Tuesday, September 25, 2007

archival

after break break poem
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
alone in the chill morning,pallid sun
beside the carcas of a bee
i clean my ears with a q tip.
there are two clean cotton
swabs left. i pick up
the frozen bee like sushi
but the anthers begin to move
she clings, then tumbles back
to cold a concrete bench.
her legs grapple with the pavement
pull her stiff body, pollen
gatherers, empty. i want her to die
in the arms of a rose so i gather her up
walk toward the red bush
but she struggles hangs
first upside down, then vibrates toward
flight i feel her in the swabs, but doesn't just falls
and falls into the cold wet grass




after break break poem
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
alone in the chill morning,pallid sun
beside the carcas of a bee
i clean my ears with a q tip.
there are two clean cotton
swabs left. i pick up
the frozen bee like sushi
but the anthers begin to move
she clings, then tumbles back
to cold a concrete bench.
her legs grapple with the pavement
pull her stiff body, pollen
gatherers, empty. i want her to die
in the arms of a rose so i gather her up
walk toward the red bush
but she struggles hangs
first upside down, then vibrates toward
flight i feel her in the swabs, but doesn't just falls
and falls into the cold wet grass





xerescape
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
vines, dried and ferny, fenny
under intermittent waterfall
from american airlines also the high cricket
whine from the exhaust and also
in the general background the echoes
of men and women/ that pole might contain
a camera or not. on the other side
of the fence a grove of mangoes, just
begun, a snakey water hose runs
to the most western, the smallest.
dip under the arbor , xmas colors
wonder where the finches eat
bubble wrap seat
wet and trashy in a hidden spot
smoke a little i think
i could yoga here or even rabbit
i want to go to ground
but there's no skeletons allowed.


typed in black
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


you had the bottle of mezcal but i
stayed up all night. sleep deprived
i shot side glances at your typepad

while simultaneously ripping out your bowels
and snuggling. you needed both. now i
have work in a couple hours, wonder
if i don't go in how much less they'll take.

there's a gag on the word right now.
you linger at the places i'll go ,
the way i'll defy speech.





wb

Unregistered User
(1/8/07 5:15 pm)
Reply

.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
see, this is how the next air had it-
not bound by icicles , but infinity.
that's why there's only one of us.
last nite i purchased free air time
and listened to the wind of xmas, a
couple lives ago. we strung little
books of poems on popcorn strings
and sold them for a buck. still
we're overstocked and looking for room.
i talked to hank, perhaps the only bar owner
that has ever failed in the business
and he was all happy n snap cheeze whiz.
i figure it's the oxygen he mainlines
but at any rate he sez we can live the product
bound and gagged on shelf 4 . no really,
it's ok and he'll even price it for us.



















what?




















you don't like botiques?


o
i'd say you're running the wrong track
barking the wrong biscut
four crayons into the stop light
but it won't do any good
so remember it's just me, behind those zipped
leather pants. no need to kneel or anything.
i'm still kinda short.




oopsy

Unregistered User
(1/5/07 12:16 pm)
Reply

spilled milk
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
u keep tryin to show me ur scars
u say not all men r from mars
but when we go out to the bars
u jumpin down all the girls bras

and this luv is a curse tho i no i've had worse
i can see u dont be u i see u dont be u
the last luv in my universe

once to me u quoted sublime
it was real early on in our time
when things were like new and ur love was a shoe
u turned on and off like a crime



and you've had an apple for lunch
taboo fruit flows in like a bunch
of memries you've tattooed in prison house blues
ur nothing else now but the crunch

guitar solo

i see them quite faintly, ur scars
their analog rides in my car
as we go once again to the bar
so i can black hole all these stars

and this luv is a curse tho i no i've had worse
i can see u dont be u i see u dont be u
the last luv in my universe





new red pome
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
at his red truck on the day
before new years dad slips me
a letter. we haven't been speaking much
since i told him off about male
role models how i'd much prefer my son
to model after my current bf
rather than my ex, his dad, and he says i can't
believe you said that you want him to...!
~what dad, live with a woman
twice his age? not
especially but the ex is an insane abuser
so given the choice ... and et cetera i let him
have that piece of my mind's been chewin on me
ever since a year ago he told me he'd love a free
meal ticket too so i don't hold too much
hope the red envelope i slide
like a handoff in some shoplifting scheme
it into my pocket contains
much good news. be alone when you read it
read it when you have time he says you don't need
to answer me, then he puts on his maroon
seminoles bb cap, jumps in the fire
engine red truck and heads down south. he gave me
fifty dollars too. now i'm sitting in my new crushed red video game
chair i picked up at target with his money
contemplating this ripe red sucker: rip it up or rip in open or take this matchhead
and teach it the color of fire.





