puzzle pieces
and yet late at night singing custard pies
attract missing puzzle pieces
brittle crust on the face from younger days
chin hairs and clippings from the morgue
thoughtless cruelty
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wicked deeds those roughhewn edges
yellow nails in the light
each one a question
never answered
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folk ballads about custard pies
milkwhite flesh—milkwhite baby
the deathbed is occupied
please go outside
tell a poet about the roughhewn edges
a poet with an enlarged understanding
the more lanterns at night
the more the understanding
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unpublished sounds from the rectum
sorrow from a dry throat below
whispers
moving starkness
girls walking on the street
each one a hero
life without an antidote
Dark City cheap shoes
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—————–the really big question
HAS YOUR INNOCENCE BEEN RECREATED ?
your life like freight going night and day
childhood images weaved into the passing landscape
narcotic sodomy in a grove of junipers
hitchhiking holy hoboes without shame
happy-go-lucky smells at the truck stop
strange fruits that calm the rage of man
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there is no on/off switch for unconscious outpourings –
overflowing river
nothing suppressed
just overflowing rhetoric
we exist below the watermark
these words will be here even if they’re not read
I know they are there
She knows
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Sidney Poitier wasn’t the first black man –
the jazz men at the festival knew this – the blue notes disappeared amongst the low clouds –
people were just footnotes in the unread books –
the queue at the pharmacy
everyone wants the same drugs
– hiding behind dark glasses (it’s midday and raining) –
–
the message drifted over the short wave radios IF THEY MOVE KILL THEM
KILL THEM
IF THEY MOVE
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fearless children
feral in a world where people take photos of food –
– a memory box of splinters and weathered pictures
– the his
& the hers
– withered and fractures
broken pottery in the kiln room – they made them feral
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I AM NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO PAY
FOR THINGS THAT NEED BE SAID
machines that seize upon small talk
artificial systems that imitate Robert Frost
little girl poetry and color book unicorns
brides with on/off switches
————-you are left charged with expectations
the stuff of ordinary life—confused anticipation
****a gold star for interior personal conviction
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semi-barbaric poetry in a shoebox
the advantages of education
constantly new urges
unhappy thoughts maybe
pages from a chronicler’s life
each poem an embryo
words with the wrong size feet
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THEY HAVE FOUND THE BLACK BOX THEY HAVE FOUND THE BLACK BOX – decoding
decoding – –
last earthly message
confused and muddled
like
teenage angst poetry
shoebox memories –
a final message of words spat out
unconscious streams –
TELL MY FAMILY I LOVE THEM
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stretched to the point where the colour fades into white
stretched to the point where something will break
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in a dream she pulled her lungs out to avoid the cigarette smoke
(breasts for pillows)
no-one can copy words
but you can copy the order
– TO BE BLACK IN TODAYS AMERICA
– burnt her journal
it was something else, just to watch it all burn
– tempted to steal someone’s words
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OUTWORN—-OUTGROWN FAMILY
literary materials out of reach
======================
he was shaped to enter the tunnel
rowdy and uninhibited
a criminal egg
created a poet
to write poetry
HE was an octopus-baby
human size and proud
(SHE was busy with a tide-flow—a feminine tide-flow)
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whitewashing everything in a futile attempt to recreate innocence
– the garden of Eden as metaphor
– overgrown now,
weeds climbing, rusting supermarket trolleys, abandoned and aghast
knee high grass,
trees that bear no fruit, rotting and rotted,
a landscape like a war zone
the rage of man caught in the jet stream of modernity
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outgrown…there was never a plan; you know
blueprints
scenarios
the distance between two things
angles, the plan was…
the plan never discussed
never to be outworn
used and forgotten, best friend when you were 6
haven’t thought about him in 22 years, like favourite toys stored away, two many homes in a short space of time,
human size
and all the things in between
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painfully acknowledging the suppression and murder
of a great human by CANCER
a middle-aged boy-anarchist
a cellmate in youth
through the brown school waters
through puberty worse than a Roman lion
beyond identity and dissociation and numerous babies
the rich father and the hungry mink-like varmints
the booze bottle and the frisky wife
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RAGE FROZEN IN TIME or RAGE FLUID IN MOTION
simple deciphering—narration with no speed bumps
dirty ragdolls arranged across the path of communication
salvaging and rendering—ignored parts with odd hair
vulva flaps once pink and vibrant
gray with callous
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——–LOVEMAKING WEAPONS————
dirty ragdolls tempered in different heats
inner edges irritated by a persistent rub
sea-mouth there in the dim light
feminine and masculine oral butter
SHE was looking at my pee-hole
it was universal—just squeeze it
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never answered just left hanging
each question is loaded
back to front understanding
basic principles misunderstood
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—————————-a family of ragpickers went through your
underwear drawer and didn’t take anything
SHE had everything—the priceless treasures
the gems, the jewels, even your pocket change
SHE was the accumulation of thousands of years
****impossible to count the skeletons in the cloacal area
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————————————–THAT SOUND
you thought it was a flag on a pole outside
it was actually the skins of day and night
tied to a wire fence
the breeze of reality
whipping about
****it is all about fire and brimstone, baby
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the fence always raised questions
was there to keep someone out or something in?
– wooden fence, splinters
electric fence buzzing
barbed wire across the battlefield
– I remember the day when the tanks rolled in
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TANKS THAT IGNITED THE CONSCIOUSNESS
settling for neither mush nor surrender
lesser poets smoked improvisation
more mature word-wardens assimilated simultaneous occurrences
displacements of romance with daredevil weapons
the true expressive power of the penis
a functional man-horn not a decorative spout
wavering back and forth—heroic globs of jism
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RESULTS IN A SERIES OF GEOMETRICAL CELLS
responses from one end of a penis to the other
extending poetry
leaving something out
adding something
jazzing up the tempo
————————the narrow road to Adam’s destination
the soft chubby terrain
the shadows
the lower road
the gate that laughs at any failure
———————–outside
the clop of shod hooves
the rattling of the wagons
Good Lord, the lint-pickers are here
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POETRY ON MOTOR SCOOTERS
summer suits
snaking sex in shaded spaces
custom-made condoms
the smell of poop
Japanese tourists tossing coins
whispering inside themselves
“wish I had some of that”
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MUHAMMAD ALI NEVER SOLD ANYTHING BY THE INCH
He has been dismantled and packed away
moist mud turned dry
squadrons of pigeons released
to entertain Japanese tourists
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PAPER WITH ALL THE COLOR BOILED OUT
no guarantees against the wages of sin
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HEARTBREAKING POETRY ABOUT FORBIDDEN LOVE
a blackening cummerbund of bruises left by the uneducated
words bouncing about as if in a bad automobile wreck
lips spitting words never spoken
“don’t make me read in public”
****the beautiful flower dragged in the dirt by lust
a favorite teammate consumed with ego addiction
mathematical precision and a quick tongue
the guys on the bench—muscular male thighs
“he asked me to rub him off—it wasn’t stiff but it left a quart”
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SHE had the ability to cloud men’s minds
heavy-handed confusion
largely untouched
grown-up thoughts
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LOOKING FOR A PSYCHOPATH ?
ask any cabdriver or motel clerk
hungry for an emotional response ?
sniff their underarms
men love to be victimized
poets love to be victimizers
—————unsafe conditions in romance
songs on the radio about unsafe loving conditions
alternative coffee poured down innocent throats
sensitivity to rubber dongs
the itch never goes away
just the memory
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the relationships of fathers and sons
a sustained hymn of praise
and then—-punishment
poetry about the desirability of being in charge
parental sleuthing—-the home becomes a laboratory
daily life full of scenarios—imitative behavior
WHAT SHOULD BE UNPREDICTABLE
BECOMES PREDICTABLE
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scantily dressed girls
the sound of people pitching pennies
abandon and self-control on the same street
internal affairs investigators taking notes
smokers afraid to cough
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I have heard it said that you are afraid to discuss
early food sharing or the division of subsistence labor
kin or non-kin, SHE wasn’t in love with you
you were just a hominid in a family of hominids
your words of affection were just misplaced currency
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( delays in response
days of silence )
afraid to discuss the details
in depth – the devil in the detail (the clown in the trousers)
– an agreed relationship of trust, a relationship of command, dominate figure in the shadows
– food given as currency
loose change in pool hall pockets
– internal relationships along kinship lines
ape begat ape
man begat man
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internal affairs and personal thoughts filtered through a sense of realism
she told me there was a time and place for spontaneity
– a black lung exposed in X-rays
full ashtrays at the interrogation
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FULL ASHTRAYS AT THE INTERROGATION
endless questions about the night at the motel
wrestling intercourse
not the Jacob and the angel of God type of wrestling
a more sportive type of wrestling
where the weaker man gets the bone
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heterosexually acceptable forms
of homosexual contact
do not involve the entry
of one man by the other
NO KISSING
horseplay at the pool hall
with a good deal of latitude
****any sport involving an athletic support
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arrows pointing towards
penetratory intercourse
the fear of being stabbed
a debilitating condition
inventive fingers
a slick tongue
a muscle-shaped
cup for semen
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the last ripple in your underwear
has been smoothed away
mask and script in hand
“THE SELF SO TAUGHT”
proportioned passion in the new world
****your mother formed your personality…
school destroyed it
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people call your house
and complain that you’re becoming transparent
that you and your immediate environment
resemble a photograph
your life is a crowded street
you with your script and mask
why do you carry tokens ?
