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
Eatmorewords's Blog 
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 ?
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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(a sad harmonica)
tossed the baby goodbye
now we go home and medicate
the freedom of tomorrow will be a reward
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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
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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
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intravenously connected yet invisible
the Jesus myth
the jealous father
pushed / pulled in four directions
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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?
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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
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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
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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)
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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
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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
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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
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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 ?
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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
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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
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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)
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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
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masquerade was plural (?)
a life of fiction
constantly reading
story in a story
sometimes innocent readers forget
THE LIFE THAT YOU ARE LIVING
LEAVES A PATH
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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
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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
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your boss called you the wet fish
out of your environment
gasping down air
strangers wanted to fillet you
you knew that wasn’t part of God’s plan
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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
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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
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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
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all those years of doing things
the way you wanted them done
the constant paycheck problems
not once was it in my favor
I’m not stupid
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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the pricked balloon exploded and scared the kid
who shit himself
mudslide
houses crushed
SOS messages tapped out with human bones
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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
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“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
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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
LikeLike
——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
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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
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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———
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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
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isolation on a lonely island
a location where the lips
meet in a quarrel
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
LikeLike
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
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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
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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
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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
LikeLike
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)
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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
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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
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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
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the sermon on Sunday:
“THE NOTION OF NONCOINCIDENCE”
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SETTING THE MACHISMO ALARM
the bouts of madness
how many tranquilizers ?
zippers all around
zippers flopping like fish
(+) a Tijuana brass band zipper contest
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a poet wearing croc shoes
a million miles away from her childhood prince
but he’ll do
hung like a donkey at a Tijuana sex show
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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
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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
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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
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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
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fruit trees of creative openness and potentiality
nostalgia for a completed task
the happy marriage
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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”
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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
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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
LikeLike
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
–
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SHE SAID THAT HIS WAIST WAS BREATHTAKINGLY SLENDER
the locals thought she was commenting on his wrist
self-definition was strongest on holidays
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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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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”
LikeLike
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
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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
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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
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a round poet
a self-contained sphere
signs and traces of the past
dinosaur bones and red hair
both the attic and the cellar below
(+) THE KING OF NO REGRETS
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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)
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
trying to smuggle words through customs
whole sentences hidden inside
strip searched by bureaucracy
confiscated at dawn
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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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
a mutual recognition of separateness
with both hands high in the air
somebody besides you
too senior citizen
for sewing-machine sex
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
one would pray for post-coital melancholy
in the stale hotel lobby
the sounds of slick
sexual organs
gallivanting
in ooze
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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
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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”
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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
LikeLike
(+) 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
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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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
the ovens were never on
just for show
your gas was cut off
it was jay an image
like a butchers window during the famine
LikeLike
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
–
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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
LikeLike
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
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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
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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
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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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
poetry from pseudo-memories
actual events vs. explanatory fictions
aggressive attention before love
the ugly sister of intercourse
unavailability
LikeLike
endless knocks on the door
detectives, agents, faces that signified failure
shadows forced to obedience
the hands struggled hardest
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
pseudo intellectuals carrying books they’ll never read
aggressive attention to smallest detail
unavailable for comment
LikeLike
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
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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
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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
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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
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a feeling of disconnect
the body is out of touch with the head
involuntary movements of the lips coughs out old rhetoric
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
conversational poetry
after three jugs
of Kentucky Shine
words that speed up
like ants close to a fire
LikeLike
army of ants
a mile long
all red and crawling
creeping by closer and there all connected
all there tiny ant conversations
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
Daddy always wanted to live long enough
to hear Irving Berlin music played on Mars
Daddy was an egg with a thin shell
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
my employment is a means to an end
the end
will hopefully be more then a cold death and an eulogy read by a woman with an annoying voice
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
hidden doors in geography
visible preexisting doors
not made in China
those devils
are making
dinosaur
bones
LikeLike
everywhere you go
someone tries to sell you a radio
telling you
that you can listen to the chemistry
of the Earth
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
I KNEW WHERE THE CRACK WOULD APPEAR
cleaving like an axe had chopped her
I looked away not wanting to know
the other thing inside her thing
it was outside my range
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
you showed up at the party
with a splinter
lesser poets
wanting to cultivate your friendship
offered to suck it out
(+) happy before intermission
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
me and my Moses prayer shawl
congregation members
with saggy skin
eavesdropping with a warm hand
outstretched fingers
slick and lovable
LikeLike
you trying to sell that funeral car
clean without smell
a psychoanalyst
in the glove box
published your
infantile voyeurism
in poetic prose
SELF-DAMAGE IN A SMALL TOWN
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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”
LikeLike
a breather from the dictionary…
demented Americana:
a hobo watching us have sex
on the surface, it was a blissful agreement
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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”
LikeLike
genitals impossible to ignore
it started with an intellectual jerk
knock out drops
and an expensive autograph book
six-foot-two blond Adonis
Jack Kerouac in reverse
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
organs to play on
different key
plugged into electricity
LikeLike
——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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
cafeteria poetry written at speed during break time
– the sheet of paper had greasy finger marks
your poetry smelt
LikeLike
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?
