embarrassed god
god, like a child in front of Eves nakedness he blushed and looked away –
– the smallest bodily functions made him giggle
when he saw her sit down to pee he pointed and laughed –
he wasn’t amused
just embarrassed
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Eatmorewords's Blog 
the rigors of living (as a poet or not)
boxes of romantic love
stored in the attic
a pilgrimage with a visible timeframe
other spans of activity
corroded and worthless
sit stacked in the shadows
you told your children,
“that’s my past”
regardless of chemistry or genitals
from the Old Testament standing
the loneliest nomadic apes on the road
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roadside religion
restorations at different speeds
the roots of the Tree of Life
planted in the aftermath of a disaster
Noah had a pearl-handled revolver
aboard the Ark
—————–
—————–
God had given him so many last names
sometimes names with a Jewish mark
I remember as a child
emptying the chamber pots
everyone on the Ark
was in such a hurry
the adults scorning the children
****perhaps it was the lack of a destination
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sleeping on the Ark
levels of sleep—layers and levels
narcissistic hand pulls
keyholes in the forehead
fancy keys to unlock dislocations
for lucky people
small kisses and warm arms
safe from the painful threats
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the fear
that letters on the printed page
would become angry ants
and any attempt at reading
would result in overpowering confusion
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wretched food on the Ark menu
duck fat and bread made by a blacksmith
a rough-hewn loaf that cut the insides of the mouth
someday the children of Noah would look back at Earth
from outer space—from the backdoor of Disney World
****astronauts sucking their own tongues
****tasting oneself in a sexual manner
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it was a quiet afternoon
people of all sorts were sitting in a circle
the leader asked if there was any questions
I asked,
“is marriage a non-traceable torture ? ”
the room erupted into chaos
I haven’t returned to the meeting
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that’s my past here
that cobbled road corroded and cracked the future is there babybird,
a newly tarred path
sticky molasses keeps the nomads in one place
–
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the roadside priest with his flock of babies thrown from cars
the shells of dead vehicles
empty oil cans
no view in the rearview mirror
– hot priest under highway sun
parched
a sweaty grip on a bible
– the trigger finger of Noah
itchy like finger
– children drifting from adults
young canoes out at sea
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I wouldn’t call it sleep
eyes closed for a minute or so
to scared to go to deep
thoughts or Beyoncé amongst the smell of dung
– the keyhole in the forehead
the weights and pulleys that are inside –
the edifice that holds me up is creaking
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they waited for something better
but nothing better came
tossing a baby out a window
of a speeding car
is aiming 7 miles below the target
no amount of cologne can mask it
—————————–
welcome death from no violence
just a few rough landings
and then deep sweet sleep
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the spy who has forgotten his mission
the detective who takes his disguises too seriously
dreams of beautiful bodies in bed
giant erections
one answering the other
the slow journey of sodomy
—————————-
many moons had passed
the photos in the paper
were macro with sharp focus
if one looked closely
moth grit could be seen
in the folds
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who was it that dragged sin into their marriage ?
they agreed to include this sin in their life
something completely out of sight
unspeakable in all ordinary comings and goings
off the map of puritanical possibility
no proper man or woman would think such a thing
it was in the dictionary but in code
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the smell of burning paper
half closed eyes
thinking about the Bible
and having seen father naked
————-why would one put that in there ?
Robert Frost was spotted
standing
in the light of the moon
the excitement of autumn
was making him aroused
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the million dollar question:
WAS THERE AN ELEVATOR MAN ON THE ARK?
the smell of candy and perfume was sickening
Stradivarius complained about the working conditions
the constant fear of sinking
childish drawings were everywhere
stick people with pubic hair
life on the Ark was theatrical
a shame so few were educated
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the menu was a carnivore delight
all meat
all kinds of meat
blacksmith bread tasted of cinder and smoke
– the chefs in Mickey Mouse t’s
the animals concerned
cannibal animals eating each other
that’s how it always begins
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poets standing in the self-sacrifice line
standing tall in obedience to the printed word
driving through a small town in Kentucky
Christian symbols were posted everywhere
young people did not recognize them for what they were
they no longer contained their original energy
God was rumored to be distant and impotent
intolerable realities were in high gear
demons and devils and politicians
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THE STORM WAS OVER
blue sky
angels throwing stones
at the children of Noah
—————————
furtive affairs with angels
—————————
storefront romance
wordless bedroom ecstasy
chemical gyrations
(+) kisses that express disgust
(+) kisses that inspire disgust
anguish unresolved
on-and-off
love buzzing around your head
like an insect
intrusive voices
saying “give it back”
everything must be given back
at the moment of death
you hand it away
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a fear of being the last man standing
a fear of seeing your hand amongst the waves as you see the ark disappearing in the distance
– you feel your ankles are weighed down with weights
in my nose the taste of salt and dung
I moved amongst the small print
– the animals didn’t know there were terms and conditions
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poets are born sinners
I saw a deputy sheriff with a huge dog
sniffing your post box
HAVE YOU CONFRONTED REALITY ?
I know how difficult it is
having been weighed down with inhibitions
your brain throws you forbidden impulses
the lies and fantasies of religion
chained to your torso
your friends question how white you are
intelligence and compassionate understanding
are not enough to insure quality poetry
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at the amusement park
I saw a wall hanging that read:
POETRY IS EMOTION
TIDILY NAILED
INTO A PREDICTABLE FORM
I was thinking that in my life
the instruments that tidily nail
are less convincing
than those during my parent’s time
———————————–
———————————–
important clues:
were they stored in the attic
or in the basement
or did they go out the backdoor
to the trash ?
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I traded 2 packs of menthol cigarettes
in Dark Town
for a light of unbelievable intensity
a stolen flashlight from the Vatican
——-words of advice————
when one goes to the Pearly Gates
bring something valuable to trade
angels love flashlights
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the smell of burning paper
a bonfire of books
THATS WHERE IT ALL STARTS
libraries invaded
book after book stolen & loaded into vans &a driven to the pyre –
the smoke of dead words
Robert Frost erased
Emily erased
– bonfires outside the town hall
rumour was
the astronauts saw letters float out of the atmosphere
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the sniffer dog went away in a different state to the one he arrived in – dilated pupils
the ecstasy of the lord
erotic Jesus
– a quick sniff
–
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falsely arrested for love
falsely convicted of love
the humiliation of jail time
rumors of physical sodomy
far worse the mental sodomy
psychological weapons
impotence with missing fingernails
the ways in which
life can go wildly wrong
the taste of distrust
lies about happier times
development that came to a halt
earlier novels and poetic dissipation
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AND THERE I WAS
in a jail cell with memories
the wife, the children, the hardships
years and years schooling those hardships
somewhere along the line
religious feelings
were erased
by the importance of music
incestuous relationships
with workmates
costly struggles with lovers
off stage with dandyish gents
intimates and strangers
testimony given every 10 feet
grueling fuel for future poetry
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sentimental
about homosexual baloney sandwiches
the outside world through rumor
what other people feel during sex
tricks of mental speech
buckets of passion
and yet
a peculiar distance
( only castrated white men write poetry )
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CONVERSATIONAL POETRY
INCORPORATED
INTO THE STANDARD CURRICULUM
people at the pool hall
busy with interpretation
a wide range of experience
boiled down to a syrup
—-YOUTH FAILING TO ACHIEVE MATURITY———
or some such nonsense
improper initiation into manhood
from dependence on the umbilical cord
to the acceptance of the self saddled with guilt
****the permanent debts (sins of the father)
****cruel thoughts and spoken words
****life paraphrased
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when you were younger they used PUSH PINS, from nursery
to high school – but now your older they use NAILS
– all emotions nailed to the mast
– the same nails smashed through wood on the ark –
hang your shame
hang your head
all the important clues were red herrings and your realised nothing is that important
home and dry
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the mint menthol French cigarette sold for double the price behind the pool hall in dark town –
– kung fu experts to afraid to walk past the threshold
city limits retracting
– at the pearly gates they will ask for the PASSWORD
Micheal, do you have it?
DO YOU?!!
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one phone call
HELLO, DAD IM IN JAIL
IM CALLING YOU FROM JAIL
– and he just talked (and I knew he was disappointed)
and I read the graffiti around the phone
– pleas of innocence
– phone numbers to call for fun
– white power signs
– solicitors names with a Jewish prefix
– the holding cell full of stragglers and drunks and rapists and black men with scars and white men with blue eyes –
one with opulent golden teeth
– no one wanted night to come
And no one wanted to wake up
HELLO DAD
IM IN JAIL
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your name didn’t past the test
you weren’t permitted to stay
you were just a tourist
you were just a name on a list
even your biographer forgot you –
– he tried to bracket your life into chapters
– an easy to digest life but
– life isn’t an appetiser
life isn’t a flow chart
– you were a flower
you needed the sun to grow
(if you were in England you would be no more then 4ft 5) –
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one of those Kentucky Fried Chicken places
has Moses on television
saying, “let my people eat chicken”
with the lack of music
poor folk listened
to the cries of the faithful
huddled together
you could smell the goat on the teenage boys
angels would sprinkle the doorposts
apocalyptic flashlights in hand
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regardless of chemistry or genitals
from the Old Testament standing
the loneliest nomadic ape on the road
4ft five
the agency of fatherhood
angry cause I’m off schedule
with age I’m turning gray
the light from up above
it may be too bright
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PUSHING A WHEELBARROW FULL
OF INNATE AND INHERITED CONDITIONS
AROUND THE EDGE OF DARK TOWN
jazz musicians searching for their identity
bound by few laws
covered in flesh
****music that dwells with sinful man
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the modern miracles of the modern messiah
– feeding the destitute with one chicken
– quenching their first with a litre of Coke
– modern mercies at the homeless shelter
– the young kids with gout and nosebleeds
all the odd numbers at the bingo hall
solar power fuelled anger
buy one get two free as the flies buzz around the discarded fruit out back of the supermarket
angles with dirty faces
angles in Nikes
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missed paged from the biblical book used as fuel to
ignite the fire
outside
to keep hands warm
the loneliest man on earth
moving apart
like divorced folk
fading in the fading light
I am a father son and brother
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my wheelbarrow wobbled
heavy with the load
100 trumpets
(you can count them all if you want)
people aren’t born with identity
it’s fashioned and carved over time
think of her as a mountain
think of her as the main suspect
think of her in the firmament
atop a Christmas tree
saxophone in hand
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ATOP THE CHRISTMAS TREE
SOMETHING IN MY HAND—NOT A SAXOPHONE
the coffee girl spoons out the meth
1 big spoon in a cup of coffee = $175
a tiny spoon of relax-or on the side = $50
tip is optional
sometimes customers sweat blood
not a major health concern
loss of vision is another issue
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A BIG SPOONFUL IN A CUP OF COFFEE
and it is suddenly easy to recall the words
and Messianic connotations of Psalms
(+) praying for the seal of God on the forehead
(+) praying to be saved from the Revelation
careful use of suggestive language
as one dwells with demons and devils
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from the Old Testament standing
the loneliest nomadic ape on the road
those who watch from up above
in their white robes and white flesh
—————————————
those who dwell with sinful man
in their fur and claws
bark at their seed leaking
the future spun gold
———————–
barefoot with Jesus
standing in grape blood
reaching for the unsalted bread
————————————–
the golden cloak of manhood
a flashlight beam that reaches the moon
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( the sins of the fathers visited upon the children )
religious candy bars—Hebrew-Christian style
—-the imminence of physical death——
the most literal meaning:
where no flashlight burns
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i lost my vision in the 80s but
found it again
at the bottom of mothers handbag
amongst mints, coins
lint the only health concern is how long can i last?
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I passed on a party for cartographers
fried brains sitting around obscure maps
people who count their steps
and record them daily
in multiple journals
****the erection is in the initial evidence
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Gertrude Stein was listening to crap music
all I could think was that it was “encyclopedic”
no secret pleasures or pacts
she treated me
like I was to plunge the commode
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some of the nomadic apes refused to evolve
leathery fingers picking at small fleas nestled in hairs as the future unfurled
– those in white robes complained because they couldn’t get the stains out at a low temperature – mislead by false advertisement
– he took her aside and asked in all honesty could he walk along the torch beam
Would it support his weight?
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Jesus walks on the beam of a flashlight
think how many people had to verify
that someone had erased that line
—————–
shipwrecks in DC
the ills of being despised
the ills that flesh is heir to
children working in the coal mines
sacrificial birds for sale on every corner
****a new agency—Biblical Birds
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the irony that the cartographers got lost in the pages of an atlas they hadn’t finished surveying –
Russian footprints ensured the country cast a long shadow
Siberian steps
14 tattooed that meant nothing
the veins just a motorway
unmapped areas whisper
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coal mining children with black faced
it will offend someone
OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD
“Pops, I gots the black lung”
rattling cough exposed your position amongst the newly discovered wrecks exposed on the battlefield
the beam of light
the magical cone
a clown hat funnel
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struggles with guilt about sex
junk mail from The Temple of the Fire Baptized
angels judging skin color
others asking that individuals walk upright
humans (?) from Ohio were having troubles
the smell of skin-whiteners was overpowering
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————————–FREQUENT DESCRIPTIONS
depictions of Dark Town
live in the same building and never speak
married for 27 years
supper tastes like church hall crud
main dream topic—-expensive socks
———————————
in the movie they put plastic over the head
of the anthropologist
“STAND UP STRAIGHT” is the challenge
they look at your forehead
have the skin whiteners worked ?