because you said it isn't done
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i had to
do it. when will
you learn taboo
is the only desire
left to seek

when will
the lesson of can't become
those pieces of glass
embedded in my forehead

a circlet belonging to
the royalty of hope
that doesn't stop
till the grave.




ezOP
(1/12/07 10:46 pm)
Reply

the stars' archeologist
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



i drew the joker today
reversed, putting on the devil's face.

ruth works the cables. strip a lead, pin it.
my son works the negative powers


for a lark. for a gamble, i'll
watch the hubble's input data

and filter for infrared. maybe then
we could see where this nebula's headed.

all this time i thought you were
conscious of this pale blue dot

and maybe you are, but you're not
letting on. anything could penetrate

my skin, strung out on all this dark matter,
stretched all the way back to your bones.



trashpo

ezOP
(1/12/07 11:15 pm)
Reply

make amends with the dust
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i'm convinced meiosis eve
is just as far back as we can go.
if we can date the cambrian
she'll put out, stripping off carbon
chains, exposing her fossils. but

that don't buy sapience. that's not my
metacognitive money shot. you say
the sphinx is older than eve, and

we must get inside her. i'd like to take
that apple and mush it, add some cinnamon.
if aliens were here, they might as well have been
human. or they are now. the point

is not that mummies' flesh is in better
shape than ten year old formaldehyde babies.
it's that those babies are dead. just the same.


you and i begin to think about dead &
how to get rid of that bloated feeling
when an inch becomes another mile, the mile

threads into the eye of a needle, and the camel
smoke rises toward heaven, ashes drift to the ground.


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appleinmyeye

Unregistered User
(1/11/07 10:37 pm)
Reply

cello
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
all night this week it's
music. words about music.

vivaldi's strings play the pond.
flitter in a sail, the sun's rhinestone beauty.

or it's civilization, how there's 50/ooo
points for art. youtube babies spinning

cover songs- about a river,
maybe, or a horse,s tail hitting a high note.




wb

Unregistered User
(1/10/07 10:11 am)
Reply

we owe each other the world
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
at the large sandstone rock
on the edge of the lawn
at work
i notice sawdust and run
my finger across it.
ants spring up, like angry red
water. i move back
and do it again.

westchase's exit is crowded.
i take my son to skool and forget
the creeping lines till i'm caught in them, one way out across a lake
bisected with this causeway. no rain today.
the wait at the light is minimal. this
is a community of gated communities.

this morning human
resources meets the superintendent
in the hallway outside the lab where i
program various sensors with
the proper parameters. i line them up
in neat rows, the better to confirm
the count. human resources is saying
did you see the ants on the wall outside last nite?
a huge swarm, i couldn't believe it! that's why
i called you.


some of the sensors won't take the program
i tag them and send them to myself
to repair.





trashpo

ezOP
(1/20/07 12:45 am)
Reply

sync
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
so she yawns and says she's tired
and he walks up,stands beside her and i say hey j
this is my daughter, s, & s
this is j, and j are you singing for us tonite
and he says my pleasure while carefully not staring at her
tits & i tell her about how j once told me
he feels fame
feels it's out of his realm b/c he's
a big guy, really big but he didn't say that tho it's what
we're all thinking, image and how its more important
than talent, self promotion and how it's a game
scarcely worth the candle cuz who wants to live
like britney and l lo anyway and then someone else comes up
to the mic so we all politely shut up
and he walks away but later
when he comes on to do his three
originals/his voice
from her teeny bopper years you remember
the boy bands don't you a she taps me
under the table with her foot
and says what did you say his name is?




forearm, nude
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
orion in the folds
the carboniferous forests
along the ridge. great
fallow stretches, pocked
with nothing but sediment
and the cries of lonely children.

at the bend, an invitation.
indulgence is the last sweet
before the grand opening
so grab your share.

look, the glove
begins to peal.






4 mimic pome
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
at the end of the week
i watch the next begin.

i want to laugh at these boundaries
we put on ourselves. instead

i tighten
the screws.

Monday, September 24, 2007

certain of the big outer planets

sky's been gray for a week. the grass a greedy green.
some crumpled care, like the side of a silver suv today.
could have been you. could be you. why do i always picture
death when a habit begins it break? funny, i

don't know that i'd miss you too much. not much more
than small black birdie, batted with my poingish racket.
let's keep it up in the air, skirting this net i put i between us.
you can think of stockings. meanwhile, i'll keep

clinging to bad habits that seem holographically real.
i always have trouble letting go of the tiniest things.
dust mites and scrabble tiles. the impossible requests
you've had me make. the insides of your arms

Monday, September 17, 2007

one card, twice



the fire is getting dim. i try to reignite it with the moon
but the fuel's burning somewhere else. twice i get the answer
i already know. why is it that we want what we give up?




next reading's not for an us already gone, magical, fantasia, moon driven, capricious. you'll not be mine again, since i refused the cling. maybe friends.
but not yet. maybe never. but i hope the thing you saw in the beginning
is still somehow possible.