LikeLike
cowboy detectives
with extradition papers
seems the wild west distinguishes
between aristocracy and bourgeoisie
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
sometimes when I think back
on my mailing you that donkey photo
WHAT IF THAT WAS THE START OF YOUR DIFFICULTIES ?
pilfering for the smell of another
LikeLike
the sad tale of the poet-to-be
following instructions carefully
a thousand times without success
Baby, reality being the wrong consistency
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
life-long companionship
without a single
mouth on mouth
mature thoughts
that destroyed the mood
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
wrapping yourself in a mirror you couldn’t see your reflection
like a baby duck
at the edge of a pond
Jesus as played by Roger Daltrey
hair like a woman
LikeLike
life-long companionship
handcuffed to a bag of meat and bones
mature thoughts and immature actions
you lost the key
you lost the key
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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 ?”
LikeLike
the Ouija board spelled your entire name
p h y s I c a l l y s t I l l
in the honeymoon suite
wood-chipper on the rag
Tootsie Pop
in a warm mug of water
LikeLike
old daddy found himself tuned to banjo style
a rare open “G”
strike and turn him loose quick
or risk becoming a lonesomer too
LikeLike
he couldn’t afford the strings
he pulled a hair from his head and re-strung his banjo
– he had seen Deliverance
– banjo nightmares plucked on one string
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
conspiracies abound
all those museums
explored but what did you find?
an unexploded bomb fired from a forest you couldn’t pin point on a map
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
being tossed from a moving car
made it difficult to pinpoint on a map
hip swaying in guilt
making black men nervous
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
locating a position on a map while upside down
a pin in your hand
landed somewhere in Central America
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
it wasn’t a dead whale on the beach
(+) it was the plot skeleton from your youth
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
adequate recompense
adequate recognition
they give me all I want
they give me more
the real stuff
I kiss angels in the air
(+) with all the dead Michaels, I am alive
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
underdogs snuffling about for truffles
among stacks of dead Michaels
there’s no turning back
put away your revise
no rethink
no erase
LikeLike
transcendent meaning in medication
one can never take too much
I’m busy kissing angels
that snake through
the air
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
She helps carry them in
She helps drag them out
straight in my eyes
she said,
“how can you be alive ?”
(+) 10 years later: they give me the real stuff
LikeLike
I don’t even think about how much I take
I can never take too much
living in a Woody Guthrie song
the angels keep me awake
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
1 month of autumn
when the leaves change color
and drop
11 months of Valentine Madness
heartache and regret
——————a Poetry Workshop year
LikeLike
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.
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
the wife slipping a few dollars
to the attendants
“look away—don’t say a thing”
LikeLike
(YOU KNOW ME)
Baby Bird, when it comes to poetry
you are still walking
but like a man walking
across a trampoline
LikeLike
(the utter tragedy of the situation)
thirty seconds from death
and people ask for whorehouse prose
cigarettes stuffed in twelve pockets
matchbooks and food stamps too
LikeLike
the prose was stolen from toilet stall graffiti
happy words slowly fading
illegible alphabet
LikeLike
(self-analysis of motivations)
gifts under the tree never opened
suffer, suffer, and certainly make others suffer
DNA from clean animals
ripped out and thrown away
LikeLike
relatives driving automobiles of poverty
living in the structures of poverty
kissing and lusting in poverty
physically passionate
a rickety old man
dying not dead
LikeLike
Courtney brought joy today
in some odd way
she may be the girl from the coffee shop
I said that I would never forget
but I’ve forgotten, John
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
she had dirty knees
that what I remember most about her
dirty knees
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
I couldn’t find a motive for the actions
it just seemed all automatic
the detectives wouldn’t understand or they’d tried to blame it on my DNA
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
the dead whale with dead things inside
a vagina taller then a man
scream your name into the void and hear it echo back
LikeLike
wipe the clowns face
wipe away the paint
broken nose
only looks good at a certain angle and in a certain light
– thrift store Courtney
a pariah in thousand dollar shoes
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
first signs of a serial killer tendencies
missing pet
dead
buried in the yard
masturbating and thinking of mummy in a piss stained bed
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
Lunchroom entertainment
A man on a motorcycle
In a large metal sphere
The volume of sound
The variety of fumes
I gave my nourishment away
More room in my pocket
For escape plans
LikeLike
they didn’t want woman to have pockets in their dresses
pockets to carry pamphlets and sedition
just think
100 years ago a woman wouldn’t have rode a motorcycle
LikeLike
you were a character in a Bob Dylan song
the night watch man
going slowly insane
a small character
with no background story
LikeLike
kept alive attached to machines
tubes that carried fluid
the constant beep of machines that send out coded message to sailors
Arctic ice and morse code machines
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
Morse code machines busy on the moon
Outer space tired of the oceans
Every minute of every hour
Blues and greens
Unhealthy at best
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
— — .-. … . / -.-. — -.. . / — .- -.-. …. .. -. . … / — -. / – …. . / — — — -. / …. .- -. -.. .-.. . -.. / -… -.– / .–. — . – … / .– .. – …. / -… ..- -… -… .-.. . … / .. -. / – …. . .. .-. / .-.. ..- -. –. ..