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a persistent rash
poisons in the skin whiteners
shut your eyes
Death caressing your shoulders
you beg him to take someone else
you don’t give a crap
take two or three
(Norman Vincent Peale and Billy Graham)
oversimplify the act of walking upright
drugs have caused you to be otherworldly
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Gertrude Stein was listening to crap music
SHE was looking in the pee-hole of reality
socio-historical sexuality
civil war intercourse
every single male in America
failed wretchedly
——————
instead of forcing him to write
all that education
made him incomplete
the doctor said, ” take the pills”
he traded the pills
for Mexican skin whitener
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pass the navel to that tangled mess
you make jungle noises and laugh
electrifying meth in all its glory
cradled and caressed
gratification that may never end
—————————————
Leonard Cohen singing SO LONG MARIANNE
a sandpaper voice from too much smoke
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excursions away from the main theme
there were a lot of fragments outside the draft
things that might fall into place
things that were private or obscene
words that civilized people never write
****people beg me for permission to photograph my genitals
****people just a few dollars away from starvation wanting autographs
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autobiography was on the map
there were countless red dots between here and there
I think that they were procrastinations
I don’t know if it was me or the car
that they called “the Angel”
when I would motor into the village
small children would surround the car
with their tiny open palms
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a cemetery full of folks
who didn’t worry about things
life would take care of itself
“don’t worry about things happening
before they happen”
——————–
as a small boy
the poet would chalk figures
on the sides of buildings
so he didn’t feel so alone
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the publisher stated that they want approximation
not anything like a complete feeling
of what I might be trying to convey
———–APPROXIMATION
I was pushing a wheelbarrow
full of words outside the range of approximation
may be I was unpublishable
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WAS IT:
(+) death of the afternoon
(+) death in the afternoon
readers wanting to pull down any success
as if they were pulling down your trousers
to ridicule you in public
odds were in their favor
(less mass than more)
—————–
being asked if you were the author
of a cook book or a telephone directory
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———-through the courtesy of God—————
poets walking around
the color of vanilla ice cream
they’ve turned the library
into an obstetrical center
the bad babies are tossed
into an industrial compost maker
sometimes they cry
incredibly sad songs
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DADDY
I was pushing a wheelbarrow of words
outside the range of approximation
sorry, I got no love poetry
times have been dark
with sorrowing women
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DADDY
I was pushing a wheelbarrow of words
outside the range of approximation
the voice I was hearing in church
was louder than theology
they asked me not to return
all those years of strenuous learning
I could spell God without letters
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not a single person wanted to know
that I could hear the rumblings
of the Civil War in my pillow
beardless boys with guns
no bullets
just unanswerable questions
——————————-
masculine girls and feminized boys
standing in the shadows
numbered among the redeemed
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I REMEMBER
the day you said five people asked you
if you collaborated on a famous cookbook
—————————–
Robert Frost died beside the highway
leading into town
he was thinking of faded roses
for three months
school children on the bus
would stare at his corpse
it was rather poetic
no one noticed
his empty seat at the bingo parlor
no one reported him missing
he was never one to laugh out loud
they threw his private journal away
it contained dirty words
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“may be heaven isn’t in the sky
may be heaven is in a tall tree”
they tried to waken Robert Frost
but he had been dead for months
no trace of a near-death repentance
on his lips
submission to the almighty
can be a cruel ordeal
an angel tried to pull back his foreskin
but it did not confuse the Holy Inspector
****no repentance and a foreskin constitutes a bad start
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all those years of strenuous learning
and they accused me
of spelling God backwards
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———–SAUSAGE REALITY———-
torment packed tight into the gut skin of beauty
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junk mail that escaped the firewall
tablets to expand girth
tablets that make your palms hairy
small monthly donations deducted directly from your salary and paid to the Brotherhood of the Burning Bush
– the smell from the cesspool was strangely familiar
strangely reassuring
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the dry rot
asbestos lungs and silverfish
– the darktown architects were embarrassed with their drawing
and petitioned for them to expunged from public records
–
all that I wrote existed in my mind first
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a persistent rash
persistent meth
a threat to kill death
to many elbows in the ribs
I know I was related to apes somewhere down the line
– I feel it every time I swing from a tree
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Mexican wax solvent* will hold the wall together
a new phase of history
with a madman at the wheel
a time where context is not required
I took the pills
I really did but I didn’t change
it was all the same
*stolen song title
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Dylan waiting for the reaper
after Bowie and Cohen he got scared
started wearing bigger hats to hide away under
went acoustic to quieten down
– refused to get off the tour bus but death wasn’t bothered
he had other plans
– Dylan’s mumbled a nasal drawl
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you know you’re dead
when your thoughts go bald
————————–
YOU KNOW YOU’RE DEAD
WHEN YOUR THOUGHTS GO BALD
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JUNK MAIL
is that mail from the Brotherhood of the Burning Bush ?
an Extension of Consciousness in case you die suddenly
so you can pull out and wipe the crud off your manhood
so you can hide the photos of girls you fingered in the 5th grade
——————-
a proud member of the E. A. Poe fan club
one more sense over and above the five senses
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the sides of the highway
were littered with the disguises of human faults
slips of paper with phone numbers collected
casual friends, acquaintances, drunks
odd words from the Book of Revelation
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bride-to-be at the honeymoon suite
claustrophobic and afraid of intercourse
forbidden consummation
SHE (herself), the chief prize
romance gone burlesque
him with his sausage in his hand
an image burned into her memory
the privileges and intimacies of marriage
my God, a bonfire with him in the flames
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junk mail ads—-something for the pain
the immediate discomfort of intercourse
inward bound through the funny door
the place prepared for unashamedly delight
they claim that it is the eventual reward
——————————
just north of the manhole cover
——————————
littered with the skins of other men
strips of flesh with phone numbers
casual friends, workmates, relatives
single-minded poets
——————————
vengeful Jehovah pounds on the metal roof
intelligent people think:
not less of pleasure
but possibly more of the Lord
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—————obstetrical center poetry——————
three doors down from the dope peddlers
THE VAGINA BOOTLEGGERS
coin money is okay
once you get past the crust
a rather good hump
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one inch short of a horse
———————–
drawings of copulating couples
———————–
crocodiles that swallow
———————–
fat lips of delight
———————–
single men with habits
free to reject or accept
tutored or untutored
first came the Hallowed name
then the jism
****white man seed glowing in the dark
tiny serpents swimming in the fluid
predators of everything aboard the Ark
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the main theme was always playing quietly in the background – partially rubbed out words on draft 6
– the infidel poet tried to civilise the heathens
– a hiding to nothing
running through tar pits
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open palms outside open windows
trinkets and sweets
worthless currency
a small act of kindness in the road to salvation but the car broke down
smoke billowing from the engine dirty windows insured the view
the small children holding out their hands
begging
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the dead man died today
he’s been dying for a while
the rAin washed away the chalk children
“Don’t worry about the government” was the title of the last song I heard
impeach the leader then eat the rich –
the infidel poet wrote about stars and space and science I doubt he understands
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Death has returned
and sits on his perch
everything of value
is within his grasp
I am outside of my mind
trying to not look tantalizing
the whole game of death
perhaps it is just playfulness
on the part of the taker
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up for grabs in the lottery
one of the easy rooms in hell
unconverted babies
jazz performers
angelic vermin
—————————where every sin is a crime
the grip of fear in shadows
fresh quibbles about the scheme of things
pain exacted is pain exacted
a worse agony near the commode
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Elton John said, “life is gift enough”
and somewhere in the darkness of Kentucky
the persistence of regret remains king
pinched nerves
the constant rawness
where edges come undone
——————————–
the berries in your underpants
are second-hand exhausted
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farcical scenes
falling around with your trousers around your ankles
ridicule tinged with laughter
– CZ0s cook book
recipes with ingredients that don’t go together
eggs and glass
meat and titanium hex screws
a left shoe and car pars
schadenfreude schadenfreude
schadenfreude schadenfreude
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the men white like vanilla ice cream leave sticky trails behind them
– followed by ants
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sorry son
the poetry game isn’t paying off
no one wants to know about dark town and the pool hall –
all the young kiDs
the hipsters
the people in the know
those with their finger on the pulse are all into flarf these days
daddies gotta go back to Leviathan
daddies gonna go back to cutlery
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god is outside the range of approximation
six steps removed the hypothesis
you don’t need letters son
all ya need is an imagination
an imagination an’ the ability to suspend belief in maths and science and common sense
son, relax
have an Italian cigarette
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walking around bareheaded
with Death only inches away
angels constantly watching
endless things go unnoticed
detectives fill notebooks
that no one reads
they call the office
and ask for synonymous
and meaningless words
hummingbirds
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excursions away from the main theme
poets on tour
suckers in the back hallways
suckers on the elevator
blind people paying with coins
to avoid getting ripped off
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readers standing in long lines to get an autograph
poetry about readers fainting while standing in line
lives weighed down by religious and scholastic pressures
buoyant belts in fancy pants
embroidered Picasso socks
consciously absurd materializations
ungraspable FLARF
———————-
———————-
restless nights
with a spouse
hot in a hothouse
guardians spell NO
in seven directions
readers standing in line
never question the poet
life is a constant spoonful
baptized by freethinkers
and the coffee counter girl
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autobiography was on the map
each new chapter started with a procrastination
(+) under the care of a physician
(+) extremely delicate tissues
(+) barefoot in a world of Beatle boots
(+) framed family portraits with no father
(+) literary pursuits
(+) irritants and pain-threshold
————-TWO LINES AT THE BOOK SIGNING————
native Americans
Pilgrim settlers
****it is true that Pocahontas caused a disturbance
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all those readers standing in line
they not only wanted an autograph
they wanted an approximation
to hell with complete feelings
to hell with people
who walk around
like they have
microscopic eyes
———————
people wanting to know
the temperature of the poet
regardless of the number
it would be a scientific curiosity
………( like the first time the poet saw indigenous poetry
ripped up by the roots )…………………………………………
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they were passing around a photograph
of you in younger days
a bunch of aborigines
eating odd red boiled eggs
out of a large plastic bucket
to the indigenous
you were a fragile creature
a baby bird
——————-( two smooth hands and reddish hair )
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the things pressed into the specimen book
hairs from shy dates in the lower grades
genuine oddities—June bugs and barflies
your magnifying glass with your first name
a legendary poet—erratic at first
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not one single reader questions the lofty intellect
of a famous FLARF poet
he paints landscape poetry upside down
having the sun roll along the ground
like a cosmic beach ball
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PROFICIENCY IN FOREGROUND MATERIAL
whatever was–whatever will be
characters change clothing
the emotional weather vane remains busy
conditions are cloudy over the sex drive
time-tested masturbation
THE HAND IS KING
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so people ask me how the cookbook is coming along
a veil cast before the chaos of the kitchen
a hidden ghost in the haunted house of poetry
————————
————————
the consequences of the poetry game
the fingers on the pulse
have no clue
Leviathan and cutlery
factory jobs from father to son
the sounds of moaning winds
lonely living under the overpass
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I was pushing a wheelbarrow of words
outside the range of approximation
educated readers wanting an economical
yet accurate description of Life on the Ark
—————————————————
a barefoot heightening of consciousness
a peculiar blend of ecstasy and odor
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WIELDER OF THE FLESH SWORD OF LEEDS
who often thanked God for the strength in his weapon
the simple ecstasy of an erection
from approach to consummation
the giddy heightening of consciousness
every nerve electric
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we share a common thread of civil wars
countries of the schism
– civil war men with metal helmets
– civil war men with beards and braces
musket and bayonet
WHERE IS THE KING ON THS FAIR
ISLE?
– horse steaming over the landscape of nightmare
broke
redeemed
a decade closer to the chasm
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it’s funny how you can ignore what’s in front of you face
– the everyday blur where the buildings fade into each other
morphing into traffic and blurring into the sky of blue and aeroplanes the building you don’t even notice the reflection of the traffic the reflection of you as you walk by everyday the buildings and office have no lines of separation the train at the station goes into the horizon
fading into the horizon getter by smaller
the dead body at the bottom of canal
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the dyslexic zealots knelt before the dog
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phallic food
homoerotic chewing
stuck in throat
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the junk mail kept coming
spammed with emails about spam
spammed with email about a sale that never ends
online bargains
Nigerian princes want me to be rich
– the Brotherhood of the Burning bush won’t let unsubscribe
– Jesus as your service provider
– the first girl I know who swallowed washed it down with warm Coke
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The bride to be on the catalogue
last in the line
discount prices
you pay peanuts
you get monkeys
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the manhole cover had written on it LIFT TO ESCAPE
– no one could get close enough to read it
the sign language man in the bottom of the TV screen got cramp and confused the viewers with his dyslexic fingers
– something for the pain
– an expensive balm
– I spend time looking on the street floor for discarded notes, shopping lists and phone numbers
– I can be seen on google maps
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bankrupt poetry
used a shovel, a hoe, and a scrapper
in all directions with no way out
so difficult to be a composer
so simple to collect observations
“please coffee counter girl,
more intellectual vitality”
SHE would lift the spoon to
(+) wise thoughts exactly worded
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——close observation———
as if you were going to put a piece of landscape
in your pocket and walk away free of charge
——————–
other people at the party
were concerned
when you started
to smoke
a discarded cocoon
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unique prose almost like poetry
free association….anything but free
readers expecting really strange
unrelated combinations
poets begging handouts
poets little more
than diseased rags
endless boredom and poverty
****daydreams about expensive socks
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in the future world
all one has to do
is push the big button
it isn’t button 6
or button 5
just the big button
no matter what one would want
just push the big button
this morning when I pushed the big button
I watched a 15 minute homemade film
of Francis Bacon being whipped
images of his paintings
flashed in my mind
DISTORTIONS
of cadaverous people
I honestly didn’t enjoy his nudity
his ass and thighs were like slabs
of unhealthy gray meat
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free association of visual images
images that cause innocent people
to be seized with extreme paranoia
my only thought: CALL 911
——————–
questionable areas of taste
hidden thoughts
no longer the words of a tourist
(cheap soup at a gypsy camp)
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a postcard today from MS. CURIE
seems things are in bad shape
physically as well as mentally
the huge wart
has become even more problematic
(poster wart for the Apocalypse)
SHE said that the red light district
was sucking all the power
and they were afraid
to plug in their appliances
artificial satellites (?)
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death has left a wet patch
sticky trails
cold fingers
it’s just around the corner*
*why did he mention meatballs?
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a lottery of numbers
the randomness of observable phenomena
– fear gripped
– choke hold
– what is your first memory?
the abduction
the spinning top
your mothers ankles
a thousand pins pushed into the fummy
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Elton John changed his name
Elton John changed his name
and never visited Kentucky – they don’t like his kind there
– small men with strange hair
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Kentucky is full of serious anthropology students
at last count there is only one legal psychiatrist
every library has an overweight plainclothes detective
every hospital performs brainwashing experiments
fast food joints sell white bean soup
bookstores also carry candy and kidney stone medicine
even weird people are afraid of Elton John
he comes from some other place
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a postcard message from MS. CURIE:
“people think that I am an intelligent
superwoman but I find myself immature
and selfish. just take a peek in my
sock drawer”
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crooning ecstatically in the shower
his hand— busy with a gift from God
—————————–
almost everything important
in his life
had at one time or another
been tacked to a bulletin board
——————————
deadline hanging
fingers snapping
amateur psychiatrists humming
belligerent Bob Dylan tunes
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hand in hand around Disneyland
the eyes of Mickey Mouse
follow you
a rollercoaster screams and scares off a murder of crows – kids with candy floss hair
I can see a silhouette
I see shadows
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I was away from home
but I ensured I carried my keepsakes
I tried to describe them to a blind man but I lost the words
I know I had them in my pocket but where did they go?
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pleasure in the vulgar for its own sake
turning clod after clod of crap
the dung of words
not a single note
of sweet music
—————
the suppleness and quickness of a penis
eccentricities of evil on the bed
poetry becomes globs of jelly
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bedchamber comments
listed under conversational poetry
gruesome comedy at the expense
of the groom and bride
(+) satisfy her appetite
(+) satisfy his appetite
****perhaps the master stroke
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SOMEONE SHINED A FLASHLIGHT
INTO THE CENTER OF HER INFERNO
———-ice surrounded by flames——–
the impossibility of believing
poets in a circle angry
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the coffee counter girl danced her way
from the juke box
to her place behind the counter
her hips laughingly responded
to the music
what a conversation
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word substitutes
when heaven turns off the flashlight
Dark Town goes non-verbal
jazz—an odd duck lacking words
people trying to capture suffering
and delight
the prison-house of poetry
has no empty beds
don’t much matter
traffic never stops
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they say down there in Dark Town
“are you living the history ?”
students of poetry locked
into a linguistic pattern
that restricts any exit
****any intended meaning labeled “DO NOT ENTER”
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WHAT IF THOSE LIBRARY BOOKS LIED TO YOU ?
what if you cut yourself open
and there was nothing inside ?
