that scene in Papillon

primitive WiFi slows down connection to a crawl

dropped out midway through conversations about obsolete technology

people in a group all talking about what they’ve seen on the internet

kid falling over

dogs dressed as ninjas

Hitler cats

Beef-burger garnishes

there was nothing of substance there was nowt that was real

that scene in Papillon when the screen turns upside down and he says YOU HAVE BEEN ACCUSED OF A WASTED LIFE scared the shit out of me

in time the spaceman will discover the monolith

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388 comments

  1. multiplemichael

    the janitor at the library
    (the things no one will share with him)
    nothing could fill his emptiness
    and yet, he purchases Nudist magazines
    simple people with a plenitude of skin
    flesh suits trimmed with hair
    (+) why not look at yourself and save the funds ?

    Like

  2. multiplemichael

    poetry about prolonged emptiness
    the smell of an old vacuum cleaner
    with a homemade wand
    themes of sex
    Nudist magazines
    understanding among adolescent friends
    the sounds and sights of cheerleaders
    the silken hair and fancy underpants

    Like

  3. multiplemichael

    today in workshop
    we wrote about smelling the man
    in the boy
    sort of creepy
    I thought about Halloween
    and candy-kernel teeth
    insects exploring us
    as we slept
    my goofy friend
    with his pre-puberty
    tarantula hair

    Liked by 1 person

  4. multiplemichael

    someone knocked on the door
    wanting to tell me
    that light was coming from sources
    that no longer exist
    I pondered how that information
    could become a resource
    that would work for me
    (+) people claim that enjoyment lingers
    (+) my uncle sold daggers for half-price
    and then bought them back for far less

    Liked by 1 person

  5. multiplemichael

    Abraham Lincoln with a pink shiny head
    a Christian with no one to do the clip
    Mary Todd said that it was an abomination
    old fashion birth control—slipping in brown
    a lot of guesswork, where it all goes
    spectator seed saying, “no, no, no”
    (+) Abe busy in the rear while she
    was strangling her clitoris —–the damn thing
    wouldn’t die

    Like

  6. multiplemichael

    I was told to mention her clitoris
    her rambunctious clitoris
    Mary Todd Lincoln
    “had a good grip on the thing”
    in the affairs of love
    even the normal
    can be abnormal
    Abe back there busy

    Like

  7. multiplemichael

    helpless in the library
    no where to hang on
    the Illustrated Clitoris
    ripping away pretensions
    innocent souls on the hormones
    swaying hair, head to toe
    Good Lord, that has nothing
    to do with being a male
    pain and regret and gravity
    all those things said and done
    (+) the baby out the window

    Like

  8. multiplemichael

    no braking mechanism needed:

    places nobody
    would want to go
    where music sucks
    I get a large amount of material from there
    they smile and say “take care of my treasure”
    it is never in code or written during a dream state
    warm-faced and crap
    thoughtful eyes ripped from a vulture
    all I ask, make your words into cloaks for authentic life

    Like

  9. eatmorewords

    the flarf man fell into his own cut up machine exited a changed man
    voice pitched a little higher
    when he spoke the dogs came running
    in the future there still will be poetry
    but it will coded or binary
    all the ones and zeroes

    Like

  10. eatmorewords

    I recorded the poetry
    and just played it on a loop
    lazy poet
    lazy poet
    with no pens

    some people think why aren’t dinosaurs in the bible?
    why weren’t they on the ark?

    Like

  11. eatmorewords

    the marriage of pills and liquor
    pushed away from food and rest
    – there is not enough space for both
    – you are a vessel
    there is a limit to what can be put inside

    the cannibals wait by the side of the road
    they wait for the babies

    Like

  12. eatmorewords

    they knocked at my door and tried to tell me I could be saved
    -they showed me a comic book
    and asked me to read
    – they had a look in their eye
    they implied they knew the truth
    the dirt on their shoes wasn’t from here
    they must’ve walked miles

    they then showed me a catalogue of daggers that could be bought for 12 monthly instalments

    Like

  13. eatmorewords

    the Christian clitoris looked like raw liver in the butchers window
    lots of people would look
    but no one would touch
    the butcher knew this would change when the rationing came
    and when the curfew came and the lights went out
    the people in the library put the books back on the wrong shelf

    everyone had hormones
    but some were defective

    ( the hair grew inwards)

    Like

  14. eatmorewords

    smell of old vacuum cleaner
    dust
    a damp dog
    a hole that sucks things up can be emptied
    and refilled
    nudist magazines opposed to magazines where people wear clothes

    Like

  15. eatmorewords

    the janitor at the library wanted to be a baby
    naked and suckling on a breast
    – but he just swept floors and emptied bins
    – he looked at people in clothes and imagined them naked the larger the person
    the greater shadow

    Like

  16. multiplemichael

    smoking medical stems and seeds
    a bad sinus thing
    bath salt rust

    paying the phone company
    to keep a working payphone
    across the street

    one day, you’ll pull over
    to make a call
    and I’ll cross over
    and introduce myself

    Like

  17. multiplemichael

    there was a huge discount
    on Nudist magazines
    people from 50 miles away
    were crazed
    and showed up
    with cash in hand
    NO CREATIVE SURPRISES
    it was bathing suit areas
    chestnuts and plumbing
    old people sitting on towels
    youngsters frolicking
    what more could one ask ?

    Like

  18. multiplemichael

    the depth of difficulties
    Nudist magazines under the couch
    next to the shoe box lid full of stems and seeds
    next to the loaded gun ready to go
    ———————you refused to read the eulogy
    scribbled notes, a total lie
    no hints of tranquilizers
    or meth
    would there be mention of the coffee counter girl ?
    the motorcycle gang with baby heads on chains ?
    suitcases of experimental narrative
    bright yellow-orange angel dust
    fragile abuse, fear of taking a shower

    all those prayers
    for a productive environment
    a safe zone
    artistic development
    free of impending
    reality mechanics

    free of a poetry workshop
    where poets set up a situation
    and then color in the blanks
    with a network of associations

    Like

  19. eatmorewords

    all the nudist books
    well thumbed and serving many functions
    bought years ago for different purposes
    from different shops
    and hidden inside encyclopaedias

    ( in years to come they would find them in drawers mixed in with instructions manuals for washing machines and fridges)

    the best gun
    is an empty on

    oh, to be in Shangri La

    kidnapped and a ransom of words paid in second hand poems

    Like

  20. eatmorewords

    thumbing through nudist magazine (23/4/85)
    the young coffee counter girl
    baby naked
    backdrop of familiar scenes
    a beach full retired bankers
    a shark off shore

    (I give this comment 3* out of 5)

    Like

  21. eatmorewords

    the last pay phone in town
    was declared an
    OBJECT OF HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE
    a line of tourist snaked around the block to take photos
    inside the body of the phone
    dead coins and beer caps

    I’d introduce myself with a hardy handshake and a business card

    Like

  22. eatmorewords

    isn’t this a life of fiction?
    leviathan isn’t real
    the coffee counter girls isn’t real (a facsimile of a hundred of our collective memories)
    dark town is a fiction of jazz music and needles
    I left a path
    of pharmaceutical pills and sugar cubes

    Like

  23. multiplemichael

    WE DO THINGS THE WAY
    THAT YOU WANT THEM DONE
    a complex situation easily turned into homicide
    please sniff the end of the barrel
    as I pull the trigger
    ———(the detective)———
    the blood soaked pillow
    was like a tampon on a heavy day
    it wasn’t suicide or an accident
    the mechanical apparatus
    the bang-bang, so-to-speak
    was missing

    Like

  24. eatmorewords

    the astronomers discovered a new planet
    initially they though it was a shadow
    they called it 007 RFROST
    – the James Bond appreciation society held a party
    the men pestered the woman while pointing at the sky

    Like

  25. eatmorewords

    barrel of gun
    cordite taste
    you can’t buy guns online but if you buy a 10 bullets they will give you a gun as a free gift

    there are ways around everything

    the mechanical apparatus inside is beginning to rust

    Like

  26. multiplemichael

    pull out the innocents and the numb nuts
    and Lordy you have the real poets
    the guys who put the gusto in SHIT OUT OF LUCK
    (+) she told the police that she threw the baby out of the window
    because of self-preservation—her personal self
    the shivering corridors of the jail house
    I found it difficult to be myself

    Like

  27. multiplemichael

    you were secretly writing prose
    for a vertical audience
    where the hell did you get that shit ?
    vertical audience
    a gripping poop of carbon copies
    the same words
    utterly routine
    —————————she loved to browse in bookstores
    she saw herself masturbating in front of a younger man
    eight minute jabs

    Like

  28. multiplemichael

    I know that it makes you blow snot
    to think of her that way
    insight (a life of inspired revision)
    her nasty finger work was provoked
    by a head covered in thick vibrant hair
    young man hair (ROYAL AND MANLY)

    wet with enunciation
    (+) intellectually displaced
    (+) sexually displaced

    Like

  29. multiplemichael

    the shivering corridors of your personal jail
    a fist with fingers———a sanctuary
    floating around I enjoyed your symphony
    masturbation as baptism

    the afterthoughts
    each time we connect

    Like

  30. multiplemichael

    on the same night you call love
    from its hiding spot
    ———-the ordinary doll-baby
    loaded with loneliness
    opposing rhythms
    fumbles
    with
    emotional
    issues

    fatigued watching you be you
    me being me

    (+) we come from the newspaper comic strips

    Like

  31. eatmorewords

    that damn rhyming dictionary
    trying to find words that don’t rhyme
    orange
    silver
    wolf
    lonely words that stand like abandoned shopping centres