LikeLike
that wasn’t a banjo is was a small guitar
seen from many miles
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
fastidiously groomed mental health
each time I open a door
I find grubby
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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?
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
real-life obligations
a nasty nail to step on
the baby in a hooded jumpsuit
out the back window at 60
fundamental misunderstandings
the grandparents were in left-field
LikeLike
please don’t scrutinize reality
one gets comfortable in bed
and then the emergence of something familiar
only one hand experiences recognition
LikeLike
I won’t scrutinise reality
I’ll deny what i can see
the blood trickling down your face
the building that’s mindless and empty
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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 ?)
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
highlighted destinations in diaries
highlighted with luminous pen
a post-it note that’s lost it’s stick
(need new adhesive)
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
————————-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
LikeLike
alone in the back of the library
trying to maintain a purity
of concentration
it was poetry
or the librarian
sexually berserk
like wrestling with a bear
LikeLike
dishing out .22-caliber poetry
in a room full of lonely hearts
LikeLike
a room full of drying laundry
old sheets
buckshot
stained dry blood
light brown in colour
looks like dried weak tea
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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 ?
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
week after week
I warned you about them
dangerous superstitious shoes
mail them back to the devil
the burlesque house closed
the wedding a done deal
LikeLike
in the back room
he was known to be aggressive
many said, “a self-promoter”
after the fish died
he womanized the bowl
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
he always got burlesque confused with bourgeoisie
his essays on Marx never made sense
bordello communism
all the love shared
LikeLike
all those wrestlers
bare chest and leaving greasy stains
somewhere in small town US
a town where people meet in the town square and accuse people of witchery
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
———–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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
2 FAMOUS STREETS NEAR THE EDGE OF TOWN
(+) Underprivileged
(+) Under-educated
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
twinned with Neglected and Run-Down
cars with no wheels
dirty socks
trainers hanging from telegraph poles
food vouchers in pockets
MAGA hats tyre fires
LikeLike
they decided to go past the edge of town
past the broken down cars and people
all the way to Canada
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
surrogate talk that passes for conversational poetry
no embrace today or tomorrow
innocent and free of taint
“I love the smell”
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
surrogate mother gave away her child
it was better then tossing it from a car
bought by. Kardashian for pocket change
LikeLike
the albino man vanished off the polar tundra
blink and he was gone
you can recall his red eyes
like marbles
like blood clots
like buttons
LikeLike
YOU ASKED HOW TO SPELL “EXISTENTIAL PAIN”
big wads of cash
temporary relief
analgesic
LikeLike
it was misspelt
EXISTENTIAL SPAIN
EXISTENTIAL FAME
confusion across the boards
people of all states
LikeLike
—————————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
LikeLike
———————-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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
through a pair of binoculars
God knows what is best
pathways merge
machine and man
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
Satan smiles
cracking unborn babies
material ready-made
imbalance or lopsidedness
means nothing on his tracks
peculiarity becomes goal #1
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
POSSESSING SOMETHING SOMEONE ELSE WANTS
the nostalgia bucket was overflowing
exaggerations of all sizes
people in the home
were skillfully cloaking
their manipulations
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
****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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
you get a part-time job counting ballots in South Florida
caught up in something larger than yourself
you take multiple dwarfing pills
you remain anonymous
LikeLike
devil figures clustered like bugs
sprayed with abstinence
finding it difficult
to be chaste
LikeLike
they had to drown some of the older bugs
who had repeatedly violated their parole
new faces begging religion
“help them Jesus, they’re caught up in a corner”
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
I let him suckle the wife as he had no teeth
no bite marks
a lack of evidence
but she was dry
he had to use him imagination
make the water taste like milk
LikeLike
you find yourself going outdoors
to locate your unknown God
readers attempt to pawn pain
high quality self-love in demand
LikeLike
PHOTOGRAPHS AND SIGNED DOCUMENTS
the entire classroom of poets
unable to perform sexually
rehearsal and more rehearsal
the urge to violate moral perimeters
LikeLike
self-punishment comes first
bad luck and unfortunate circumstances
private tutoring—-self-absorbed tutoring
romance: impossibly naughty and unmanageable
LikeLike
the dead weight crushing
cruel turns that damage the knees
a bottle of whiskey
a loaded gun
no need to hide the face
nothing effeminate
about a missing nose
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
you needed a compass
but the magnets set the needles spinning sending you hither and yon
here and there
dark town and the back of beyond
LikeLike
only if the binocular are upside down
the view of fractals
hypnotic
my honesty
my bones
they grew up didn’t they?