WHAT IF THOSE TELEVISION SHOWS LIED TO YOU ?
what if you cut yourself open
and there was nothing inside ?
……………the coffee counter girl was really YHWH
eye-to-eye confrontations with the bottom of the cup
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not a single person would talk to me
about a form of purity
that would enhance
my homemade poetry
——————-
truck drivers with their spit
Native Americans fond of sperm and blood
I stand so close to the coffee counter girl
I can smell the bitterness from her last bout
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zealous poets of the congregation
what can they do for each other ?
crooked attendance
as if Jesus was concerned
——————self-recognition
imperfections tolerated
————————–
so sweet when the gospel
turns into the blues
(+) a blues moan
(+) a gospel shout
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——a documentary scenario————-
the prison-house of poetry
with no empty beds
Satan behind the plate glass
show him your anatomy
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triumph with the flashlight
no other tale to tell
tiny devils ignored and avoided
tiny devils desperate for misery
I tried to baptize them with beer
——————————
beams from heaven
time to journey through
the wilderness
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I procrastinated at the beginning
too long spend finding how to start
a light breeze came from the east
the physicians notes were illegible a hundred different people could read them and a hundred people would arrive at a different diagnosis
•collywobbles
•sheep leg
•whiteness
•sprained soul
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he signed his signature like a spastic scrawl
he signed his name as someone else
it was barely worth the paper it was written on
but on EBay an unknown buyer in Munich bid a thousand Euros
a sense of panic
a sense of dreads
walking from a to b in tight Beatle boots
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prison-house guards
hold the starving children up
so Satan can either smile or frown
poets bubble about his monstrous robe
the black hooded devils look rather bleak
standing next to the supreme leader of Literature
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it wasn’t personal
but the dobro player had to go
genres are invented to leap over
but not sharp barbs on the nut sac
a longstanding country theme
“safeguard the nut sac”
****a one-sided visual conversation
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is it true
that you were paid to create
picture caption poetry ?
so difficult to suit the earthiness of now
to the tortured upbringing
of yesteryear
the things words say
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the photograph had been doctored
like Russian propaganda
Trotsky had been removed and replaced with a post box
– it was all an illusion
the red apples were rocks painted red
it takes a brave man to wear double denim
a braver man to wear white denim
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erratic at first
stuttered strokes
it took a while to find my rhythm
but when I did
I could go all night
that was when I was younger
now
nothing
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you wouldn’t call it shameful
coming to grips with yourself
turbulent love affairs
in the shower
intimate secrets shot straight to the hand
embarrassed detectives watch the private acts
color quality is poor but focus is beyond ordinary
sometimes you seem to strengthen your stroke
as if invisible people might criticize your performance
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the sun beach ball rolled through darktown and burnt shop hoardings
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poetry was like snakes and ladders
rolled a six
snakes with flarf heads
back to the start
clock in and
begin again
at the factory
desperation handed down from generation to generation
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WAS THERE AN ELEVATOR MAN ON THE ARK ?
poetry that has given rise to other men’s thoughts
——————-often the repair
requires a Puritan-Yankee screwdriver
readers and riders
expect to be outwitted in every way possible
—————————————————-
—————————————————-
Stokely Carmichael eating beans out of a can
Huey Newton eating beans out of a can
Eldridge Cleaver eating beans out of a can
to see such a sight was an accident of timing
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————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-for the most part, FLARF is either too abstract and facile or too obvious to impress————————————————————————————–
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
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now that you’re older
you are full of people
no longer the lone wolf
the handshakes with pleasure
now have different voices
I saw an advertisement for yourself
INNOCENT POET AMONG THE HEATHEN
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knowing what the readers want
better than the readers know
sinking in the sofa of apathy
captivity inside the house
——–the buildup of hardened skin
yes, I can supply you with exclamation points
and italics and slender strips of nonsense
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contemplating the fact that you woke up
a different shade of color
bothersome and intrusive
that smug ridicule
of most things
haunted by memories of holidays
dumb things your brother tried to interpret
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as a poet
you are a spokesman
when readers ask what price you pay
how can you say, “the loss of my identity”
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the effort to see what is
not what one wishes to see
most people trying to make do
some wanting to return the harm
————–when the knock on the door comes
I regret giving a name to the evil
————————————————–
(+) a history of howls from outside
(+) sodomy: gratuitous and compulsive
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at the corner a translator offers to explain the words to a coach full of tourists
educated barbarians with cameras round their neck
– a hundreds pictures of blurred fingers, shoes
accidental pictures
abstract capture
life on the ark stunk of animal shit
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cheap poetry sold online
cheap poetry thrown together with zero thought
– the all seeing eye
panopticon lighthouse at the centre of town
-she only lifted the spoon to throw it you
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small souvenirs stolen from famous places
– I know you took a piece of the horizon –
to hell with the other guests at the party – they weren’t even invited and I saw them
I saw them fill their pockets up with ashtrays and small trinkets
– and they were concerned with my cocoon smoking antics?
fools
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the first time he saw a magician he was amazed HOW DID THEY DO THAT?
– but as he grew up he realised they were just liars in top hats
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Clockwork orange moments with your eyes pinned wide open
– a loud shrill noise
– images of meat and where it came from
– slaughter house hooks
– all the buttons were the same
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he called 911
and told them the earth was flat
– he didn’t have proof
just a feeling
that feeling you get after you’ve eaten the cheap soup
– that tickle in your throat
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I KNOW YOU DIDN’T LIKE FOR ME TO MENTION
THE FLASHLIGHT BEAM THAT REACHED TO THE MOON
as great as Mark Twain was
put him on a bicycle
and he was a total failure
put a man and a woman in a chicken coop
jazz up the love
jazz up the tragedy
the loneliness never stops
——————lasting affection (the train don’t stop there)
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cheap soup @ gypsy camp
that tickle in your throat
quickly moves to the other end
(+) expressed in a rectal kind of language
locked up in the grips
the foul smell of emerging identity
the God awful stench that signals the final escape
pray that things vanish and not overflow
—————————————it really wasn’t solid
oil slick ghetto salad stuck to the side of the bowl
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SHE gets up early
turns on the light
and there is ghetto salad on the sides of the bowl
her first thoughts focus on “TUBERCULOSIS”
gangrene of the lungs—OMG, he’s going to die
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a postcard today from MS. CURIE
naked, straddled on the top of a pyramid
“one can never take the Kentucky out of a white woman”
————————————–
————————————–
life leaves no survivors
her husband dead by the likes of a speeding machine
“SHE was so white and the wart was so black”
one glance at the wart and clowns could no longer laugh
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see ourselves for what we really are
(+) anxieties and ambivalences
outside—— forces that shape us and give us life
the damn electric company that threatens to cut us off
electricity as a form of salvation
we cringe and our appliances cringe
at the thought of the towering giant
(+) junkies for the juice
enslavement by the need
to power our materialistic creations
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the world of poetry
wants
Artist/Prophet
( WANTED: ARTIST/PROPHET )
9 out of 10 poets are Judge/Jury
sorry, no more room for reporting
the terrible circumstances
of daily life
——————————–
——————————–
strivings and yearnings
with a strong helping
of involvement
—————–
accumulation of detail
the reader drags
around enough dead weight
(+) however, it would be wise to carry around
a few perplexities in your wallet
in case you have to grapple with detectives
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one big fat spoonful in the cup
and you are free to probe
the recesses of the human heart
one can question the noble destiny of mankind
the risks of involvement
the risks of detachment
the millions of minutes of isolation
———an honest report ( ? )
people in general become gray bottom feeders
not manna from heaven but recycled waste matter
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Kentucky wasn’t on the maps until 1957
there was a shape
an outline but no name – a barren place of empty homes and interconnected families –
Elton John played there
just a man and his piano and an earring that cost more then a space rocket
he truly was a rocket man
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the postcard was worthless but the stamp was worth a fortune –
overtime the letters faded but in the dark they shone
radioactive fingerprints glowing
-ridges and whirls
– under laboratory conditions they studied the prints and discovered a finger was missing
the whirls to deep
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I have a board in the kitchen
all not cars pinned on
– dental reminders
– concert tickets
– notice of a trip
– postcards
– a constant reminders of things and stuff
the blackboard with dusty chalk
the radio is playing a song that sounds like someone is being murdered
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bed room poetry
scratched on the wall above the bed
wallpapered over by the new owners
– and over time the wallpaper wore thin
and historic words were exposed
– names of conquests
an instruction manual for honeymooners
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midnight meetings of the underground poetry circle
– clandestine cabal convening
– the library at night while the words slept
– membership unknown
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the coffee counter girl and the joy chocolate boy
the sway of hips and when they were together the radio always seemed to play love songs
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when I was younger I’d see what books the library didn’t have and I’d smuggle a copy in
– a boy needed a hobby
– the traffic never stops
a dog eating its own tail
prison based poetry is confessional and can’t be used in a court of law
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some books can be misinterpreted
some books can lead you up the garden path
facts moved along
or hidden behind monoliths
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sensitive to the prejudices suffered
by addicts of FLARF
chained beside the mound of used words
———the Poetry Society hired a detached observer
to study the volumes of conversational poetry
poets caught up in the struggle for survival
the overwhelming odds that at least one person
would read the material
YES, AT LEAST ONE PERSON WOULD READ
THE CONVERSATIONAL POETRY OF JOHNNY BOY
AND MULTIPLEMICHAEL
****comments with a tremendous gap (Grand Canyon)
****intelligent readers swear that all inequities
will be resolved in the hereafter
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famous quote: ANGELS ARE NOT SPECIAL IN HEAVEN
you should write that on a piece of paper
and tack it to your board in the kitchen
——————————————-
when it comes to conversational poetry
who will analyze the products of the imagination ?
who will asses the extent of skill at expression ?
(+) ever-widening circles
perpetual eat, shit, sleep
(+) sensitivity (+) intensity
writers who operate within their confines
critics beg for greater accuracy
while readers continue to hide
( what will it take to link one reader to another reader ? )
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the bed springs of the wicked
shall be put to use
the spark of sex
will burn all
who wrestle there
———————————-
bust a nut—–blow a cylinder-head
chapters in the instruction manual
each new man crawls over the ruins of the one before
nameless at first—–unnameable later on
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the library card has a 1-800 number
after 6pm you can reach the librarian at home
on Sundays call after 12pm
————————–
rebels in the library parking lot after hours
often young white people completely deluded
dire consequences from reading raw material
too many stepfathers
too many phony smiles
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love songs full of wishfulness and optimism
movie star strength sleeping pills
for any apprehension of reality
————–I saw hundreds of white-washed criminals
hiding in the bushes—–babbling with strange tongues
they were pounding the air with their fists
—————-stereotypes—————-
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when you shined a flashlight
into the center of her inferno
I could see the “status quo”
unadorned and undoctored
the area was FULL OF NATURE
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Jesus never attended a prom
Jesus never sat in the bleachers
Jesus wrote God awful poetry
a constant disappointment to his father
the psychiatrist had a field day
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an overwhelming smell of sweat and piss
the daily routine timetabled to the second
upon entrance they made you too touch your toes
they pointed a flashlight and saw your internals
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Trump regarded flashlight as “fake light”
he screamed on twitter
his internal devils demanded release
in time they will release him into the wilderness
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when it came to poets in a circle
they were awkward
insufficiently trained
out of the group
the wife of the trombonist
was the happiest
****effortlessly, she could squirt electricity
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in order to avoid reality
we trip and skin our knees on delusions
suffering becomes universal and inescapable
considerations out the car window like the unwanted baby
detectives ask everyone to describe each answer in living color
forget the biblical prose and dish out the pool hall truth, young man
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people often mention your confrontation
with an electric organ
at the Pentecostal Faith Church
( like it was only yesterday )
while some labeled your musical rape
as an act of sin
others just thought it was a white boy
got his first taste of religion
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how in the world can a single tongue
spin out so many words ?
oh yes, stooped at last
accepted the halter
turned the domestic poet
———he who speaks through many voices
and yet remains unseen
———he who turns the weapon upon himself
sound sense and intelligence
have no quarters in literature
I see you carry a pickaxe and a spade
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words that give no foothold to the mind
frightened of experimental thinkers
who only rent a space in the outside world
blindly coupling in the shadows
of a rather large loud discotheque
moving in and out of each other
recognizable figures being sodomized
the face of Yul Brynner on a poster
a clean handsome face in a primeval swamp
had he really been there I would have offered testimony
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and yet,
there were strained hesitations
disproportionate emotions
subtle retreats
multiple withdrawals
during the honeymoon
————————–
a false hope that photographs
will recreate history
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actually I was paid to write inspirational quotes over dramatic pictures of dynamic landscapes
– I hated my work
– mountains and still lakes and powerful words
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I came to grip myself and we looked back
– detectives always took notes
they looked even if they wanted to look away THEY COULDN’T
tightened the grip until it choked
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no elevators on the Ark
confined spaces scared the mongoose
– below the deck a small room for the maintenance man and his belt of tools –
Stokely
Huey and Eldridge
Pamela Davis posters, a whiff of incense
the distance between them and Mr.King
a Texan mile
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for the most FLARF , abstract parts
either too
abstract oblivious to impress
FACILE
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I sank into the sofa of apathy and found £5.35 in loose change, an old iPod & some unused ideas
– I was content with this
– the cavity in my tooth is growing
– the hardened skin meant that I was two inches taller
– can you lend me those exclamation marks please, you have my email address
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changing colour in the sun
a slow burn
we are just the right distance from the sun
there was a breeze
blowin’ in from the west
I changed colour like a figure in a colouring book scribbled over by a child
my brother lives in an area with a different phone code
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I carry the identities in a briefcase
ready to change
situation dependant
I wanted to be a detective
I wanted to be a Mountie
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my youngest brother lives behind bars
locals walk around with flip-phones
hidden up their butts
sometimes they answer the phone
with an odor and not a voice
****the last time I left a message
I could smell industrial lunch meat
that had been prepared by an embattled cook
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to be a GREAT poet:
(+) one must change color
(+) one must excavate and recreate history
(+) have a street in Dark Town named in your honor
(+) maintain a quarrelsome resistance in the spouse department
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I was too young to want to be someone
with an occupation
my parents wanted some peace and quiet
so they tossed me out of the speeding car
it was probably an act of wickedness
at the end of the day
there are the hungry
and the fed
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the lack of opportunity
and the giant walls of marriage
——————-trouble between the legs————–
“in battle, no longer available”
she often spoke of integrity
and the true value of economic reward
****the correct sum of cash
and she would crawl around naked
on the living room floor
**** it was possible for integrity to close its eyes
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try to apply Christian standards to your modern life
———-inflate Aretha Franklin with helium
and float her high in the sky
let God know that you have a sense of humor
history states that people often smuggled information
I remember staying up late at night
trying to figure out what the hell
was so important
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men outside their comfort zone end up looking foolish
– Joan as kickboxer
– Pele reading the news
– the torch beam would weaken over time
– jazzed up love and the bebop sweats
I have fallen behind on my correspondence
– I thought I needed more words
– I feared I had run out of ideas
an empty husk on an island
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the cheap soup of gristle and bone
– gulag treats for the confined
– campfire stories of ghosts and hauntings
– the relief when it’s out
the relaxation of your grip
red knuckles white
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the tickle at rear of throat
tonsil removal ice cream medication –
– a chest rattle
all the kinds of phlegm
THE BLACK LUNG
the blood spit
– inoculated against this and that
eating dirt to boost your immune system
whiskey enema and the constant burn
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invisible currents propel us on – faint electric static drift through the cosmos
– a self driving car
– a blow job doll
– what more can the future hold?
