Monday, August 20, 2012

UN-KNUCKLED

Look me
in my
stars. You
can feel my
voice vibrating
inside you, longing
to be heard, 

feeling some
thing, should you ever
need it. Knowing
this, when you pass
un-knuckled
through my door, 

ask your
self if
your soul, your
body’s scars
healed 

your grief
for a season
won’t respond

to reason,
finding out
the price you paid
was pretty high, giving
and taking it only
spun the world
around, making it
feel pretty
normal
& all.

Friday, August 17, 2012

WAR ON WAR: 13 ENDGAME IMPERATIVES FOR THE NEXT GREAT GENERATION

      1.      Shirk the custody of assets and clout.
      2.      Sustain your spiritual gnosis.
      3.      Fabricate the habitat everything can live in.
      4.      Give away the best you have.
      5.      Free everyone from the caustic memes perpetuating their debt and wage slavery.
      6.      When you feel like using someone, hug them and mix your trespass with theirs, pitching the urge against itself.
      7.      Bear witness to the overstanding effects of love.
      8.      Make money less important.
      9.      Don’t worry about success.
      10.  Stop chasing happiness.
      11.  Feel that I am you over here; you are me over there—that we seam It All together everywhere we seem.
      12.  Don’t hate those children in suits who demand you “grow up;” they’re just dopey kids who don’t know any better.
      13.  So be It for Its sake.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

ENOW, ENOW (A Romance)

House where gone faces
lid wide your down eyes:

Kissing inutterable resonance
that now, in long intervals, comes to rest;
the mucous membrane itself affected. 

When I open my burnt eyes all is
not for the best. The bodies clash to
collect with the crackle of sere leaves.

Remains—tapered enow for flight to seem
futile, vast enow for hunt to seam in
vain—look, preying on the lost ones they’ll tame.

Monday, August 13, 2012

A MUTUAL YEARNING (AFTER W.S.)

I want to ad
here myself to my other
self, which I
seem to’ve mis
laid. 

How could
she ever con
jugate her
self with mine?

They say
we’re each
here
alone, sticks
in the mud, that
a garden won’t grow
in the flood;

yet
by merely gazing
at the night
sky, she might
sense how
distant, how
perilously
close

I lie

Friday, August 10, 2012

IN THE CLOSET?

 [AFTER KJ]

Did I ever truly subsist
prodding thought-clouds
with numinous poesy, seaming
an invented Quetzalcoatl feathering
elemental shitloads of primeval scat
over a forsaken land
mass of which I crowned myself queen,
or thought I did, acting
like an avant-garde poesiest
(who will take your 1-800 call
[day or night]
giving you nonsense
a limerick for any occasion,
[fair and stormy] just
like beautiful Miss Cleo
looking through her Hubble Telescope
for a more exact reading of
what’s about to happen,
knowing the apocalypse
in the past tense
like Carafy the Obscure Beloved,
whose alleged ass launched
a thousand revelations)
deep into Pat Boone’s R&B
section adhering to Robert Pinsky,
who danced—“I, too, dislike him,
though I’m not sure why”…?

Am I just your kitty
gone astray
in a raucous heap
of paper bags
in the closet?

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

SUSPICION

Here

a column radiates—
a leg supports her under
side, the head-supporting
neck upon its torso—

Now

an alternative—
joining heart, a pain
less vivisection, forming
thoughts, scream flesh—

There
bifurcating two
parts equally—

Then
you said…

When, right?

Why have you been, no?

What?

Monday, August 6, 2012

Deleting [after KJ]

I flower without shame
into falsity

A
fall city falling

A mom speaking
haiku, dreaming

Your hole,  feels this
death-pome sewn  into
it.

+

Jared
boning his voice
timid  thriving voice
pointing out

My room (again), re-
peating again its re-
dialectic in (light
of) our best re-
American (poetry),
show

_

Kent, who snowmen
always say outlasts
the snow, melting slow-
ly, how we lie, hoping
to compete

With our loved ones
on the lawn playing
games for the fun of it

With a foreign canary
un-awary

With this purloined
peregrine-lyric
swooping
again

=

Re-attacking your
Sweetheart

_

Your alien re-invasion
+ your species re-chirping

***

Deleting too much
like first-time anarchists
like virgin poets with gall
feeling like real poets for the first time
leaving Dmitri Prigov alone.
With his poems in his coffin.

Re-spectfully.

Friday, August 3, 2012

ALIVE

whenever you kick me in the teeth
that groin of creation cums

grinning, a malevolent
black sun, rising
objects
fall below the horizon
boiling my underworld
into a frenzy

if you can dig it

my child
your brother, Father Art,
looks dead
gone for greener pastures

obeying life
not ruin

It’s becoming Eros
sucking Thanatos
dry

death dusting death
deconstructing demise

living alive

forever
bleeding into the world
whatever

alive living

through that open gash

whores and strippers
mothers and sisters
wives and daughters
screwing the machine
growing muscles you never knew

they had animals who knew
your human hunger
the way you knew refugees
and their ten degrees of pain

snuffing out
the business of APES*

growing quiet dissonance

silence of dissident
flowers spitting seeds

before the world
became us

misting a mirror
upon me
*American Political-Economic System, by which I mean the globally-oriented corporate libertarian state that’s evolved since the U.S. Civil War and the U.S. Supreme Court decision Santa Clara County vs. Southern Pacific Railroad, which set a false precedent by which corporations are recognized as legal persons under the U.S. Constitution, garnering all the applicable rights thereof.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

a stoppage

We

the mountain
intense paths 

ourselves


dead angels

the uncooked air

down the slippery rock

a lifelike crumble

at the bottom of the abyss our minds

on brimstone

a yet rising wind

our sight and

a new way forward where our descent

when every crack in every canyon wall

up with light

our bodies’ systemic calories

remains of whatnot while the soul of things

elsewhere