LikeLike
making a bed on nails
will this ever stop spinning?
will the clues be found inside pyramid or under a mattress in that dirty hotel?
joined together
handcuffs
LikeLike
honestly, man should abandon all beds on nails
the spinning is taken for granted, dignity too
man fails at casting off restraints
trusting only direct experience
LikeLike
I saw you floating
between what is happening
and what you thought was happening
I saw you trying to feed Syd Barrett
as if he was a zoo animal
LikeLike
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
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I am writing this
underwater
in a cage
circled by sharks
LikeLike
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
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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
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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————
LikeLike
you told everyone at your 7th birthday party
that your brother was South America
and you with pride, North America
he was a nuisance
a warped career
and you a kid
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you never told anyone
but your first American friend
enjoyed calling you a “store bought pickle”
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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
LikeLike
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
LikeLike
THE STRUGGLE FOR INFORMATION
conversational poetry with endless detectives
passive detectives
as well as detectives knocking on doors
romantic agents
caught up in the world of extremes
(+) universal themes in poetry
(+) visual metaphors painted on the walls of literature
(+) Rule #4……….capture as many sides of the reader as possible
LikeLike
I am taking my own self prescribed medication
once
three times a door
(at least)
the elusive detectives want to get hands on my prescription
MATA HARI steps across the meridian
a foot in both camps
keep the reader happy
give them a killer they can fall in love with
show some sympathy for the bastard
dancing in the shadow
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colonized poetry
children being taught to panhandle
not a single student could spell Pennsylvania
stacks of dead Michaels
warehouses of wounded
no matter how many times
they are told to smile
nothing changes
LikeLike
you answered the door
drinking from a sterilized bottle
with a special nipple
(+) no checkmark next to “successfully weaned”
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a sense of dread in the house
what kind of mood would he return with ?
he referred to it as his “temperament”
but it was just old fashioned anger
(+) on bad days, anger spoke through a megaphone
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learning the local language
bombarded by German words
or what sounded like German words
Teutonic ties———-all things German
and yet, Swiss-German socks
Swiss-German shoes
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having lived a lifetime
of childish abandonment
each Michael in the stack
had never experienced
actual childhood
(+) the adjacent colors were never correct
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I remember one day after school
silently weeping
you addressed the issue
your brother had fleshed duplicates
intertwining each self with evil
(+) “molest and hide”
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the replacement Michaels
stored in a warehouse down by the docks
ready to be replaced
ready to be de-commissioned
childhood replaced with “manufacturers date”
a set of instructions
that you couldn’t really follow
a whole life working at 74% capacity
faint recollections in memory of fresh cut grass
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cuckoo clocks and wooden shoes
efficient machines and the smell of sausages
childhood mementoes from another child youth
implemented and input sometime at night
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your bank manager phone
he wanted you to explain the irregular withdrawals
he wanted you to account for everything
column a had to balance with column b
you didn’t return his calls
You didn’t have a phone
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it took weeks to find the right nipple
I know i was one of the lucky ones a man can go a lifetime without finding one
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grandparents who daily said,
“those dirty bastards will never touch American soil”
and outside the neighborhood
another new prison
(+) slave labor
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censored words
late night travel
moonless
the constant fear
of being torpedoed
TORPEDOED
by warm blooded lookalikes
how long have they lived here ?
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no true confidante (ever)
deprived of intimacy
Steven Spielberg gave us dinosaurs
multiple parents with various size teeth
reconciliation without communication
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when it came to romance
the poet lingered too long
reconciliation not possible
the source of his most significant feelings
mapped and recorded in a thousand volumes
no one showed any interest
he was drowning in loneliness
(+) a timesheet of empty moments
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for the poet at the recital romance was like a bank robbery
– in then out – (possibly wearing a disguise)
over in a matter of seconds
no evidence left
lifetime of loneliness after the event
the detectives knew his methods
had them all recorded down
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dinosaur were never in the bible – a whitewash of history
– can you imagine a bald caveman?
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all the important words were blacked out
it made little sense if you read it
you had to guess
you had to make up your own stories
who were the people censoring this?
how long has they had this job?