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(portrait of where I am now)
kids in trees
trampoline monkeys on phones in expensive trainers in the canopy
– I hear names being called
ANGUS
IVOR
JADE
ABIGAL
(Papa papa papa)
– ridiculous names from gentrified fools
a scrabble to take a photo
if it’s not captured
it never happened
my arse is cold from sitting on the ground
the weather will change later
my wife approaches
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the risk of involvement with the human race
dipping toes in the currents
like a river
it’s path of least resistance
the questions pile up
I store them in a rented warehouse
waste matter leaving snail like trails across cities of a million wasted minutes
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the detached observer took notes
shorthand Egyptian scribbles
– recorded all the comments
– tried to join all the dots
(in his mind he tried to picture what labyrinth looked like)
– conversational words with no voice –
the detached observer wanted to manage the poets
take them on a world tour in a private jet filled with meat and spider pills
the detached observer wanted to take them on talk shows interviewed by a set of glowing where teeth
the detached observer confessed he was overwhelmed
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amateur poet left poems on public transport with an email address
– EMAIL ME FOR MORE WORDS –
the family tree of connections
passed along
passed along a
line of a thousand fingerprints
– anonymous readers unknown to each other
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the late night car park scholars
reading by headlight
discussion groups sat on asphalt
an emergency supply of books In the back of the car
– heavy European literature defeated the rebels with the 1-800 library cards
– delusions of grandeur
stick to the Hardy Boys
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a love song for the city of your birth written over a number of years
but when it was finished who would read it?
– slow eyes running over the words the shape of steeples
– big white tablets named after rock stars
three Presley’s and a Hendrix
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OPENLY question the justice and judgment of God
and have a hand cut off
and then write a mental note
about the value of your one hand
for a nominal fee
one can have a color photo
of their absent hand
included in
The Online Museum of Missing Limbs
****there is an app that keeps count of visits
—————————————
poetry about unfailing optimism
—————————————
poetry about religions that are insensitive
to the need for more information
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—————–white representatives of God——————-
try to paint that history without the color RED
try not to think of the unspeakable acts
just think of the brotherly love
that washes us clean
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standing in the line to be guillotined
thinking about the willful institutionalization of killing
the ground was wet with tears
too little or too much ?
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the status quo stood above everyone at the top of the hill
– binoculars focused on us
the little ants below
walled in nature
climbing through the cracks of a million walls
life will always find a way
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the humblest delinquent in the village
standing beside the highway
waving at traffic
yes, he had been exposed to the plague
The Irrational Revolver of Fate
had fired at him
with no luck
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a fish rots from a the head down
– she was standing outside the window and could hear the trombonist wail
– static hair on head
– we are heading home
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I was picked up on some computer facial recognition machine
my nose tripped the system
my eyes sparked recognition
– the detectives just sat behind a computer and stared at my face
– I had chalk on my fingers from the pool hall
I left a trail
it was criminal
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men outside their comfort zones
sanitary—–please
living the life of a poet
———–fluctuates—————–
(+) killing insects in public
(+) expressing their deaths through art
****QUESTION OF THE WEEK, “WHY PROLONG LIFE ?”
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MEN OUTSIDE THEIR COMFORT ZONES
the laughter of the demons
somehow reinforced
the determination of the poets
to prolong their lives
——————–
DEATH IS NO RESPECTER
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“are you living the history ?”
the cruelties of Nature
the scheme of things: reality
citizens trying to complete
the necessary sum of suffering
———————–
no one thinks about death
death is the price for life
the petty ways of fellow humans
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you say that they ask you to touch your toes
and they shine a flashlight to observe your internals
but in the isolation camps
they reach up to the elbow
they almost touch your heart
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“safeguard your nut sac”
a popular country western tune
————————————————-
as soon as one crosses the Kentucky border
agents will ask you to join forces with the pestilences
————————————————-
mysterious turds on the path:
(+) wet locusts
(+) dry locusts
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I was thinking more like females showing their underpants
——————————————————————–
picture caption poetry billboard size
loving Jesus when it is advantageous
the annoyers of poets often wear black
the poet busy drugging himself
no cleansing the fog
(Judas the betrayer honking the horn)
demons whispering, “life has no meaning”
they suggest that a life without meaning
increases a man’s capacity to live better
I remember climbing to the top of the ladder
I wanted to exhaust the limits of my possible
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shift the automobile into the right gear
and floor the gas pedal of no afterlife
(+) savor every minute
(+) substitute quality for quantity
spit on people who write poetry about suicidal despair
spit on poets sunk in the mud of deluded hope
———————————————
inspirational quotes over dramatic pictures
often turn against themselves
they say one thing but mean another
****that’s not a smile but an angry mouth
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FLARF: POETRY IS MORE VALUABLE WITHOUT MEANING
———————————————————–
CONVERSATIONAL POETRY: POETRY IS MORE VALUABLE
WITH LIMITED MEANING
———————————————————–
preserving life as long as possible (+)
literature of the least importance (+)
arbitrary value judgments (+)
you recognize that many things in your daily life
have relative value
****a sweet daydream of joining the ranks
of a famous linguistic class of criminals
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a facial recognition machine that tried to translate you
MS. Curie says that you are far from being stonyhearted
the red glow in your eyes
that fiery breath
there is no simple reality
to your hair
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detectives ask everyone
to describe each answer in living color
judgments of innocence and guilt
readers often reconstruct the crime
the itch——-the scratch
memories that smell like glue
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you won’t find that white dust
under my nose
the child who wants to reenter
fears of being devoured
left beside the road
a backdrop of middle fingers
———————————
to the child every adult is a stranger
(+) deaf salt
(+) illiterate salt
(+) unspoken salt
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————vaguely aware of you————–
the one person on the planet who should share you
——————-your brother———————————
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to punish them
he thought about killing himself
he would be the egg that fell off the wall
a soldier would find him—-a flashlight would blind him
——–“daddy can’t be put back together again”——–
———————————————————————-
repressed incestuous desires and fears
it was mature phallic sexuality banging on the door
he said, “you’re a writer, quick write it down”
a jealous sibling standing at the river’s edge
some things can never be drown
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there was a bend to his penis
she said that it was an easy curve
(+) a fat nut sac and a crooked dong
the only intellectual in his family tree
———————————
impartial love
a disguised brother-father figure
solitude fouled—–sterile happiness soiled
the outside shell ages at triple speed
****without moisture it just becomes stabbing pain
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somewhere between yes and no
prison-house guards sadistically torture
starving children
an attorney for Satan refuses to feel remorse
children forced to dance beside the road naked
photos can be purchased online
splitting off negative qualities
and projecting them into father figures
bizarre accusations—birthday party punishments
phallic surgery
you want the revolver or the sword ?
****was that you lying seductively beside the birthday
cake with someone blowing your flute ?
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the organ and the big pipes a sound that lifted Johnny Boy off his feet
– one inch closer to the clouds
– once inch closer to FATHER
– my ears were open
open to that sound –
it couldn’t be called rape
– I tasted religion and it tasted bad –
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everyone has a single tongue
just the one
where the words roll from
wet with saliva
a small man with a clicker counts every word you ever said*
– he’s lost count twice he embarrassingly admitted –
somebody in Russia looked exactly you
a minor celebrity in his district
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that corner of the discotheque were you swore the floor was alive moving with
a thousand snakes underfoot
Yul Brynners head looked the same when it was upside down
(this scared you)
in corner of the discotheque someone told you they saw Lee Harvey Oswald in a Tijuana hotel
they said they would offer testimony
swear on the bible but first they wanted a drink
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SHE refers to you as a hollow tree trunk
and then at night she tries to set the bed on fire
diary entries about having to forgo personal pleasure
the errors of modern life
a constant redistribution
of elements
****poetry colored by self-serving words
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———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————(+) please abandon all books and other accouterments of intellect
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
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the noble natives of Dark Town
were corrupted by civilization
cable television brought Satan into the fold
geniuses in lab coats play the lottery
experimental scientists find it difficult to sleep
partial truths like bed bugs bite them without mercy
random variation and survival of the fittest
endless grubby details under cosmic grandeur
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history recreated with Lego bricks and star wars figures
Han Solo Hiler
plastic emotionless
Luke in love with his sister
the Skywalkers of Kentucky
you can’t recreate something that hasn’t happened
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relatives tried to smuggle in three seater sofa and 20 Italian cigarettes
– butt porn stars moonlight as prison mules
– prisoner 24564 eagerly awaited his delivery (a roast chicken and a 56inch TV)
the stench of excrement and processed meat clung to the walls
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poetry that may prove useful to those who are awake
———————————————————————
bad night people often become enemies of books
self-professed haters of the printed word
paper is the skin of Satan
ink is the Devil’s blood
—————————-
poetry rendered in fragments
mainstream incoherence
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I was too young to think about the redemptive power of prayer
I had an itch that I could t scratch
a building inside that I couldn’t build
my parents didn’t push me in an direction
no one has ever called me Sir
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that wall of marriage overshadowed the life before
– no torch light could penetrate the gaps –
– the marriage balanced on scales
everything becomes unconscious
– a look here
– there is no need to speak
but
yesterday she told me I had spread myself so thin I had become invisible
a strong gust would blow me away
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the Aretha ballon floats over Darktown
tethered to second hand car lots
– big blimps over London during the blitz while people moved underground –
people smuggled ideas through the keyholes
– letters secreted in secret holes
how would god know what was important? He’s never seen Facebook
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they didn’t give you a choice of what hand you wanted removed –
I tried to fake it that I was a lefty –
a double bluff that failed
they took the hand but left the fingers
I was embarrassed to be that happy
just look at me in the photo
just look at the smile
when I entered the Online Museum of Missing Limbs I went on line to see if it had registered me
tomorrow the world will turn red
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the brotherly love was the name of my first funk band
– the groupies wouldn’t touch us
one of them described me as “all dough
no filling”
I couldn’t think of an act that I’d consider unspeakable
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are you sure that the floor was wet with tears?
– have you seen red tears?
– have you felt sticky tears?
the liquid of excitement
the liquid of waste
– a guillotined smile exported from France, smelt of cigarettes
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the smell of cigarettes on dead lips
in its absence
life is less than a memory
relatives suggest
that everything be written down
add extra thickness
put a big knob on it
point it towards the sun
people in France
permit their eyes to speak
“it is more meaningful”
crazy people welcome life
even in suffering
( neither applause nor virtuous tears for those boarding the death carriage )
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turn of the screw:
(+) screwers
(+) screwed
one night during the marriage
the bedroom light came on
SHE said,
“tonight you must answer the question
you have never satisfactorily answered”
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(+) condemning the old order of poets
(+) selective breeding
(+) casting off the physically and mentally unfit
—————————————————
swimmers in poetry with concrete boots
—————————————————
talk of poetry with the purpose of assuring
the comfort of the poet
—————————————————-
America: The Planet of the Apes
————-
Americans winning the Nobel Prize every 15 minutes
————-
having been loved, cannot pretend to be virginal
————-
skin colors and prayers to wake up white
————-
waking up a beautiful pale shade of white
is a ticket for an extended lease on infantile narcissism
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poets often write of secret ladders
they climb the ladder to a safe spot
where they can observe the world below
lucky poets can suckle mysterious breasts
that helps soften the pain of unhappy past events
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butt porn stars……………………………….
daily distress is a great source of happiness
self-pitying circles——analytic free association
( ANALytic free ASSociation )
finding through losing
infantile bathroom activities
to skirt along these memories
the dirty hands
washing the skin
WHO WAS THE SCRUBWOMAN ?
watching everything
nothing out of sight
(+) merging of identity
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(+) paying the debts of the intestines
(+) straight in the eye of the commode
a vacuum bag full of sibling rivalry
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those village delinquents breaking windows one house at a time
– boredom and it’s bedfellows
– the village idiot just dribbled
– in the lab they agreed you couldn’t get a machine to think like a human
the loneliness of the scientist who falls in love with the android he was creating
the chamber of the revolver of fate was covered in lipstick
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TUBERCULAR CHILDREN BORN AT THE SANITARIUM
parents forgo their personal happiness to create a nest
the writer will attempt to bring into the open
painful memories—————illicit memories
father disowned,
the burden of becoming a substitute parent
the weapon necessary to protect mother
mother the genital object
painting the windows black
and preparing the bedroom
for intercourse
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it would be impossible to be your own father
and yet, you spent all those years being your father
HE WAS THE SHADOWY FIGURE THAT DRIFTED IN AND OUT
teasing at full-bodied holiday events
and somehow, leaving a residue
( in all those years, no one ever mentioned the scuff marks
on mother after one of father’s visits )
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——————-PRISON——————
men standing around giving graphic descriptions of bung holes
information gained from observation
possible sodomy (no actual proof)
———-Leviathan Lore
total love of the whole heart and body
at night there was a lot of embrace
sensual enjoyment—sensual excitement
sailors coated in lard having intercourse
the Captain on deck with a babbling interior monologue
( sadomasochistic steel gripped jaws )
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just think,
a steadily dwindling percentage of readers
prison poets trying to translate sodomy
into popularly accessible forms
people wasting their happiness on earth
suffer now and reap the benefits in the hereafter
————————————————–
prison poets were trying to locate luxury without freedom
poets in Kentucky were trying to locate luxury in poverty
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ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLES
self-evident to any rational person
poets at water level laughing
a blue tobacco haze
Michael reiterates
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poetry with internal cohesion
the backdoor moistened
with bitter almond-scented jism
virile seed from man on man
humiliations of the flesh
in the flower of their youth
shower scenes on television
sexual imagery
lovers who once loved can no longer love
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the smartest man living on Earth
closely examined a French feminine pronoun
on a surreal television show today
——————————————-
PROOF that the future is racing towards us
——————————————-
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with ten tons of shame and guilt
Adam said, “the Tree of Life is justified”
common man reaches for nourishment
no matter the number of words
we are to identify it
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fear and reason dictate that we drive the speed limit
troublemakers in the poetry section
the nonbelievers
junk obedience to authority
why not Dollar Store brain sciences ?