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people call your house
and complain that your emotions
are like notes in some looney-bin jazz tune
a wild ape plucking strings
a wild horse tooting a horn
you are showing way too much edge
****A WEAR THIN EUROPEAN ?
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—————————-you didn’t mention
that SHE was constantly oscillating
between church and the brothel
the bible in one hand
lube in the other
men describe their desire as “interest”
dispersal requires a sum of money
dispersal lightens the wallet
and drains the jism-bag
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think not of consequence or purpose
think not of germination
or what might be sprouting
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POETRY CLARIFYING THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BACKROOMS
AT SUNDAY SCHOOL AND STALLS AT THE TRUCK STOP LATRINE
MEMORIES LACKING WITNESSES
PHYSICAL EVIDENCE WASHED AWAY
QUICK SHOWERS AT THE PAY-AS-YOU-GO
A PERPETRATOR OF POVERTY
STOLEN SHERLOCK HOLMES SOCKS
OVERBURDENED UNDERWEAR
DREAMS ABOUT GUNSHOT RESIDUE
MODERN ART WITH BLOOD SPLATTERS
FORENSIC FOREPLAY
MALES DON’T MIND
A LITTLE ROUGH
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PEOPLE ON THE TELEVISION ALL DAY
WEARING TWENTY OR THIRTY PURPLE SHIRTS
EACH ONE SAYING, “I AM A PERSON AND I’M SICK OF THIS”
ENDLESS NIGHTMARES EVERY INCH OF THE WORLD
FREAKISH AND PHONY—NOT A SINGLE HONEST FACE
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not sure of this encounter
meeting someone
face to face
repetitive and inane
“evangelist boy”
praying real-life anguish
seeking new avenues for rewards
not old man activity
SOMETHING
rapid-fire and rough
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AVOID POETRY where you might intrude
on private conversations
bruised and beaten—run away
abused and mistreated—run away
sleep with an umbrella in your hand
abandoned cigarettes under your head
they say, “don’t stay in one place too long”
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pushing a shopping cart around late at night
feeling like a Chihuahua in a sweater
drugs don’t come cheap
outside the glitz of Dark Town
****little dog wanting dope
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ashtray lungs
skin tight clothes
shower room thoughts
a back up plan
testify brother Michael, testify
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cauterized the surroundings parts
while the others become weathered
– they knock at my door offering salvation
– pizza menus hang from a letterbox like a monsters tongue
– they complaint about the noise at the Curie house, the 2am light shows, how all visitors left with bulges under skin
boils, lesions
– hairy ape hitting the jazz scene
straight jacket raps
no confusion at the big house
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shopping carts found at the bottom of the canal, rusted
rotten fruit
– drugs don’t come cheap but I have loads hidden inside –
the glitz is only glitzy from afar
up close its all bright lights and blinding reflections
– little dog with his stomach so close to the ground
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keep moving
keep moving
a rolling stone gathers
no moss but dust gathers in the folds of skin – cigarettes sold in singles –
– umbrellas with a poisoned tip
a dead spy on foreign soil with 16 different names –
I saw all the victims hanging under the bridge
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ASHTRAY LUNGS———–the sound ?
or the globs of spit-up ?
tolerance to ashtray lungs
martyrs of the smoke
middleclass coughs—middleclass thoughts
ammunition to the arsenal
(excremental metaphors)
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robbed of energy rightfully
atrophy and dry ovaries
menses absent
insanity and a wet dog smell
I was offered employment
a wage to discuss female masturbators
genital stimulation was not impossible
women could easily “ape” the male roles
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———SEXUALLY RIVALED MEN
your mother sends you a note
warning you about hereditary neurosis
linking orgasms—natural and unnatural
a constant quest for pleasure
those drugs you hid
sucked up by tree roots
they influenced the tree to be effeminate
birds and squirrels troubled by the curves
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tightly stitched crotch narcotics
gender restrictions at the drugstore
Freudian x-rays at the airport
asked about being a doll
the full brunt without notice
??? without gender or beyond gender ???
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IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPHS SHE STILL HAD LEGS
role-playing sticks or lesbians hungry for young tongues
a world increasingly closed
a world with a river of loneliness
discarded limbs along the bank
soaking up leftover warmth
****haunting sounds of thwarted expectations
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the question was——-did they touch each other’s genitals ?
at least reactive desire
unspeakable
—parts—
phallicized
**** the internal and external price tags
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breathing smoke with breath stinking of decay
coughing up from rattling lungs
globules spat out black bloodied tar –
substitutions, pen in mouth
– she took his pulse
vein throbbed
erect and aroused, tongue in ear
– middle class angst
middle class man pays detective to spy on spouse
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——————————I———————-
—————————–AM——————-
—————————–ONLY—————
—————————–SAYING————
“I WOULD RATHER PAY HER BOYFRIEND TO BABYSIT HER
THAN HAVE SOME DICK-WEED DETECTIVE
LOOKING AT MY HONEYPIE”
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PLEASURESEEKERS (those with money—those without)
secret dens—some with keys—others by name alone
23 songwriters—some with graffiti underpants
code words to appeal to sodomites
one branch favors Susan Sontag
another, Saddam Hussein
softened imagery
one drop of dew and it is a baby or two
lovers and sex agents out the door
fictional voices exhausted
garden poetry for evermore
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a relative of Freud (or a namesake)
embroiled in allegations of molestation –
suspicions of missing girl, no body recovered on a sunny isle –
just a missing space where someone used to be* – hiding behind a name,
shadow figure on the fringes – a good guest at dinner parties they said, witty with good
anecdotes
– distanced from the jump off point
*missing like when you cut a face out from a family portrait
narcotics should be freely available
–
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she still had legs??
how old was that photo? sepia tones no doubt, faded by time*
– missing legs
a scene from Jaws
– a missing leg, question: do they have to buy a pair of shoes?
– who buys the other foot?
a world of limbs and questions
*I’ve noticed since having kids
time moves faster
only yesterday it was 1985
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honeypie, she was laying on
the bed, damp patch
rising in the corner, jeans crumpled on the floor
– honeypie, let me inside you
a finger at a time
look out the window at the church spire
– been here before
so don’t get excited
her leather suitcase looked like an old dog at the door
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CUT OFF THE FACE
REMOVE THE FACE
PLACE THE FACE IN A RESTING PLACE
APPREHENSION ABOUT THIS PRODUCES BOLD POETRY
NONDIRECTIONAL WORDS— AN UNDISCIPLINED EXTERIOR MARCH
relatives went to the funeral just to observe the face
seeing the face without sockets—hypnotic intensity
the shedding of the face at a pitch near madness
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the lady at the coffee counter
says that SHE can no longer
call up the young men
that briefly touched
her privates
the chatter slowed down
eyes watching fleas jump
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to write a “MEANINGLESS POEM”
poetry before a time-locked heart
poetry before the painful toenails
high-class suffering has passed us by
——free of indelible imprints
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dwarf-like legs
possibly candles for a strange birthday cake
all subject matter unshackled
great globes and wide hips
———-LOVE. JEALOUSY, TRIUMPH— but no legs
explicit hominid evolution
the crack got bigger
****heads the size of buffalos
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SHE tried to escape through the door of nonsense
—-OFF came both legs
soothed by dusty twilight
in the hospital
SHE talked about her eggs
and the males who wanted to play “daddy”
gaps between squirts
SHE cut a lemon in half each day
put a half way up there
no drawings exist
a few limericks
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PHARMACEUTICALS
spider pills —pill after pill
sustained intellectual demands
short attention spans
readers hungry for honeymoon details
chatter about the tent pole
chatter about the opening
the little swimmers everywhere
fresh jism busy with the exhausted
CECIL B. DeMILLE READY TO SCREAM “CUT”
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ex-amphetamine addicts afraid to touch spider pills
afraid of the huge stepback of the spiderweb
poetry in an irreverent manner
paraphrased Frost and Nancy Drew
hallucinogenic frogs that you squeeze and lick
romance being a continuous vaudeville show
romance being self-appointed
impromptu hand signals
odd jerks —cringed by the friction
the police asked for three names:
(+) Abbie Hoffman
(+) Jerry Rubin
(+) David Dellinger
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she told me the story of face in a jar – a face, yes
there was a face in a jar of formaldehyde in university
used as a door stop – dead eyes in cold sockets –
tiny hairs in the chin
– covered in dust
(the complications of sex and death)
– she told me about the face
in a university
study and probed
beautiful poetry to be useful after death
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no satisfaction with young bucks
– forget their touch
boastful diary entries
private words
public acts
– we are all spectators in this flea circus
spectators connected to machines in expensive trainers
branded and briefly touched
no coffee for me
I’m a tea man
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BEFORE THE FACE WAS IN THE JAR
constantly in the process of normalization
having learned how to perform onstage
having learned how to perform in bed
sex itself was anything but “normal”
————————-the one who kisses first
counter-evidence by the truckload
detectives aware of the odds against winning
the real brass tacks of Romeo and Juliet
to misread the anatomical differences
approached but never reached
faked, erased—dispelled
****fast forwards past sodomy
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MICK JAGGER IN SANSABELT SLACKS AND PUFFED SLEEVES
his DNA flying through space
someday he would FATHER some distant planet
the loveliness of his penis attached to each man
females blessed with giant pudgy lips
children wheezing out rock and roll hits
****happiness incomplete—life without hard purpose
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OBVIOUS SATIRES THAT TRANSFORM
middle-class people making soup from library books
CABBAGE WITH INK
religious material goes for a discount
pampered poets go for road maps and magazines
****masturbatory literature is too artificial
****street-people hand-wringing porn for lunch
***three-day-old porn soup is like duck poop
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HIS THING POINTS TOWARD A POSSIBLE REINTERPRETATION
the smell of fish is something less seasonal
her balloon swollen with copper stains
hair on the bung like a wild boar
healed rips and tears
the folds—the flaps
no sleep lube
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———————-spider pills
take a handful and put on the radio
geological lips like truck tires
fuzzy kisses baby—some s-u-g-a-r
standing back there behind her
thorny questions went unanswered
it wouldn’t go in—a regrettable reality
no amount of salve or butter
just peeling potatoes with that foreskin
****Tina Turner singing some damn song
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NEVER SHOCKED AT THE SMELL OF THE OBVIOUS
former generations busy in the bathroom
tiny boobs on the sheep
pretend cedars on a hill
bags of bones doing watercolors
“wanna buy a pastoral picture ?”