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ring fenced poetry
where people can only follow certain rules
electric fences where the dead cows pile up
fields of wounded poets tiptoeing over the bodies
everyday where nothing changes you smile like your holding a pineapple
tongue tied
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holding a pineapple, baby
the distaste for pineapples
female homosexuals angry
your fruit juice so harmful
don’t undercut our thoughts
dongs with an adult foothold
nothing experimental
seeking equal status with men
lesbian
subordinates expecting MORE
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the juice ran and attracted the flies
distasteful comments from Puritan types
who are far removed from the act – on the periphery of this dirt they just don’t understand
– the juice ran
the ants would surely follow
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a little chivalrous courtesy, pineapple dear
ogling the librarian with all of her defects
unfinished thoughts—-so very useful
yes, useful beyond belief
the misspelled word
immediate recognition
immediate punishment
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I’ve stuck to the prescription
and the librarian no longer appears in my dream
walking against the wind
in this season of grey
where things just fall from the sky
like dead birds or malfunctioning planes
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a seemingly healthy baby
right out the window
unreliable day to day
a pet with three names
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want for nothing the heart can wish
standing naked in a freezing river
smoking a fresh opened Winston
———————-a living Michael
in a world of dead Michaels
stacks of dead Michaels
a mile high
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blessings of the heart
never reveal themselves
at the proper time
friends being “colorized”
artificial shortcuts
to the GOOD LIFE
inspiration without soil
honest wholesome dirt
(+) not human filth (sewage from the heart)
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guns at hand, knives within reach
struggles for balance
locomotives snake
through the landscape
poets fascinated
with noncombatant romance
tourists taking photos
of dead Michaels
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bashful knots on top of the head
like a dream hairdo
the sound of dead Michaels
scooting across the floor
every time a buzzer goes off
a dead Michael joins the stack
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the sound of a Micheal dying
falling like a tree in a forest
sounding like a bag of potatoes hitting the ground
a faint echo could be heard
the buzzer of the game show signalled another death
the laughter track continued
unabated
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balanced without
all aspects of life
balanced diet where all food groups are represented
an even tan (not now
not here
winter has set in)
the landscape has changed
wrinkles on skin
tourists out of season covered in lotion slipping along the streets
guns at hand from day one
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there was a law that all Michaels has to be registered at birth
registers and tagged
followed throughout life
death was a full stop
but all life was archived at the Museums of Michaels
(free entry
after 5)
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some families took pride in the amount of names they gave their off spring
– names that ran through the family from the day their ancestors touched the ground
– reliable names but a narrative that wasn’t factual
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dual personality
brother Jekyll
and brother Hyde
self-knowledge
soaking in a hot tub
and sleeping in snow
clothing with “irregulars” on the tag
life with its stacked decks and loaded dice
grade school degradation
high school venereal disease
workplace drugs
LikeLike
you write nostalgic prose
about the mysterious river
that flowed through your
childhood bedroom
(+) you told the doctor
that your brother was a strong swimmer
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oral anecdotes
with boyhood companions
to relive your youth
free of handcuffs
(+) valentines covered with footsteps
the irrationalities of romance
the cruelties of marriage
a life not capable of language
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against the tide he swam
against the tide sapping all his energy
an empty ballon
a husk
of old bones
re-read that nostalgic prose
in the waiting room your brother in your childhood bedroom your brother in your dreams
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the deeper significance
of separation
the past in words
episode by episode
lie after lie
(+) boy from the same root
against the conscience
pranks and fancies
anything to vent the mania
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I separate nightly
part of me takes a walk
outside
away from home
away from here
down towards dark town
down towards the docks
I sit in hotel lobbies reading well thumbed magazines
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(+) Edenic visions
the living room full of angels
and pillows straight from heaven
sleep conquers the weak
I’m drinking white coffee
American sensibility
why wait for heaven ?
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if you die—-bye bye
a ride out to the swamp lands
no pretentions of niceness
the freeway of bones
no body gonna pass away
this is the Fifth Avenue shit
a deep complex high
(+) no human muck here baby bird
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she said, “this shit is warmed up in hell”
robbed of a standard life
all applied tests failed
THE LIVING MICHAEL
self-conscious of my self
and a dozen others
MULTIPLEMICHAELS
(+) storyteller reminds me of outside
the stacks of dead michaels
(+) airs of detachment
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storyteller got a bone stuck in his throat
he chocked
derailed himself
the story rolled from birth to death
all the living Micheals feared the next steps
some changed their names
but we knew who they were
LikeLike
the death is final
no reprieve
the fullest of full stops
a red light brick wall
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what does one say
when asked,
“does God have a human face ?”
you dream about being ignorant of sin
watching others masturbate to erotic tightrope acts
to fall and stab the ground with an erection
to mix seed with the soil
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gods human face is a mask
a mask woven from sack
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little people over for supper
spiked tails and short horns
red buttocks steaming
nephews of Satan
————————————————when quizzed
they knew everything that has ever happened
they possibly knew even more
some had Elton John buttons
death and decay pansies
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poets in the shadows
trying to satisfy their appetites
without calling them something else
poets trying to survive in a world full of toothaches
poets trying to live happier lives than those enslaved
by their anus and anal products
shut your eyes and take a whiff
raw friendship, baby bird
LikeLike
you saw an old photo of me
all shaved headed
criminal heritage narcotics swallowed to quell toothache
a raw pain
that is still there even when you close your eyes
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that local band had a recording studio
full of sound
nephews of Satan
a name on a shirt
that didn’t give away any secrets
LikeLike
no matter the number of knocks
primitive or not
explanations in demand
combed
by the painful teeth
of detective after detective
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in and out of your life
like busboys at a restaurant
having experienced the teeth of detectives
he complained of the hard comb
HOODWINKERS
all poets were hoodwinkers
inescapable savagery
so often Anglo-American
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posters of you in a nightgown
relaxing in a hotel lounge
your list of distractions
small if not smaller
(+) divinity was beyond personal measure
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them posters were photoshopped
forged – that weren’t me – trust me – that ain’t me
a list of distractions read like a list of crimes
the man who sat next to me in the bus looked at me sideways
I think he was suspicious
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hoodwinking the public
like snake oil salesmen
an illusion of words the detectives took notes
short handed scribbles
detective teeth biting to the nub
I’ve stuck to my promises I tell my parole officer
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a world of loneliness
flat cardboard characters
not a single person available to pinch
a limited imagination, talk-free sentences
(+) they question the spontaneity of the human mind
self-educated, scorecards of masturbation
dictated from bed, males and females
fragmentary lines of prose
unrelated reminiscences
conversational poetry
the guilty party
—often you–
LikeLike
anecdotes copied from Robert Frost
narrative flowing upstream
waterfalls ceasing to exist
words reproduce events
what do words reproduce for you ?
