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Sunday, September 18, 2011
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
mi distancia pt. II
desde ahora se las escusas que despues usare como razones por las que cortamos
en una situacion asi
es la razon o el sentimiento que precede?
quizas sea un pobre idiota que no sabe lo que tiene
y aun teme perderlo
mi distancia pt. I
si algun dia llegariamos a cortar
no lo sentiria
seria simplemente
un giro diferente
de un movimiento ya constante
como un cometa que llego a orbitar tu mundo
nadamas para volver a lanzarse
nunca aterrize
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
if all actions have meaning then i would like to create the meaning in all my actions but i would probably never know the meaning of that action
1.
yes i realize what you said
wow youre smart
what'd you say
i don't know who said that i said it
o
2.
no its not really like that
its not how they said i thought it was
its more strange but also more simple
and you have to look it up in a book
but if you look it up in a book youre fucked
o
3.
the time changed the other day
it was okay
i didn't really notice but it was pleasant
the clocks had to be changed manually
but the computers changed themselves
4.
what if we all ate a burger at the same time
it would have to be a big burger
jesus would probably have to do something to help out
you probably wouldnt believe it
i might not believe it
depends on his technique
5.
what is the point of numbers
just to count, really
counting is useful
6.
why do cigarette prices keeep going up
think you know why
i can tell you if you dont
but i might have to look it up
7.
yeah i am tired of the repetition too like you thought i might be
no im not implying that your life is repetitive
8.
angry dogs are barking outside
police sirens just drove by
unrelated
9,
but its interesting how we never die
until we realize that we will
10.
focus on something specific
unfocus
focus
unfocus
o
11.
the leaves changed the other day
i could tell that a certain hue of dark green had definitely become a certain hue of dark orange
secondary colors in tragic motion or something
12.
lifted up my boxers the other day
scratched my balls
looked at my ballls
nodded to myself
13.
does anyone know what lebron james' new number is?
i dont want to look it up and i can never tell when i see game clips
14.
ending on an even number would be good
it would create balance
15.
i stepped on every crack i could today
16.
i think i am uncomfortable making connections
17.
it feels better to wake up early
but it is okay to stay up all night
18.
bananas are red if you are weirdly color blind
of course, i don't know anyone that is colorblind
over half of all females are color blind i heard
of course, 79 percent of statistics are made up
or something like that
19.
everything was fine until i realized i was floating on ice
and i didn't know how to skate
i held onto a railing on the side of the rink and skated
20.
what is a typical day like for someone else
21.
what is the end of a day like for someone else
22.
it is interesting how the word "like" has become so common
people must be getting very poetic
or at least conjunctive
23.
i can't find a fitting way to end this
there are no perfect or happy endings
except in all those books or movies that almost made me cry
24.
but i never cry really, i just laugh
yes i realize what you said
wow youre smart
what'd you say
i don't know who said that i said it
o
2.
no its not really like that
its not how they said i thought it was
its more strange but also more simple
and you have to look it up in a book
but if you look it up in a book youre fucked
o
3.
the time changed the other day
it was okay
i didn't really notice but it was pleasant
the clocks had to be changed manually
but the computers changed themselves
4.
what if we all ate a burger at the same time
it would have to be a big burger
jesus would probably have to do something to help out
you probably wouldnt believe it
i might not believe it
depends on his technique
5.
what is the point of numbers
just to count, really
counting is useful
6.
why do cigarette prices keeep going up
think you know why
i can tell you if you dont
but i might have to look it up
7.
yeah i am tired of the repetition too like you thought i might be
no im not implying that your life is repetitive
8.
angry dogs are barking outside
police sirens just drove by
unrelated
9,
but its interesting how we never die
until we realize that we will
10.
focus on something specific
unfocus
focus
unfocus
o
11.
the leaves changed the other day
i could tell that a certain hue of dark green had definitely become a certain hue of dark orange
secondary colors in tragic motion or something
12.
lifted up my boxers the other day
scratched my balls
looked at my ballls
nodded to myself
13.
does anyone know what lebron james' new number is?
i dont want to look it up and i can never tell when i see game clips
14.