no suffocating city colors
the seeds of sin are everywhere
blame the GERMINATOR
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a long and healthy life
death knocks on the door
you are confused by his polite clothing
you’ve memorized all that crap
HORSECOLLAR RELIGION
struggling all those years
—Johnny Academic
a lemon-scented student
fraudulent Neil Simon
fraudulent Robert Frost
each wake moment
like your mother
pulling
your father
out
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SHE drove the car off the road
into a schoolyard
harming the future of 17 children
just that morning
someone asked her
if SHE was a devotee
of Sylvia Plath
the smile seemed genuinely polite
but the question was left-field
it was public knowledge
that SHE was the embossed
gold lettering of Robert Frost
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your first lesson in poetry writing
was an unfolding of your personality
the instructor in an adult diaper
Willie Nelson of Linguistics
too relax and the knot goes away
calculated accidents
the smell of overweight
moist emotional instability
at the tightest seams
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bodybuilding with one hand
writing poetry with the other
or driving a car off the road
———–what color was the car ?
———–what color were the children ?
fame and fortune equals openings and closures
“SHE said that it was small but attentive”
———-“ATTENTIVE”
forget about it—the black depression
disheartening competition
the world is equally embarrassing
disinterested curiosity at what expense ?
all eyes on the dongs—giggle lightly
****learned to love and envy
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I write reams of meaningless poetry – all before I’ve had breakfast
– a handed out to those in the meat queue
– eatmorewords I tell them
– but I think who outs the meaning into this?
I walk around the town and look at buildings, cars, traffic lights
the plane in the sky
the chewing gum on the floor
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legs sold at the second hand shop
– one careless owner, a verruca
chipped nail
– jealous of bipedal colleagues who share birthdays with famous dead folk –
WHY SHOULD HE HAVE TWO OF WHAT I AINT GOT ONE OF?
legless but closer to the ground
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lemon contraception spiced up a dull affair
– eggs are eggs
the ones they teach you to suck
in the play “daddy” was played by a 7ft Chinese man – a strange sight
the audience gasped
gasped
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placebo pills
induced boredom
– the children eagerly drew pictures of their house and handed it to their dad who found it hard to hide his disgust at their insipid artistically attempts – nothing was to scale,
the shadows all wrong, the windows were wonky – he reluctantly put them in the fridge, held in place with magnets stolen from 17 theme parks –
his little swimmers produced those that stood before him
CUT
CUT
FIN
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Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys – apple pie detectives
never within a 100 miles of spider pills, Nazi amphetamines –
– vaudeville touching, Nancy Drew and aroused Hardy Boys – a jerk here
hand signals at the corner of dark town
IM JUST WAITING FOR MY MAN
(the police men rearranged the names : Abbie Rublin, Jerry Dellinger, David Hoffman : names I don’t know)
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Jagger DNA fired into the firmament to be discovered a 1000 years from now
Jagger DNA frozen in a solo
– Jagger dressing like a golfer strutting across the fairways
HOLE IN ONE
ONE IN THE HOLE
– a chorus he was to scared to sing
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duck poop porn soup garbage ink cabbage breasts religious dogma taken for a walk
magazines sought for their staples – melted down & turned into bulletts – street people spit used as satisfying balm for blistered palms – signs that read I DIDNT CHOOSE THIS LIFE
OUT OF WORK JAZZ MAN LOOKING FOR MAPS
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what colour was the road?
like old video tape passing under you – flash of yellow
like the sun
yolk of the egg
– entering darkness to avoid the embarrassing caress
I MEANT BUSINESS
but I lost my way when the lights went out in darktown
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MEANINGLESS POETRY—-what is the Golden Rule ?
every poem generates its own aesthetic theories
it would be impossible to write meaningless poetry
7000 baby steps past Allen Ginsberg and telephone books
JETTISONED POETRY
sleeping with a practicing poet
hiding manila envelopes with special words
poetic mutters in your sleep
brown spots on the sheet
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“The Norton Anthology of Duck Poop Poetry”
the pain passing the sharp words
relatives who void simple-minded prose
two fingers short of illegitimate
—-antipoetry for intellectuals——
instead of a turkey or chicken
busy choking off the poets
wearing bedroom slippers
grammatical errors
on the hands
a full load
baby legs and baby arms
submerged souls
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WHO TORE OFF THE FLIMSY PANTIES ?
one must safeguard the feminine parts
———-was that Robert Frost nailed to the front of that church ?
perhaps he was too white to live so close to Dark Town
every day he would write a poem contrary to the evidence
his white clergy flag was bitter and stained
overwritten—calling 911 without an answer
the lady at the front desk said
“you do me—I’ll do you”
her eggs were ripe and on display
any squeeze of expression
could set off a new life
FLASHBULBS
a baby or cancer
birth or burial
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bundled all the poetry together and packed it in a box –
parachuted from a jet plane
– a million words scattered to the world below –
tip toe through each line
picnic on the gravestone of a dead author –
ejaculate words on to blank pages – telephone books are relics, fuel for the fire
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first-person pronouns ejaculated on blank paper
boisterous brags about the volume
future famous people swimming about
a thousand common folk
not even in the phone book
self-indulgent whining on the school bus
ill equipped to handle genius
or to separate
mixed metaphors from forced similes
photographs of your older sister
in a manila envelope
adult imagination
flashing lights and loud music
naked—three days without a shower
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say what you want
a 7ft Chinese man
must have a hell of a dong
distractions may lessen the overall
comfortless conclusions ?
the butt becomes a glass-bottom boat
spectators
endless spectators
people with “butt-o-scopes”
watching the logs drop
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—–one thing for sure—NO jitterbugging on the honeymoon——-
sodomy and the simple pleasures in life
music and dancing and spider pills
no sanctuary in Dark Town
for people day-glow white
wailing sirens at the strip club motel
a dismayed broad with a dead husband
was it the bourbon or the .38 ?
cigarette after cigarette—slumped over with the liver
it seems very difficult to resist the pull of the past
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———————at best the honeymoon was tomboyish———
—obsessive eyes——————–voyeuristic in nature
private detectives with an appetite for halter-tops
short shorts and landing strips
out of school and aging
IDs from relatives
homemade
stolen
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the wedding was filmed live
but there was a voice-over
Johnny Boy accompanying the song on guitar
Jukebox Poet with a plug one can pull
27 goodbye notes on the wedding bed
white shoes stolen
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the telephone rang all night
“was the guitar acoustic ?”
a large high-strung egg sitting on a ledge
possibly Johnny’s brother
open for a “hook-up”
the wife and daughter tied up
ever-escalating
sweet revenge—that terrible fall
patently offensive
****Johnny Boy strumming his guitar
while brother in pieces
cooking under the high-noon sun
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a dingy little motel room
moaning with pain
bloodied and in rags
HONEYMOON POKER
started with a visit
to the private pocket
sore from the night before
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the lights went out in Dark Town
sadomasochistic piano performances
the voice-over continued from the wedding
spider pills with a touch of the homoerotic
“not just in prison but in prison for life”
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banging the key black black white black – the piano isn’t the most portable of instruments –
– fingering the ivories
– dead elephants of the Savannah
– smuggling spider pills internally
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hotel room with no keys
– taped off like the scene of a crime
– the body on the bed the outline on sheets
wiped his arse on a replica of the Turin Shroud – tear stains the polygraph
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five points like the pentagram –
in the middle of a mystery
– the smell of fish hang over the town – flapping fish out of water
trying to get air inside the lungs
stunned and ready for the pot
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POET TURNED ARTIST
hired to paint shadows for the blind
hired to paint shadows for white people
hired to paint shadows around a white piano
women wear white evening gowns and sip white wine
they chat about musical numbers and earthquakes
their husbands are involved in bootlegging spider pills
impromptu cavity searches are a source of humor
the good stuff often has a certain smell
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—————-MARRIAGE————–
and then a catastrophic series of events
grooms overseen by proprietors
the singing and accompanying piano
stop after the wedding
no hope for recouping the past
smiles and applauds in the bedroom
long gone
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FIVE POINTS-FIVE ENTERTAINERS – “THE FIVE FINGERS”
( any real poet would automatically think about the smell of Tom Waits )
people on stage know that spider pills often produce a gutsy performance
“Baby, we’re gonna play with the mousetrap tonight”
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the poet apologizes for not knowing the words
dollar signs for Jesus or some nonsense
the bedroom of the young Johnny Boy
nightclub/cocktail lounge/bowling alley
stacks of daydreams on the bookcase
fingering the keys of a young piano
endless cigarette imagery
intrigue and danger
and detectives
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I remember Johnny Boy once said,
“shut your eyes and I’ll remove the staples”
whiskey-throated words on pages freed
to haunt the evenings surrounding Dark Town
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the two hands that came together
to form the wings of the butterfly
—————————————–
gallons of blood seeped through
no matter the gauze
no matter the amount of pressure applied
the Mother Knot stops by to observe
looking down on the factory class
SHE carries a friendship flag
yet eats her pork raw
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the dead future of children
torn away from them by those closer to death – they have torn this country apart –
the river has been diverted off its course
people to afraid to announce their allegiance
devotee behind closed door
the future for the children is dead white noise
they are genuinely polite but they carry a knife
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a big head wobbling
tiny baby limbs out of proportion – the logical poet who assesses the situation vs the automatic writer in a dark room with just what’s inside –
illegitimate words with no father
two fingers deep
chicken bone choked
stuck and chocking
the poet computer wasn’t programmed for this
it couldn’t recognise thread that past the teeth and ventured deep inside until it was coiled and resting
WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING TO HAPPEN?