I could hear you complain
what it cost
LikeLike
the cost is just pennies at the bottom of a lake
reading flarf is like sitting in a barrel and throwing yourself down Niagara Falls
every time I read it I demand compensation
LikeLike
cardboard people where the light shines through them
– small shadows cast
If this was the 50s I’d dictate lines to my secretary
I’d go home and drink gin
conversational poetry with myself
those voices you hear
please guilty bug don’t put your hand on the bible
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far from boyhood poverty
I know the average all around
the way by words alone
the letter of the law
the Holy Bible
sufficient unto itself
never to be replaced
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please guilty bug hold tight your manly gun grip
don’t shoot down below—shoot up above
aim for the doughnut glued to my heart
we who are at the mercy
of the great imagination
we who are and aren’t
dog-collar poets
LikeLike
I saw people stumbling around like sick bugs
ready to be crushed
but didn’t want to dirty their shoes
at the mercy of synapses
of things you can’t put your finger on
bar crawler poets paying with their words
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you got confused – –
average median
the mean —
twice the length from one end to the middle —
you tried to use your fingers to count
you even put the bible down
LikeLike
I’ve been seeing things
people in the corner of my eye
people who I know aren’t there
the shadows are moving
aren’t they
over there?
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the neighbors brag about being great liars
the Holy River that flows through them is muddy
pure sky water soon turns brown
Earth is generous with its lies
immersed in a world of our own making
demons masquerading as humans
questioners watching
questioners asking questions
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the greatest liars never get caught little lies white apparently in colour dropped like cookie crumbs leading you up blind alleyways
back streets in dark town
WE ARE ANXIOUS
GUILT
REGRET
EMBARRASSMENT
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the point (?)
the poet be allowed
at critical moments
to be himself
to let go the doings
of those close at hand
the authentic poet
both a witness
and a participant
whereby when necessary
yes, whereby when necessary
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the backstreets of Dark Town
(+) home of the smirch that cannot be wiped away
the backstreets of Dark Town
(+) daily, adult make-believe and role-playing
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Uptown Dark Town
bang, bang all fall down
paupers with habits
loafers exercising crime
many a beautiful romance
(+) seasonal honeymoon slide
another adolescent fantasy
she could sneak a nut
LikeLike
a metal slug with no name
incapacitated by a bullet
conscious of death approaching
and God is not in the viewfinder
humans no better off than bugs
LikeLike
topic of conversation in the backroom of the pool hall
“the greatest fumble imaginable”
several honeymoon events were brought forward
people laughed
people cried
several people made the same mistake twice
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false hates of previous generations
——reasons to steer clear of Dark Town
mouth to mouth
pill exchange
male lips all rubbery
absurdly perverse
a little finger
then full measure
LikeLike
the greatest fumble
vaseline fingers with cracked nails
you heard it go SPLAT on the ground
SPLAT like a birthday jelly dropped from a great height
(I’ll be honest
I can’t remember the honeymoon night)
LikeLike
Uptown Dark Town was a reggae hit in the early 80s
– my neighbour played it all day that summer
– it’s still in my head
– stuck in there like a fucking magnet on a fridge
LikeLike
dirt under nails spoon fulls of sugar to help that medicine go down
– you had to ask permission
– you asked for it in writing
you wanted evidence to confirm your existence
– does your brother write you letters?
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the poet throwing his weight behind his words
– picked carefully from a limited pot
the best ones stored under your hat
LikeLike
DEAD POETS LITTERING THE FIELD
poets unpacked for observation
puny poets refused
alive in the tourist bus
having been denied participation
the embarrassment of riding
the tourist bus home
LikeLike
surviving the Satanic sweep
ignorance and superstition
no longer supreme
stacks of dead Michaels
pygmies and giants
LikeLike
having romanticized himself to death
the poet climbed the ladder
to the top of the stack
(+) exploited for literature
LikeLike
I survived the sweep
I was hiding
the hordes swept through town
the Michaels lined the street
both dead and alive
LikeLike
DEAD POET SOCIETY
that was never filmed
and if it was
I was never in it
I know people observed the film in dark rooms
I tried to flex my muscles but no one saw
the story of my life
puffed up like a peacock and no one ever watching
LikeLike
the subtle charm of unspoken words
(+) rumors of golden words that turn to ash if spoken
words that can not be checked out with a library card
Swedenborgian words spoken after an accidental fart
words edged with humiliation
LikeLike
the thorny words that got stuck in throat
not made up words
but ones that hung around for years goes in and out of fashion plucked from a forgotten tree no humiliation not knowing the meaning
LikeLike
people talking around the post
you’re shocked by the number
of black coated tongues
human marmalade
it has gone bad
(+) orphan baby out the window
LikeLike
Adam outside the Garden
continues to complain
that the inadequacy of language
has landed him in this dilemma
Adam says that he’s gone dry
apes in the front row
at the Darwin award ceremony
singing a sort of unnerving lullaby
LikeLike
Adam was so out of sorts today
trying to explain that his language
had internal consistency
but no real intrinsic relationship
to reality
(+) THE MAN WHO GAVE NAMES TO REALITY (?)