God-struck store-bought
(+) rites of passage
(+) moments of high seriousness
****men who once loaded and unloaded airplanes
are now relocating sacred symbols
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THE VILLAGE DELINQUENTS
at one time or another
usually make a daily visit
to my brother’s house
before one arrives at his living room
one must turn off certain areas of thinking
one must cancel the fear of germs
everything is coated in a sticky substance
there are 5 trillion dog hairs
the smell
is a combination baby diaper/chemical sweat
there is almost no oxygen
you catch yourself not breathing
I always find myself praying
that there won’t be any females
that type of lifestyle is horrendous
for women
broken men are one thing
broken women are another
“jacked-up gutter whores”
they make piranha
look like Easter bunnies
I can’t take it !
I suddenly find myself very conservative
I have known most of the visitors for endless years
they were beautiful young lads at one time
prime candidates for the local furniture making factories
and then somewhere came failed piss tests
failed early morning schedules
no matter the number of alarm clocks
smoking in the parking lot
snorting in the restroom
theft and nihilistic despair
life was cruel
****Nobel Prize Winners could never force themselves
to understand instead of judging
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clinical trials in which male and female subjects
responded differently to FLARF
why do people write nonsense ?
why do people pretend to understand nonsense ?
Is Protestant Flarf the same as Catholic Flarf ?
Freud claimed that Flarf was inwardly directed anger
Freud was famous for blaming everything on poor impulse control
——————-a literature of random guesses
poets who hide behind nonsense because they fear being hospitalized
——————-an acquired capability to display nonsense
poets love to discuss low-level Flarf
a computer algorithm ready to diagnose poetic states:
egg
zygote
blastocyst
embryo
fetus
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profit-maximizing television
now broadcasts hourly displays
of Michael Jackson’s penis
there are no distortions
the focus is sharp
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thinking about the absurd world
having seen the penis of Michael Jackson
white people struggle to decipher its enigma
poets are more likely to speak out
****what about long-range historical perspectives ?
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men with phobias trying to keep clean in a bombed out city
– no running water
– buckets of tears and rain
– the walls tumbled down and the graffiti made no sense
– let the insects live as proof of life
there are too many questions and and answers on postcards
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all I know
is that Hungarian freedom fighters
do not question what is written on postcards
or how many question marks appear in a poem
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the story of the man who locked himself away to defeat death
– but he knew death would come
the story of the man who locked himself away in a soundproof room and after a few minutes he could he the blood slosh through his veins
– he could hear his hair grow
–
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a sudden outburst of witch-hunting
the facial recognition machine sparks alive
———-Johnny Boy———–
understandable in light of the recent FLARF comments
the screwers get screwed and are shocked at how good it feels
I sent Simone de Beauvoir a note
telling her to stay on her side of the fence
****imagine a woman dragging questions back to the cave,
questions with no answers, later in the evening they would
be placed on the bonfire
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————SOLIDARITY AGAINST DEATH———–
at birth you are given a lottery number
with absolute certainty
the day your death sentence expires
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Stradivarius was acting weird on the Ark
he was showing everyone his scrotum
he claimed that it was a President Kennedy model
for purposes of recreation
Noah claimed it a triviality
still it was puzzling
to display such a treasure
****the value of semen on the Ark
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———————————————-
——————-FLARF: irrationalism
that exhausts the intellectual faculties
———————————————–
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a crate of Robert Mapplethorpe’s photographs on the Ark
(+) sadomasochistic homo-erotic images
(+) photos of infants being tossed from speeding automobiles
when asked why the crate was permitted to take up valuable space
the answer was simple censorship and restrictive legislation
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FLARF:
a platform for poseurs
(+) Flarf, a platform for poseurs
deficient in average emotions
preoccupation with sex and death
all-or-nothing
finding paralysis in drug use
excessive drug use
Rihanna sleeps on the sofa
the barbarians next door bark
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FLARF:
a platform for poseurs
_________________
—————————-
replace normal emotions with excessive displays
find time to consume more drugs
confess to the librarian that you suffer from narcissistic despair
that you are the “King Daddy” in the cult of oneself
****KING DADDY IN THE CULT OF ONESELF
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random variation and survival of the fittest
endless grubby details under cosmic grandeur
Rihanna sleeps on the sofa
the satisfaction of her appetite
is impossible
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SELF-SATISFACTION IS THE DAILY SECRET
if SHE knew,
there would be a disbalanced response
the once romantic “de Sade Wife”
just another killer, Lady Negative
——————————————-
(+) the cult of oneself
(+) the cult of the hand
romantic narcissism reasonably paced
idealized friction easily attained
the famous eternal hobby
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———————–whether one participates in the sexual carnage
actively or only vicariously————————————————-
(+) a theater rubber cut so the head could slip through
****the tower of Babel was an elevator for angels leaving
****the tower of Babel was a perverse extension
****the tower of Babel was a godlike penis
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in Dark Town fashion
Emily Dickinson was dead
a tortured spirit that skated
around the issue of heaven
a thin dagger between the ribs
and the crown fell to the ground
defenseless as if naked
no other poet rushed
to lay claim to the throne
****language was stronger inside the mind
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readers at a disadvantage
———————————
writers can storm against the current
but the reader cannot change the givens
no amount of door-slamming
can alter a thing fully done
———————————-
the past is a prison-house
that nothing can escape
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the fingers attached to the arm
stretching from the elbow
gripped round your heart and squeezed
– human toothpaste –
be glad to know they when you die your internals will be passed on –
lips here
eyes there
that flashlight blinded all comers
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Two ways to safe guard your nut sac
: total removal
: retraction into a cavity (-six weeks with the Shaolin monks)
– surrounded by bald headed spiritual men
– orange tubes
pepper pot humans
breezeblocks broken on naked torsos
WHAT ISNTHE POINT OF BREAKING BREEZEBLOCKS WITH YOU HEAD?
WHAT ISNTHE POINT OF BREAKING BREEZEBLOCKS WITH YOU HEAD?
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I tried to compartmentalise all things – little bits of me in boxes
– I had to rationale
– reduced and reduced and reduced –
what were your limits?
where is the plimsol line of your soul?
reality is always a let down
(my son asked me if Jesus went to church )
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moving in the fast and the outside looks like running paint –
the road
a long grey vein
– a dry mouth heave at the critics
mouth like a desert
you couldn’t move an inch
you looked like an oil well
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you can find a meaning in anything but is there any value to the words picked up by a magnet
and scattered like seeds
– how long did the conversationalist poet wait for
seeds to bloom?
– you water yourself daily just to stay alive
– the little insects feed on you
I keep hearing people say you need to know the direction of travel
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is the detective next door?
your sons best friend?
is it everyone but you?
assume guilt to fool the spies
webs oh webs of lies
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the nut sac was dead
but the police continued to apply
a strangle-hold
the rule about not leaving a visible trace
went right out the window
spectators were forced to look away
****Melville contemplating a short story
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————think how long Moses had to wait—————-
the poet must display the ACTOR not the ANIMAL
be happy that the 2 o’clock bus comes at 2:30
and not later
be happy that the 2 o’clock bus comes at 3:30
and sails you down the road like magic
life is nearly simultaneous with narration
living a sense of present-tense-ness
living like James Bond
naked in a towel wrap-around
****display the actor and not the animal
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knowing the direction of travel
is important
if one knows where they are going
——————————————–
when standing in line for the Guillotine
does direction seem important ?
———————————————
(+) suddenly you receive a telegram
that the blade is no longer sharp
(+) you notice that once the blade drops
they are kicking the head to get it to drop
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funny how the past seems perfect
(+) the value of immediately lived experiences
CONVERSATIONAL POETRY
however shapeless and insignificant
can they steal that from you ?
(+) in Kentucky they force you to shoot
your own tumor with a small handgun
(+) privileged to live—condemned to suffer
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miracle of miracles:
you get your chance to be James Bond
you are naked in a towel wrap-around
men and women of all ages are drooling
YOU STOP BEING THE ACTOR
AND START BEING THE ANIMAL
(+) you realize that you are at your mother’s funeral
(+) you realize that you are standing in line for the Guillotine
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vaguely aware
(as you blur into another shadow )
vaguely aware of existence
are you standing at the thin edge of the wedge?
———–is your brother divided?
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how did they get the egg on the wall?
– I know the government was watching him
keeping tabs
I mean – a talking egg
he never fell
sniper victim
( Lee Harvey offspring – the irony of a dyslexic man in a book depository)
internal censure ensure this doesn’t all come out as flarf
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what are birthday parties?
a day in a calendar
a reenactment of my first day
shitting over myself with my eyes closed –
– all those kids on the roadside
hands out
some selling trinkets
I never had the strength to blow out the candles
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intellectuals rans to the window and threw out their books
the looked like flapping birds
but they didn’t fly
they fell
manna from heaven
they removed the batteries from calculators
bled the pens of their ink
abandon all hope
abandon all the words
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the old doctors who recommended cigarettes for all manner of ailments
a cure for frigidity
cancer, the midwestern stoop
– oh how wrong they were
– time will always catch up with you
pandora box comments
a 1,000 dark clouds explode
crazy people
sane people
cigarette paper thin differences
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she had all the unanswered questions
in a leather bound book
you left the bed to make a cup of tea
it was going to be a long night
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I knew she was going to try and set me alight
that why I wore fireproof pants to bed
– i touch her and leave splinters –
I know this makes her cry
I’ve read her diaries
the errors of modern life are everywhere HAVE YOU SEEN YOU TUBE?
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before cable TV there was three channels and programmes ended at 9pm – the screen went black
– now 100s channels of preachers, cars, Satanic rituals, adverts for fitness machines used by females with solid bodies
too much is too much
and the grandeur of nature is beautiful from a distance
– but up close
you can see the cracks
the smashed windows
– the bedbugs are crawling
you can see them
you can feel them
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there are so many awake with their eyes open
there are so many awake with their eyes closed
– I know a handful of people who have never read a book – they just read statues on Facebook –
are we selfish poets just filling the comments with words?
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the old poets will follow the way of the old wrestlers & the dead NASCAR drivers
the hobos of darktown
– desire still to win an Oscars
– desire still to walk on the moon
– how many people want to be white?
how many want to be left handed?
sometimes the best poems are the difficult one –
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sometimes you need to escape to the high land
take a ladder with you
take them extra steps
climb even higher
– I suckled the breast when I was a younger man –
I see the world below
’cause there is no world above
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porn stars seem to have more holes then you and I
– a dirty pole
– two kinds of filth
– I will skirt around the issues
– you can skate around the memories
– there are still people in darktown talking on blackberries (!) –
– the SCRUBWOMAN: a Victorian woman of low means
a smell of gin
(possible Jack the Ripper victim) –
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one of the greatest pleasures
for the scrubwoman
was to feel comfortably warm
she always thought that she would be warm
sleeping under the ground in her box
while rich people take pills
to feel the spacious calm
she would experience it
after Death pointed at her
and pulled the trigger
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one day
the scrubwoman said to me,
“I’m condemned to death but privileged to live”
just for a few minutes
I felt ordinary
and helpless
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how shapeless and insignificant
those breasts are today
——how did God think up
the whole nourishment
from the sweat glands
on a chest thing ?
earlier models had the glands elsewhere ?
(+) liquid food from a human body (perfectly normal)
****a long absence from home—upon the return
it was customary for the individual to suckle his mother
the “dry suckle” was a bonding ritual
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America: The Planet of the Apes
no Nascar or televised wrestling
large audience for bleach drinking
and handling rattlesnakes
society hastens to rewrite history
one heinous personality
replaces another
heinous personalities fall out of trees
when the wind blows strong
when the ground shakes
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condemned for the wrong crime
or no crime at all
smart people speak of the parallelism
of the two paths
the young mind in the old body
units of time melted into one another
people at the museum
say that they are organizing
my life in a dynamic fashion
****I requested there be no reference to “dry suckle”
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I AM A SELFISH POET
I WORK HARD TO CROWD THE COMMENTS
sometimes I perspire for the sake of poetry
suffer the risk of heatstroke for comments
sentenced to death a thousand times
tons of snap, crackle, and pop
a new breast to suckle
a new prison cell with my name
I stand proud in INSIGNIFICANCE
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THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE NOVEL
———-CABLE TELEVISION————
the chaplain came out and apologized for Jesus
Jesus was exhausted
there were countless opportunities
for Jesus to step up to the plate
to be shaken out of his indifference
the value of life:
(+) the necessary steps to preserve it
(+) the effort to recapture what has fallen to ruin
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the last bonds to conventional morality
were snipped with a small fingernail clipper
all of the fictional heroes laid to rest
not believing in sin
was the worst sin
SIN BETWEEN YES AND NO
the two eyes of sin: ignorance and misunderstanding
limitations at the self-portrait studio
mouth open, eyes shut
eyes open, mouth shut
paralyzed and returned from Korea
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psychiatrically accurate conversational poetry
—————————————————-
poets who indulge in bourgeois guilt
apocalyptic surrender to mouthing guilt
cigarettes and other oral reassurances
(+) domesticated tobacco
male and female proper proportions
(+) a gallon of semen leaked
the motorcycle seat was caked white
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————lost in translation———–
SHE said that he enjoyed playing in her playground
a flesh barrel with fat lips and a tunnel
all men who made contact with that tube
incapacitated if not dead
———————–
———————–
(+) self-absorbed callousness
(+) parasitic exploitation
(+) poverty-stricken valentines
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the mother the other the
imposter
substitute for wet nursing
swollen breast surrogate waits in the wings
– father just a replaceable face
– the same old suit
prepare the bedroom for intercourse
turn the lights off
point and hope
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without the beard I resemble him
cheek and jowl
the hairs protruding from my ear
a facsimile just as the printer run s out of ink
a weak copy
blurred edges
you try and out run the shadow but your tethered in the centre
a face
a voice on the phone
somewhere the dots will join
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this distinction between father and son
it would take considerable effort
to teach the reader to project
this image on a blank page
—————————FATHER
constantly shifts nearly imperceptibly
into slightly different men
(+) Robert Frost never referred to his mother as a container
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————without the beard I resemble him:
(+) impossible to erase the Adam & Eve
(+) the child inherits its shape from the mold
(+) an object emerging from its source material
————without physical attributes/character traits
someone or something in the shadows
a force not to be trifled wth
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very poetic to think how easy it is to wash away dirt
and yet, how impossible it is to erase the Adam & Eve
(+) common people enjoy outsmarting themselves
(+) work animals have been replaced by work humans
(+) every day, machines become more liable
——————-few poets speak of the grievous employment
on the Ark, blind to the obvious, a thousand times blind
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father was a sophisticated beast of burden
a replaceable face ———-a headless wardrobe
separate heads in hat boxes
with circus animals painted on them
————————————-
————————————-
turn the lights off
point and hope
(—the pecker as a home wrecker—)
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few poets speak of the grievous employment on the Ark
several hundred Buddhist monks worked 24/7
they were confused about who they were
their connections were wiped clean
they were Buddhist monks
without the Buddha
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total love for the system of restraint
Leviathan cast its shadow
the conveyor belt of cutlery
(. some attempt to smuggle out knife – hidden in socks, hidden inside)
– the shrieking bell of lunch tolls for cheap meat feeding –
the factory the office the prison
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prison poetry
a raw mix of memory and imagination
inside poverty
the luxury of freedom
popularity isn’t always popular
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( hipster candles
scented
almond jism
Rosemary discharge
Saffron tears
biblical sands)
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15% of the total world population is alive at this time
– how many limbs?