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ever escalating until now, picture the scene:
a pale terrified man seeing horror unfold –
an acoustic guitar with no strings is just wood, like the ark
– the egg on the edge
an army armed and ready
cooking eggs on the hood of your car
under fire from the sun
– any closer and we would burn
your family were plotting to rewrite your history
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—————THE TRUMPETER HAS ENTERED THE ROOM
a kind of arrogance—a sort of opening the way
the atmosphere changed
young birds grew very silent
mothers adopted a new demeanor
the TRUMPETER was no prizefighter
yet, very little intimidation
in a room
full of guns
and muscles
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——-YOU ARE SO CORRECT
my family would love to rewrite my history
to erase all my trips to Dark Town
to hear Ted Curson blow his horn
seersucker drugs and seersucker women
invincible on a large cloud
forgiving the deformities of others
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a kind of sadness that wouldn’t leave
melancholy beyond measure
terrible anecdotes
butts of jokes
poor education
bad taste
not a single number safe
small ones in shame
the larger ones the knife
smudged and dirty and scrounging
Americana
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TWO HEADS ON A PILLOW POETRY
the campfire burns low and nobody else is around
dingdong goes forward and backward
poetic plasticity
nothing store bought
spider pills from a truck stop
heroin and meth and gossip
teetering and tottering
hard-earned happiness
each day under a microscope
you enjoy the detectives
an audience
listeners
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voice over by famous Hollywood actor
$200,000 a sentence – easy money to be made –
three fingered guitarist & the jukebox poet on a world tour playing clam bakes, weddings and school reunions –
white shoes with no grips
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no idea why SHE thought the marriage bed was a gladiatorial arena
SHE would blow that insane horn and the neighbors would complain
wild circus sex was fun but there was also a crippling side to it
I often thought of my relatives who lived by the Bible
routine reproduction without velocity or variety
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rent-a-grooms available in the foyer, all come with references and scars
– please make sure they are returned iron and pressed –
bargains to be had at the bottom of the bin –
– marriage is a contract where most never see the small print*
*grooms in glasses with solicitors at their side
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the smell of Waits, bourbon and grease, the sound of piano and gravel,
fried eggs and links – washing down spider pills with rain water
– the mousetrap was baited
baited
a trap
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they say that he had sex with everyone in the neighborhood
even the family pooch but I thought that was a low blow
almost as if others wanted his life to be a theatrical release
they wanted it to come out on DVD
so they could watch it over and over
pause it on the shower scenes
that odd wig he wore
he called it his little Sharon Tate Polanski
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a parade of lonely women outside your front entrance
——–YOU being the king of the local Pen Pal Service
you manipulate—you are manipulating—you straddle the line
your melodramatic dong in seedy motel rooms
immediate praise yes—continued praise yes
WORDPRESS has its mix of amateurs and pros
the underbelly of the art world
where artists and photographers and authors and poets
say “dammit” every 97 seconds
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when you look in the mirror
Sean Connery
the attractive James Bond
Sean Connery
first order of business
femme fatales
one lane highways
stone-faced sodomy
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gorilla poets upset with the chimpanzees
leaving the bathroom in a fright
gender free but you can’t get it in the bowl
the people next door in metallic suits
jumbled letters in the front yard
wrappers from spider pills
advanced pleasure pills
unforgettable
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————————-HEAVY HAND POETRY
pretentious dialogue
post-holocaust phony hair
office assistants in soiled tunics
surrounded by surgical and financial details
readers wanting deeper meaning
wanting the alcoholic side of inhibitions
ugly taboo secrets—stuff barely suppressed
A-grade poets with lubricated mental tongues
———————————————————–
off came that ball sac brassiere
Marcello Mastroianna greased up
aquarium-like lights
a private door
possibly uncomplicated
wailing cats
and refresher courses
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sex with the pet pooch?
behind closed doors anything can happen
in front of a computer screen anything can happen
– he just paused and rewind the boys that turned him on – a continual loop of not going in
and coming out
on a loop
ad nauesm
He removed a pube from his toothbrush
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James Bond
international rapist with a car that kill
a car that drives underwater
– Kung fu chopping adversaries into submission on spaceships that swallow rockets
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days spend going up and down in lifts surrounded by business men on phones
talk of data cleansing
ring fencing this and that
I’m a non-smoker with cigarettes in his pockets – a suit held together with rivets –
business men with bald heads in lifts
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a dead-on impersonation of a backwoods poet
fringe vest and peace sign buttons
thoughts wrapped in ambiguity
bongo drums
———————
intense diet pills from 1970
a sister with a garage full of them
a skinny woman with really large teeth
once—unable to find Tennessee on a map
SHE credited her Geography teacher as being Norman Bates
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coffee house poets who don’t drink coffee – it’s all show
effect
– poet pissed brown –
remember when you told me there was a little man you carried around in your pocket?
– he would tell you things to write
that challenged taboos
– that little man
haven’t heard of him for a while
–
– the wailing cat was singing the blues
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diet pills taken until you a simply disappeared
vanished leaving just a dirty pair of trainers
– one minute there
the next minute gone – diet pills and spider pills take to many and you rattle like a maraca –
the 1970s were beige
large teeth lady and the garage band
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–THE QUESTION IS—————–
who stole the lock from the outhouse door ?
poetry dealing with the exploitation of downtrodden American women
possibly safe inside church but not coming or going
the pinch of want was a mighty strong fiend
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you speak of riding elevators
and observing the tops of heads
but what about tuberculosis ?
inhuman working conditions ?
hookworm in the latrine ?
malnutrition around the tea counter ?
funeral after funeral
malingering emotions
no more wet—very little slide
conjugal rights between sticks
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safe inside the church. Sanctuary from the homeless, computers that talk,
advertising, the prying eyes of detectives (she knew they were there but could never prove it) –
– a pinch of salt from the salt pig
– no need for keys at this door
the American ladies came over the hills like the Mongol hordes
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the spider pills made the hookworms shine – we observed this from a distance –
post war children in shorts playing in bombed out skeletons – TB lungs
black and inhuman
– the conditions in here are questionable at best –
– ration book malnutrition I CAN SEE XYLOPHONE RIBS –
–
(what happened to the friend you had in 5th grade? what happened to Michael, version 1 ?)
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butt of jokes / jokes about butts
taste and context
rambling anecdotes
a single mother
dirty plates on the drip tray
cafeteria grease, smudged window
talking in numbers like a computer
poor education and access to guns
– tramp in a wig
the free world at ransom
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high intensity poetry
line after line
the sweat of the poetry class
high intensity
JUST DO IT
self motivation on the wane
– no prizefighter
no Nobel laureate
– writing cramps / cold turkey cramps – radiator sweats
high intensity
effort
with no intimidation
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BORED IN CHURCH
I tell people that I am not a priest
creative components seem to say otherwise
learning to act your part
a puppet of oneself
a poster of oneself blown up
downright electrifying
****crazy words from the head—a mouth full of firecrackers
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HOOKWORMS ON SPIDER PILLS
plunging necklines —spandex
dropping hard-earned money
on honky-tonk sex
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bored in church &
taking money from the donation box –
surrounded by wood and stained glass –
the Braille bible is 11ft thick –
hipster Jesus with his beard, organic sandals,
the man in black
at the front
rambles on with a well worn
monotone narrative
the components are all there but
in different orders – no instruction manual
OUT OF ORDER signs on everything
– OUT OF ORDER
OUTOF
ORDER
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THE APPALACHIAN CHURCH OF ORDER
crimson lipstick–platinum hair–a smile and a wink
a stricter ORDER of discipline
very little need for meaningful communication
———————tribalism
we share the same daddy but not the same home
unsympathetic elders lead the daughters to the backroom
participatory collaboration—the fountainheads flowing
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when I looked at your out of order
I saw “Our Mother of Perpetual Help”
scientists up late at night trying to decide
what we learn from images
and what we understand from words
reality replaced by alphabetic letters
****Adam and Eve had a bad habit of characterizing things
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vows of poverty and chastity and obedience
peeping in the windows at ordinary folk
walking by store fronts with their displays
hearing words on the street
loud music from passing cars
being thankful for not having to clean up after a dog
being thankful for not having to endure children
being thankful for privacy and an empty bed
being thankful for loving God and being loved back
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if they said they were giving free hookworms away
I know who’d be at the front of the queue*
– pockets full of spider pills coming through customs, crazy sweats
plunging necklines seen from space
*i can’t mention no names
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BUDDING FEMALE POETS
plunging necklines seen from the top of Trump Towers
dictating to a room full of promising young women writers
dozens of apples all different sizes
timid apples—distinguished apples
such testiness on the subject
commentators from the caves of wildmen
men who are not afraid to coddle themselves
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MEN WHO ARE NOT AFRAID TO CODDLE THEMSELVES
when a friend reaches a hand over (MATE-BATE)
a breath of friendship strong
blown out
molten smithereens
a daydream becomes a stream
——-poetry in the Nuclear Age
codewords for fear
a little lemon juice in the crack
before making merry
SHE asked, “It’s not red—is it ?”