    I wrote down all the names of past lovers and crossed them out

    Like

  32. eatmorewords

    you wrote letters to unknown people
    commemorative stamps of dead Hollywood stars and murder victims stuck on with spit
    – – comic strip lives lived in little boxes —

    I have no superpowers
    I have no skills

    Like

  33. multiplemichael

    “APPLES OF SODOM”
    fruit without a colon

    haunted by the awareness of time
    tick tock——tick tock
    moments before the world
    splits apart

    yes, ricocheting trumpet sounds

    Like

  34. eatmorewords

    life’s metronome ticks like arms on a clock
    grandfather wristwatch
    still, the trumpets sounded
    walls of Jericho and dark town jazz clubs
    be-bop god
    the heroin head nod

    two feet in both camps
    sober junkie

    Like

  35. multiplemichael

    ——APPLES OF SODOM——
    fruit without a colon

    you found it impossible to pronounce
    the names of angels
    they laughed when you asked them
    why they slept in a mortuary
    (+) serious dude, as if angels sleep

    Like

  36. multiplemichael

    your poor mother
    a hour of Hell
    you were a half hour
    he was a half hour
    your father running around the building
    screaming, “it’s all over now”

    SIGNATURES OF THE ACT

    race ahead and there’s too many sinful letters
    in your name to fit on the tombstone
    ——-what was it that motivated your behavior ?
    all those narrative voices
    scenes of suffering
    hungry Satan sleeping
    in your ears

    the doctor labeled it
    a “naïve reality-hunger”
    your wife and friends
    thought otherwise
    ****home educated pathologists
    more than willing to open you up

    Like

  37. multiplemichael

    right-minded readers seething
    the insensitivity of poets
    a hysteria turd embarrassing
    it was labeled as a poem
    nobody wanting to step on it
    undiluted poetry
    Romance in a state of decay
    (+) the poet can never use a question mark
    undiluted poetry
    Romance
    and the slow painful demise of Romance
    the broken fingers of Romance
    the active smallpox sores of Romance
    the blind girl crying——bitter from Romance
    Romance fat from concealed hatreds
    (+) when I typed in “Romance”
    the Magic 8 Ball said,
    ———SEEK VACCINATION FIRST———

    Like

  38. multiplemichael

    satisfactory contact
    you blew out those birthday candles
    “Lord, Lord… please——–satisfactory contact”
    white flannel trousers with a pee hole
    you constantly think about the things that could creep inside
    things that could creep insidiously inside
    ALMOST LOVE

    Like

  39. multiplemichael

    birthdays were self-taught

    Africa was not my Daddy
    Africa was not my Mother
    turn off the lights
    watch the flames in my chest
    centuries
    and thousands of centuries
    little tiny people going about their business
    each one a Michael
    each one an Anglo Saxon
    and proud of it

    Like

  40. eatmorewords

    sitting in a doctors waiting room
    sharing germs
    you feel sicker
    the longer you wait
    you question your insides
    and how they work
    you convince yourself you have medieval ailments

    the milk curdles
    leeches will be prescribed

    Like

  41. eatmorewords

    I was observed and my behaviours changed
    on a subconscious level
    I changed but on temporality
    by the time I work up I was back to normal

    I knew they were taking notes
    I knew they were looking

    Like

  42. multiplemichael

    at night, the wife stands outside
    with a flashlight focused
    on a rickety ladder

    you are the circus star (the tightrope walking groom)

    at first she was afraid that you would revert to homosexuality
    that you would stumble and sever her connection with reproduction

    Like

  43. multiplemichael

    Sunday morning in church
    blank faces
    cringing hindquarters
    ———-sex on page one
    the touch of Death later on

    overpowering loneliness
    the rose of happiness has faded away
    controlling instincts have collapsed
    half-welcoming violence
    exaggerated love-hate

    Like

  44. eatmorewords

    Sunday morning at the church
    you will soon sleep
    then dream
    of damnation
    of large crowds jostling in shopping malls at the far reaches of town
    money in the collection tray
    unaccounted for expenses
    walking hand in hand with Satan
    walking till your knee deep in baptism water

    Like

  45. eatmorewords

    the vasectomy ceased the bloodline THERE WOULD BE NO MORE
    it went limp
    life was drained of colour
    there was still a connection
    but something was missing
    there was no god
    there was no shadow

    Like

  46. eatmorewords

    the turgid poet
    knee deep in treacle
    and no one could put their finger on what made ART
    ART
    someone dropped a wallet in a gallery and a crowd circled it taking pictures
    thin lines between romance
    the fortune cookie was mute
    the batteries in the 8 ball were dead

    let’s turn the lights on real bright

    Like

  47. eatmorewords

    happy hour in hell
    two for the price of one
    alcoholic father barred for two years
    mother with her side man
    in disguise
    ventriloquists stealing voices

    if you look up your ailments online you’d think your dying

    Like

  48. eatmorewords

    apples used to stop sodom
    inserted
    entrance / exit blocked
    – you could just see the stalk poking out
    attached to the core
    your knee the angels didn’t have named
    they had numbers

    Like

  49. multiplemichael

    in the backwoods
    the local doctor
    refuses to perform
    a vasectomy
    God has no nose for a vasectomy
    test subjects always come up bald
    or balding with urine stains
    Vasectomy—a snip loud with anger
    the gamut of madness
    trying to jerk out a single seed
    an anonymous being
    no doubt a pessimist

    Like

  50. multiplemichael

    what is a birthday without the rickety ladder ?

    climbing to the top
    subduing the tempestuous
    half-strangled by strong hand
    that silly vertical smile, geographical

    lovers may escape Sodom
    but wild horses
    couldn’t drag
    me away

    Like

  51. eatmorewords

    in the backwoods the local doctor was also the local priest
    and the librarian
    and the receptionist at the hotel
    – he knew their secrets and had held their meat
    – empty seed fired and danger free

    when I had my vasectomy my children asked did I ejaculate dust

    Like

  52. eatmorewords

    setting your alarm
    to the exact time you were born
    so waking up becomes an attempt to recreate the moment of birth
    – splinters at the top of the ladder but the view is beautiful

    ending the obituary with rolling stone lyrics*

    (*jagger paid royalties for the next 100years)

    Like

  53. multiplemichael

    Jagger wore two pairs of trousers
    a physical pair for his body
    a stove-pipe-out-the-window
    for his ego

    at night he could hear antibodies
    snorkeling inside his canals

    Like

  54. multiplemichael

    not every night
    but often
    the wife standing outside
    pointing the flashlight
    at a rickety ladder
    “I could have had my choice
    of any Crocodile man and I
    chose a poet”
    (+) a life of last-minute deletions

    Like

  55. multiplemichael

    SUNDAY MORNING AT THE CHURCH
    your girlfriend was quoted,
    “give Polly a cracker”

    Saturday night
    numerous wives standing outside in the dark
    flashlight beams pointed at rickety ladders

    footprints that enter Dark Town
    are not the same as those that exit
    (+) symbolic unbinding was common

    Like

  56. eatmorewords

    the “phantom trouser”
    written about in Freud’s margins – rarely studied but even rarer to be seen
    a film crew was sent to study Jagger
    small men stood on stove pipe hats to get a better view

    someone over heard him say it was cathartic pissing off a bridge into a flowing river

    Like

  57. multiplemichael

    everybody upset at me:

    I confused
    eight minute jabs
    with eight inch jabs

    big knives make sharp distinctions
    distinctions not circumscribed by the past
    (+) first time, last time, knots left over from puberty

    Like

  58. multiplemichael

    testing and discarding ideas
    too young to understand
    the dangers of seed exchange
    a venom with no simple antidote
    THE-SPIN-THE-BOTTLE-GOD
    SAID, “NO SPECTATORS, ALL MUST PARTICIPATE”
    no spectators, all must participate

    Michael Mockery———self-mockery
    faithful to suffering

    Like

  59. multiplemichael

    it got so BIG that people questioned if it was holy

    did other men embrace him ?
    ———(the question of equal footing)———
    the lobby full of jokes, puns, odd laughter
    he would pray to Father that they would be finalized

    Like

  60. multiplemichael

    people were too busy to consider
    the branching evolution
    of their sex drives
    —————————narrowly focused health issues
    the many-layered posters from the honeymoon
    torn down and made into collages
    smuggled into Mexico
    sold “as is”

    Like

  61. eatmorewords

    sex drive at best in neutral
    at worst
    in reverse
    rear view mirror
    always looking over shoulders
    detective fear

    she wanted to show me her honeymoon bruises

    Like

  62. eatmorewords

    happy marriage
    swollen nipple
    they both signed the paper
    they were bounded together legally
    a piece of paper that could easily be lost
    or burnt

    Like

  63. eatmorewords

    the nasty man said your children were his
    – traded them for trinkets and guns
    baubles and gems
    – the cages weren’t gilded
    they washed in the cities aqueducts

    Like

  64. multiplemichael

    the bottom line:
    to employ me at the lowest price possible

    new people arrive with baggage
    what will they leave behind
    when they slip-away ?

    new people in the break room
    counting rosaries
    mental images of Jesus
    in swaddling clothes

    the true value of a can opener

    Like

  65. eatmorewords

    all that baggage
    all those bags
    leave it at the door
    the porter will be down to collect it
    the doctor will be along shortly to record it
    the psychologist will be around later to analysis it
    while all the time
    your worth fluctuates
    like the Dow Jones

    a tin opener is priceless if you want to open a tin

    function and form
    image or substance?

    clown trousers visible from the moon

    Like

  66. eatmorewords

    on holiday you forget yourself
    walk around bare chest
    in wet clothes
    in the sea where fish piss
    washed over by waves
    all those woman with tiny waists
    all those woman like whales walking
    strange currency
    burning in the sun and all you can think is DID I LEAVE THE GAS ON?