– how many eyes?
– six degrees of separation from Leviathan –
are we all spiders in the web?
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the tree of life begats human limbs
– a specialist lumberjack
a poet with a sharp edge
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popularity may not be popular
but it is hot in the sales department
there may be a freedom in poverty
but it is not the kind of freedom
that permits one to purchase cheese
from the correct country
the lack of money
equals lame cheese
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with varying degrees of success
the challenge of the poet
problematical, the collection
of an old man
with an imagination
little more than a boiling pot of loneliness
————————————————–
the poet increasingly loses his connections
hair all over the bathroom floor
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at the honeymoon motel
it was not difficult to hear the moans
of crime-breeding vices
in the parking lot
automobile bumpers
sported Guillotine decals
the large numbers
boasted of family members
who had kissed the blade
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at my local library I tried to start
a Nonviolent Sodomy Coordinating Committee
radical to the root of man, the woman part of man
never a doubt, never the slightest doubt
Jesus known for his famous backside
this Church—that Church
angry and violent
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I checked my emails and the words kept coming – no speed limit can slow this down –
I need to get on top of this
but things are falling apart
this island has cracks
the wooden boxes of sacred symbols stored off the grid
a place not seen on google maps
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my brother lives in a faraday cage
– no phone signal
– the radio crackle and fades
– dusty photos of past lovers
we share memories
I ask him to open the curtains
there is light outside
there is everything outside
we need to see
a constant smell of butter
men are broken by lesser things
no need for alarms when you don’t sleep the constant state of almost but never there just maybe awake
he offers me luke warm tea in a chipped cup lipstick marks on the rim
I refuse
I make my excuses
I bid farewell
the never ending erection
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petrol station proprietor sodomy
you go around back
and stick it in
————on a cosmic level
the root is planted
man in man
****later he tries to sell you a photograph of his woman part
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Martin Luther nailed his thesis on to the church door – revolutionary words but the faithful declared it FLARF –
the thesis was removed but the nail pierced through it remained and rusted
– pick a book
think of a number
find the page tenth line down sixth word
CATHODE
– the building block one of flarf poem #26
I remember when my first son was a blastocyst
– pin prick of elegant life inside a warm wet belly
the algorithm emailed me stories of diseased cartel, magic tricks and broken TVs
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the penis wasn’t the same colour as his body
a darker shade
detectives had to swab it for fingerprints
kids toys stacked in the corner
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Jackson’s role in history will be a footnote
little black Micheal
skinny old white Micheal
moonwalking from the scene of the crime
trying to separate man from myth
was he character from the Bible?
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Hungarian freedom fighters loved to read stories about Hungarian freedom fighters
-during the communist uprising they banned question marks
RULE ONE:
THERE WILL BE NO MORE QUESTIONS
(a postcard from 1956 is worth thousands on line)
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they found the remnants of Johnny Boy buried in a cave on Mars
– a strange sketch on the wall of Simone de Beauvoir
cigarette in her hand –
– on the first day of the civil war
the New York 7th Militia all claimed they saw UFOs (there were no questions marks
they were certain
it wasn’t a question
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Stradivarius cut violins from the ark – portholes like musical instruments
– the boat dipped below water level –
– his scrotum was detachable*
– Noah admitted he wasn’t a sailor
the plans were from Ikea
*can you believe that? a detachable scrotum!!
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some flarf may stick but the rest crumbles
wet biscuits that crumble
bottom of the cup blues
———————–irrational word
combination
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Mapplethorpe
wearing a man as a glove
–the vulgarness
offset by a portrait of a rose —
when the crate washed up on shore the natives couldn’t believe their eyes
the new erotism
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drug use led to paralysis
I couldn’t move
I pissed myself
– I smelt of ammonia
cats stared
dogs barked at darktown residents
Rihanna doesn’t sleep
famous people don’t sleep
they exist
like androids*
*yul Brynner in westworld
– wet honeymoon stains –
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MY NEW POEM:
my village asked Batman to help recognize
the undignified necessities of the flesh
—————————————
panic stricken after a night of careless pleasure
should I go outside and check the oil level in the car ?
—————————————-
whirling one after the other
stresses and half-stresses
sodomy with the guy from the petro station
words as vehicles for reflecting human situations
——————————————
poetry about the weakest members
of a litter or a brood
or men who fought in Korea
or men with metal plates in their heads
or men with a dark hole in their woman part
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READERS WERE REALLY UPSET
Edgar Cayce said,
“the truth is that females are full of vileness”
they grow full of vileness and split their seams
they hide the flashlight and turn out the light
they—witches, demonic queens of night
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“I swell in there”—the babe pointed at the mother’s belly
“the seeds of common life crawled up that hairy ditch”
———————————————————-
he was a pleasure junkie and leaked his illumination
in that snake pit—the penis fingering the serpent
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words full of black humor (and grinning)
the smell of decay in the gorge
having fallen behind schedule
the spit from countless pale worms
the queasiness of nut sac slip and slide
“Please Lord, save us from the horrors of Creation”
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swab the penis of Michael Jackson
sniggering voyeurism
readers race through the words
sensitive to the word, “worm”
————————–the sight of a single eye staring
dusting for fingerprints
sniggering voyeurism
readers desperate to understand
the words finding it difficult to stay on the page
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a tight-buttocked Michael Jackson
singing to the moon overexcited
the mythological daughter of Elvis
spent her honeymoon
in the tower of Trump
“without the black, he was so much more lessened”
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Sylvia Plath was not on the Ark
far too dangerous
———-the Ark was full of ugliness
—————————————boredom
———————————————spiritual numbness
although she was often overcome with weakness
her marauding clitoris had some sensation
(+) Sylvia lacked proper obedience to pain
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she opened her legs
and there was a painting
by Francis Bacon the Devil
——————————————-
God asked all humans to ignore him
God was untouchably proper
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the puckered cry of a behind
human emptiness
the commode revealing
depletion and inadequacy
——————————-
——————————-
problematic use of language
negotiating with words
solemn and sincere
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poetry as a presentation of a particular state of mind
poetry triggered by drug use
or poetry triggered by a correct response
the “new laid egg” was the talk of the bookstore
mother hen on a nest of white cotton
under general anesthesia
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animal shapes in the shadows
fragmented marital responsibilities
essential bedroom drama
sharp scissors greedy
——————————-
mentally ill trees drop their fruit
loathsome and foul
romantic disappointments
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FLARF requires a fallen leaf picked up by Robert Frost
a faded flower—a broken heart—an early grave
employed as a virgin bride
the eternal virgin bride
not a single grain of sexual sin
(watched 24 hours a day)
a watcher on her left side
a witness on her right side
she lived the law
intimately related to God
she knows and is known
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Rihanna singing “shine bright like a diamond”
———–ON-LOOKER———————-
the poet trying to fill the deathbeds
relatives and neighbors
and strangers from the exercise clinic
Walt was coming over
and he liked to see large numbers of people suffering
to touch bones sticking out—to push them back inside
to handle intestines and say “you’ll be right in a week”
to wet dry lips with spittle—forbidden kisses
what a thrill to behave compassionately
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naked and chirping like a bird
Robert Frost was afraid of her
he started a poem:
“for your sake I have braved the glen”
but that is as far as it got
Walt would come over and they would cling together
no lover like another poet
the peril of sodomy
can easily be washed off
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ROBERT FROST:
no shame walking to school with the poor kids
around 10pm the barriers were pushed back
the little birds and the little beasts
were no match for the adversary
——————
——————
encouraged to resist
coal dust around the lips
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QUESTION OF THE WEEK:
is a marauding clitoris also an unspent penny ?
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diluted forms of race running around
real whites and blacks
only found in photographs and paintings
native Americans long gone
some old scuzzy baskets and a tomahawk
the Kennedy family is dead
no more newspapers or magazines
****children asking if Jesus went to church
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every college education included
a lesson on mountain apes
who sought approximation
of Anglo-Saxon ideals
——–please———–
those sketches on cave walls
silly people in France (?)
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the Tower of Babel was held up scaffolding
it had began to lean
stress fractures in the bricks
the elevators weren’t safe
buttons didn’t work
you stepped out in the wrong floor
–
you could see the shadow of it from Leviathan
god tucked his penis between his legs and pretended he was a woman
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the hem of her skirt brushed the ground and if it was a flag
it would’ve been burnt
–
–
language is stronger in the mind as it’s not open to interpretation
–
the rule of thumb
the art of war
–
the poet will always use 100 words to describe something rather than 1 word –
people on Tv are wearing bulletproof vests
others carry guns
there is rubble
crying children
–
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readers are at a disadvantage in a darker room
– the sadist withheld the torch
– he turned the electric off
swallows the fuse –
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the guillotine
named after a woman
– it saved all the arguments
just a sharp blade and some wood
– a smaller device used to de-man
the husband
WHOOSH
and it was gone
direction seemed irrelevant when you had no legs and a flat battery
JUST ENJOY THE VIEW
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at times the past is horrendous
but time glosses over it
– oh how we laughed (but you knew deep down you cried)
– doublethink and memory reboots – I know folk who are just on standby
waiting
– in darktown they force you to eat off your tumour I’ve the evidence with my own eyes
MEAT
BETWEEN
TEETH
the life
the suffering
somewhere in between
–
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James Bond is rapist with a gun
James Bond voodoo
– an argument erupted: James Bond can’t be black**
**god damn it : you can be who you want to be
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scrubwoman fear the ripper
scrubwoman fear what the mist brings
a left hand
a bag of pills
& ills
not comfortable in her own skin
incessant itch
constant scratch
a two man band where they both play bass
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the same woman cut my rope and set me free
I left the town as they beheaded the mayor
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famous people wanted their sweat glands removed
it showed up in pictures they said
– medical advice sought from the new gods
men with scalpels and tans
they could even put milk back into dry mothers breasts
—miracles of modern science
NO NEED FOR GOD NOWADAYS —
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you wrote to a prisoner and told him about the smell of the flowers in your garden
you explained the taste of the ramen you had last night
– you drew them a picture of a dog reading a book
America
where did you go wrong?
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people talking breathlessly about witnessing the crime
they pointed fingers
the white man escaped
the black man was killed
it was in the news
it was ignored
we harnessed time
caught it
divided it down to nano-seconds
the lowest common denominator
white men in white vests
white trainers white bread
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I told Jesus that I was going to write
about Satan
coiled as a serpent
round his phallic member
Jesus asked, “are you going to write
about the serpent
coiled around
your penis ?”
I looked down and was shocked
—————————-
seeing a serpent coiled around my manhood
influenced me to think about
(+) bruised feet
(+) ancestral family trees
(+) fallen relatives/fallen leaves
(+) Robert Frost
——————
knowing the law about not perverting the Holy
knowing that man doesn’t deserve fire
——————-
false prophets blowing the flames
I think I saw poor little Rihanna
knee deep in the embers
moisture boiling on her skin
She was holding a sacramental loaf
the bread of swim or sink
the last meal
before the past catches up
and time ends
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I know I’m insignificant
I shared a womb for 9month
I had to share a breast
if no one saw the comments the words would still be there
(. she told me to delouse the baptist. )
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in my favourite films the chaplain was played by Gene Hackman*
*imagine that, being named after a pair of trousers
he was in a tin can
underwater
Jesus with a snorkel
countless opportunities slipped through the fingers
countless opportunities washed up on the shore
cables inside the cable TV
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morality a thin line
morality a tightrope
behind closed doors
each to their own
fictional heroes serve a purpose
the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew
Ignatius J. Reilly down in New Orleans sweating on a gumbo –
– ——————– –
can you imagine
in North Korea
they’ve never seen
or heard of
two girls and one cup
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Aren’t all poets engulfed in a degree of bourgeois guilt?
— on hot days
with sweat and white stains
there can be confusion
semen or sweat? – –
the joy of riding a motorbike and the sense of freedom diminished by the fear of crashing into a brick wall
Evil Knievel wanted his legs replaced with wheels
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in response to a questionnaire:
2 out of 3 poets
should switch off
retire to Ohio
and eat cheese
——————
no kinship with Flarf poets
hang um by their necks
hang um high so others know
Flarf is a dead end road
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I asked Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman
if God tucked his penis
and they all said “NO”
God would only show off with a feat
that even an exceptional man
would find impossible to perform
——————————–
when I looked in the magical Flarf mirror
I read, “self-righteous rigidity”
there was a check mark next to
—–emotional commitment——
****tuck the penis and attain
an integrated sensibility
(beat-generation finger snapping)
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Michael Jackson was not SPINELESS
—————————————–
He carried a huge stick (THE KING STICK)
—————————————–
He knew nothing of THE MIDDLE-OF-THE-ROAD
——————————————
DESTRUCTIVE CYCLES WERE CONSTANTLY KNOCKING ON HIS DOOR
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inevitable destruction
the poor devil
the man who tackled
grandiose romantic dreams
the man who looked odd
even in our cartoon world
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photos of Michael Jackson’s penis
were often found
at scenes of crime
——————-
crazy places with fresh blood:
bullfighting
whale kills
big-game hunting
stockyards
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the detective returned to his home
and informed his wife
that he had swabbed the penis
of Michael Jackson
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THINGS BOB TO THE SURFACE
the sidewalk of the mind
I can see the intimate details
the voices, the communication
raw material under the sofa
the relationships swept there
real and not so real
scripts never spoken
nonsensical romance
problems and perplexities
fruitless attempts
chunks of prose in poop
you cut out a newspaper photo
of Captain Ahab and his ugly legs
you said that it brought back
memories of me
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moth grit in the folds
————————–
irrational things left out of history
poets with black hearts
venomous poverty
————————–
Eve wanted to live longer
she tried to bargain with Death
no better than a side-show barker
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THE GERMAN POETRY CRITICS
DIVIDED THE ROOM:
“AUTHENIC JOHNNY BOY” ON ONE SIDE
“LESS-THAN-AUTHENIC JOHNNY BOY” ON THE OTHER
when it comes to the printed word
nothing comes between the dancer and the dance
****people collect soiled and corrupted words
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my beard left my face
it was hoovered up and added to a bag of detritus – I noticed I had the smallest chin —
THE SMALLEST CHIN
— I resemble me
little me
baby me —
a picture on a mantelpiece
I was Adam for a short period
I was Eve for a shorter period
I went home
I came back
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enough hot air to float a zeppelin
floating above everything
gives you a certain sense of freedom but you know in reality
your tethered invisibly
to the ground
to the past
that invisible umbilical chord
those apron strings
– (you remember your mum
elbow deep in potato peelings )
the lack of money?