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the gumption to reach over and give a yank
politically incorrect
what can and cannot be done
to keep literacy alive
TO KEEP LITERACY ALIVE
break through the indifference
conglomerates with all their dongs
tied together
one seed will reach out into the world
that seed will be independent
exultation and enthusiasm and other queer feelings
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some people can see and some people cannot see
the obsessive handling of the penis
take a number and be a recipient
——————————————
forced to walk past a viewing portal
man visitors and women visitors
naked face to face
forced to rub against
attributes
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(INCORPORATION OR THE EXCLUSION OF OTHERNESS)
high school romance
eroticization of the circus
interpretive petting and foreplay
ejaculatory kissing
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after endless pointed questions
heterosexual lovemaking
multiple levels of uneasiness
assigned value to friction
a pathway hacked out
by previous lovers
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spider pills and an anxious anus
strong flashlights in the waiting room
penetrate racial barriers
white women shine bright
hinged and unhinged privates
regulated borders
containment
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—when we feel ourselves being looked at
rings of flesh penetrable
anatomical sexuality
slow self-exposure
that horrifying gash
external wound
internal wound
****predatory gaze
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HER AGGRESSIVE LOSS OF ATTRACTIVENESS
that crazy postchemo wig SHE stole at the thrift store
poetry from a sagging face
words about biopsies
and intrusions
————————
————————
trying to go the distance
isolation
and dependence on the self
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helplessly attached to tubes
———-therapies———-
the medicalization of the modern poet
individual identity constantly under attack
black-blood holes up and down both arms
a bruised and swollen anus
gendered as a female
out of service
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drive off the road at 90mph
experience the effects of tourism
and postmodern technology
stereotypical landscapes
become blurred behinds
on blue-butt apes
upside down five times
never spilled a drop
the contour of the automobile
could be restored
poetry about metal and flesh
being envelopes
overloaded WordPress
Hustler magazine interrogated poets
about the sex-gender implications
of metal and skin
the article had color photos
of crushed metal
and a bright pink hymen
of a future bride
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Our Mother of Perpetual Help and Our Father of Perpetual Misery
– a relationship of command – sweet wrappers left in the collection tray
– a picture speaks a 1,000 words but to the blind they’re mute –
in a world where people try and reclaim words
– in a world where groups want possession of words
the Forum for the Ownership of Nouns seeks new members
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poetry in an age of machines
machines in an age at the edge
– in a town made of mirrors
words in a town of dead presidents
SNIPER ON THE ROOF
SNIPER ON THE ROOF
– radio cackles airwaves traffic
people move like ants
she wasn’t there
she was there
I saw her in a daydream stepping gracefully over a puddle of red – her ear to the ground
the approaching train
– no time to make merry there are bodies to move
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tubes connected but there is a blockage, there is tension
the modern poet isn’t bulletproof and the detectives carry suspicions – gender checks at toilet doors
– all our bones are the same colour – the drunk doctor administered leeches
blood suckers
sucking the blood
infected
–
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when we feel ourselves being looked at and watched
we will assume another ‘guise
we will change out gait
our brand of cigarette
comb your hair to the left
– a predatory gaze of the vulture
the predatory gaze of this culture
the slow self exposure
inch by slow inch
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OWNERSHIP OF THE NOUNS
Noah was well endowed
but the local sisters
claimed that he was symbolically castrated
black or white—no one knows
he suffered from “otherness”
I call it multiplicity
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POETRY FROM A MACHINE STUFFED WITH WHITE MASCULINITY
————no feminizing connotations
MASCULINITY split from a log like Lincoln strong
gangster love daddy
biological gangster love daddy
not that homosexualized masculinity
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GENDER CHECKS AT THE TOILET DOOR
eroticized violence with the eyes
proper and improper
the short and the long of it
Robert Frost went to the woods
gender performance—always that anxiety
about what word best suits the color of the seasons
to “authenticate” fall and spring
suffocated by information
others know not
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SLOW-SELF-EXPOSURE
American bullets flying in all directions
repetitively patterned
the actual gun playing the role of “PHALLUS”
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the sparks from aggressive rubbing
caveman friction
no smoke without fire
the heat triangle
the soft heat of the triangle
soft &
below the waistline
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high school romance with her name written in the margins of a history book – a title
“the pragmatism of nazism” –
– clown circus custard pie faces
– forceable ejected from all the clubs you’ve ever joined
DO YOU HAVE A JOB?
DO YOU LIVW IN YOUR MUMS BASEMENT?
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twisted and knotted articles of clothing
first-person accounts of an anxious anus
the bride placed ads for a honeymoon stand-in
money can seduce people—the question being “HOW MUCH”
questions about privileging certain insertions
and derogating others
on the basis of their interpretively
determined cultural value
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BUSY ALL DAY ERASING THE BODY FROM THE FUTURE BRIDE
a long pleasurable gaze at the bright pink hymen
proof positive from the expensive section
“intermediary” catalog of vaginal canals
sandwiched between lips
years of smiles
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marriage may not be fixable
marriage may be unfixable
going off the side of the road at 90mph
the velvety tones of Nat King Cole
no beginning or ending
only middles
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the sleek curves of cars have become more feminine over time
– masturbatory fantasy for modern man –
running hand along smooth metal , aroused regardless of colour
headlights /
breasts – secrets in the glove compartment –
nothing can be truly broken
it can all be fixed,
dents smashed out
– 90mph
the trajectory of the impact
crack of glass
convergence machine and man
man and woman –
future bride
fingers in the ignition
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babblings of baby-talk
for 2 dollars more
one can smell the tail feathers
of words that are sense-informing
——————–
once words contain no sense-information
they become code and less reliable
museums become cluttered with code
dead poets and artists no longer convey code
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a clock that does not divulge its time
a clock full of echoes and voices
your name written
on the front of a frost-covered window
poetry by finger marks
readers fascinated with your digits
Johnny Boy—got your hand in a womb ?
fetus in a pocket ?
similarity between different signifiers
primitive potential for the position of
FRANKENSTEIN
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ENTANGLED IN A WEB OF LANGUAGE
do you pay the detectives to spy for information ?
or are they ghost-writers ?
a reality fractured and patched together
the most important discrepancy
WHAT IT IS—WHAT IT THINKS ITSELF TO BE
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otherness, a kink in the road,
a river diverted from its true course, the philosophy of the PATH OF LEAST RESISTANCE
– the department of plot twists ceased to exist
– how many personalities is to many?
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too many personalities in the kitchen :
————make a ‘tasty’ soup
—una zuppa gustosa—
too many personalities in the bedroom
————makes for some interesting poetry
—nonsensical violence
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——-REMEMBER: in a state of insanity, grammatical sense must be made
(otherwise, the kitchen staff will serve you poor quality food)
(otherwise, your romance life will be like a petting zoo at a cheap fair)
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gender is a blurred line these days
– have wang but not a man
– a different binary
a dial code
– anxiety of what door to use
anxiety about where you can put it
– the colour of the suit a secret sign
– I don’t know these days
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knotted clothes twisted bedsheets
the stereotyped prison escape
– running in a spotlight
– rough love and short lived romance
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a cheap petting zoo
the stench of wet dogs
– kleptomaniac kitchen staff with cutlery stuffed in pockets, sliced ham in their socks,
dirty finger nails in the soup
– no time for romance in the scullery
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in high school the petting zoo consisted of hundreds of PYGMY GOATS
huge Hollywood breasts with extremely small goats attached to them
no one knew and no one cared who the fathers were
everyone guessed that it was the guys who played sports
guys who had easy access to carrot flakes and sugar cubes
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words only function by virtue of their differences from other words
—————————————————————————————-
easy access to carrot flakes and sugar cubes
the coach in the locker room
tried hard
to approximate language
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outside in the street
words are blown into sequences
they challenge readers
(circus giantess nearly nude in London)
life-size people find themselves scattered and misplaced
praying for a compromise between the old and the new
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———-MAKE THE BIG ESCAPE—–
met by a host of angels
greeted with jubilation
a choir of virgins
Mother Mary
(very few keep their promises)
my money is on the Holy Mother
(very few face problems head-on)
my money is on the Holy Mother
——————————————-
——————————————-
impending death driving a sports car
taking curves too fast
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anonymous, faceless figures live in your mother’s basement
juxtaposing the physical effects of being ancient
deliberately drawing attention to wilting hair
namesakes in the cemetery
the new baby dead
on the side of the highway
the corpse, a lingering physical marker
forfeiture of personhood
“the little beggar”
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the priest said that he cared not for that serving of love
his lips proud on the rim of ejaculatory kissing
many a man has shoveled dirt on his feet
the parish cemetery a regular motel
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COMMERCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS
the habitual expectations of Johnny Boy
ladies and gentlemen—we interrupt the plot
the inmates in the home
regardless of size
have decided to cash
in their James Bond gift certificates
and purchase tight riding britches
(lion-tamer poseurs)
essentially innocents
having never felt the sting of violence
chills, thrills, gunshots, rapid gunfire
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issues of evidence and responsibility
wiping out recollections of committing crimes
the razzle-dazzle of jazz
the camera turns around
to a living room of innocent bystanders
a sympathetic mother and children
“we didn’t know”
having lived life as a form of performance art
the antics of FATHER was just entertainment
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no sense of information as it all merges into one doublespeak for the baby boomers –
– she face swapped herself with a hillbilly priest
she swiped left on grinder
– the secret language of a bandana hanging from a back pocket
the secret signs of how you wear your jeans
– your ear pierced in the wrong ear –
the death of a poet
lost for words
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——————————————————LOST FOR WORDS
not a single poet has been exonerated in the last 20 years
Obama letting all the black inmates go free
“FUTURE SCREENWRITERS”
SOME PEOPLE EAT CHEESE ON CRACKERS
OTHER PEOPLE TRY TO ELUDE THE LAW
what weapon best wipes out recollections ?