    no poetic thoughts
    just worry

    Like

  67. multiplemichael

    it is difficult to find intelligent people
    who will discuss the lack of nudity
    in nudist magazines
    genitalia fuzzed out

    the female breasts
    seem to be of upmost interest
    almost as if they were additional eyes

    “look at me and then we will love”

    Like

  68. multiplemichael

    on holiday
    pre-hippy males in spontaneous wrestling matches
    greased up in an anguished form of wormlike motion

    it really wasn’t fornication
    just episodes of semen flow
    forgotten without signature

    Like

  69. multiplemichael

    what does one read on holiday ?

    words that shatter comfortable illusions
    words that behave like spotted leopards
    traces of past events
    insincere jabs
    in an affectionate way

    prayers to protect one
    from diseased confetti

    Like

  70. multiplemichael

    on holiday, you shared strong opinions
    about what is lost in contemporary poetry

    you called yourself “The Last Saxophonist”
    the spherical poet who refused to cast a round shadow

    everything sounded like it was from a foreign movie
    simple words in dungarees purchased in Paris

    Like

  71. eatmorewords

    the round poet rolled outta town
    rotund man with an irregular heart beat
    losing hair daily
    words fading a disappearing cloud
    dinosaur bones found in peculiar places (the side of the road
    room 231 at the local hotel)

    Like

  72. eatmorewords

    on holiday I was a different person
    the passport picture was taken years ago
    I was smaller then
    the locals wanted me to tell them about things from back home
    I lied and made my life sound like a movie
    I hummed a theme tune
    it was my gift to them

    Like

  73. multiplemichael

    it wasn’t words being smuggled
    it was pork
    pork not subject to gravity
    the meat that finds expression
    on wing
    toenails like Satan
    an inner monologue
    of hunger

    Like

  74. multiplemichael

    the crumbling contemporary hotel lobby
    hard-won escape from romance
    (+) she was upstairs pulling hairs from her chin

    Russian wives filling out postcards
    “our room is very barn-like”
    the straw bales, the woodchips

    the lobby poet asking us not to judge
    but to witness the interplay
    of pain and joy

    Like

  75. multiplemichael

    dinosaur bones with irritation under the foreskin

    a sexual athlete with a mighty trumpet
    head fur so thick and healthy
    that God once counted
    each individual hair

    Like

  76. multiplemichael

    they started
    smoking the linoleum
    from the filthy kitchen floor
    it produced a mild scatological high
    the business of living reduced to the simplicities
    (+) the need for a drug peddler went out the window

    Like

  77. multiplemichael

    she was an older lady
    oak paneling and silver epergnes perhaps
    yellow striped beach wear for undergarments
    she said that she was queer and no one argued
    musty, dusty, tasseled, and fringed with horse hair

    Like

  78. multiplemichael

    the elevator floor
    covered with
    empty meat wraps
    from the souvenir shop
    QUICK, a towel under the butt
    Russian pistons ready to explore
    (+) the sound of engines behind closed doors
    1. tantalize 2. stimulate

    Like

  79. multiplemichael

    the elevator floor
    covered with empty condom wrappers
    countless corduroy trousers
    and small black dresses
    a Saturday night was good for a dozen shoes
    it was a dirty little elevator
    a bulls-eye for transgresses
    norms of behavior behind numbered doors
    irritation and discomfort
    existence outlined
    with heavy strokes

    (+) when I knocked on the door, you said, “I’m tidying up”

    Like

  80. eatmorewords

    I wish there was better ending to this joke
    to this sentence and the next line that fades
    and falls
    like the sound that vanished as the ambulance rushes by

    EVERYTHINGS FINE

    the faint laughter carried across the bay
    to the prison recreation yard
    this current will drown you or bring you home

    Like

  81. multiplemichael

    (+) for the benefit of a passively-observing reader

    relatives who can no longer fly
    feathers plucked
    dancers and acrobats
    taken to the ovens
    cutlery in liquid form
    thugs and murders
    for plates

    Like

  82. multiplemichael

    soiled underwear from cycles of crime
    all the sins of the world bearing down
    nicknames floating in the bowel

    words beneath perfumes or powders
    words beneath silk and velvet

    fluctuating identities
    the mirror angry with its reflections
    the damn thing was a real creaking mattress

    honeymoon mistletoe
    acquaintances
    and readers wanting sex
    to recreate the exchange of feelings

    Like

  83. eatmorewords

    some many nicknames
    the true identity was lost
    and ground zero shifted
    it’s geographical location
    – when you answered the phone you didn’t know who you were
    – “Is Micheal there?”
    – “Maybe”, you said

    you looked through he your list of acquaintances and realised you couldn’t put faces to name

    the springs in the bed would’t budge

    Like

  84. eatmorewords

    the original corduroy condoms casted discomfort
    a slight burn
    like the embarrassing discomfort you feel when the detectives questions you
    – micro expressions give the game away
    – better to be frozen in ice

    Like

  85. eatmorewords

    the elevator had two buttons
    UP
    DOWN
    nothing in between
    no confidence when limply presses the UP button
    you knew gravity and mechanics wouldn’t let you down
    the Cyrillic words looked alien to you

    Like

  86. eatmorewords

    the wear and tear
    chipped wood and rusted bumpers
    insides where ends began to
    fray
    another coat of varnish
    another lick of paint
    experienced weighed heavy

    Like

  87. eatmorewords

    under the fridge the linoleum was pristine
    untouched
    no dark marks
    no outlines like murder scene tape
    inside the washing machine
    all the secret mingled with a thousand odd socks

    Like

  88. multiplemichael

    a sign above the pool hall:
    SOME THINGS ARE GOD’S BUSINESS

    some things must be accepted as being out of reach
    hopefully, it wasn’t you running around at night
    with a fiery skull on a stick
    as a poet, you have learned to differentiate
    to separate thought from feelings

    next time around—-stay clear of the female pelvis

    Like

  89. multiplemichael

    norms of behavior behind numbered doors
    the HIM door, the YOU door
    the topside world daily dropping hair
    constant instructions that you ignore

    you will be called upon to account
    cry-baby amnesia is no excuse

    Like

  90. multiplemichael

    conversational poetry
    diary entries or drafts
    day-to-day intensified
    the ability to record difficult material
    the ability to tolerate the lesser
    the constant suicide attempts
    hiding and reading Robert Frost
    daydreams of being validated
    of being released from the Poetry Hospital
    hospitalizations
    sodomy as therapy
    awakening from drugs
    people proud of their education
    college after college
    and it was dung on the dong
    it was a part of growing up
    a bruise on the ego

    unsigned conversational poetry
    diary entries under hypnosis
    very little protection
    from the staff

    sodium pentothal
    and sodomy

    Like

  91. eatmorewords

    they knocked and you looked through the fisheye
    their heads looked large
    fleshy balloons
    your name had appeared on a list
    you couldn’t hide behind the sofa
    you didn’t have a sofa

    Like

  92. eatmorewords

    conversational poetry between yourself and you
    an echo chamber
    reassures you your thoughts are correct
    the knife of doubt is now blunt
    the man didn’t have a car so he threw the baby from the hotel window
    the bruise looked like a new continent
    the drug haze wore off the world looked shiny like a new coin
    that was devalued

    Like

  93. eatmorewords

    it was a TV show
    WHATS BEHIND THE DOOR?
    all your old memories and a bag of hair
    audience drugged and clapping
    mementos of forgotten hours
    they will deploy a thousand detectives to trace the trajectory

    Like

  94. eatmorewords

    dinosaur foreskin pro active roofs for inventive cavemen
    protection from the elements
    fur beds
    disease rife in infected areas
    deviated by the inability to talk

    Like

  95. eatmorewords

    out of reach
    just over there
    fingertips can’t touch the surface
    it is GODS WILL
    your fingers will stretch closer
    the shadows will lengthen
    the hole will widen

    Like

  96. eatmorewords

    the hotel lobby is where the ghosts of old guests congregate
    certain rooms hold memories of sex and death
    in one room ice cubes don’t melt

    they swept up all the hairs from all the floors and made a rug

    Like

  97. eatmorewords

    it’s difficult to find intelligent people
    a back pedalling president
    speaking like your favourite flarf poet
    with a vocabulary of less than 50 words
    all cut up and misplaced
    double speak
    but he will discuss nudity
    grabbing ‘em by the pussy while making pee-pee in Russian beds

    Like

  98. multiplemichael

    unattainable femininity in the lobby
    (+) Russians lucky through payment of a price
    sexualized wives charged up, ready to wrestle
    loudspeakers announce the time of day
    openings in the latrines
    often as not
    the smells strangle
    any lascivious fantasies
    ****solitary confinement on the commode
    Mr. Hand to keep one company
    ****lovely practice to be a grocery “bagger” on the outside

    Like

  99. multiplemichael

    ants that die of religious starvation
    collected and buried with retired flags

    moments that deviate
    from the strict standards
    of the hotel lobby genre

    the Russians liked to make
    small talk about rape
    babysitter rape
    wheelchair rape

    Like

  100. eatmorewords

    an army of ants marching out the Greek fires
    into the Main Street
    a constant line of red
    scolded ground of dust
    the island of ideas on fire
    babies in wheelchairs at the edge of the island