All spent on cheese
the stickiest French type
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imagine their was no water
they’d be no ark
all those animals in the back of a truck
– at checkpoints the driver had to supply paperwork for each animal – hours flipping paper
–
–
– people replaced the beasts of burden the machines replaced the people and the machines will replace themselves
I’m not blind to it
I just choose to close my eyes
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headless wardrobe
legless bed
the wall
the walls
boxed in
hats for different days
different faces*
different names to confuse the detectives
– fingerprints match but the face
the face changes
your handwriting changed everyday
*back to the early days of Joan
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WORDS WERE IMPORTANT
APART FROM THEIR MEANING
and yet, told NO poems on infanticide
words side by side on a white sheet of paper
I tried to not think about sodomy
———————————–
our deepest seriousness is suspect
someone called 911 and made a report
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golden cornbread and lumberjack peas
and collard greens were okay
but the candied yams went outside
with the fried chicken and chitlins
nobody eating meat inside
I didn’t like the smell of flesh
but I sure did enjoy the sound
of that blues-rooted alto sax
coming from the back porch
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write what you know, Baby Bird
then get a ladder
and write above yourself
when you drive yourself off the pavement
you got to be more creative, more innovative
keep your wheels turning, your eyes open
****strengths and weaknesses like a Beatles song
abstract sounds in place of conventional ones
underlying meanings difficult to recover
(+) different notes dropped into repeated chords
“hell son, take off your shoes and let the sun shine
on your hairy toes”
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I remember one day at lunch
all the Christian soldiers were Thanking the Lord
for what they were about to devour
just wang-dang-noodle crazy loving God and Jesus
I asked, “what kind of a nut-job thinks up the Flood and the Ark ?”
anyone with 3 brain cells should know the answer to that question
just like snapping your fingers, slicker than slick
——————————–
sensitive people:
sleeping on rocks
walking on broken glass
rubbing Tabasco on their naked behinds
———————————-
free, jagged associations of the unconscious mind
laughter in reverse at a high rate of speed
18 police cars in pursuit
Dadaists and Surrealists watching everything televised
praying to God that the driver pisses his pants live
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———–AT LEAST WE WILL NOT BE PRAISED———
poets who take off their trousers in public
simpleminded but not afraid
last call for pleasure
gentle readers
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scornfully crude
a circle of dead insects
around the supper plate
complaints on legs
the true poet transmits sensory perception
never, never describing or prescribing
words to feeling—words to memory
binding to the shy—binding to the cryptic
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making a poem that re-creates for others
common observations beyond words
musical instruments came to town
rehearsals were mainly starts and stops
the joke of the day was being late
(+) readers cast doubt on Death
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attentiveness to the workings
of the maladjusted mind
the doctor had a gigantic set
of telescopic eyes
he said that everything important was bruised
that Mexico City was angry and I should soak it
at grips with the blinkers at best
small talk about premature death
to fear death
amounts to claiming
that life has value
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——————–hotdogs soaked in stockyard amniotic fluid
(+) the taste of mother
——————–adult equivalents
(+) the masturbation of narcissism
(+) incestuous sex bombs exploded
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a constant struggle for domination at Leviathan
latent homosexual impulses wrapped in fancy paper
boss man with a revolver
a daddy handgun
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Two tickets to the execution
two tickets for the next trip to Mars
sharp knife slice
like little red marks that denote time on the schedule
– no time for Jesus in this life
the girl at the coffee shop spilt a large mocha over her GG Allin tshirt
the smell under the flap caused concern
LikeLike
in court they passed around pictures of the Jackson wang
– lightly dusted for fingerprints
– it seemed to change colour depending on the light
he called it the ‘worm’
he called the kids the ‘worm tamer’
the jury had their own opinions
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silver gloved hand sparkled in the the ugly night
– the kids saw it open the door at the
heartbreak hotel
his brothers talked about him behind his back
the blood line of the king
going up in the elevator
his face reflected in a gold disc
dead
& buried in sequins
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God was on annual leave
unavailable
DO NOT DISTURB
she opened her legs
he looked into the void
was there an echo?
and he knew if he climbed in he need to harness himself to something
a brace soul descending
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THE AVERAGE PERSON QUESTIONS WHERE THIS INFORMATION ORIGINATED:
(+) females are castrated males
(+) all males fear castration
(+) all males must be castrated to mirror their mother
(+) all males dream of reentry into the womb
(+) death castrates all males
(+) after death males are reunited with their castrated fathers
(+) castrated fathers and sons share the mother
(+) death promises undifferentiated sexual identity
(+) death promises eternal infancy
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God was spotted in a dental office
reading non-naturalistic magazines
folk musicians often sing tunes
about the physical being of God
——He was many things——
history reports that he was human only once
the boy king, Jesus
(and how did that work out ?)
(+) there is great humor in his genital sexuality
(+) to be a boy and to never be a man
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the bloodline of the King
mixed with the DNA of stray dogs
swollen lips hungry for the seed
—whispers of redemptive resurrection
on the honeymoon bed
(+) gamble with the nose but safeguard the phallic staff
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when Michael looked outside
all he saw were females with knives and forks
the pop singer from the oven like a holiday bird ?
(+) the fictitious world of penis envy
at the police station they measured his penis 50 times
without success
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poetry as a new born baby and a grubby teenager
– a fork in the road
– children hand in hand – mother hen
peck peck pecking
itch scratch itching
I laid an egg
perfect ovoid of
smooth surface
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do not weep
the cotton under the soil
is a perfect place to sleep
(+) carefree in the grave
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dying on the gallows
the dirty rope
made by dirty hands
having been desexualized by the wife
a matronly woman with a strong arm
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the people who knocked on the door
late at night
thought of Sylvia Plath as a channel
for sublimating forbidden desires
the apartment was safely insulated
with thick layers of illicit desires
and painful memories
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my question,
Death drives an expensive car ?
the one thing that happens in an expensive car
——-PLAYACTING
bourgeois housewives walk the garbage to the curb
Lou Reed honks the horn at them
it makes his splendid penis grow another inch
****they say that he has a trapeze over his bed
at night Lou attracts all manner of wild creatures
often serenading at odd hours
both male and female paroxysms
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at the pool hall some of the guys were upset
they didn’t appreciate Lou’s intrusion
in their intimacy
Lou Reed the Neighborhood Gynecologist
****he was telling the wives that only children
conceived in love were attractive
didn’t take an Einstein to measure up the kids on the block
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two things to sidestep in Kentucky:
(+) moonshine
(+) backwoods Christian church
——————————
on the alter the pink vulva was open and on display
men dressed in black sporting grotesque masks
they were acting as guards against any coupling
the younger boys collected their seed by hand
depositing it at the entrance
praying that they alone
be the substitute father
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problematic use of language in the land of the deaf
– a throng of people just pointing and grunting –
– regression
zombie shuffle dead man boogie
– kids with txt talk
I’ve been told there is an emoji for everything –
the fire conversations will be smiley faces gun closed did flag of Cambodia
LikeLike
James Bond with sidekick Rihanna on a jet ski
Mediterranean sea splash
Bond as protagonist
Bond as rapist
a boat full of kidnapped humans
resembled an ark
push the intestines back in
inside the rib cage
don’t let the flies settle
the one exited the skin and cast a strange shadow
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the poor kids drinking energy drinks at 7:34am parents in pjs
– birds tweet on a branch
Robert Frost was unlike his name
warm and cordial
– a well worn shoe
– when he kisses her he tasted last nights dinner
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a lost penny in the thicket
no map leads to the treasure
man with his constant attempts of discovery
– dig in
– figure of 8
– constant motion till your hand gets tired
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WE STAND IN THE GRAVE OF JOAN RIVERS
AND WE SELL OUR WORDS—OURSELVES
————POETRY PROSTITUTES———–
the erosion is visible
self-awareness in need of a tune-up
Baby Bird with his catalyzers
and his ticket to Greece
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EASIER TO THREAD A THOUSAND NEEDLES
color was everywhere—blocking things that wanted to be blocked
dangerous communication often at night
solitary and selfish in the midst of a crowd
you who rearranges———–decorates
you who sleeps with an independent being
fulfilling presence—ms. majority proper
****parking meter agitation (just one more coin)
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an eight-hour-work-day broken up into bouts
of amusing sex
sometimes recording
and watching
life corresponds to our notions
(+) mathematical figures in green ink
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James Bond killed Rihanna
and stretched her skin over the ski jet
I saw the stain on the carpet
boss man on the phone
while three small men
rubbed the spot
(specialized)
there were mathematical problems
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most people can’t spell venereal disease
therapeutic groups fear the jungle
———————————
circular conversations on bedwetting/nail-biting
one fellow spoke of sexual poverty
he knew a lot about pornographic behavior
unthinkable things
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when small planes crash
it is always the result of sexual poverty
the ground littered with unsatisfied desires
meth from the coffee-house
pills from the headlines
the possibility exists
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genital masochism
genital sadism
leisure time activity
————–the agent of the action
————–the receiver of the action
applying a language to paper
isolated from the norm
life as performance art
STANDING IN THE GRAVE OF JOAN RIVERS
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BOUND OURSELVES TOGETHER IN A CIRCLE
we have a target loving audience
but they can never enter
the honeymoon circle
tight concentration
the chamber
on display
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mother as container
a vessel with heavy load
entrance as an exit
I crawled through the forest
on all fours
it was a sight
bleeding knees like a priest in pray
(100 years I would’ve existed in black and white
– the war was still raging –
stomach full of a steady diet of nothing –
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the long lineage just ended
a branch with the rot
you know the photographs can be edited – manipulated like a blackmail victim
– strange emails offering you vast fortunes – everyone had a friend who had a room in their house where entrance was PROHIBITED-
god wasn’t religious He just worshipped himself
– an ego in sandals –
all the colours ran when the flag hit the ground
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school curriculum included –
history of communism
Beatles songs (duration 5mins+)
UFOlogy
bullett trajectory
famous assassinations (1856 – 1991) –
the school refused to supply stationary
the caveman painted with shit
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private poetry has no place in a public bathroom
you might discover history on the commode rim
evidence of an autobiography on the floor
the more withdrawn you become
the more difficult functions become
****beware demons…they love to inflate mistakes
****any wrongdoing deserves a parade
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——————-standing in the grave of Joan Rivers
life passes by as if it was a movie
lovers find it difficult to connect
no longer willing to perform oral
guerilla genitals and the hybrid vinegar smell
****she said all that circular motion made her an object
****he said that she was being rough and pulling skin off
children and grandchildren were crashing small planes all around them
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the religion of poetry—time takes care of everything
—————————————————————
each moment is no more fearful than the last
(+) caveman language
(+) intricate language
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Rihanna came over and sang a couple of songs
we took some kind of dust and got hyped-up
she was so beautiful that I found it difficult to look at her
I told her that it was with real regret that we would return to normal
we were covered in flames but suffered no harm
I found myself to be very plastic and it was easy to accommodate her
(+) angels are not defective subhumans
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I was going to retire to Ohio but left the passport at home
– on a subconscious level I knew I didn’t want to go –
for all multiple choice questionnaires always go for the middle answer
– the middle stump
– the meat of the matter
strange phrase your grandmother will not understand
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MJ never stuck to roads
he build them
long
straight
roads
that
were
decorated
with
jewels and the negative pictures of sin
looking into his eyes was like looking into the grave
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a cartoon caricature of oddness
a strange walk
invented himself and invented his own sin
he build a castle and filled it with animals
a roller coaster that ran non-stop for 24hours everyday
– he always invited his brothers over but they’ve also declined
weird
they always seemed to have something to do
he told Macaulay Culkin that his pubic hair was just black candy floss
all the fun of the fair
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they wasn’t “his” penis
he was a resourceful man and always carried spares
– a Hansel and Gretel trail of penises that lead to his door
monkey butlers & oxygen tanks
and remember
he used to be a little black Boy
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the housewife cooed at the information
she licked her husbands finger and cooked him his favourite tea
(see couldn’t wait to tell her friends!)
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perpetuating stereotypical views of poets
a cigarette and a beer
the bedroom full of disappointments
things with no proper vocabulary
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rethink the darkness
outside the front door
Give Robert Frost a flashlight
tell him to scare away the demons
dead bodies outside marching around
their arms up above their heads
“PROUD TO BE DEAD”
objects identified as “art”
****with no fiddle or guitar, art in motion
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as a small child I got a phone call
from a Swiss historian, Harald Szeemann
he told me to steal money and run away
somehow get to Switzerland
that he would help me become a citizen
but it was too late…I was all ready tied up
a bootleg angel digging coal
****the whites were gone from my eyes
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the older boys sodomized the younger ones
I touched no one—no one touched me
I carried around images of Jesus
The Burning Bush and Moses
tales of the mighty Ark
people were afraid
I was an agent
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in the side walk in my mind there are queues of pedestrians
choking on the bus fumes
– the raw materials of poetry are just words + imagination –
all the noise
–voices from mouths
–falling out of phones
–electronically spewed along radio waves – a background wall of newspaper cutouts from local newspapers that aren’t local to you –
you watched the dog poop daily
get dry in the sun
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how did you know the poet had a black heart? – did you open them up and look?
was there something external that alerted you?
