October 2011
31 posts
3 tags
Tale of wicked dawn outside image weapon makes me accomplish consent ravenous Narcotic asserting furtive and vocal given to like advantage enduring the day the mind the house scatter dark room speech covenant no way obscure paradise hollow dream in suicide past Strike bulging maze said generation now almost sky fear abandon one another Eat matter in public intimate rage stone not look force...
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CATACHRESIS MUM
hupid cupital eel elm allusion awl arch emballing the lover’s ear encircle a more in music never mute will hear the lowest bus to the use of the tongue chance dance a sovereign throne torn thorn thorny squeal peel! and fill’d feel flock of forest all so hearted O lOve list wish lust knot must longer longing graze on my lips or upon ship sip rose hip tic tock but her jesses (thongs...
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Prom queen glibly as a print embodied muscularity of artist’s line not bandaged from her whole heart. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous… shells made fragrant through erosion. Downtime seemed maternal. She line segmented a cough, made plain he dis-economy of splintering. Bruised texts, up for renewal for which she was instructed to remember codeword anguish...
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THE WORD TOAST
The one who painted himself insecure to others kept using the word toast as if to beg the power of a talisman to coat his shack with bullet-proof transparency. If victimed by the fact of a transparency. Many acres since have been inhaled into his possession. Headlock mates with slides the heart’s eye makes. He races to unfinish lines before his hypothetical opponents can consider factual...
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OCRACY Part 3:
apex of an era follows either simmering or a retreat from frostbite heady little winters linger in enjambment mint condition is a prize or punishment in context of the sediment and fluency and put-together confines that mesh syntax with light whose poise maybe meanders to a space the brain had near the thumbs or that the fingers Olivetti’d in a swoon approximating all rejuve and maintained...
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Maybe yes and no maybe The heart’s secret sinks into the jungle Humble bird spreading its wings Who knows the exotic bird’s nest Maybe yes and no maybe The ocean of the heart is deep What good is it to leave our prints Prints a nocturnal rain confuses Maybe yes and no maybe True the heart is nothing like a stone In vain to resist sea waves The swept beach is always new Maybe yes and no...
2 tags
"Strafe at the Dictate"
The eye opus: Some boardgames lashes are very good at… slurp drip cut sew it… frame it on to the next… - These are the poems. Their drawdown is not fire … you can’t contain it… Their lay in ancient places we had visited, where i can’t spell and can’t stop. And without which a sigh could not be written, an ultimatum, a loose stare
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In sickness and health I thee embossed dabs o’ each… gosh. Today is worse, trains everywhere comparing swathways to stake a slick with ink goo. Sculpturing against the odds, memories along with fixations grow on trees that were going to happen And not just trees, but coal sycamore. Coal, as the hue.
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It’s not that I don’t head feelings or hold you the occupier. You’re my knock off in flight scored in one black note. So quit moaning. Though how could I go beaten up outside and re-patched if you wept? You’re but nothing I’m actually shipping.
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This is a line. Its metallics are taxiing in space I imagine. The morning star’s so close. Nothing added, ummm, here’s my outflow, and bring a towel for reaching Oh Green fields rip kick the door that’s the way To the sweet bays and guillemots… to the bagpipes!
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The language of the poem constructs the poet.
What other voices could it have been in? Hot dog man, woman in the street screaming at a kid on a tenement stoop, dog howling. The skin grows darker… wait… Must it all have been there? I don’t see him anywhere (you? him?) escaping… in between We see only parts. And the whole “sees” the whole. Things find their way to the surface. And we let them in or not.
9 tags
Semblance
See the object as a semblance Moving towards an assigned space A reason to include confusion Encompassing, not inhabiting, an idea The sketch finally faded into A comprehensible image. Erase it And begin again, with color. Will Is an abstraction, starting over, The artist herself vanished into a texture. Say the object was a hindrance Taking in an arranged surface. A raging to forbid illusion...
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In a mirror; in a haze, darkening light The river by day and by file edit view insert format font tools and by window It was so hard to picture What has not yet come true Yes, the lamps are still there And the pillows and sheets Mom is waving goodbye Just like she was in the picture Then you hear some music Perhaps from a radio But this is unclear, because as soon as You try to make out the words...
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Save As...
A kind of freedom in erasing whatever i say. In this way the writing becomes my world, nobody else’s. But that is not possible. I would rather write about the word “evening”. Consider, if you will, the beauty of the world. And add on top of this, it can be felt and then just erased. To save or not to save? Postpone for 15 minutes? The whole world, my entire life, not to speak of...
1 tag
tide out and crossed for two days i couldn’t step through i had to backtrack to the highway around how i saw crossing in my head i made everyone’s life miserable blaming the full moon it wasn’t how i saw it in my head i should have just sat down on the rocks and waited there was too much sun
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it’s true death doesn’t fully kick in for a year but this wasn’t what i was talking about on purpose i dragged my bed out to the sand as if you can really choose who you come from the way they sound except there were never any books and the old ones who fed us we never saw again only in dreams do you want me to take you shopping mom no i want to shoot pool but this...