    Like

  101. multiplemichael

    interior self
    kicked upstairs
    where they wear no shoes

    rather odd
    their possessions
    along the roadside

    all licenses
    to pick a quarrel
    revoked

    bullfights and sex
    called off
    no more payment

    Like

  102. multiplemichael

    I saw your neighbor
    talking to her beautician
    and then I saw detectives
    loading the beautician
    in their backseat
    she was making
    arcade sounds
    ——————the tiny spark was missing
    a new life attached to machinery
    dear old Dad keeping her oiled
    sugar-coated love
    she had oral foam

    late at night she made the rounds
    every man was her friend
    it was Daddy’s fantasy
    not hers
    (+) she wanted to do drugs
    and have kaleidoscopic vision
    (+) she wanted to read science fiction
    and bad-mouth Robert Frost

    Like

  103. multiplemichael

    she was really great
    at becoming the “slick magazine”
    stuck in young men’s minds
    she would expose her breasts
    in public to males
    it was Daddy’s fantasy
    not hers

    Like

  104. multiplemichael

    I passed
    on purchasing the Bible
    made of aluminum
    the sales clerk was fondling
    a typewriter
    why was it there ?
    it really made me uncomfortable
    I felt dirty
    like I was watching a live sex act

    Like

  105. eatmorewords

    in Chernobyl they had Bibles in lead lined boxes
    x-ray vision and radioactive fingers of the avid reader
    no god could remove the tumours
    you could see their fingerprints on the typewriter
    the live sexy act was dull
    one of the parties looked disinterested
    just plain bored
    I would demand a refund but was ashamed I was there

    Like

  106. eatmorewords

    breasts exposed for the cheap thrills
    which only lasted 30seconds
    but a photo lasts forever
    (unless it’s torn
    burned or deleted)
    daddy with the camera
    daddy with secrets

    Like

  107. eatmorewords

    no drugs so kaleidoscope vision obtained by holding her breath for periods of time
    – tiny sparks can cause infernos
    – dead bodies amongst the ashes
    dead bodies at the end of time

    Like

  108. multiplemichael

    the thing I like about the “End of Time”
    there will be no dead bodies
    or terrible smells
    there won’t be anything
    because no one will exist
    to recognize anything

    a new God will appear
    a new Adam to name everything

    Like

  109. multiplemichael

    a student in the back of the room
    asked what the general aesthetic intentions
    of trying to remove fingerprints from a typewriter
    had to do with shaping poetry or any work of literature

    Like

  110. eatmorewords

    the guest book at the hotel will be the only evidence you existed
    – there will be two Adams
    with both sets of sexual organs
    – a new bright future of new fresh humans
    free from stains

    Like

  111. multiplemichael

    IN THE FAIRY TALE
    THEY FREEZE-DRIED THE GUEST BOOK
    AND STORED IT WITH THE POISON APPLES

    preserving the past by memorizing it (?)

    the new God won’t be human
    or make Adams
    stains and sexual organs
    will be a thing of the past
    (+) no fresh humans today

    Like

  112. multiplemichael

    that sound of a dog barking
    a long spell of creative inactivity

    transgressions on the whole gender
    wearing underwear from an insult

    LIFE, edited and shortened
    trying to return a rented typewriter

    Like

  113. multiplemichael

    INWARDLY DISILLUSIONED WITH EMPLOYMENT
    make haste to be emotional
    Thank You, God
    you don’t scrape gum off the sidewalk
    or arm wrestle with self-consciousness
    however, you are closely watched
    somewhat anxious
    penciled thoughts

    Like

  114. eatmorewords

    why does the dog bark?
    hunger or anger or boredom or fear?
    a bark
    primordial
    a howl
    outside while the owners twitch at curtains and eat meat
    – the rented typewriter
    long overdue for return
    – a heavy use of the letters g j and o
    – there will be a fine
    – dues will need to be paid

    Like

  115. eatmorewords

    I have seen the blueprints for all the hotel corridors in this town – I know of the secret passages that were never made
    – hidden doors that would lead to places unknown and unaccounted for in this geography
    – i took the second left and a man approached me
    – he wanted to sell me a radio
    – he told me that on certain frequencies you could here the voice of god
    – I plugged it in and heard static
    – “You need faith to hear”, he said and I turned and left

    the exorcism went smoothly
    the room was left tidy

    the moon settled into its position
    and when gravity broke
    we floated up like fat balloons
    leaving behind all the bad advice we’d ever been given

    at the edge of each town they collected black and white TVs
    – a mourning of conduits and obsolete technology

    Like

  116. multiplemichael

    you plugged in
    rewarded with children
    frank language stopped

    beating the bush for unofficial poetry
    the smiles and the liquid eyes
    dogs barking in code

    relatives on the inside
    sensitive Hotel knowledge
    shared and put to severe test

    Like

  117. multiplemichael

    detectives peeking
    hoping to view blueprints
    on black and white television

    the Hotel lobby
    reminds you of something
    grade school

    a ravine
    with sharp edges
    and animal dung mud

    single adventures
    the multiple baths
    Truck Stop Showers

    —————-unavoidable pressures
    red tape and being measured
    each man a recluse

    Like

  118. multiplemichael

    OBSOLETE TECHNOLOGY
    schoolmasters behind closed doors
    pockets full of ninety-nine
    strengths and liabilities
    paralyzed with a name
    Cinderella
    inferior men standing at a distance
    sexual clowns ticking like a clock
    quick to display their breaking point
    unpublished and time to go
    problems at work
    leftover fireworks
    (+) tidal wave tea

    Like

  119. eatmorewords

    inferior men locked in dark rooms with a light blinding them from their PC
    – midnight action for the lonely
    – happy to pay minute per minute
    — he found the Cinderella slipper
    and sold it on eBay but he was no closer
    to anything tangible
    the gaps just got wider and wider

    Like

  120. eatmorewords

    he has to wear gloves when used the typewriter
    he wanted the output
    buy didn’t want to leave any traces
    no Hansel and Gretel clues
    fake fingers typed wrong poems
    all flarf without fingerless gloves

    Like

  121. eatmorewords

    pick a shovel
    dig a hole from a mathematical problems
    three men digging a ditch
    further north
    all possessions never buried
    but sold online
    or stolen by restless relations

    when she said bullfighting
    the meanings
    got blurred

    Like

  122. eatmorewords

    old videos collected dust before being sub·poe·naed
    an old judge
    and eager to please
    detectives
    you’ll get the invoice in the post
    you’ll appear before the magistrates
    bring your memories of youthful days

    three disguises for the two hour filming

    Like

  123. eatmorewords

    the deaf man with broken fingers was mute for days
    – he absorbed but didn’t emit –

    days later he called the fire department to rescue a cat and extinguish the burning bush

    he booked a hotel room under a false name which he forgot when he tried to check in

    Like

  124. eatmorewords

    the radio emits a low hum
    the music of the spheres and the sound of chemicals
    the badly tuned radio picked a lone man sobbing and an advertisement for a sofa sale

    Like

  125. eatmorewords

    hidden doors in geography
    the idiot thought he could walk through a mountain
    – – fabricating reality and planting bones where they’ll be found —
    parts of your history are available at Target

    Like

  126. multiplemichael

    false names at the Hotel

    swarms of poets
    begging for odd sequences of words
    things like three-button sex
    and American dollar bills
    gay people drank cocktails
    trading kisses and touches
    the smell of jism on their breath

    the restroom wasn’t safe
    too simple to pull it out
    and close your eyes
    (+) larger and wet, not dry and toothy

    Like

  127. eatmorewords

    the axe crack would appear
    and spider along the surface
    like small tributaries of a dirty river
    weakening the structure
    pushing the things you wanted further away

    Like

  128. eatmorewords

    all the locks on the restrooms doors never worked
    pissing while leaning back
    one had holding the door closed
    trying to read the graffiti advising you if numbers to call for a good time
    no paper in these stalls
    exit
    unclean

    in Europe people think it’s exotic to sniff cocaine through a dollar bill

    Like

  129. multiplemichael

    mattress manipulations
    poetry about meerschaum pipes
    and corduroy jackets with suede elbows

    constantly discharging
    one less thing
    to feel bad about

    our relationship dwindled
    you with your funeral cars
    me with my nonsense

    Like

  130. eatmorewords

    a funeral car without a corpse is just a spacious car
    – plenty of room to lay down and stretch your legs
    – the little spark of electricity from corduroy static

    a circle jerk poetry fans

    the hotel was full because of the convention
    people in costume

    you with your Abe hat

    Like

  131. eatmorewords

    the funeral car doubled as a pizza delivery car
    dead and smelling of pepperoni
    a pack of dogs followed the hearse
    it look beautiful from a distance
    salivating digs at the grave side
    the psychologist would have a field day

    Like

  132. eatmorewords

    when I tired to check into the hotel they advised I had already checked in
    they showed me my signature
    apparently I was in my room
    – I told them I would return tomorrow after I checked out
    – as I left
    I could hear them whisper

    Like

  133. eatmorewords

    the splinter was deep
    in deep layers down
    he didn’t want it removed
    it was a memento
    of better times he didn’t wish to forget
    a painter from the cross
    from the arc
    or the grave?

    where ever it was from
    it made the poet think

    Like

  134. multiplemichael

    stroking the writing ego
    the dictionary giving you orders
    the mirror reflecting mistakes

    romance without underwear
    constantly feeding the erection
    no—no—no
    sexual control
    modesty

    unsavory agenda
    later with mature shadows

    Like

  135. multiplemichael

    I BEGGED YOU NOT TO WRITE POETRY ON VACATION

    the guy at the lobby desk
    with the weapon
    he asked you not to read
    your poetry in public

    healthy readers
    dehydrated to the bone

    the guy at the lobby desk
    brandishing a large knife
    the romance genre
    was a dangerous thing
    hard-edged love
    put into language
    to placate
    tormentors