ending on an even number would be good
it would create balance
15.
i stepped on every crack i could today
16.
i think i am uncomfortable making connections
17.
it feels better to wake up early
but it is okay to stay up all night
18.
bananas are red if you are weirdly color blind
of course, i don't know anyone that is colorblind
over half of all females are color blind i heard
of course, 79 percent of statistics are made up
or something like that
19.
everything was fine until i realized i was floating on ice
and i didn't know how to skate
i held onto a railing on the side of the rink and skated
20.
what is a typical day like for someone else
21.
what is the end of a day like for someone else
22.
it is interesting how the word "like" has become so common
people must be getting very poetic
or at least conjunctive
23.
i can't find a fitting way to end this
there are no perfect or happy endings
except in all those books or movies that almost made me cry
24.
but i never cry really, i just laugh
Friday, October 15, 2010
all the food/drink i ingested today in chronological order
1x organic apple
1x thermos coffee
?x sip water
1x banana
?x sip water
1x salad [organic baby spinach, organic carrot, cucumber, organic broccoli, raw sunflower seed]
1x bowl chili [organic quinoa, organic black bean, tomato, green pepper, corn, chili powder]
?x sip water
.5x piece watermelon-flavored gum
?x sip water
3x welch's brand tropical-flavored fruit snack
2x cup water
2x bowl lasagna [organic tofu, lasagna noodle, organic baby spinach, zucchini, marinara sauce]
2x piece wheat bread with organic earth balance brand butter
5x pita chip with hummus
1x cup organic echinacea tea
2x cup water
1x pear
1x banana
.3x gt's brand gingerade-flavored kombucha
1x bowl cereal [organic flax cereal, organic 365 brand cosmic coco's, organic rice milk]
1x cup water
Sunday, October 3, 2010
smoking cigarettes
to get me past the blues
is probably
the quickest route to death
(or cancer, at the least)
inhale exhale have another
in madrid
you can smoke
anywhere
outside
inside
bars/your room/your bed
not the metro
not the hair salon or the bank
but still.
i resist lighting up
while i vid skype with my mother
just because
i don't want her
to worry even more
that her only daughter
far away
isn't only sad
she's also making
terrible choices
why do we do the things we do when we know we shouldn't?
this poem is terrible
smoking is terrible
a terrible poem about terrible smoking
i want more.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
a poem to start a story to end a beginning
and i will take
your thumb
with me on my travels
and
keep it on a necklace
or in a glass jar by my bed
and
tell it everything important
and
when i give it back
upon my return
it will be
just like
you
were
there
beside
me
the whole time.
i never left
you never felt me leave
i'm never gone
Thursday, July 22, 2010
zero-sum game is a fable saved for parasites.
do not fool
your american self we are
all subject to a still
monarch assembled
of beating chest
monopoly watch close
pull your necks upward look
upon the heaving chest of our
national morning, smell the arbitrage
eat foreign bound paper wipe your
face with crisp welfare
fucking indolent underbelly
awash with wasted expected
returns. pity
to cling dearly such
moth eaten puritan
toughness work on
you predestined body
you accounted soul
do not fool
your indentured self we are
all subject push a still
wheel perceived turn but
progress is our heels dug
deeper impervious human
capital, however has never paraded
so well dapper trademarks free
speech cellular the buzz among bees
never bothers the queen hears only boom and
bust opportunity cost you optimum drone
you, here's a heavy hand fleecing
autonomy accept the grip of slave wages is
death. spent
your american self we are
all subject to a still
monarch assembled
of beating chest
monopoly watch close
pull your necks upward look
upon the heaving chest of our
national morning, smell the arbitrage
eat foreign bound paper wipe your
face with crisp welfare
fucking indolent underbelly
awash with wasted expected
returns. pity
to cling dearly such
moth eaten puritan
toughness work on
you predestined body
you accounted soul
do not fool
your indentured self we are
all subject push a still
wheel perceived turn but
progress is our heels dug
deeper impervious human
capital, however has never paraded
so well dapper trademarks free
speech cellular the buzz among bees
never bothers the queen hears only boom and
bust opportunity cost you optimum drone
you, here's a heavy hand fleecing
autonomy accept the grip of slave wages is
death. spent
Saturday, July 10, 2010
nerves from before
a
tall glass