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people eluding the law that they never signed up for –
– aren’t all poets screenwriters?
– don’t we all write our own films?
– words are weapons and we’re fully armed – ROBOCOP with Emily paragraphs –
things get lost in translation
things fall out of the suitcase –
recollections clouded by twisted interpretations –
heavy artillery with small feets
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all entertainment as an audience – all things people want are there
an open entrance
no door policy –
what’s that they’re saying?
a camel and a needle with an eye?
vibrated
incorrectly
– misheard sounds –
a cross between something you remember from the past and something you want from the future –
– i dodged death in the year 2036 where lasers replaced bullets
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a priest ordained online
validated by 45 multiple choice questions –
a small fee requested and tomorrow is yours the small print enthusiasts advised
– I’m standing in her footprints –
– do you remember when the news stopped overnight?
when you woke up to something new?
when you took a picture and you couldn’t add a filter? –
your first serving of love tasted of nicotine and chewing gum
–
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old women with crooked fingers
tell you to practice your reductions
and omissions
grow strong
so you can get away
with observing so little
you need not see every brick in a wall
living from memory—one poem at a time
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the plane lands in a large swamp
poisonous snakes and alligators
better stay on the path
hurry inside
bug bites carry a heavy residual
when the plane lands
might be difficult to discern
a snake or alligator
in the undergrowth
blood hungry insects
mangrove trees
the lack of real oxygen
“is it always this uncomfortable ?”
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poets trying to blend with dead leaves and twigs
I think her thing looked like an unshelled snail
I showed HER to Robert Frost but he was blind
he touched the slot and cried real tears
he said, “what kind of monster was God ?”
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a description like SENSITIVE
Florida can soften a man
imaginary motives at the library
now the library is without words
just a festering sore with strong WIFI
nothing sterile—literature in a deplorable state
retired TV personalities behind the desk
even with practice no natural voice
nothing manly perched out front
nothing manly available
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the guys who play sport with white glowing teeth – shower room antics
whiteboard tactics and gang mentality – school mascot the PYGNY GOAT
kidnapped and ransomed and made to wear a mask
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if all the words were the same we wouldn’t be needed
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DECAPITATION ENSURES ANONYMITY
——famous heads padlocked from history——
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BULLETS MAY BE REPLACED
but what about the little shutters on the vulva ?
****guys at the pool hall daydream about a moist mouth—Popsicle Sex
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WITHOUT ANY GUARANTEE ABOUT SAFETY
the poet sticks his neck out
risking his self-image
words can make one seem silly
caricatures of themselves
fornication
replaced with chronic fighting
the smell of alcohol
true drunkenness never wears off
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the old woman who lived in the shoe
arthritic fingers and testy eyed emissions – 16 kids behind closed doors – the future can never been thrown away
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————————–previously thought to be questionable
(the world’s saddest polar bear)
Americans now ready to act on a whim
have fed the polar bear to a large shark at SeaWorld
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stay on the path don’t stray from the path – they tried to arrange a ceasefire
they tried to remove to the words
– paint over the vowels
redistribute the nouns
– all seen from above future drone life all from above
– down near the bayou that catches your tears
– 23,000 ft above the oxygen masks dropped
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dead leaves are the colour of winter but for now the sun shine over fresh cut grass twigs are branded attached to trees waiting for death
– “what kind of monster was god?”
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the local library doesn’t stock books
just computers and access to websites – libraries rated on strength of WIFI and the odour of the toilet
– retired TV personalities only read books written by retired TV personalities – a sad merry-go-round at a time when everyone is to afraid to comment –
perched and parched on the edge of the branch
the world is sterile
unease over the future : the man with the wig
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famous words once spoken
now stolen
again, nothing new under the sun
– famous head and more famous hair
Christian conservatives and the fascist bandwagon arrived in a private helicopter
– padlock the doors and eat the keys
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disenchantment of God
what drives people to the library
I asked for a tour of the bathroom facilities
the librarian thought I asked about her private facilities
I had a bit of trouble with the library system
it is the decline of the West
men standing in mud
unaided reason
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all those locks and all those keys
and yet death has started writing
on your face
I am not talking about impersonal mathematics
or encounters with metaphors
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—————-behind closed doors
where the jism flowed by the quart
outrageous behavior for a man
—————————————–
just an old arthritic bag of bones
but….SHE could crack a nut
****the obituary columns were full
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death only inches away
the shadow of death
both rich and bold
inescapably close
her snatch
was a memento mori
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popsicle of love
something sweet and sticky
gimme one of those*
*talking heads
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we need to stop animal on animal crime
we need to stop SeaWorld creating monsters
WE NEED TO STOP EVERYTHING
– a birthday card with a happy polar bear and a ridiculous punchline
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just last night I was with a happy polar bear
we were reading musical notation
and enjoying the music
without listening to the actual notes
imaginary sounds by candle light
****positive romantic performance: 2016
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a most problematic moment
the sad polar bear
nothing to eat
only grudges (recent and otherwise)
———————————————-
troubled sleep with zoo dentists
trying to brush his teeth
days spent on automatic pilot
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when I asked the librarian about your book
he said that it had been misplaced
I could smell the edible herbs and fruit in his pocket
I could hear the rules of behavior in the back of his voice
he had seen an issue of Playboy and knew about geographical genitals
he said in school the other students called him “Alphabet Man”
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after the wedding the bride suggested that they return to the motel room and rehearse imaginary situations
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spider pills are known to increase
the complexity of consciousness
riddling elders
compensating
constantly compensating
severely impoverished
guilty of memorization
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the decline of the west started with the burning of books
– each letter in flames
the homeless warming their skinny frames on the embers of dying thoughts
– that’s all poems are
thoughts but into shapes
– young Michael and the tour guide encrypting a 1000years of ideas in microfiche
young Michael with a gun
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*the metaphors were a 70s funk band from Philly
Impersonal Mathematics was their first album
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they have outsourced God to a call centre in India
– wait times have been reduced
his Facebook page keeps crashing
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death is always inches away
cold fingers waiting around the corner – cold and white
like half the buried dead – cold and white and inescapable from the inevitable*
*never a fan of rhyming
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the habitat changed cold then warm warm warmer the white tundra the desert with no trees the death of the happy polar bear 1976 – 2012
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HOURS AND HOURS OF DEPRIVATION
poetry in a shoebox
a trashcan of poetry from the past
the happy polar bear was just an acquaintance
primarily a “nice day” kind of guy
conversation and spider pills
the happy polar bear was a mathematician
a musician
a historian
and sometimes a biblical detective
not just any bible but an abstractly coded bible
his usage of words—his main function
I was high and he made conversation a chess game
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way too dependent on television
religious salvation was on the back-burner
like I would waste one minute on the idiot tube
pacified by entertainers ?
I told them at headquarters
that I wasn’t taking the smoke up the ass no more
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my book was called “the eternal twitch of the nervous millennium” –
misplaced in the factual section
– the elbow patches on the librarians jacket were fashioned from felt – an empty lighter in his pocket half chewed pen –
in a dusty world of words
the alphabet man never got past the first sentence
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once the acts were performed they were no longer imaginary
– moving into the realms of memory
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the happy polar bear was the title of self help book popular back in the day –
become the polar bear it said
“stroke the FUR of life” was the title of chapter 6 –
white skin against a white tundra background of ice
– snow blinded by the words
– the polar bear and the librarian
– the blue bulls & the Otis men
– ineffectual intellectual debates about sexual power and cheap motels
– I was high for the best part of the past 2oyears
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—————–YET
when honeymoon action is well chosen, well arranged,
put into practice time and time again
the bride and groom will generate gratifying experiences
during the real event
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in your new book
you made patterns of order
out of random events
comments and conversations
snippets impinging on your consciousness
you went so far as to print shopping lists
pages from diaries and telephone books
anything to share a disciplined means of expression
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it is no secret that half of the female population
in a retirement home near your neighborhood
(—-at least the semiliterate ones)
send you daily valentines
women who want bedroom action
that they can easily recall
or possibly relive
****they want communication, Johnny Boy
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unless one has great talent
it is indeed useless
to get naked
and
make jism
—————-
—————-
****downright shameful to make white in public
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should zoo dentists be poets
or
amateur historians ?
ancient scholars rubbing themselves
educated amusement ?