    (+) an inch or two of hardware on the screen

    the scooped out place
    where you wanted to return

    Like

  136. multiplemichael

    the scooped out place
    where you wanted to return

    most people enjoy watching live sex
    we gave James Thrall Soby a performance
    a pleasurable flush on his face
    with the flashlight pointing south
    he said,
    “no need for a rehearsal”

    Like

  137. eatmorewords

    Papillon floated away on a bed of coconuts and the hotel bed felt like I was sleeping on knuckles
    – all the heathy breathing from next door
    kept me up
    I could hear it over the TV
    – I had to put the Bible down

    Like

  138. eatmorewords

    I didn’t wrote poetry on holiday
    I left my pens at home
    the sharpener was confiscated at customs
    they wouldn’t allow it on the plane
    – if you wanted to read my poetry aloud in public
    you can
    you can
    I’m not seeking payments for copyright

    Like

  139. eatmorewords

    the snakes reflection
    a leather handbag
    the times remembered when you were strapped to the chair
    the nurses laddered tights
    all modesty gone and recorded
    just below the waistline
    little
    left

    Like

  140. multiplemichael

    male poets copy and recopy
    “by God, I am going to orgasm or die trying”

    employ men as instruments for exploration

    a lively quarrel between organs
    damn the consequences

    Like

  141. multiplemichael

    whittling the twig
    hand moving back and forth
    awaiting discharge
    will it ever end ?

    celluloid reality in a hotel lobby

    happy people singing a bawdy song
    words outside the safe limits
    they journeyed all that way
    in uncomfortable tailored outfits

    a lust for bullying
    give-and-take
    more give than take
    “I don’t like you”
    “I just sex you”

    Like

  142. eatmorewords

    she smelt like free hotel shampoo
    staggering in high heels
    a million miles away from being a national treasure
    – that trick she could do with the stalk of a cheery

    Like

  143. eatmorewords

    I was pursued by unknown shadows from a nameless Ministry
    it was vexatious
    always having them around
    especially now
    and on a date night
    after all
    I had washed my hands and cleaned under my nails
    and ironed flat a shirt
    there was nothing to see here
    there was no song to sing along to

    Like

  144. multiplemichael

    ——testosterone-driven behavior——-
    moving through lovers
    at a risk of becoming them
    lascivious fantasies
    difficult to purchase
    difficult to dig out of

    grocery bagger blues
    supermarket hell
    corners to hide
    2 hours
    on the commode

    Like

  145. multiplemichael

    I did not say anything
    about the flashy cowboy outfit
    dressed outside comfort
    and you seemed comfortable
    cafeteria poetry
    maybe the western duds
    a promotional gimmick
    the fiddle in your pocket
    a nice touch

    Like

  146. eatmorewords

    I went to Alcatraz and pretended I was Al Capone
    I pretended I had syphilis and looked out over the bay
    I wasn’t me that day
    in the shadow of the bridge
    constantly painted
    bored artist

    surveys reveal those that survive jumping from the bridge
    regret jumping

    have you jumped?
    of we’re you pushed?
    did they find fingerprints on your back?

    Like

  147. multiplemichael

    passive participant in poetry
    wishing for an exit
    (+) poet seeking the pleasure of arousing the reader

    the ultimate choice:
    reproduce
    or be crucified

    the fear of being harried into submission
    Jesus happy with himself

    Like

  148. multiplemichael

    CONVERSATIONAL POETRY
    a mixture of nonsense
    and brilliant observation

    experimental roles
    a half pound of ridicule
    a pinch of satisfaction

    mommy was like an old bungalow
    daddy, a piss bottle
    in the backseat of Taos, New Mexico

    Like

  149. eatmorewords

    one foot in brilliance
    one foot in nonsense

    the mum was surrounded by scaffolding
    the edifice was being held up
    invisible to the closet family members

    you wore your old boots as a sign of remembrance
    boots that had walked across the border into Mexico

    you send the postcard with a picture of a donkey

    remove all the cobwebs

    Like

  150. eatmorewords

    there is always an exit
    if there is an entrance
    I did reproduce
    I did my bit
    I am part of evolution
    in a world of empty shops
    second hand shoes
    I lost a bag of words
    I tried to buy some from the crucified man
    the babies on the road
    the weather didn’t arrive
    it was all nonsense
    just tea leaves and tales

    Like

  151. multiplemichael

    tossed out that new age crap
    put Mick and the Boys on
    no connections since the freeze
    but the smart chap put away
    enough for a year
    the boy with the flashing light
    on his cap
    the boy that doesn’t have to piss
    for six months
    hello outdoors
    hello atmosphere
    piles of library books
    piles of dead Mikes

    neighbors trying to sell me conversations
    quarrels among squirrels
    innocent consternation

    Like

  152. multiplemichael

    watching cartoons
    rolling cigarettes
    safeguarding instructions
    for Conversational poetry

    Jesus stops by
    so sentimental
    his pink boyish cheeks

    gazing at himself in a mirror
    crusty on the edges
    lonesome on the road
    lonesome at home

    Like

  153. multiplemichael

    like a frightened dog
    the poet would dash out
    and bark and bark
    one geezer after another
    spitting out words from a scrapbook
    the merest insights were treasured
    nothing Hollywood
    nothing sissified

    Like

  154. multiplemichael

    scary—mature thoughts carried through in an immature manner
    torpedoed in romance, outnumbered by the pains of every day life
    a land and time where people religioned with a dead dude on a cross

    and then there was that little thing:
    an occasional cameo appearance in the marriage

    Like

  155. eatmorewords

    a cameo in your own life
    the way they manipulated your image –
    – everyone covered in filters
    Jesus in black and white
    swallowed small pieces of barbed wire while watching history programmes
    they’ll charge your for breathing

    Like

  156. multiplemichael

    explored three hundred museums
    not a single length of barbed wire
    gossip at a price
    V-2 rocket strength
    whooping and hollering
    up-tempo nitroglycerine
    ask a simple question
    and it suddenly turns black woman serious
    “are you messing with me ?”

    Like

  157. eatmorewords

    the Ouija board moved
    unmolested
    dyslexic ghosts misspelt the name of departed family members
    did you ever have an Uncle called Bib?

    I’m off to sea
    I’m off to catch a whale

    Like

  158. multiplemichael

    secretly shedding a tear
    after hearing a small child cry
    thoughts of the baby that took wings

    she went home
    and cleaned the house
    a dozen times
    vinegar and salt
    and industrial bleach

    the baby was still there
    smell or no smell

    Like

  159. multiplemichael

    it was like being inside
    a vat of warm J-ELLO
    dawdle, dawdle, explode
    scattered seed
    ——————
    constant chatter and bawling
    whiney and uncomfortable
    best face on an awful situation

    Like

  160. eatmorewords

    a frightening dog
    frightened and trained to attack rabid teeth like knives
    & mountain peaks
    sharp and covered in pissy drool
    – spat words from the scrapbook
    collage poetry sounds better than flarf

    Like

  161. eatmorewords

    sad tales of a great man
    a great man who couldn’t dissect the easiest instructions
    a kitchen draw full of manuals
    a bin full of wasted words
    he couldn’t chew the words
    he wanted to dilute the consistency
    he added tears

    Like

  162. eatmorewords

    when the curtains opened
    the sun wasn’t where it should’ve been
    like someone had moved your favourite ornament
    to the right
    a pile of Mikes ready for collecting
    piled up high
    buzzed with flies
    outside static atmosphere

    Like

  163. multiplemichael

    watching episodes of your mother’s life
    on television with a foreign soundtrack
    the boys refused to believe that you had a brother
    what the hell did they feed him ?
    and why was he so different ?
    (+) the poet: barred windows and a locked door

    Like

  164. eatmorewords

    the tale of the secret brother
    hidden away
    he was the noise in the attic
    spare organs for old age
    the boys would believe what they were told
    the TV programme told them it would be alright

    Like

  165. multiplemichael

    there’s no one to ask me how I feel
    outside the windows
    stacks of dead Michaels
    Michaels all over the landscape
    Dead Michaels, what can one say ?

    underdogs from heaven above
    interesting and authentic

    Like

  166. multiplemichael

    countless naked people
    main attractions without a name
    the staff not capable of erotic thoughts
    they only hire people numb below the waist
    (+) famous folk song: They Only Hire People Numb Below the Waist

    Like

  167. multiplemichael

    people go into hibernation
    and never come out

    I am so proud
    to be
    the most WHITE person
    residing in Switzerland
    I am a White Michael

    so many years back
    when roots were yanked
    I came out on top
    a million Michaels dead
    and I glow in the dark

    Like

  168. multiplemichael

    people constantly warning poets
    about unfolding dangerous thoughts
    walking with only one shoe
    makes for a wrong kind of talk
    bastardize your words, your thoughts
    lie to yourself
    your trinkets
    become priceless

    ****closer to the brink of chaos
    you find yourself painting your behind
    in baboon colors
    ****slang and jargon about fifty-cent crimes

    Like

  169. multiplemichael

    the medical vacation in Switzerland
    where they replace dear Michael
    I see my old self in a blue bag
    I’m in the Jamaica Room
    with expensive flowers
    an effusive apology or two
    warm kisses and a new scrapbook
    it will be weeks before socks and shoes
    ****sexual fantasies and ruminations by the truckload
    ****blame it on the drugs, singing carols as if it was Christmas

    Like

  170. multiplemichael

    the guy who put the new drip bag on
    whispered that Courtney Love
    had visited while I was out
    my only imperfection
    COURTNEY LOVE my squeeze
    bohemian pattycake, Courtney
    real, imaginary, sprigs, sprouts
    infected but safe

    Like

  171. multiplemichael

    potential consequences————-wealth
    obsessively preoccupied with drugs
    outside the paths of pain
    more than blank
    “I don’t care”

    dreams about poetry workshop
    the girl who writes about fruit
    she is like Woody Allen
    a quickie Robert Frost
    (+) all I could think, she doesn’t even have a dong

    Like

  172. eatmorewords

    waiting for when you can wear a disguise
    werewolf kids under vampire moons candy toothed kids crying over Valentine regrets
    everyone’s feet walk over the leaves
    as they make their way to the cancelled poetry workshop.