of
milk
i drink you
up
greedily
and always
ask
for more
than
i can take
but
i will
drink you
by
the gallon
even
if
i
understand
the consequences
of such
rushed and raged
desire
desire (you)
to consume (you)
to eat to drink
to own to be
to grasp (you)
to hold
inside
of me
as much
of you
as i can fit
even if i get
that when
the glass
breaks
you will be
the wetness
on the floor
the shards
that slice
the skin
the knife
that cuts
that cuts
Thursday, July 1, 2010
i need to sleep
meaning i need to wake up soon
tomorrow i will begin on all of my goals
or if i feel lazy then i will begin the day thereafter
the lawn needs mowed
i mow it
straight lines and precision in the front yard
a more wavey and creative approach in the back yard
i am the infant of summer
born in boiling water
grown in a pot of millions of noodles
eaten with no sauce
jobs jobs jobs
talk talk talk
blah blah blah
meaning i need to wake up soon
tomorrow i will begin on all of my goals
or if i feel lazy then i will begin the day thereafter
the lawn needs mowed
i mow it
straight lines and precision in the front yard
a more wavey and creative approach in the back yard
i am the infant of summer
born in boiling water
grown in a pot of millions of noodles
eaten with no sauce
jobs jobs jobs
talk talk talk
blah blah blah
Monday, June 21, 2010
tangled
slick and slender
sipping sour juices
from sourer fruits,
the storm inside the house,
the bee in the jar.
sterile squeeze
sturdy stammer
sticky stealthy stupor
surrender silence
squall swell swine
siempre tuyo
siempre mio
suckle slit seduce.
hammer the heat
hiss, hold, holy.
beneath the
crook of your elbow
lies the dawn of your pleasure.
hip hum host
hasten hither
here, how, hero.
resume, become.
resent, restore.
ruins, rocks, ribs.
rim, rum, run.
lust long luster
languid, loose, limb
(her eyelids pale,
wild orchids in a dark cave).
lucid, lake, loquacious, liquor,
lick her limestone crevice.
lush
rush
hush
(a round stone in the palm of your hand).
hunt
haunt
feather.
lisp,
luck,
lock,
leather.
floor fuck.
grapes, pluck.
plum
plume
pleasure.
Friday, June 18, 2010
poem from 'think tank for human beings in general'
weak
i have come close to sucking my own dick
but have inevitably failed
every time
one gets so close, and then the pain sets in
it is like a kind of sharp spoon or something
digging into your back
trying to scoop out something that is not there to be found
"if only my dick were an inch longer," i have thought
but it is of no use
i have practiced stretching and i have read fiction books
about people who have allegedly done it,
but a book is not what is or was
a book is just a story
and so now i try to persuade other people to suck my dick
or give me a kiss
or sit with me
or talk with me
or walk with me
or something
and i do this while knowing that
all relationships are, to some degree, a power struggle
and that the power gets moved around from time to time
is what keeps things going.
an example of this would be how tonight
i wanted to see you so badly
but you had other plans with other people
or something.
i have tried thrusting my penis into the dirty cunt of power
and tearing it to shreds
but my penis was not large enough.
i have tried giving a piece of my penis to everyone,
so as not to be discriminatory or
hierarchical or
something
but my penis was not strong enough.
'is my penis inadequate'
'who will nurture an inadequate penis like mine'
__________________________________________
this poem has been posted for promotional purposes in regards to the release of the second edition of the poetry chapbook think tank for human beings in general.
more information about the chapbook this poem appears HERE
Monday, June 14, 2010
Poem from "think tank for human beings in general"
excuse me
when i was younger i would say things like
'i wish everybody had a video camera filming them
so they could see how stupid they are'
'stupid' meaning
we are hurting each other
and it is difficult to see it
but if we need cameras
to feel the weight of ourselves
we will only feel
less 'real'
like untagging your name
from facebook pictures
or getting 'obliterated' every night,
waking up with chunks missing
from your pillow
we should sit in a room
and not say anything
we should sit in a room
and let pieces of the ceiling
fall onto us, unflinchingly,
as our faces strip off
layers of themselves.
maybe,
but if you want
to go buy cigarettes
i will probably make
the walk with you.
excuse me
for all things
i think i want
___________________________________________________
This poem posted for promotional purposes in regards to the release of the second edition of the poetry chapbook think tank for human beings in general.