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i look at people in the eyes to see if there’s somebody in there wide digital almost sky with the strength of an answer almost a hope in how vast and curious in the same place the same troubled half-squint faraway like a question or tedious wish to be somewhere like last night left over from something forgotten and seen from inside a book looking up carried into a smile i saw you with my...
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The deferent is not fixed in a single, simple motion, in the little limbless cross, or caliginous movements of the snow-feathered fly. You taste, feel, imagine, understand. Privation enters you. You was bad. You was sleeping in seas and rivers by grace or gift abrupt it bears toward you to be kindled in seclusion see where those mysteries the shoots and grasses by their simple subsistence will not...
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What if I were dead without an expression of concern or had freely forsworn the crude scheme, eyes blinking unreflected, merely a taste of the epi-phenomenon - the child setting his finger in porphyry rose to distinction beyond the land of Tyre spurred to truthfulness by an idiosyncratic enchantment under its baleful sign he remains upright materialized in the frozen twisting doctrine by which...
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soul movement viably influenced destinations overrun from overflowing shots romance - ill will between them the shoot out at the OK corral a caricature of tinsel filaments premeditated lesbians i’m trapped in the sound
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A duct too small to crawl through The esophagus rapidly closing and opening ears the earthquake at length centrifugal force denied repelled wheat stalks Space open and expanding measurable only with a tool that hates.
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Goals to not dash and inadequate teaching fears
To pour sweat on foreheads so it appears as though they are working and not feeling entirely tense I admit to spoil to the collecting of dust your bin is full not half empty (so empty it) To produce juice a juice to drink directly from the pores and it may be, too foreign To stand and not make reference but be instead pointy and inserted into sureness.
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the implication of the blowfish
the blowfish stuck to the roof of my head. sucking out my fear. there it is, blownfull loaded spines pricked OUT. a hat. eyes drawnshut like some old witch’s blinds, not wanting you near but signing to read in her window… we walk past the house slowly. a cool white skin pulled enough for the stretch worm parallel. the spines pricked OUT. Lopped...
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My oculist witness has turned to bread A club of a loaf What was that that brushed against the cheek - the side of my face? Like the whisper in an ear pinched to a suspicious squeal or was it a puffed up exhalation on it’s way to a love canoe cruise? The plastic scent, the fiberglass bottom bent in two over a cavity disguised as a head. In it’s teeth the stale loaf… bitten only...
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"EARTH FIRST. WE'LL LOG THE OTHER PLANETS LATER."
a corrugated line knits this tight diffuse sweater thru the asphalt, the latex, the momentum of routine caramelized like sugar, cannibalizing this ghost zoo of images melting in the waste-stream of self-dessicating tear ducts i can’t imagine that chunky, that prolific in color, intense organic value an economy too diverse to exploit without killing designer body germs fine-tune our spasms...
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flowers explode in light
the sun disguises so full one more too many shoulder to shoulder in the visual clamor til restraint becomes a caress, sheets like mud, like a chrysalis holding me til i evolve to take dreams with me as my room loses its walls & furniture as the breakfast sky suddenly 10pm each step i take approximates a new body hoping what it keeps from these billion trades can lead back into airs soothing...
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the vein powering my thigh feeding hundreds of...
i see them coming to work, asking for my ID, unaware of how their posture is the keyhole to more light, more distance that i can comprehend between my plate and mouth, a gargantuan christmas tree draped with orange cities pierced with cloves and allspice we hurl into the hovering paraclete reminds us of the work week utility bills the car who won’t start without clean underwear leaves...
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city gathers in the drain
drops of positive what say one word: stamp it own it say it over til imbeds your skin-mind like a memory tattoo gaining in density in nerve ends tied up with the questions/ ramifications the way silk thread on a cavernous tongue; how parts inverted like a sock on a whiskey glass pops to split the dream like a dust of mirrors or microscopic...
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era forgot
what jumps what jumps on history on a cage, of, as if in a page, why those young lads, history keeps penetrating, echoing, drums inside drums inside a hole for sound and air, meat clock wakes and sleeps ready to break as if tempting the river as if the fish won’t act with one mind - that’s their faith not a long skirt but a freight train, like dead mammals clipped to each others...
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...several possibilities converge.
In sense of direction one hardly feels - cosmopolitan saturation with a personal guide is harmonious impugnity against misfortune. Over the top enthusiasts consider such travel like a pram in the snow, and gather quotes from their favorite authors to prove it. It’s natural, some argue, that these new organizations of control escape their own logic merely to become spines in a spiritual...
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FALLS Sent forth squalling rain thins the house commutation basement dampened walls skin dissolves bent neck’s course under sprawling water chain breath bubbled in, eroded blouse clings ejaculation size, face’s river’s tamped shoes small bed thin “resolve” rests utter falter death, double implosion ex-rings, flies on’s liver’s clues bred MIST