LikeLike
the Detectives were 100% positive
that words had no objective existence
they were mere fancy pant utterances
fabrications from two-legged fabricators
LikeLike
the detectives had new year resolutions
but they would keep them secret till the time was right
they had them written down but hidden away
LikeLike
topsy-turvy in your sock drawer
and there it was
your new year’s resolution
on a post-it
mathematical masturbation
listed as a handkerchief sport
the honeymoon arrangement
attachments warm
and willing
from winged genitals
a fluttering orgasm
just a heap on the floor
possibly psychological
LikeLike
outside on the street
lower-class laborers
sharing a cigarette
aggressive language
extreme handkerchief waving
life beyond the control of the wife
LikeLike
I’m still in the submarine
submerged and no one has a light for my cigarette
it’s been in my hand for days
days before the saviour was born
handcuffed to history
LikeLike
new shoes shiny and ready for the wear
walk right into the new year
expectant bulge
the post-it notes lost their stick
an orgasm that made you dizzy
you had a nose bleed
you bled and cried
guilty and elated
LikeLike
outside the house
wild animals starving
desperate for new shoes
you’ve made the detectives nervous
with your instinct for self-preservation
a cutlery man
in a dollhouse
a feral man
LikeLike
outside the reach of the claw
beasts with many teeth
grins in the dark
those shoes
can you
spare
one ?
LikeLike
beast with many teeth
sharp incisor
knife like cloud of cold air
waits
awaiting
eyes shine out from the darkness
what might have been lost?
what might have been love?
single shows found in the strangest places
hanging from a telegraph pole
middle of a freeway
next to a grave
LikeLike
A SIMPLE WHITE INDEX CARD FROM 1950
“Mister Michael, your poetry is just short of nonsense”
the game of poetry
words as playthings
with all the customary emotions
set in the brook so one may cross
without getting wet
sodomy with mathematical precision
jousts with curious visitors
Robert Frost shades
articulate
LikeLike
a room full of poets
each time they cough
light from their dainty lungs
refracts through a prism black
LikeLike
dead poets with bones sticking out
offer insights and anecdotes that dim the light
closely watched by questionable government agents
the poet thought of himself as ” poorly washed in clarity”
LikeLike
fractured bone that snapped like a tree falling
no one shouted timber
if Hollywood bought the rights to my life they’d remake it four times
the detectives would alter the script
black line out the truth
no clarity in seas of grey
LikeLike
last time I was in a room full of poets they told me DONT SMOKE CRACK
LikeLike
the white index card had grubby little fingerprints on them
it was filled under M
(originally it was filled under P)
– your poetry was judged by a jury of peers – they all sat around
holding up scorecards like ice skate judges
it was cold and calculated
but you knew if you fell in the brook you wouldn’t get wet
LikeLike
a feral man
shoeless in the snow
blue toes turning black
the feral man screaming primitive words self preservation taught at an early age
death from above
1979
blunt knifes in the canteen couldn’t cut the meat
all the dead Michaels swore revenge
LikeLike
subtle manipulation on the elevator
baby bird cooing and clucking
adoration and affirmation
spouse specialness
singing fingers
love unlocked
yes, love
LikeLike
blast after blast—-jazz musician style
ticketless sex—-rustic romantic encounters
haunting questions over drinks and snorts
truck stop sex with the aroma of American Beef
truck stop sex 500 miles from an unhappy household
rhinestone-studded jackets and fake leather pants
glossy tabloid-style motel photographs
vulgar foreplay that won’t go away
flip the mattress and burn the sheets
peppered semen
globs of jism
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rustic romantic revere
picnic in war zones
sex during the curfew
it wasn’t only food that was rationed
aroma of boil vegetables
a taste of rotting teeth
all this for what?
the annual Elvis look-a-like completion starts tomorrow
LikeLike
the poet teacher took me to one side
“It makes no sense”
“What is conversational poetry?”
I stayed mute.
A ticket with price tag.