More information about the chapbook this poem appears HERE
Jordan's blog post about the second pressing of think tank HERE
Richard's blog post about the second pressing of think tank HERE
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
10 poems from 'i am like october when i am dead'
climbing onto this church
thank god
carrying a giant rake with me to scare walking individuals
*
good fucking lord we enjoy the wheat season in michigan
*
reading marx on a bench in september in michigan you are gone
for lunch i had peanuts
i dont talk much
the clouds
*
i am eating a slice of white cake
a bird sings by my window
the son of a bitch
*
i recorded a video for jack horkheimer on new years eve in my dads driveway and i forgot to email it to him
damn, i still havent emailed this video to jack horkheimer
*
god help me im throwing my neighbor off a building
*
i am like october when i am dead
a wheelbarrow dispensing chalk lines, that is how silent i am
there is my hand
i am like the killers of people
*
oh you have a smock on
*
the hymnal at my grandmothers funeral says ‘wives be subordinate to your husbands, as is proper in the lord’
five months ago i saw a video of a dog being thrown into a garbage compactor
*
mother fucker, i rented a movie and recorded over it with two hours of myself
on the video i am shouting compliments at my family
i burn my car on purpose
its january
i greet myself at the beginning of a great career
thank god
carrying a giant rake with me to scare walking individuals
*
good fucking lord we enjoy the wheat season in michigan
*
reading marx on a bench in september in michigan you are gone
for lunch i had peanuts
i dont talk much
the clouds
*
i am eating a slice of white cake
a bird sings by my window
the son of a bitch
*
i recorded a video for jack horkheimer on new years eve in my dads driveway and i forgot to email it to him
damn, i still havent emailed this video to jack horkheimer
*
god help me im throwing my neighbor off a building
*
i am like october when i am dead
a wheelbarrow dispensing chalk lines, that is how silent i am
there is my hand
i am like the killers of people
*
oh you have a smock on
*
the hymnal at my grandmothers funeral says ‘wives be subordinate to your husbands, as is proper in the lord’
five months ago i saw a video of a dog being thrown into a garbage compactor
*
mother fucker, i rented a movie and recorded over it with two hours of myself
on the video i am shouting compliments at my family
i burn my car on purpose
its january
i greet myself at the beginning of a great career
Saturday, June 5, 2010
A Syphilius Now
stepping closer to the middle of nowhere
no ravine or cliff in sight
angry that my only option is to drift
until I sight a ravine or cliff
I fear growing old and dying
I long to grow old and die
I can feel my brain shriveling into a raisin
I can mumble but I can't breathe
no ravine or cliff in sight
angry that my only option is to drift
until I sight a ravine or cliff
I fear growing old and dying
I long to grow old and die
I can feel my brain shriveling into a raisin
I can mumble but I can't breathe
Thursday, May 27, 2010
two knots
the sick sauce of the sunlight
on the mustard of the ocean
was tempered by the twilight
of their heavy hanging minds
"deny the feeling
in your sockets
and the lightness
in your pockets
don't forget
to drink the water
with the wine.
don't deny
the looping juices
of her nectar
don't destroy
the secret chamber
in her breast
please give in
to her entreaties
and take her to the
smallest cities...
but never ever ever
deny her any treasure
for your pleasure
is forever her's to test."