weedy junk baby
garbled memories from childhood
early industrial cutlery on the tee shirt
snapshots of MOM naked on a rug
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an abundance of muggers
at your birthday party
miserable people
finding vegetables sexually attractive
baboons with bright blue butts
9 out of 10 children have memorized them
cheerleaders follow suit and color their rears
attention being focused there
(what can be accomplished)
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(=) romance has its predictable plots
manageable characters
birth control elbows its way to center stage
****stay away from people who bad-mouth depersonalized sex
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(=) new patterns in poetry—new patterns of interaction
constant conflict with expectations
the wife demands reorientation of attentional habits
the groom has to readapt time after time
the wife demands similar emotions
to all stimuli they may encounter
rare deviations from the norm
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we ordered the patterns
made the lines conform
we told them that patterns existed in everything – the unwritten rules
the reason we all stop at red lights
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your brother called and warned me
that you were back to that old habit
————————————————-
crazy to maximize emotional returns
————————————————-
seems you found HER labor-saving
bedroom appliance
(chafed by external constraints)
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labour saving until the batteries run out
then it’s back to the grindstone
PUT YOU BAVK INTO IT
the sweats begin
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The Mesopotamian Poetical Society
sent a small note
reminding
me that Noah was 600 years old
at the time of the Flood
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————BROKEN FINGERS————
it contributes to, rather than detracts from,
the enjoyment
romance by the clock
the tyranny of time
****paying attention to the activity
——————-outside in the trees
the apes are focused on its consequences
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————SEX IS HARD AND UNGLAMOROUS
most people find it boring, repetitive
meaningless
poetry about the worker’s level of development
for hundreds of thousands of years
IN-OUT…………IN-OUT
just a reproductive activity
then along came modern man
with his chancy periods of waiting helplessly
for the other party to cooperate
daydreams of exploitive strangers
unwholesome frenzy
honest exhaustion
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excuse me—-I am busy watching strangers
engaged in mock-meaningful action
(participation requires a condom)
quick—write a poem about underlying emptiness
quick—write a poem about wasted time
————————–PASSIVE ENTERTAINMENT
Robert Frost sucking the marrow out of children
marrow squandered on an old bag of bones
a senior citizen douche-bag
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UNTUTORED CHILDREN STAND BESIDE THE ROAD
THEY ARE FLASHLIGHTS WITH NO BATTERIES
a house full of rondels, ballades, foreign tongues
scrambling English words with exceptions
non-dictionary words
double negatives
redundant superlatives
dense condensation
truck stop poetry about rectums
not-so-public playthings
bubble-butt glorification
tulips from the chimney
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—————-INSTRUCTIONS TO FABRICATE POETRY———–
receptivity is the sports car
the man nuts to dream the James Bond car
to take control of translations
the women who moved through you
expensive glue
submerged in translations
weird words from a burlesque dance contest
Englishmen with trunks of elixir
children born of a circus barker
(moral codes, you ask)
SHE was a self-appointed enforcer
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the reason the young poet was kicked
from the nest
the constant need for spontaneity
tired of the confined, formal life
the Reader’s Digest of Family Life
tired of hearing other people’s heartbeats
especially passionate bouts in the dark
death-defying sex
loop-the-loops
with the vulgar parts
not the intellect
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living inside something like a photograph
writing poetry about the deteriorated edges
at odds with the world
pleasure becomes pain
true commitment found empty
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the chimpanzee outside on the tree are thinking
“WILL I BE THE ONE PICKED TO
SIT IN A ROOM AND PUNCH A TYPEWRITER UNTIL SHAKESPEARE APPEARS BEFORE ME?”
– focused on the consequences
– simian poets picking lice from their lovers scalps
– abstract nouns thrown around the canopy
– no honeymoon for monkeys in love
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sitting in front of that typewriter
———————-sitting in front of that typewriter
ALL SEMANTICS AND NO SUBSTANCE
sitting in front of that typewriter
———————-sitting in front of that typewriter
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please include honeymoon poetry
that challenges historical definitions
odd stimulus-response correlations
controversial behavior
“IF ONE MUST DROWN A RAT TO GET ACADEMIC CRITICISM
THEN BY ALL MEANS—DROWN A RAT”
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THE BRIDE WROTE IN HER DIARY:
HONEYMOON NIGHT SPENT ON A BED OF SIGHS
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the bride
wanted more from sex
expected more from sex
than most of her colleagues
her unexplored sexual territory
was in need of a true conquistador
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sitting in front of the typewriter
having endured experiments reserved for lab rats
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the apes carried parasites
which spread to the human subjects
adults located behind typewriters
improvisation—perpetual tinkering
pondering what to write
on the blanks asking for occupation
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WHO WAS THE PERSON SITTING BEHIND THE TYPEWRITER ?
————-it was not Arnold Schwarzenegger
considered scabrous enough
the cut and thrust of a dramatized honeymoon
time spent waiting—semen spent never retrieved
the smell of homosexual spices
tree bark and fresh-washed youth
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not living inside a photograph
not dead inside the frame
just suspended
caught forever and we won’t fade
caught forever between living and death
caught forever showing true commitment
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the pros and cons of lobotomy
women with varicose veins
early cocktails and spider pills
poetry about a mishap or two
first a snoop then a peeper
get well cards
from other half-breeds, mongrels
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10 BOY SCOUTS IN A TENT—FEEDING FRENZY
it would take a literary genius to write re-readable poetry
to belong in the mainstream—to remain in the mainstream
cocktail waitresses with nearly legal spider pills
slowing down and suspending the foreplay
women with handles on the sides
Jell-O where Jell-O doesn’t belong
humping-grunting-even standing up
incidental pleasures
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the job at the spoon and fork
went straight to the meat-warehouse
that dancing girl with her new saddlebags
and twirlaround tail
take more than surgical gloves
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PECULIAR SMALL CHECK MARKS
gold star at the bottom
“does appear to still cut the mustard”
written in small print next to the star
simian heritage (xxx)
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everyone at the party had plum-hued rears
people were aware of passive intercourse
slow sodomy with an academic twist
Vaseline scented rectal mucus
colors like a cheap pie crust
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———————-all these dead people
walking around
——-wanting what the Nazis wanted before World War 2
the confidence of religion knocking on doors
the hinges of the mouth
a pudgy vulva
****like trying to stuff the Ark in a bikini
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—————-I didn’t know what she was talking about
“said I was living life like I was in a handbrake skid”
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varicose veins
tributaries of a fully functioning river
– too many pills
CH 1700 and 5 miles from here
T25
60
50
40
piss in a cup
three birds flying in formation
in the shape of a famous constellation
free recovery
(we) await rescue
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spider pills and an electrochemical glow
home proves to be a failed idea
started sleeping on the road
dreams about trying to regain control
****in a hardcore handbrake skid
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scouts and spider pills : an outrageous situation
– BE PREPARED
– a motto to live by, spider pill antidote carried in small glass phials
10 Boy Scouts in a tent
a horrendous stink from 10 farting arses
NO VENTILATION
brave experimentation leads to incidental pleasures
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the meat warehouse in downtown darktown – carcass of stolen pets stripped and hung
– cheap meat for the poorer folk
no questions asked transactions
– fur wigs
– necklaces laced of bone
– dried blood in the cargo bay
– night shift shakes
– the night watch man is lonely*
– career choices: leviathan, meat factory, jazz man
*didn’t Dylan say he was insane?
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the homemade pie
left on the windowsill (a stereotype of perfect housekeeping**)
the hardened crust
but soft &
moist inside
– no need for Vaseline
no need to exchange names
as the doctor and dentist always said “relax, it won’t hurt and will be over in seconds”…
**not in the cutie house here the pies were strangely LARGE
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the walking dead are everywhere
eyes angled to a screen of a phone –
the hinges on the body squeaked when it moved
in need of oiling
screaming lubrication
when they stuff the ark into a biking small splinters poked from the edges
public hair spider legs
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electrochemical rushes as you look through the rear view mirror the world shrinks
road markings as street hieroglyphs
– I slept outside & insects crawled over my face –
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a mask of crawling insects
each one an act of desperation
from the halls of employment
to the three by three cube of home
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a willingness to go the limit
expression and emotion captured in the black and white
of a night void of streetlight or campfire
the wafer of the church replaced by insects
the words of hundred-percenters sleeping inside a library
no room vacant on the shelves for raucous directness
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WAS IT A “HIM” OR A “HER”
THAT SAID
“JUST THINK OF IT AS SOFT ICE CREAM”
no straining through the literary sieve
not easily imagined—the seeds of the future
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poets write poetry
about the delicious silence of night
when I go outside
I hear the rattles of queer bones
the drums of thick-skinned souls
the friction of corduroy reproduction
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purchasing spider pills in bright colors
if you look at them closely
you can see sombrero-like hats
and wild gypsy shirts
I often pick out the ones
with handsome facial features
as they melt they kiss
the sensitive areas
inside my mouth
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just the feel of the insects feet touching skin
(like the chills that up your spin on honeymoon night) – running over my face
I can feel them
In my ears
– the square root of all the death in war
– the biggest coffin we share each day
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stumbling to the limit
reaching the edge without knowing how far you can go –
asking the vicar for cheese to go with the wafer
THIS ISN’T A RESTAURANT
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corduroy friction
the trousers of the professor of PURE mathematics
– PURE numbers with no grey areas, no room for misinterpretation – the numbers always add up – THEY ALWAYS DO –
computers are never wrong USER ERROR –
belittled by a machine
angry homosapien returns home
berates his children
screams at the food he’s been served
– furious masturbation, angry then relief
– modern man belittled by machines
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the sensitive areas were off limits
the pills kept the shakes at bay
nightmares about spiders
about moths flapping wings
of insects burrowing inside
laying eggs
the softest part of the body is on the inside
a constant battle to corrupt the working class
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A CONSTANT BATTLE
ridiculous to compete
enough is never enough
to be sized
like a school boy flaunting
it is almost in your face
“Yes, it is abnormally LARGE—now back off”
daydreams about it being anaesthetized and cut off
the doctor—a paid censor
how many ancestors in an inch ?
the fat nonsense of poetry
indecent, shameless, unexcused
the dong that refused to sleep
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——————THE HONEYMOON
genitals of indestructible quality
sexual activity that might be distinguished
from its communicable content
but which in no sense could be repeated
****the formula of surprise was a crowd pleaser
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we wrote that yesterday
it’s history – the words can wilt
a cut down tree
dead sap
washed away
names carved into bark
after my vasectomy my children thought I’d ejaculate dust
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gold stared bottom?