    Like

  173. eatmorewords

    I saw another one died
    with all those tattoos
    that the worms will eat
    with no concern for the mans past
    another one died in the queue for the doors to open
    he had breaths and she had a penis and their friend
    was somewhere in between and the poets of the past
    had never experienced this before

    Like

  174. eatmorewords

    the stalking shadow of Courtney
    hiding behind a grandfather clock
    a legal team that would sink the ark
    real or infinity the dear was real
    she was called LOVE but LUST also starts with an L

    Like

  175. eatmorewords

    that medical vacation to Europe
    in that country where they let you kill yourself
    fair well kisses before your body turned blue
    none of your relations argued over who got your socks
    no one cared
    there then gone

    Christmas celebrated in June

    Like

  176. multiplemichael

    it wasn’t that I was upset
    I just wanted to get away
    people who take the pets
    and slit their throats
    better they dead now

    death, an arrow in flight
    life, one waver into another
    I saw you kill the pet
    I never told anyone

    Like

  177. multiplemichael

    your fancy typewriter
    ain’t worth a shit
    where we are going
    drinking and fornicating
    no time soon, Buddy Boy
    pissing candy cigarettes
    with the demons and the devils
    Buddy Boy
    pissing candy cigarettes
    with the demons and the devils

    Like

  178. multiplemichael

    self-analysis of motivations
    I filed a complaint
    they are sending me to the Creator

    an uptown chronicler here
    documenting my last prayers
    every 15 minutes he says,
    “nurse, I think he needs some more”

    discomforting truths
    I’m asking myself how I feel
    (+) I don’t feel anything

    Like

  179. multiplemichael

    one of a million nights
    darkness in the countryside
    going 90mph
    somehow the tires remain glued
    probably Pink Floyd playing
    the windows are down
    one can hear the woods
    always afraid

    Like

  180. multiplemichael

    the elders taller than any tree
    rigidly principled
    more concerned with heaven above
    than the flatness of today
    the emptiness
    (+) drugstore Courtney
    a small moist towel
    a quick wipe of the face
    suddenly happiness drops down
    I experience it

    Like

  181. multiplemichael

    how many and how much
    and how often
    both electric and acoustic
    a constant advertising jingle
    happy-go-lucky
    ****you had that Mormon Tabernacle Choir smell
    persistently dim-witted
    people dressed in footnotes
    at one time you said that they were friends

    but it was just the drugs
    rarely mentioned, the toil

    Like

  182. multiplemichael

    actual storytelling with a bit of narration
    narrowness in the poetry workshop
    strangers crowded into poets
    comparing unrelated objects
    touching genitals and running
    (+) naked people running away from the Reading Circle

    Like

  183. eatmorewords

    dying slowly whilst breathing heavily
    most of the day spent sleeping or scratching at an itch
    bed sores and bed bugs
    kissing a memory of kissing her red lips
    the physicality of lifting a heavy weight
    an automobile pile up close the roads

    Like

  184. eatmorewords

    I saw on Tv this morning
    a man listening to a tree
    he said he could hear it grow
    I didn’t believe a word he said
    birds tweeting in a pink Floyd song
    the sound of running water always makes me want to piss

    Like

  185. eatmorewords

    who needs narration ?
    just let it unfurl
    like ribbons and spilt paint
    across yesterday’s newspaper
    unrelated subjects and all related in someways
    the seven degrees of separation
    invisible strings

    Like

  186. eatmorewords

    there was no adequate recompense for a wasted life
    there was recognition
    hell, they even forgot my name
    I was number 16764
    a fingerprint stored in an endless vault
    at work they wanted us to go on an away die
    climbing over dead Michaels

    Like

  187. eatmorewords

    your fancy typewriter wrote itself
    no input from you
    you just back
    feet up the desk
    the wonders of modern technology your poems wrote themselves on your magic typewriter
    smoke your candy cigarettes shake hands with the devil and keep your magic typewriter plugged in

    Like

  188. eatmorewords

    the wife slipping dollars in a jar
    at the hospital reception
    alms for the poor
    money for the sick
    you were in a starched bed
    you were wrapped in bandages
    the MUMMY of Florida
    you were sick
    you will be better

    will you convalescence
    sitting at a window like James Stewart?

    fondle a camera
    a dirty lense

    Like

  189. eatmorewords

    that itch inside the bandage
    you couldn’t reach
    a knitting needle snapped
    a splinter from the crucifix dug in your skin (you spend days worrying about infection)

    the nurse said she’d administer the medication and she advised you what’s happening in the world outside

    the sterile cocoon of whiteness

    even though you were sick
    the discomforting truth was you’d have to pay for this

    Like

  190. eatmorewords

    they peeled the flesh off you
    softly
    they removed the shell and while you slept
    the doctors carved your worlds apart while you slept the nurses looked under the sheet
    while you slept you dreamt but you can’t remember the beginning
    or the end

    Like

  191. eatmorewords

    the whitest man in Switzerland disappears against the snow
    your skin smudged with fingerprints gives you anxiety
    no matter how much you scrub you can’t get clean a hundred dead Michaels
    a thousand dead Michaels buried in the ground or fired in a rocket

    all the way to the moon

    Like

  192. multiplemichael

    They saved my eyes
    Treasures
    I could recognize objects
    Without years of training
    Bingo was a breeze
    I was in the college crowd
    Michael with the saved eyes
    (+) warned not to bad mouth Robert Frost

    Like

  193. eatmorewords

    people with their weak eyes
    unable to focus
    unable to see through glass
    straining
    unable to make out familiar shapes
    modern science could cure that
    modern science could write poetry

    Like

  194. eatmorewords

    Kanye has changed his name
    at the same time
    there was a tsunami that hit a small coastal town
    are all things linked?

    all those dead Michaels washed up on shores
    you know the dogs will be feeding well tonight

    Like

  195. multiplemichael

    All those dead Michael (s)
    Turning up in thrift stores
    Craft minded people
    Ready to dish out the cash
    (+) Charlie with his stack of bodies
    Heavy poetry at the bottom of the fish tank
    Poets who give rides to other poets
    Crawl inside the skin of a dead Michael
    Take you away from the pain

    Like

  196. multiplemichael

    A small character with no background
    A banjo behind Bob Dylan
    Looking up at the (fly-trap)
    Of his long-johns
    Oh yes , it was a long road
    Folk music and black lungs
    Twenty dollar love
    All the way down
    To five

    Like

  197. multiplemichael

    Folk music in a sandwich
    Bob Dylan on white bread
    The blues no longer blue
    America just too great
    Rust no longer forms
    Supreme Court judges exposed
    Children drinking beer
    Trying to numb the wrongs
    Rich kids in clean shorts
    Not interested in sex

    Like

  198. eatmorewords

    it seems that back then everyone was drunk
    and everyone was so WHITE
    surrounded by white picket fences and white professors
    WHITE MEN AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD
    WHITE PENISES DOTTED THE SKYLINE
    Bob Dylan had one but no one ever saw it

    Like

  199. eatmorewords

    — — .-. … . / -.-. — -.. . / — .- -.-. …. .. -. . … / — -. / – …. . / — — — -. / …. .- -. -.. .-.. . -.. / -… -.– / .–. — . – … / .– .. – …. / -… ..- -… -… .-.. . … / .. -. / – …. . .. .-. / .-.. ..- -. –. ..

    Like

  200. eatmorewords

    everyone turned their backs on the piles of dead Michaels
    they moved the bodies to the edge of town
    with the burnt husks of cars
    old folk say at the window and looked at the pile through army issue binoculars

    Like

  201. multiplemichael

    not everyone turned their backs
    some people were just facing
    The Mamas and The Papas
    folklorists still drop a tear

    the edge of town
    is never where one would think
    Pete Seeger sang about the edge of town
    the zone where wheelchairs can’t roll

    Like

  202. multiplemichael

    White Penis In Remission

    (narrow-minded frankfurters)
    fellow white frankfurters
    with
    poetic appetites
    some
    fed intravenously

    short-circuiting synapses
    nothing could stop
    the poet from concentrating
    on White Penis in Remission

    (+) your secret stash of Saw Palmetto pills

    Like

  203. multiplemichael

    constant personality disruptions on the edge of town
    chemical sidewalks free of alcoholism
    booze was for losers
    people with chicken legs
    chemical people were more electrical
    less exhausted, less starving for attention
    the proper instruments for a loud festival
    (+) I was hiding in a small tent where people were chanting the 23rd Psalm

    Like

  204. multiplemichael

    not everyone turned their backs
    hobos on trains across America
    with their raw tobacco chew
    would never turn their back

    (+) hootenanny on the edge of town

    often just a loudspeaker on the back of a flatbed truck
    stacks of Dead Michaels in the background
    old valentines littered the ground
    poets bound for glory
    NAKED
    in an autobiographical
    sort of way

    Like

  205. multiplemichael

    trying to make a U-turn on a one way street
    the edge of town visible out of three windows
    people so poor they pretend to smoke cigarettes
    fund-raising women stand on dark corners
    gulps of liquor and a open-hole hostess
    (+) impromptu sodomy

    Like

  206. multiplemichael

    out there on the edge of town
    people question
    why Americans love Lincoln
    one fifth of white American men died
    during his term
    died for no reason at all
    (+) all photographs look like they were taken by Diane Arbus
    (+) Lincoln being chauffeured by attractive young men
    (+) the secret ladder to romance with Lincoln