***
two knots knotted
sat facing the horizon.
foam licked
the edges of their fingertips
while birds,
so white & grey,
flew overhead.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Poems Written on Adderall - 5/21/10
feels like i should just do what i used to do because i was smarter then
*
really want to write some poetry
just keep thinking of rap songs that don't exist yet
*
the armpit of my brain is sweaty
hairs needs trimming
visible deodorant becoming hard
and falling off
*
the hard cock of my brain is
ready for
the virginal vagina of life
*
the bi polar old clown of my brain
is quitting it's job at the circus
after thirty-six years -
sixty-eight years of life,
and starting over again
it's never too late to start over again
*
we are perpetually 'starting over' and
perpetually ignorant
*
never felt as good as
i feel now
or maybe i have but can't remember
*
sophomore male in pokemon shirt is not as ironic as he thinks, i guess
*
i'm the best rapper alive
i just haven't harnessed it yet
*
thought/wrote 'harnessed' in the previous poem
maybe meaning 'harvest'
or 'harvested'
keep thinking of a band maybe called 'blue moon' or like, 'october sky' and they had a song that was played on the radio maybe four years ago
not 'i hate everything about you'
but another song kind of similar that was just at a slower tempo i guess
*
gonna keep writing
gonna endure the study hall of life...
*
i got the lean connect
*
going to go help my mom set up for after prom
love my mom
---
video of me reading one of the above poems after drinking promethazine with 7up, ice, and a blue raspberry flavored jolly rancher
Monday, May 17, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
One lousy soap poem on the mirror
is all he never wrote,
and me,
look at his face through the hyperventilation,
documentary of his suicide slowly blooming,
how they made their applause!
How the they’s encourage the booze and the pain
to medicate their hypocritical contempt,
to numb for moments the lack of feeling in their lives.
Fuck off, seriously, fuck off.
I will toil the fields of language for you until my hands are blistered
And the puss fills my brain.
Seriously, fuck off.
You don’t want any of this,
you can applause from your velvet balconies and return to your homes
and fuck your lovers and use the emotion we paid for in teeth.
The early mornings are the worst, when the black of the night
sticks around until the afternoon, sometimes for days,
and the raccoon mask I wear is not some left over disguise from an orgy.
The only orgy I have ever attended involved me weeping and puking
and shaking the life out of me into my hands holding premature stars.
You ever been there?
I didn’t think so
These words, like all my words, will become your thoughts, for free.
And I give them to you.
And I hate you for it.
And I thank you.
And I weep for you.
And I pray for you.
Pray for me.
Seriously, fuck off.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
bad day in february
today his car died, forever
so i emailed him sexy pictures
i hope he gets home from work
looks at me grinning,
jumping topless in bed
and thinks "she really cares about me."
so i emailed him sexy pictures
i hope he gets home from work
looks at me grinning,
jumping topless in bed
and thinks "she really cares about me."
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Into Nova
Into Nova
remember
there are the sneaks left at the door
of the wingless
aero planes
fleets of college kids
collecting pennies in dirty delight
American steampunk promises
captured
roar in the legs of boredom
grown into clothes too small
stuffed in the bells
of the great stone fries
silencing our steps
into nova
one future to lose
just wanting to be that someone
who
can eat the dandelions
like butterscotch bottle caps who
thinks back and
cries
because the tree rings
in our limbs
don’t show how starved we are
by the dominion
of compliance
Friday, April 30, 2010
Neon, Fish Tank Rocks
I’ve seen the men, alike, ragged breasts on a beautiful rib cage
I’ve seen the women, like broken camel knees
I’ve seen these bent backs of these creatures
shave sheets of grass from the city parks
and wear the worms as their veins,
the sheets as their skin
These creatures cross their arms and hold bouquets
of bottles with aluminum can tabs over their eyes,
some with parched tongues still
prairie dogging for milk from the sky
I don’t know death the way these lives know
the dirty hell of this heaven—
not a child’s mind where all the chutes
and ladders end when we are done
If, and these creatures know, heaven is the
return to a child’s mind, (head nod)
then I’ll join the ranks of them
wearing the filthy earth like hell
I’ll dig all of their graves when
I’m tired of talk about death,
wombs in the soil and blankets of flesh,
every hole I’ll fill with the neon fish tank rocks
because their coals in this heaven
are hot as fuck.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I don't want to write of the stars no more
i don't want to write of the stars no more
they don't crave the stars
the howls are tied to lead
i've made too many cry in the night
they don't crave the stars
the howls are tied to lead
i've made too many cry in the night
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Machine Gun Moments
He said over a few beers:
‘My name is Malakai Vacey
I have never been myself
for more than four minutes.’
‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘he feared
his self out of Easter dress
Out of relationships with dying women
Out of books and the boots of
Bukowski’s Eliot’s Ellison’s
Characters. Out of the faces
and skins of those who died
and left their drabby suits
under the Christmas trees
Out of the living moments
Out of the slow rides in
autos full of white niggers
chinks fags and spicks
across the states and frontiers
and hills that whistle right up under the clouds.’
‘Out of innocence too much like a cherry
Out of a pruned boy only at 22,’
when he did say he could be his self,
‘A dick, with a liver full of spit—
ungrateful pair of eyes hyper juiced
on dull spirits and soiled lungs,
sucking pollen from the lips of angels.’
‘A lip, plugged with black tobacco slugs—
a smile that makes heroes kneel in
cracked dirt and cry;
an ugly dick, so full of distorted love
the only way to live is to burn and fight.’
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
the tugboat
guilt
the cargo weighing down the boat
hate
hawks flying in circles above, lurking, waiting to eat their prey
hope
the crack in wood, water seeking in
fear
land is far away
desolation
the oars cannot defeat the waves
anxiety
sinking ship, fish jumping in the boat
suffering
the fish weighing down the boat (along with the cargo)
despair
the boat is sinking
opportunity
letting go of the cargo and learning how to swim
the cargo weighing down the boat
hate
hawks flying in circles above, lurking, waiting to eat their prey
hope
the crack in wood, water seeking in
fear
land is far away
desolation
the oars cannot defeat the waves
anxiety
sinking ship, fish jumping in the boat
suffering
the fish weighing down the boat (along with the cargo)
despair
the boat is sinking
opportunity
letting go of the cargo and learning how to swim
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Moments of Salt
Here we go:
What will they accept when the mail is dead?
How will my fingerless hands communicate to them?
Why will I continue to eat?
If I am three quarters full of shit
that means I at one point had three quarters worth
of fine wine, food, and swallowed time.
There is no depression that tastes like
t. will’s ice cream
all the girls I meet talk much of ice cream
they talk of their travels and the small parlors
that served them and told them how cute they looked
and added to the baby fat around the bone of the hip
which fingers
melt like ice cream on the nyc july sidewalk
leaves the hands sticky and sweet
I wonder why they don’t crave corn on the cob instead
By the winter fires when their hips deflate
When im at their side wishing I was naked
a puddle of colored milk spreading in front
of the fireplace like it was july
smell the buttered corn trying to understand
and think of ice cream
so the girls think when their confidence falls
the worry creeps and the desire for ice cream
the small parlors and memories in past suns
line up behind the eyes
flutter, dip their chins and hide their faces in hands
mouths circled in superman blue
moose tracks, mint chocolate chip
sheepish little girls with full breasts
hips at a V
thinking a good fuck will cure the flask
of gender kept distilled and away
come that dip in strength when memories
of ice cream take the place of sons and lovers
taste tests and sugar fantasies
The most fashionable lesbian couple of Gramercy Park
They started off as roommates, and one said,
“Oh yeah my girlfriend is really like, weird,”
A police car sped vrooming down the block,
“I wanted to talk to her but I got fucked up.”
Brain so up and down, options like windows,
The scarf looked like baby, or animal.
I wanted to say, “C’mon, petite abeille,
feel confident and confidential,” you do not
have to give your name, but rattle your chains.
Say, “oh-kay, this is, over.” Sirens grow
closer. “This moment is washed, blowdryed,
but as long as I can take it I’ll survive.”
Meanwhile: Eat your vegetables, do your work.
Respect women, respect men, rock & roll.
“Oh yeah my girlfriend is really like, weird,”
A police car sped vrooming down the block,
“I wanted to talk to her but I got fucked up.”
Brain so up and down, options like windows,
The scarf looked like baby, or animal.
I wanted to say, “C’mon, petite abeille,
feel confident and confidential,” you do not
have to give your name, but rattle your chains.