rewards given for those with fingers in the mustard pot –
kick out then catch
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looping the loop so fast your feet pass your head – tired of that which confines
– a dislike for Gravity
– introduced to the complexities of sexual life through well thumbed copies of Readers Digest –
– aghast at what comes out of the body
– aghast at what can go INTO the body
– blunted intellect vs the vulgar parts –
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—CRYPTIC NAUGHTINESS—
back page sort—immature
infantile
a motel squeal
——————
——————
edges, corners, boundary lines
poking a scholastic finger
against the virginity
the nutshell
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the beautiful mystery that you celebrate
the reality of existence itself
the wonderful one-times-only
————————————-
————————————-
pomp and pretense and vulgarity
relatives lashing out
hoping to injure or destroy
implications intended
****the scalpel was packed for that special event
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just think Johnny Boy
at the twist of a knob
you can dull nouns
flick a switch
and put an end
to probing conjunctions
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nothing back page
it’s all upfront
page 3 onwards
– motel squeal
motel squeak –
the perfect relationship:
he liked the sound of laughing babies
she liked the sound of war
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HE LIKED THE SOUND OF LAUGHING BABIES
SHE LIKED THE SOUND OF WAR
LikeLiked by 1 person
read today that Gaia was dying a slow death – in years there will be ramifications
there will be no special event
unwanted guests will be ushered silently out the back door –
silently into the non/existence
the beautiful mystery of life
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take things as they come
——————without remembering
the circle around the night fire
no need to guess what may come next
deceptively persuasive romance
indistinguishable love and hate
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SHE said that it was never like that
that it was acting inapprehensible
****between the letters of the word
a slot for insertion
—————————————–
—————————————–
in all sexual relations
precise terms
are essentially poetic
****proper rounding off
is left to the church folk
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a local streetwalker told me for a $100 more
I could fornicate with her cousin
SHE was superficially less flabby
somewhat less tawdry
one could argue the lack of a big behind
no one could deny the dead intelligence
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typographical peculiarities
accidently (?)
placed on the job application
wild punctuation—odd size letters
****the unicorn doodle turned X-rated
so I had to erase it
the eraser on the pencil was fake
the more I erased
the worse it looked
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the church folk use abacus and fingers and count
– the act they don’ t talk about
– sexuality locked firmly up in the catacombs along with ghosts and skeletons – (she once claimed she saw a black rat down there) – church folk
a funny joke
I could see the steeple from a mile off
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THE SOUNDS OF WAR
a descriptive setting
what could change the flatness of the wall ?
the misconceptions of your true self ?
employed by the high heavens
vague numbers not words
where be the agitation of the senses ?
****me thinks the stirring life be not sufficient
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because I am ignorant of what I write
I use inefficient and superficial conventions
often a little vague about the villains I sleep with
****sensation itself is always in excess
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I know that street walker –
she carried her cousin around in a bag –
a tiny little lady
– a little treat
– $100 worth of fun
I wrote her three songs and sang her one
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the job application* had a secret code – an acrostic poem
spelling out a location where we could meet – horizontal –
it wasn’t an accident
nothing peculiar they thought
erasing the unicorn wang turned into one bloody mess
*mis-read job application as Jon application (personality change required)
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at work you tried to imitate disorder
the ladies like strange fowl ignored you
poetry from general observation
your mother once wrote on the inside flap
“preposterous balderdash”
——————–
that early volume of poetry
heavenly somersaults
with young relatives
delirious from kissing
looking at illustrations
of naked people at Coney Island
rubbing fingers over the privates
anesthetizing the pretty ones
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the down-rush of potent spider pills
talk of collapsible bras
wads of Irving Berlin
everyone blamed the youngest daughter
****miracles take place….SHE went from a 32 to a 38
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he was asked to describe the sound of war – he screamed
and screamed
hand over ears
he screamed – that was the sound he remembered –
he remembered laying on the floor and the whole world looked horizontal –
a vagueness amongst hurt tress and dead land
– it was only below sea level he could see his true self
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we are vague –
everything we do is insufficient –
Michaels Superficial Conventions wasn’t the best name for the band –
we are ignorant
but are we understood?
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what a leap of faith
to purchase the new cd
by MICHAELS SUPERFICIAL CONVENTIONS
seems very thin indeed
ecstasy and anal intuition
sizeless in sleep and death
music with machinerish elements
possibly
husbands begging for wife sex
significant coiled ball aches
no drums—just the headboard
of a motel bed
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the ladies in their uniforms
at work with rough hewn fingers – one of them told me “all poetry is from observation” –
I unpacked my imagination into words
we put in the ground work
did the hard yards like when you chased your first date
back then when you had enthusiasm and energy
a somersault stalled due to inertia
I could count the pretty ones on one hand
(. I only know Coney Island from the movies .)
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that girl you knew in fifth grade tried to smuggle spider pills over the Mexican border –
stuffed in collapsible bras –
remember her?
two places to the left in your school photo?
– I blame no-one EXCPET Mr.Berlin
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substandard poetry and malt whiskey
an old stolen rubber sheet
enemas without embarrassment
acrobatic love-making
thank God for smelling salts
quivering nostrils
signed, “it won’t have to be done again”
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no drums—just the headboard
of a motel bed
tender talk like drug pusher promises
“I am becoming what I am becoming”
metamorphosis—white skin devil
the horns before the orgasm itself
****prelude to and metaphor of
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I am becoming what I am becoming” – blue Johnny 5
lost currency
behind the sofa secrets
– the crumbs
fallen
a thousand ways since yesterday
“screaming daisies”**
no time for the climax as we push on
**overhead lyrics from a speeding cat
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NO TIME FOR THE CLIMAX
————————————————what ???
PLEASE CONTACT THE HERMAPHRODITE-ANGEL OF LEEDS
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pulling and pumping———-hurry up
the flesh is rented
opened skin for direct sodomy
——-a large pulsating dong was visible
make the face of the physical pain
EXTERNALIZING the tunneling sensation
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government cuts have shut the hermaphrodite centre – anonymous names put in a hat
– I called the helpline but it was engaged –
angels of the north alway stay off the moor
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the world of Peter Pan Poetry
yes, the secret tattoo
men in the pokey proud of their ink mark
having once been young
postcards of them wearing their capecoats
glorification of villainy
how American
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a handful of spider pills
a terrible sense of unease
victims unable to say exactly why
————–
relatives knocking on the door
simply short of funds
you think about answering the door
with a Leonardo DiCaprio mask
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bongo-drum beatnik baby
poets hatched from speckled eggs
SHE said that she was just a large bird
with theatrical thighs
doggy style was like rambling a large bear
a rambling baby-pink Cape Cod snapper
a terrible rip in the flesh with hair right up to the edge
not just a standard-issue vulva
the upholstery had class
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glorification of villainy
death on a pedestal – the old uniforms worn at night
– the old postcards of tourist sites
a birthday card reused year after year
– we were all young once
there is a building down the road older than your country
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Leonardo masks on sale in time for Halloween –
half price by Christmas –
experimenting with different faces
fooling family members – a knock on the door
a creaking coffin lid
victims can’t explain why they are the victim – just place and time they guess
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when I talked to God last night
I asked if YOU could go back in time
and learn papier-mâché
so you could make three-dimensional relief maps
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poetry about lovers that predeceased us
real living people that we sank our teeth into
at some moment we opened our mouths
nuisances continue to come out
a shoebox of teeth
a large number
each one was a financial woe
“those damn wisdom teeth”
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we deceive ourselves
just watch someone open their mouth
I vote for puritanism !!!
serrated teeth and Jesus
walking hamburgers
a sprained groin
spillage in the slot
devil-worship and UFO abduction
spent food expelled
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THE SOUND OF A SINGLE VIOLIN
dormant evil under each rug
preliminaries
kindergarten
personal mementoes
cherry trees from George Washington
—————at some point you open yourself to risk
you claim that everything is a LIE
that Peter Fonda was only acting in “Easy Rider”
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l
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piece of crap WordPress just erased my comment
LikeLike
as an act of submission you went to the clothing store
several family members wanted to trade you
for a mannequin
trifle suspended
you were a circus performer
with no circus
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the relief maps crumbled in atomic rain
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walking carrion
predetermined existence, up until a point
we don’t know where we’re going but we know where we’re ending – bent over, a couple o teeth taking maybe we should embrace God* and waiting for the UFOS
* no embrace for false idols
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WordPress is a prostitute
with open legs
an invite to vouyers
everyone’s a critic
reading behind people’s back
– delete the comments
erased your thoughts
self censorship
a madman with scissors
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down at the pool hall
they say that WordPress is reinforced
with chicken wire
I don’t know
people constantly try to rob
the staircase of its uprightness
they sniff the sofa cushions
they find guilt in the master bedroom
jism in the shower cubicle
life becomes even more splintered
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I thought I was looking at a photograph of WordPress
it turned out to be a Chihuahua in a holiday sweater
a little creep not long to becoming a published author
impersonating Elvis Presley —- typing with her tongue
a tight little piece—centering on a character
who is a good nurturing attendant to children
yet writes poems about children being dolls
who strongly influence all notions of identity
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a clown** in mans clothing
anatomically correct mannequin
all the wrong lifestyle choices
– tunnel vision
– the desire to have harder abs
– she wanted that beach body she deserved
– she wanted stronger hair, hair that shone –
she wanted THINGS
**custard pies in the face daily
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WordPress surrounded by barbed wire – a gaggle of geese hiss at the periphery – no entrance for the wordless –
cushion sniffers
panty stealers
small samples
secretly secreted
the guilt felt for the actions you carried out
shower cubicle deep cleansed then set on fire
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in the dream we were fishing
you kept asking me
what pound-test monofilament
you should be using
and I was thinking
Jesus Christ
you’re screwing with my luck
WHY DID YOU HAVE TO WEAR
THAT INDIAN-STYLE
HEADBAND ?
the guy at the bait shop
charged you tourist price
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tranquility of sitting in the fishing bank – nature surrounds – sitting in a folding chair waiting for the kill –
sorry I was bad luck
sorry I was a Jonah
an albatross around the neck
– dry throated sailor
an insignificant pin prick on a world of water – the head band can function as a noose
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