I don’t doubt your hypothesis
on cold days I climb to the hilltop and discard the flarf
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less than authentic Johnny
a poor facsimile of the real Johnny
– two passports found under the bed –
–
different signatures that
confused the detectives
at the edge of town
the hoarder lived in a house of a thousand boxes filled with manuscripts and woman’s clothes
the people in the town looked through the windows
aghast
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disobedience to God
it is not wise to think of God as a bully
or that his way is paved in pain
humans made of clay (dissolving)
scolding night and day
let the illicit fruit be
(+) say a prayer for Moses
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she could overcome and outwit
bright pink warbling flesh
her special weapon
harsh and punitive
you do it right
……………….words repeated in the bedroom
living creatures not those Peggy Guggenheim types
inflammatory intercourse
simple words
STICK AND HOLE
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report filed upon report
temps bought into upload the findings on the mainframe
– 911 calls recorded and played back – a thousand ears listening for flagged words
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she wouldn’t allow meat in the house
you had to wait on her porch
and talk through the letterbox
she has long nails
a smell of damp
she said she hates jazz but thought John Coltrane was a fine piece of ass
a neighbourhood of dogs barking
a neighbourhood of barking dogs
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six weeks in a cave Micheal, the solitude of retreat
people pay thousands to attend a writing seminar
AND THEY FORGET THEIR PENS
– the course was entitled “Imagination: life within the comments, a study of Leviathan” –
day one 9am: they were shown a picture of a factory and a knife and asked to write
silence
noon: dinner of steamed vegetable
ice water
an afternoon of blank thought and blank verse
heavy night sleep realising the futility of weak poetry
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that secret lunch of succotash and pie – buttered green beans grown in the field
– a bored farmer looking at the weather
a field of animals with low hanging fruits
the Christian soldiers
weaponless and confused walking to the town hall to demand the imposition of the 10 commandments
– onlookers throw rotten fruit, old shoes, yesterday’s news
OJ IN HIS TRUCK DRIVING INTO THE SUNSET
YOU COULDN’T MAKE THAT SHIT UP
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the fading hairline of the old man looking at the emerging
skyline of a city of dominoes
unable to connect the past and present tense
I’m not who you think I am
– all my writing is edited by an office of low paid secretaries and retired professors –
I use computer programmes and algorithms
I steal lines from songs and books
I’ve never heard of Robert Frost
Im a ten tonne catastrophe
I’m a 3ft black midget
I’m a cross dressing reality TV star
crossed off all the church’s Utah
I’m a lair and a fading star
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those that couldn’t afford a room
drove their cars into the parking lot
and consummated the wedding their
– the window
slightly rolled down to let some air in but the fumes from freeway
made them cough and splutter
the romantic mood ruined
by lorry driver blasting their horns
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a village of ex soldiers
a place of no sleep
nervous tics and twitching limbs
( if words are vehicles for relating human situations flarf must be a car with a puncture at the side of the road )
men with metal plates feared the pull of magnets
invisible forces they couldn’t see (like hiding snipers
in gutted towns)
the guy from the petrol station had a compulsion to touch everything that was red
tomatoes
cherry
blisters
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she told me about the poet
who ripped off his trousers in public and under those trousers
he had another pair of trousers
– as an ex-boy scout he knew BE PREPARED –
a backpack
a knife
some lube
a night in a bivouac didn’t whet her appetite
small pleasures and cheap change – so close knit it chaffed
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a circle of dead insects
a circle jerk of jocks
and when I see the sun
I hope it shines on me
flarf fails at being cryptic
flarf just fails at every turn
I’ll donate my organs to the higher bidder
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you can’t rehearse automatic poetry
but when it’s written you can recite the lines
and recite the lines again
and again like an out of work actor –
I heard you sometime walk the streets with your head down
– look up
away from the gray
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violence on the percussion instruments
outside criminals accompany you
smacking children and punching women
I was afraid
that you would pull out a Moog synthesizer
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she was aware that she was filling up with water
there were accidents————-puddles
she was guilty of undervaluing her happiness
tired of hearing herself speak
she reflected on her recent wedding
honeymoon critics were cruel
they listed her under “simple twat”
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marriage turned her into a slot machine
she wanted to distance herself
away from her body
to return to the Theater
where thoughts floated
like large colored balloons
and one could focus
on the safe sounds
of children playing
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employees from online museums
came and photographed her exposed roots
she was fond of floating
and often did so in private
the sun was a strange disk
and she was fearful of radiation
when she was young
men would throw spears at it
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people are curious about the unknown
from the beginning of time
to the present
they can only journey
to the gate of no more
————
————
————
letters are simple to let go
numbers are next to impossible
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demon boy took the water from their sex
their sex suddenly stopped
pain has a loud voice
a handful of pills
no shut up
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a bruise colour blue
in the shape of a country you discovered in you mind
years ago
you named it and designed a flag
– Mexico City is angry
– London Bridge is falling down…
…
my phone has 4% battery so I know time is short –
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demon boy scattered words on the floor periodically
SHE took great pleasure in picking the words up
a seemingly meaningless task
however, important messages
were secretly relayed
(+) messages that later became poems
(+) wrinkles in language
(+) iron your poetry before it is published
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IN THE CONTEXT OF WHAT POETRY
HAS BEEN HISTORICALLY
little people never get published
fragile fantasy
the lives they lead
dislocation
work becomes cancer
family becomes cancer
the social bus refuses to stop
remnants thrown off—no one gets on
the driver fears for his life
stumbling out of sight
old legs laid out
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wives become bedroom sculptures
conceptual sex—fording a river
window-dressing and then a quiet-zone
the harbor is closed
any reason will do
(+) don’t take your socks off with the lights on
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not goal oriented in terms of a final product
you write what you are in relation to
you write as if someone is watching
placing you in contact with an observer
someone who will turn you inside out
you will reveal your true opposite
it may be a secret
****everyone knows
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how many flights of stairs before you rise above guilt ?
artistic creativity and drug addiction
all religion tossed out on the lawn
the grass is no longer green
mother told your 3rd grade teacher
that you were transitional
little did she know how easy it was
to go from thumb sucking to truck stops
rhythmical swaying and mouthing noises
constantly testing reality
hiking the edge
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I told the girl at the coffee counter
that keeping inner and outer reality separate
was the secret of good mental health
She said that it was time to up my dose
Hello Drug Addiction
it was fun to hold carnival with the various drugs
senseless self-medication
what was the harm ?
it wasn’t me outside beating the neighbor’s dog
I wasn’t affectionately cuddling with anyone’s wife
the texture of meth had my attention
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all I remember from dentist trips is the smell
and the hairs in the arm of the dentist that brushed against my teeth
– Jesus was there reading old magazines (he needed a crown)
– a gap near the flesh
– the radio
some news
I spit out liquid
I spit out liquid
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the bloodline was mixed
the Kings daughter and Jackson
– he wrote his own vowels
– they were in hieroglyphics
he acted them out
a waggle of his foot
his hand pointing
– it was gamble
no one knew if he could have kids
– if he could function properly
with a woman
in a hotel room
(rumour had it
he preferred penises…vaginas scared him
he didn’t like the look or taste)
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his high pitch voice attracted dogs from all of the neighbourhood
– secret calls from within Camelot
– the penis was a different colour from his face when flaccid
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the gallow drop
a plunge into forever
with the crowd eager to see defecation
– a piss stain that spread out
into the pattern of Peru
– a reef knot was used for apparent comfort
– the rope would be spliced and made into shoe laces
– souvenirs for the tourists
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death uses a jet pack
death arrives on a drone
death talks on his mobile whee driving at 125mph
(Oh, yeah
he sees the tossed babies at the side of the road)
– bourgeois housewives think it’ll never happen to them
– bourgeois housewives have no understanding of Dialectical Materialism
they like big cars with seats like sofas
“How the fudge is Lou Reed” I heard them say
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– – at the pool hall it was all tall stories and bluster
but when Lou arrived he couldn’t stop telling people about his time in Berlin with Bowie
— but the local crowd wanted to know about Iggy Pop**
— blue chalk dust on the last great American whale —
**what about the heroin?
**the man so skinny the crowd thought he was a skeleton
eyes like pin wheels
(and all the coloured girls go…)
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the robots became self aware at 4:36am
– they developed neurosis
started to gossip about each other
, some started to self harm (fuses removed)
they became lazy and began to worship false idols who claimed they could turn oil into wine
robots sunbathing on a Greek beach
hot metal you could dry and egg on
in room 8643 in the Tower of Babel they spoke only in binary
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life timetabled to the nearest second
allocated time for each activity
-(as an example: 15mins a day for lewd thoughts
– 3 minutes for lacing shoes)
trying to think back to a time when there was no time
the cavemens watch was a burning ball of fire
a silver dollar at night
I should my boss my workings and he drew through them with a red pen
5:30pm clocking off
–
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(I love the term “henchmen”)
like backing singers they mostly come in threes –
two on the level
one is just plain nuts
– leather gloved hands and reflections in their mirrored sunglasses
– jet ski Bond in a tuxedo made from a pop stars skin –
a satellite in his watch
a knife in his shoe
a car that swims
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sometimes you don’t need to be able to spell what you have
– how many names are there for crotch rash?
– a basic man can’t afford the medication
a cock like First World War soldiers trench foot
– unthinkable thing with an unimaginable smell –
the many variations of pornographic images (the curves of a brand new car)
nails bitten till the knuckles were exposed
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it wasn’t crotch rash
it was worse
trench foot only higher up
the doctor was shocked
he wrinkled his nose
like a rabbit
———-(+)————-
———-(+)————-
just trying to sleep in the same room
with that smell
the doctor silently searched for horns or hooves
questions about evolutionary heritage
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to James Bond—Rihanna was just fancy merchandise
both were shining examples of an advanced state
in the evolutionary order of things
in the parade they floated high
above the lower creatures
——–(+)——————
——–(+)——————
James Bond the King
Rihanna Castrated
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——————————-LIFE TIMETABLED
minutes become stepping stones
the distance between steps
change after puberty
it is not difficult to observe
collections of envelopes
that slipped and fell
sleeping down there
hopeless through and through
some with their last cigarette
still stuck in their mouth
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Greece was a deuce of a nuisance
————-methodical efforts
————-infinite patience
normal vulnerability wasn’t normal
mountains and oceans—tangibles galore
(+) where were the mud puddles ?
wanting to get dirty
laboring to go to sleep clean
(+) where were the mud puddles ?
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she phone me and left a voicemail
she said she felt like a light aircraft on fire
– snapped wings
– cracks along her fuselage
– at the crash sight there were dead bodies and mobile phones that rang
unanswered
(the soundtrack at the coffee house was pure pop poop)
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general masochism
moderate socialism
full on capitalism
– the power of numbers on paper
– the performance artist in the corner a mime for money
wanna be actors / actresses at the coffee shop serving strangers in the style of Tom Hanks
what is there motivation?
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we all have targets on our back
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commode rims filled with pubic hair – the million dollar question
WHO OWNS THE HAIR?
maybe the autobiography will explain?
who’s the culprit?
who’s the miscreant?
private poetry
private business
never go looking for beauty in the toilet stalls
the demons are prepared
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familiarity breeds contempt
on their 17th anniversary he bought her a chair
– silent partners going into debt
– that sea sick feeling reminded her of the Ark
she was a no-go area
off limits
off limits
a pungent smell rose up a pungent smell followed him around
on his fingers under his nails
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caveman poetry before language
just pictures with a thousand meanings
there has always been a need to express
cavemen slept with one eye open**
**can you imagine the smell around a cavemens crotch?
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she came to my house for some home cooked food
—she ate like a baby bird
–small portions
–she even bought her own cutlery
–the tiniest fork I’d ever seen
the conversation flowed
she touched me under the table
I blushed
after the meal she sang to me
I was far too polite to tell her she was no Nina Simone
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“home cooked food”
I’m surprised the clouds didn’t fall out of the sky
on that one
trickery and roguery on the cobb
delightfully overriding the truth
poetry about the awkwardness of the body
sorry burdens imposed on the colon
rapid digestion and expulsion
stand back, Rihanna
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caveman poetry about Rihanna’s small fork:
(+) famous for being so small
(+) loved to babble about trifles
(+) it went to cutlery college and was educated
(+) once described by a spoon as a “bothersome companion”
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a liver fat
foie gras
the image of poet
drunk
rambling – elbow patch jacket
pocket book bitten pencil
humdrum humdrum
not poet
just words used at different angles
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he used the burning village as flashlight to guide his way
– the wolves kept at bay
– rabid teeth and melting snow
——————
at the curie house they held peace rallies
– half-life with fluorescent teeth
– no nukes
her ghost was present
you could feel static
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Switzerland is made of chocolate
-all children presented with cuckoo clocks at birth
Nazi gold buried in the Alps
– James Bond on a cable car
– things the historians gloss over
forget
forgot
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invisible walls surrounded you at school DONT GO NEAR MICHEAL
– look
but don’t touch
shower room neurosis
lacrosse sticks beatings
military green grass
the other side of the fence
the other way of life
the police investigating the burning bush arrested an unemployed black man
the ark impounded
cruel and unusual treatment
grave stone epitaph
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a willingness to sacrifice sensibility
family, friendship, even love
for Switzerland
no matter what the cost
****poets must yield some sort of precedence to Switzerland
(+) an end to the tomfooleries of Florida
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poetry profits from an old acquaintance
when a new acquaintance
shows up with a sharp knife
and a clear desire to cut
SHE of a thousand and one limitations
blunt, raucous, often harsh
first to badmouth the burning bush
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human limitations continue without interruption
———————————————————-
Adam was seen outside waving his arms
trying to frighten off
Furies (from the nether world)
who were constantly peeing on the vegetables
Adam seems sad and drained of vitality
weighed down by prophetic pessimism
and nonstop chatter
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the illicit fruit was baked into a pie
left out to cool on the windowsill of history – half a worm inside
half a worm wriggling
– clay man
baked in the sun
– god as gamekeeper in the garden of Eden
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wallpaper of flesh
pink like a pig
dirty nose stick in a dirty hole
dirty pig covered in mud
– all words are simple
it just depends how their used
future museums will be empty
it will all be virtual
– touching thinks that aren’t there
the power of the imagination
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inside and outside
there were lines and boundaries that people were told not to cross
– DO NOT TRANSGRESS –
videos on you tube of fighting children
uploaded daily
the moon synthesiser played by cats on the moon
at night,ssssshhhhhhh
can you hear the sounds?
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all the couples seem to splitting up
coming apart
well worn socks –
familiarity breeds contempt –
trying to forget the honeymoon night – regret
regret
regret of letting go of the balloon that floats over the Curie house
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she was covered in plaster and replicated again and again
– painted different colours
plaster cast
crack in sun
chipped fragments till she crumbled
no need to throw spears
at the pyramids in Serbia
–
– stored in a cool place
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strangers approached me in the street asking if I was the demon boy –
if I was the poet man – Johnny Boy
a slight resemblance they said
– strangers asked me about the letters
about the lines that’s I’ve written
– a small group circled me like Indian wagons and told me they didn’t like my style
they didn’t like the comments
– I wasn’t scared
– they wanted me to explain
begged to understand the meaning of Leviathan
how would it all end?
I couldn’t answer
why should I?
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do you watch where the arrow was fired from?
it’s arc?
or where it lands?
the empty space between the start and the finish
the small people disappear through cracks
(it’s amazing what people will do to be heard
to be seen)
fragile life’s bolstered by words
the driver on the bus would let me on and not pay my fare
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write like no one is watching
but like everyone wants to read
– save it somewhere for another day
– found yourself between the lines
mirror image twin
– can I ask you a question?
how many are you Multiple Micheal?
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there was a drought
the round-a-bout of medication stopped –
grow your own
recipes found online
—nights I remember taking
this
and taking that
all my edges were blurred I felt threefold – multiple
pinwheel eyes seeing little spiders all affectionately named
-!-!-!-
I woke up arms wrapped around a shadow
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the smell like a corpse exposed in a morgue
– an exclusion zone
a radius of 2 metres
– the motive is always personal –
the doctors suffered leeches
blood sacs
sucking
oh, the drama!
some people take a small step of the evolutionary path, a step to the right
(I’ve always been suspicious of men who wantto be a gynaecologists)
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Q supplied Bond with a robotic Rihanna
a bionic grip
robot girl move your arm a few degrees more
gently back and forth
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kid scared at the though of their balls dropping?
how fast and how far?
hair sprouting
turning into an animal*
the smell wasn’t their two weeks ago
*American werewolf in London showed his password at border control
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cavemen spent their lifetime waiting for the clouds to drop
– cavemen didn’t have science to entertain them
they tried to write poetry
they killed animals and wore furs*
stomachs that digested twig and bark
berries and bone
*much like Rihanna
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cavemen cutlery = fingers
dirty nails
the carcass gutted
they even ate the flies
cavemen dreamt of utensils
cavemen dreamt of moving images
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Florida tomfooleries washing up on the shores
in the belly of a whale
neutral love for Switzerland – a sort of meh feeling
sacrifice virginity on the honeymoon night
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Adam was bored of Eve
God, she was dull*
he tried to entertain himself
invented games with stones
he spoke to himself
his beard grew
*constant chatter & gossip
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