LikeLike
people are talking below the comments
below the belt line
where the bedsheets are pulled up a guillotine at your throat you opened the jar
it had gone off
a smell of death
LikeLike
how does one measure the exhaustive recognition
of being an upright Michael ?
the tormenting failures of so many Michaels
stacked to block the sun
from the wilderness
shadowed with poverty
mental insufficiencies
and stubby wings of no value
LikeLike
oral storytelling in prose
conversational poetry
one can hang up
for all to see
A REAL LICENSE
the law stopped by
Ma said that the law
doesn’t speak with one voice
artificial hearts and shiny badges
forced suppression with a loaded gun
LikeLike
the law doesn’t speak it shouts
indiscriminate
chair squeak at the recital
on the arrest sheet it said CRIMES UNKNOWN
LikeLike
upright Michael baffled medical science
in his new shoes
standing full weight
alive and writing and reading and absorbing the sun
one more Michael
one less Michael
the balance of life
clipped winged won’t fly
LikeLike
WITH OLD AGE THE SOUND OF MUSIC FADES AWAY
the dead uncomfortable in their dead world
slap the sides of their landscape
frightening poets and children
the dead who can’t rest
what a troubling sort
grieving each night
watching exteriors
drift slowly away
LikeLike
Robert Frost with his whispers in the dark
dead fingers squeezing his nut sack
cold shivers of a man inarticulate
the human play demands fraud
a complex system of deceit
interpersonal frictions
roughed up and raw
deceit inside deceit
sadly trapped
LikeLike
society offers televised images of false idols
they appear free and comfortable
beauty and health, little sacrifice
truckloads of wealth
going to waste
therefore
the language of the dead surrounding
imitative language with destructive powers
stacks of dead Michaels no more than garbage
dead Michaels praying to never take up wickedness
LikeLike
mistreatment of Michael
beginning to cause friction in the house
therapy at home being tied down
various colors and strengths hidden away
yes, Michael knows it is not trousers or expensive socks
my brother out of prison and free of parole
he knows it is not trousers or expensive socks
it is much to big, larger than gigantic
I never told anyone, John
but I never swallowed
those meds in the hospital
I spit them down the drain
I had to leave standing up
a walking dead Michael
nothing more
nothing less
LikeLiked by 1 person
hot pants, halter top, knee-high go-go boots
(+) first or last thing you see
when you force your way in
you don’t knock
you use your policeman dong
another innocent lock broken
flashbacks to the honeymoon night
yes, everyone knows you work for the man
—————————————
million dollar question:
HOW MUCH NECESSARY WRONGDOING
CAN YOU TOLERATE ?
LikeLike
multiple escalators in your home
you, the King of Farrah Fawcett posters
mirror miniatures that attend school
every free minute a matinee
occasional bumpy landings
lazy people constructed the outdoors
Planet of the Apes without the apes
LikeLike
placebo Michael
palming pills like a magician
smoke and mirrors
your slight of hand
– the hidden card under your pillow
the medical charts with lines showing heart rates
– on the night your brother left jail he told you about the noises he heard when the lights went out
he was glad you were alive he said then
he confessed
he would’ve swallowed the pills
handfuls of them
when you leave prison
when you leave hospital
you’re a different person
LikeLike
some people still don’t insert the end of Planet of the Apes
– they scratch their head
the paradox of time travel
a place where all the Michaels are alive
LikeLike
false idols recorded and replayed and now you can pause live TV
stop the world
avoid gravity
the way it pulls you down
“tanning beds explode
with rich women inside”
prayers to the death
the dead don’t use sign language
sarcasm at the library
LikeLike
the prodigal son returned
months hiding in Odessa
(Texas or Ukraine?)
confusion over location
geographically lost in a place where you could just push the landscape away
LikeLike
the murk of your childhood
blemish after blemish
you actually signed a confession
that you masturbated with a fork
the abyss of yourself
alone
with frictional to-and-fro
it only looked as if
you were employing
the fork
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the evolutionary line
of a Dead Michael
the peculiarity goes no further
a life of pantomime
biblical social sodomy
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a stain that spreads the hole in your tooth
the one at the back
the one
nestled away
you never had freckles as a kid
a childhood hidden away from the sun
lonely masturbation behind a locked bathroom door
a time to clean
to time to reap
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tomorrow the Earth will come to an end
YES, ordinary reality is nothing more
than what it appears on the surface
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The Rainbow World
finds the Earth
to be a dead
mechanical
construct
(+) Jesus is no longer human
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no one could sleep
for the sound of the trumpet
the dead being raised incorruptible
the heavens alarmingly awake and active
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suburbanites turning into worms
Jesus on the battlefield
having little control
bombs bursting
a higher law
has arrived
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the world in motion
no more destinations
find a place to cover up
pilgrims without progress
the future is dark, decay city
torches of possibility extinguished
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you think the world is in motion buy your standing still
frozen in amber you’re just waiting for the thaw
waiting for the mountain to come to you
extinguish
extinguish
anguish at the pool room
bruised knuckles in the shower line
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Jesus in the White House
served fast food while moles dug tiny holes on the lawn
– greasy fingers stained all the surfaces touched
a higher law ignored
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and when they arise
they blink till the sun burned retinas heavy lidded from the last slumber weighed down invisible chains active and alarmed
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rainbow world will melt and drop and run like newly laid paint
some thinks it’s better to be dead but they are the ones alive
– ask a dead man the sam question
ask all the expired Michaels
go on
ask
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I dug below the surface and just found more dirt and worms
charcoal and carbon
some bodies buried
the man who carried the shovel to the graveyard
I unscrewed the lightbulb
I removed the illumination
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