Say, “oh-kay, this is, over.” Sirens grow
closer. “This moment is washed, blowdryed,
but as long as I can take it I’ll survive.”
Meanwhile: Eat your vegetables, do your work.
Respect women, respect men, rock & roll.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
or naturally me
doctor i want to feel the angry bee
scared and frantic in my summer dress
can i feel again and touch the new with my mind
wax coat or oven with the finished apple pie?
may i be me and recognize my leg’s fleshy bulbous machine
so i can stop writing like the woman with the water breasts
who passed me on the sidewalk and washed her eyes over me
i’m afloat in my own skin and wish the chemical tablets i take at night
would make me grow gills and fins and be caught drown a body
or
of human delight
Monday, April 5, 2010
What I heard at the bar last night
“I’ll shoot that woman if I see him with her,” the short Puerto Rican said.
“Si or no?” the drunk girl they brought said. They noticed how drunk she was and took sips of their own drinks.
“Are you going to answer my question?” she asked. No one answered and the barman walked away.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Consider April from My Balcony
I
The seagulls sound like
Doors opening over the sea
When I paint my chest
Like the Easter egg designed
In womb I felt the pulse
Of church bells echo
In the sewers and bones
Of the city
II
My balcony overlooks
Jesuit house defaced walls
And lonely golden window
Lamps I saw portals of priests
And sisters using tea with their
Hands bleached and
Free from callous
I checked my sense of the
Order the march the pace
The quantity of ants
Filing into the sea—
The catalyst suicides of childish
Novas the depth of storage for
Indifferent ill memories
III
I sketched for the tea party
The public sex I’ve seen in streets
The beards burned in fires of
Money and condoms the small
Mountains of pleasure and success
The carcasses of flattened gulls
Fallen from the heavens
My friends sleep inside,
A warm rat king of
College exhaustion dissolving at
Last and I on the balcony
listen to the church bells
ring and turn
The remaining gulls with keys—
Consider April from my balcony
IV
This evening I use the Bible as the
Instruction booklet of the chords
Of giants gritting teeth beats the
Booms of St. Ignatius kicking
His boot against empty air
Tried to build this door—
This door I cursive for frame
I take the wind three sheets
Covering lovers drawn out on
Haight and Ashbury to you
Allen to you and the salt from
Your eyes that turned your beard
From brunette to blonde when you
Dreamed of hot air balloons
Deflating above
Greenwich night skies
V
Every nail and board
Into this door
Made with the bread of pain
And the codes behind my eyes
Coursing from my blueprint of
Veins and bones these
Fingers drawing the sketches
Of a gate for all to walk naked
Thru
At the foot will scurry
white pelts of rabbits against
The bare balls of the ankles
I am unsure if they will think of
Allen Hardy Jesus or me
If they think of me
The way of the cypress tree
Let one thousand fields of lilac
And poppy candy
In which the mystics are buried
Spread like acid on film
The mystics in their sleep
Will hear my footsteps
They will smell my sweat
And they will feel the pressure
Of my word like the finger
Clenched
VI
The door
To building the door
That will open to all—
The pallid angels with cigarettes
Hanging from their lips and a
Cancer spreading their wings.
The annals of children waiting
Awake for the toothfairy who is
Left hung on the cypress tree
In the field of infinity
I keep building this door
For all to pass under
To see the sunlight behind
To see ahead
the moon
dropped
In the great star like an Irish car bomb
The howls of the sinking
moon will be mistaken for the final
hissing of dying time
The dogs of romanticism chained
To fashionable pegs
Lurch and froth and choke
Trying to reach me before
I finish this door
VII
My death is not inscribed in the
Book of Instruction
So if I shall die
If I shall fall before this door is made—
I take the wood from the cypress
I make the nails from icicles of our blood
I find the glass in the delicate filaments of poetry
I read the blueprints found in the body
I build in the wall of saving grace
Finish the door
If I can not
Finish the door
So all may walk
So all may use the key given at life
Head held high to the portal of ecstasy
Before the flesh deteriorates and
The hinges are taken away
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