    Like

  207. eatmorewords

    turned
    eyes rotated like an owl
    360
    panopticon
    a nation built on pain
    with railroad tracks across your back tobacco spat brown rain at the dark edge of town

    the town folk got together to decide which pile was biggest
    the dead Michaels or
    the tossed babies

    Like

  208. eatmorewords

    all the secrets under his hat
    all the secrets under his hat
    a ladder
    a ladder that extended from his spine to the sky
    the Civil War souls transcended then vanished from sepia photographs

    Like

  209. multiplemichael

    25 different toy guns
    under his mattress
    odd kitchen knives
    big, small, broken
    realistic
    plastic grenades
    countless drawings
    of pets on fire
    homes engulfed in flames
    babies being swallowed
    by extremely large snakes

    Stephen King wanted to blame
    his sickly, asthmatic condition
    Robert Frost proudly suggested
    that more rouge be added
    to his sallow cheeks

    Like

  210. multiplemichael

    Abe Lincoln
    blank windows for eyes
    millions of photographs destroyed
    staged narrative photographs
    perhaps
    fairy-tale in a way
    counterfeit distances
    large-format Abe and friends
    grab-ass Dracula stuff without victory

    Like

  211. eatmorewords

    he was happy they named a car after him
    but he could only imagine it’s metallic curves
    and he questioned the distance between a European mile and a Texas mile
    he had friends but he couldn’t name them

    Like

  212. eatmorewords

    you don’t need toy guns
    you have more guns then food
    taped under the kitchen table
    stashed down the back of a sofa
    GIVE THEM BUTTER NOT GUNS
    and all the children who don’t salute flag ask WHOS ROBERT FROST?

    Like

  213. eatmorewords

    orphaned children
    didn’t suffer DADDY ISSUES
    blank characters on white paper
    waiting on the artist to finish drawing them in
    right wing police wheel clamped the wheelchair

    Like

  214. eatmorewords

    intravenously flooded with someone else’s blood
    you weren’t you but you
    were the one man who flew the coop

    you flew the coop
    wingless
    and bandaged buy you flew

    Like

  215. eatmorewords

    alcoholic people huddled together sharing bottles – addiction like that was so BORING
    – passing out in piss
    – stained
    the robotic nature of addicts
    gerbils spinning wheels
    the monotony of addiction and routine
    chicken legged half humans
    slowly turning yellow

    Like

  216. eatmorewords

    at the edge of town they claimed they saw fire in the sky
    something crashed in the woods
    an eye witness said he was out cruising in his car
    all tests retuned
    inconclusive
    children puffing on pens as cigarette substitutes
    eyewitnesses at the edge of town carried their stories in plastic bags

    Like

  217. multiplemichael

    smoking self-definition like it was a joint
    Bob Dylan had a membership card
    adult friendship with no members

    members wanting to consciously deceive other members

    Abe Lincoln
    physical deformities
    odd sexual preferences
    a wife with mental health speed bumps
    often mesmerized with hillbilly religious zeal

    Like

  218. eatmorewords

    He had a membership card for each phase of his life –
    every 10 years he’d change
    chameleon man
    changing like autumnal leaves
    falling
    changing direction clothing shape
    even the way he talked
    mental gymnastics on the high wire

    Like

  219. eatmorewords

    the grand-parents were lost
    they had no passwords
    they remembered when the internet was all fields
    – if you trod on a nail in their day you pulled it out and got on with life
    – no one was sued
    that was girls name
    total misunderstandings
    wrong end of the stick stuff

    Like

  220. multiplemichael

    in the hospital
    I had a choice of 3 painkillers
    I liked the most potent one
    I called it the Somersault
    Somersault became my best friend
    impossible to read or stare at images
    I listened to trains roar down the tracks
    Woody Guthrie was there like a perfect glove

    Like

  221. multiplemichael

    male dolls on a blanket at the beach
    a strong wind blows
    Dead Michaels
    (unguarded)

    former baton twirlers
    marching with large pocketbooks
    past stacks of Dead Michaels

    zoo animals in the tops of trees

    fuzzy fringe spit
    I was beyond happy
    safe from the edge of town
    in bed with Somersault and horny

    Like

  222. multiplemichael

    penetrating observation during poetry workshop
    —————-PEEPHOLE FLORIDA————–
    poets crazy to say something about the edge of town
    irregular as it may be
    (+) enthusiasm with the private parts
    (+) multiplicity of white-bearded poets
    (+) poetry through incessant repetition
    (+) happy being dissociated mentally from where and what

    Like

  223. eatmorewords

    I saw Florida on TV
    it was crushed and wet
    the supermarkets empty of food
    Soviet flashbacks
    angry white men blaming all the people they are pointing fingers at
    some people blamed the masturbators
    this was gods punishment
    poetic in its scope

    Like

  224. eatmorewords

    the poetry workshop fled the scene
    dispersed
    all directions of the compass
    the dead city of dark town
    the hoarse throated preacher the wordless poet
    they all fled but left their brains behind

    Like

  225. eatmorewords

    the sanctuary of the hospital
    peaceful slumber
    medicated prone human
    bandaged mommy
    not yet dead Micheal wandering what happened to the baby thrown from the car
    not yet dead Micheal with muddled dreams of cutlery
    blunt knifes and pitchforks
    American Gothic in dark town

    Like

  226. eatmorewords

    always a choice and
    everyone knew the first two colours would be red or blue
    but always arguments about colour three
    – black or white?
    – one or other?

    a lack of choice
    constrains the weak mind

    the trains in Japan don’t roar
    they fizz and cackle and embarrass the emperor

    Like

  227. multiplemichael

    she said, “what next, artificial insemination ?”
    I immediately went outside and poured boiling water
    on a beautiful rose bush (to hell with the color red)
    no one finds it easy to open up
    about their loss of pleasure and power

    Like

  228. multiplemichael

    there was one short poem about
    mutually pleasurable rough sex
    fault lines between near violence
    and real violence
    aggressive lovemaking
    and forcefully aggressive

    healthy and attractive
    (what would it take to alleviate the guilt ?)

    Like

  229. eatmorewords

    there was that man at the poetry circle who only wrote short poems
    other people called them sentences
    fault lines created seismic waves where people would upturn tables
    and sharpen the edges

    Like

  230. eatmorewords

    red colour with different meanings
    and different meanings means different reaction
    anger and fear
    fired and blood and seduction
    nothing artificial
    everything real
    and while you waited for the kettle to boil
    the world turned and bandages were changed

    Like

  231. multiplemichael

    a six-foot-two blond Adonis
    proudly displaying
    what many thought
    to be a plumber’s ball peen hammer

    asterisked events in the diary
    balloons in the underpants
    a rush of pleasantness

    Like

  232. multiplemichael

    each item in the Liquor Store
    had a degree of sweat
    it made me nervous
    people often die terrible deaths
    because they lack focus

    finding it too difficult to cross the street
    you become numb to the other side

    Like

  233. eatmorewords

    locomotive to the liquor store
    my face was my ID
    hobo train jumpers of the past
    their ghosts brush against your skin
    people die comical deaths
    phone culprits falling down potholes

    Like

  234. multiplemichael

    ————————-violent marriage
    anytime someone says something I don’t like
    ————————-the help of drug and liquor stores
    anytime someone says something I don’t like

    initiated into sin with the sound of a train outside close by
    (+) mother’s heartbeat in a panic

    Like

  235. eatmorewords

    wrestlers
    ultra hetro and sweating
    confusion of purity of thought
    grappling with more then another man
    grappling with thoughts not wanted
    a day trip to the library in search of answers

    Like

  236. multiplemichael

    sometimes during twilight moments
    you consider selling the old sheets
    to museums or private collectors

    remember that difficult math test
    where you had to separate yourself ?

    Like

  237. multiplemichael

    8000 wrestlers in the showers
    Old Testament God comes down
    zero wrestlers and a truckload of towel boys

    sodomy roadblocks everywhere
    rape on the trains
    rape in the cowboy bunkhouses
    a raggedy hillbilly sidekick gets it
    in small town America
    just like a flashy dancer in city pants
    Dark Town, the edge of town
    novelty pills
    (+) underage yodeling

    Like

  238. multiplemichael

    spangles, baubles, fringes
    caked between the buttocks
    barbershop quartet farts
    spraying mist
    Hollywood gone hillbilly wild
    white people wearing white cowboy outfits
    complete with white silk kerchiefs

    white people with white eyes

    Like

  239. eatmorewords

    aggressive self promoter
    back room bomber
    sticky tape and wires
    a deep relationships with god
    no respect for poetry
    from a womenless word
    shadow father

    and he left fingerprints everywhere

    Like

  240. multiplemichael

    the citizens of a small town
    employed as full time actors
    the glossy flyer states,
    “LIFE AS ART”

    scientists drive through town fast
    speed limits mean nothing to the educated

    Like

  241. eatmorewords

    the actor chosen to play me in the movie of my life emailed me for insight and tips
    he wanted to know my MOTIVATION
    my relationship with my peers he looked nothing like me

    Like

  242. eatmorewords

    violent marriage shotgun brides
    it won’t last they said and their kids will be deprived
    liquor store residents
    shrinking livers
    all those coins you frittered away
    all those coins

    Like

  243. multiplemichael

    ———–THE QUESTION OF THE WEEK————

    did the actor email you
    or did you email the actor ?