))*


next is air acting as fire.





fire you and air me = tornado
a night with a sword, unfettered
a swift conclusion in fearlessness
so jump in what am i waiting for?
doesn't that centaur remind us of the blonde singer
with the pipes of pain? love rain
you know
over me
?


after all, you lion you bold heart
this is your doing, a cup for the greedy
a font of floweth. oh i see where this will lead.
in two years i'm fifty. half century. the new
forty. whoopie. jump into maturity with eyes wide
shit!
time for a product, time for your tracer
to fire time to get you in the archives of also alive
capture your roar within the fire as it eats you
like a crumbling moon, mown down by the scythe
in my sky. oh yeah the moon. the mood.



and so you call again. moon ruled and passionate
i tell you the fantasies i've been having you tell me
the life you've been leading. sounds like old tymes.
how do you like being me? your mask is rather freeing.
thanks for the loan

meanwhile maturity and patience are my expectations, a long hallway
foward to the goat with the mermaid skirt, dedicated to some
kinda responsibility, like my job at the ministry of odd walks.i
want to see what we can cook up, post apocalyptic. a string
of ducks in a row basted on the bar b que of desire.
a disbelieving glace hardening on skin. i once thought

of love as glass. now it's maybe pyrex. if one has patience
it must be exponentially greater with 2. oh come on
don't smile. i don't want to be five pitchers down on a blackout
careening the wrong way toward a propane tank
when the cops pass by and we have to act all normal
anymore. i want to be small victories
over gravity in the arms of the atlantic and a subversive
friction in the bourgeoisie's guest room. come
let us bow our egos.


the cups runneth. not over much, it's merely the number
of protons neutrons and electrons in a carbon atom.
exclusively or ed.not manna, not man, not excessive.

passion has its uses
playful and innocent
youth revised and remembered
abusing nostalgia , a crow with a golden
bottle tipped upside down. is this what it means
old friend, are we doomed to eat our futures
in recursive regressiveness until the snake
spirals out one black hole and becomes
a star in the next.

well, i think the question begs an answer
but i don't. i think i got it just about figgered out butch.
halelujah sounds like a muslim angel, laughing..

Saturday, September 15, 2007

some recording

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

on the back of a lennon song

(mystical stone at the pond)

black truck with insect eye
on
trying to outfuck the sun.
today, everyone's wearing black.
yesterday two splashes of orange chased
across the sky in tight orbit w/asphalt backdrop.
i think i don't have enough trouble
with language as if words had meaning
the outline of legs in red on the toilette seat
yesterday's stain still in the sink tho
i forgot it , still there o solopsist, it can't
be all subconscious these
are matter. they matter. like a fist fists.
how can you be less than a note of ash beside the bath

wheni take back my name, what will metaphor become?

if i sound like a sage, laugh
if i intone
the truth lasts long as the sound from a gong

Saturday, September 08, 2007

stalker shadow of chernobyl

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
there's a you
in every unlit path
watching the trails converge.

radiation sickness in the water
mutational rationality in the eyes.
you said you just wanted coffee
and now you're trying to morph my marrow.

sure, three eyed yesses make for good copy.
possibility loves the idea of closure, coming in for a landing.

you aren't exactly sucking blood
and i'm not exactly hemoglobin
but someone's veins are open
and something's got a hunger.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

single malt whisky

been singing along with alanis
becoming my own doc. you call and i'm
truthful. learn your own damn lessons.
what i'd say to your new girl is this--
don't love him. that way he stays for a while.

i tell ro about it, she's all like he falls in and out
of love in minutes. i wail. but ours was special! maybe
i can deal with that kind of a relationship now.
what changed she asks.
i did.


but really, it's prolly not true.
you're still learning, the graft hasn't taken yet

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

subterranean

so yeah, they cut it off. a digitised amputation.
now i'm stuck in blogland for as long as they don't sense me here.
which could be tomorrow, who knows?

zeppo finally made contact of sorts.
i pity the tool that he's become.
the one who never tried says to the one who did
hey
at least you tried.

not so subter tho. i'm still on the floor typing this.
also it's obvious that this station is the one on line.
to here. damn shit fuck. i'm gonna stop obsessing.
if they kick blog, there's still facebook.

time to go to the alcoholic poet. i might put a link on here for her.
yeah, lol. exit and libations. minimalist detractions.
when i get a blog like mine, with no links it usually leaves
a bad taste in my mouth. cuz my wave gets crashed.