Monday, July 16, 2012



Nice one becoming
that idol reaching
out to anyone who would
grab you—

for wearing the idolator home—

a new position for you to try, imagining
yourself some stoned prophet,
perhaps smoking weed with love,
or being that gnat blown by a mysterious wind—

some Johnny Appleseed
from your itinerant quarters, where
my thunder rumbles
your incoming soul—

a here-then now-there untouched

language dishonoring you
as my pearl, knowing
we’re numb with sex—

our interior Jesus forever
resurrecting some intoxicated Christ
obedient to Its fruitful pleasure,
keeps dying and so further multiplying
until he’s sober, stunned and lying
about His Word’s abundance—

harvested, crushed, commodified—

forgiven by father, mother knows
not what she’s doing, nor
do I understand better than she
what you’re doing.

We’re all just trying
to make you happy,

we’re all just trying to live—

sort of, some of the time.


So you don’t give a shit, do ya Dad?


Mr. Authentic prefers not to
protract his homilies.

Einstein deals
the micro-metaphors of frailty
in his relativistic mathematical formulae—

those deliciously complex variables
kneading his protection, those very
details he refused to interfere with
because he empathized with God,
not Its empty images—

those deceitful analogies
obliterate our quest for significance,
return us to genesis
via every hole
in our scaffold, spraying
potential futures with our DNA—

situations bleeding
bones ejaculating into
each other, braining
our souls, displacing
trust/distrust binaries,

that paranoia where
nothing here
seems this, there—

tomorrow ever cumming—

that immodest slut, Jouissance,
adores you

the great river, drowning
eagles looning to fly
ardent serene adoration
great blue
herons pitch their tent
nests against the sky,
ecstatic, feeding

on the catch of this

ocean surging and splashing
inside each chest—

a musical lotion—

composing female wisdoms
whose tits sustain me, whose
milk rivers my interior driftwood—

the cerebral salt of
your liquid breath, carrying
word-like fish, swarming

around my donkey—

searing It.

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