    your preconceived ideas
    (re:) that you were identical to those around you
    where all the evidence suggests that you have double brain power

    producing poetry about relatives
    who display the mark of Cain
    on their forehead

    the poet as perpetrator
    a daily clinging, enveloping atmosphere
    poetry that needs no special tools or skills
    common criminal ingenuity (possibly)

    she said, “the proposition of inside-outside”
    quickly became inside to the point of explosion
    swastika banners in the breeze
    not visible to right-thinking people
    close-cropped romance
    the smell of leather
    delinquent fingers

    Like

  244. eatmorewords

    the original email was blocked and filed as spam
    the firewall
    the firewall is there to save
    and you had an itch
    inside your skin
    you felt this feeling before you made a note
    to share with the actor
    to give him a little peace of you
    and small understanding

    today the flag fly at half mast

    a stain on the history of this place

    gathering storms a can full of stickers

    Like

  245. multiplemichael

    probably very few right-thinking people
    on the edge of town

    I know that you tried to live there
    when you were younger
    the desire for crime
    the need for guilt

    under the Christmas tree
    your little scale of misdeeds

    Like

  246. multiplemichael

    I remember what they said
    right after they removed that metal plate
    from your forehead
    “he has exactly the right aesthetic temperament”

    it was easy to pinpoint the reverb, echo, and distortion
    in your conversational poetry
    blurred at the edges
    impeccably ornate

    Like

  247. eatmorewords

    the sheet the Turin shorts the left
    discarded DNA
    of stains and hair
    follicles spied under microscopes
    a scientist tried to recreate Elvia from a hair found in a motel
    with some DNA from his shit
    stains all Rorschach test of butterflies and knife wounds

    Like

  248. eatmorewords

    before removing the metal plate
    kids would put magnets on my forehead
    METAL HEAD
    METAL HEAD
    they shouted
    it stopped the x-rays getting through
    it stopped the rain and bullets to

    Like

  249. multiplemichael

    one morning you noticed
    that everyone at your home
    wore white lab coats

    all-too-brief, they were gone
    footprints of self-indulgence
    still visible downstairs

    (+) whiter shades of pale

    Like

  250. multiplemichael

    a gifted and innovative poet
    you with your flashlight
    exploratory boy

    while others wrote about the edge of town
    you with your sharp-edged cutlery
    circled the edges of coherence

    (+) often misleadingly interpreted as autobiographical
    (+) each day like a dry Bob Dylan fart

    Like

  251. multiplemichael

    your brother starts
    listening to Engelbert Humperdinck
    his solo output slows down
    you embark upon a renewed bout
    of muscle relaxers
    chemical wordplay
    (+) you discover your smile on a circus poster

    Like

  252. eatmorewords

    the flashlight wasn’t real
    it was merely an idea
    an invisible tightrope to walk across
    in the poetry club they only wrote about the edge of town
    none of them had ever been there
    to them
    it was an idea

    the best Bob Dylan song wasn’t even written by him

    Like

  253. eatmorewords

    white footprints disappeared under snow
    the polar bear was sad
    I use soap for joyful hands
    my pants are drying on a radiator while my tea goes cold
    cold cold the cold is coming

    Like

  254. multiplemichael

    Their Satanic Majesties Request
    27 copies available at a flea market
    Mick was dry
    no menstrual cramp
    all crazy with a jackal mouth
    his manhood
    in a straining rictus of pain

    Like

  255. eatmorewords

    eating goats head soup
    Anton Lavey has a special satanic spoon and taped pictures of Mick and Keith to the kitchen wall
    teeth like a jackal
    all found at the murder site

    Like

  256. multiplemichael

    when I write about being a white man with white eyes
    someone thinks North Pole
    snow, polar bears
    never white silk sand
    or coconut milk with rum

    I openly confess to be Moses
    Moses in a manlike form

    Like

  257. multiplemichael

    —————————workshop——————-

    “reattachment”
    reclined and intertwined
    I wrote that they should fake sleep

    her husband came into the room
    with a large sharp knife
    gender trouble

    (+) allowed a brief glimpse
    (+) the female part seemed delicate
    (+) subservience

    Like

  258. multiplemichael

    ———————-the workshop—————-
    each poop became less finished, less satisfying
    medication to make everything more consistent

    words upon the printed page
    the turd had childlike eyes

    Like

  259. eatmorewords

    backed up stools
    something to loosen your ills?
    tablets the size of pool balls
    there is a cost
    cheaper from dark town but that comes with added risks

    the turd had hair

    Like

  260. eatmorewords

    submissive and suggestive
    husband and wife dynamics
    role changed WHO WEARS THE TROUSERS?
    fake sleep with eyeballs drawn on
    grief comes in small packages or big boulders

    Like

  261. multiplemichael

    spiritual exhaustion

    I was mistaken
    I thought the words were spinal exhaustion
    you dragging a warehouse from the past
    when you take your ribcage off at night
    a small number of times remaining
    (+) your times upright slipping by

    Like

  262. multiplemichael

    DEMONSTRATING AN INTELLECTUAL PASSIVITY
    church mice chuckle about the weakness of resolve
    heroines from your Lonely Heart Club
    one-liner gals to professional bedroom wrestlers
    SUSTAINED RELEASE
    all you had to give and then some

    mentally, physically, spiritually, your dong shrinks
    she became famous for saying
    “no place in Poetry for a poet without a dong”

    (+) de-intellectualizing the dong-less poet
    (+) polite appearances turn sour as people turn away
    (+) no longer participating in physical sex
    (+) lucky to generate mental pornography

    Like

  263. multiplemichael

    a new poet goes to the pool hall
    cocky and impetuous
    soon faced with responsibilities
    that he could not assume
    (+) the doctor stated that he was “unequipped”
    friends tried to help

    overdeveloped
    underdeveloped
    dark alleys of thought
    the man with no brain
    questioning membership in literature

    Like

  264. eatmorewords

    possession
    nine tenths of the law
    no-one ever mentions what the other one tenth is
    the lawyers will exaggerate
    justified existence
    people in the home his between the floorboards

    Like

  265. eatmorewords

    I applied for membership
    it went to the board
    there was vote
    a conversation about my suitability
    did i tick the boxes?
    was I equipped
    could I carry the heavy weight?
    the chalk dust fingerprints stained the suit i wore to the interview
    the old heads at the pool hall just dipped their coffees and waited

    Like

  266. multiplemichael

    ****cages of artificial families on the Ark

    stacking dead people and dead animals after the Flood
    everything was anthropological
    Cubist painters refused to create anything identifiable
    (+) nothing humorous about pessimism
    (+) Dollar Store Hydrocyanic Acid
    (+) night art school—–flashlight after flashlight

    Like

  267. multiplemichael

    you discard the stupid baby
    and let some old geezer
    suckle your wife
    for money
    *not a Disney moment
    some old scum bag attached to a young breast
    you file a complaint with the erotic imagery board
    artistic expression has limits

    Like

  268. eatmorewords

    the bugs I saw
    trapped in amber
    like orange glass
    like them prisoners
    trapped in glass like bugs
    collected on school field trips

    I went on a field trip to a church and came back empty handed

    Like

  269. eatmorewords

    the part time job
    became full time
    the permanent recount in Florida
    a continual loop of counting
    a line that never ends
    you are in something bigger then yourself
    like being the 12675 number in pi

    Like

  270. eatmorewords

    hard drinking poet
    a foot in both camps
    a Venn diagram where masculinity mets femininity
    a loaded gun the barrel dripping in sweat and whiskey

    the brains in his head mixed with thoughts and clicking cubes of ice

    sex in a cheap motel
    a well fingered bible
    a bus ticket to Tacoma used as a bookmark

    Like

  271. eatmorewords

    on the modern ark the animals are just holograms
    the ark is self propelled by a computerised Moses
    a silent boat
    silent except for a faint electrical hum

    static that floats into tomorrow
    and the future
    until the power dies

    Like

  272. eatmorewords

    it was the drugs
    legally prescribed by a doctor who survived the war
    the tattoo on his arm explained his past
    I was floating while on the ground
    I was a cloud
    a pillow of wool
    I could hear the clouds
    I know Syd barked like a dog
    I saw him with four legs

    Like

  273. multiplemichael

    I know people say
    that Syd Barrett is long dead
    but it is not true
    his sense of otherness made him strong
    he schooled himself
    “I didn’t mean anything to anyone”
    with less than half of a book
    he is happy

    Like

  274. eatmorewords

    Syd was never there
    ( was he?)
    a figment seen in a whirl of brown acid
    spinning under kaleidoscopes of light
    he had a beautiful face
    feminine and loud
    a self writing book

    feedback drowning out nursery rhymes

    Like

  275. multiplemichael

    THE DARK UNDERSIDE OF LITERATURE

    the enslavement of poets
    clocks ticking out a relentless threat

    poets without sufficient backbone
    fatally attracted to words

    readers noted for their voracious appetite
    readers ready to eat anything

    black and white words
    dipped in exotic colors
    farting fumes
    words that throbbed
    and spat seed
    sorehead fathers
    angry with their daughters
    fleeting recollections of the distant past
    vibrating pants and mother with her rough hands

    conversational poetry
    experimental and unfinished
    THE GIVE-AND-TAKE OF CREATIVE PARTNERSHIP
    ————nonconfrontational cutlery————

    Like

  276. multiplemichael

    unless disturbed by someone’s presence
    (the rootstock of reality)

    private thoughts: raring and tearing lovers
    names and faces of no importance
    your rum cherry torrents
    religiously moved to do
    their best

    trivializing prose and poetry
    contaminated, lazy words
    dreadful shadows
    in your pockets

    Like

  277. eatmorewords

    I spent the weekend at the bottom of a glass
    nearly drowning
    but never coming up for air
    bubbles in my lungs
    the bends with my feet on the ground
    self-punishment
    self- propelled into oblivion

    Like

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