13 Oct 2014, 10:07am
Writing
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Thinking about you and Wallace Stevens while listening to Radiohead

Making out with myself to Kid A
In Rainbows
The King of Limbs
Wondering what you’re doing on this rainy day
Does your kid have glasses yet
How’s her asthma
Has your husband begun to get that beginning-of-middle-age spare tire

I’m impressionable still
Although I talk about it less
Why bother people with God’s problems
They can’t fix them
Yesterday
I forgot to ask my wife for oral
Again
And of course she didn’t remember

But that’s being petty
There are plenty of things I don’t remember

Like fixing the back door
Regrouting that loose piece of tile by the bathtub

I want to get myself in better shape
grow up in a different pattern than
Those balding dads who sing
Sing along songs
With None too difficult
Repeatable lyrics

The Rolling Stones fans
Ramones fans

It’s better sometimes
To be rendered moot
To be Disillusioned
A mouthpiece only for a beat up oily trumpet
Robotic drum machine

In awe of somebody else’s intergalactic stellar awesomeness
Vibrato sotto voce
Layered textured Spy Hunter bassline throb
The human voice can’t do that

I want to be Morphed into something
you or I or our children
wouldn’t recognize

10 Oct 2014, 11:54am
Writing
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Fat man porn dumpling

I saw Fellini in a waterfall
And it was an Italian cave

The Socialists were crawling up the cliffside in order to get in

They wanted no more fantasies
Of capitalism

They wanted to be Pirates
Pirates
Pirates!
In a cave of pure gold

Instead it was fantasy by Fellini
Polychromatic
Catholic
And Burgeoning
The whole species was engaged in
Metaphorical blue kicks

Eating tiny little cakes made out of aluminum foil

Someone looked at an assassin’s butt
But Fellini had his whole acting crew engaged in a
Sempiternal phallic kiss

Fellini just stood to the side
Lizard Pornstar in a fake movie
Put there for apparently
No reason

23 Apr 2006, 12:59pm
Writing
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From the Archive:
Failure

You’re always dying in this room
and I want to pull you out
but where is the band-aid
where is the kettle? One way leads
behind cabinets and the small hole
through a crawlspace
to walls of another house

your house
in a hall down the middle of your
white country house
and the wide windows flanking the front
beneath pretty dormers
but where is the porch-swing
where is the swing?

I see only one way
up the staircase
so I’m breaking into your room now
I find you writing a poem
I take it it’s wonderful
you say that it’s not wonderful
I say it is it’s wonderful trust me
I know about it

so give me your hand or kiss mine
Assassin
here I am falling in your place

9 Oct 2014, 9:30am
Writing
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Human beings in space and time

I am enamored of puzzles
It is wonderful they are wonderful
I keep finding them strange things underneath me

Inside the manor there is a tremulous recording

As the fbi agents sit in the van

Like a strange hand cupping my balls

I wish I could know you how they would feel to you

I love to wear a wire I bear a witness against myself

We feel the hosiery accents everything

*

The society is on
In the bedroom

I am watching you through it

Watching Now, Voyager with you
after many years of voyaging
You have a Sense of Bette Davis about you

You are in a Blue mood
You are in a Soft and somber mood

What can we trouble each other with
at this point

What can I say about your mood

It turns out, many things

Our relations are complicated
We like it

*

An altruistic dimension of space is what we need

Where we can go
There are no repercussions or morals

The thing about space is
There is all this time to get through it

We like to look at the Unwatched TV
The espionage threats beginning
Pasty white sea of elephants
The spies’ ringleader
Poking into the brain’s holes

I don’t want to hurt you
But I don’t want to sacrifice myself
to this beginning sentence

8 Oct 2014, 11:50am
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Group metrics

People are getting naked at a young age
It starts in church
Cruella is a pretty lady
When the rerun’s on
The minister in a black robe his choir clothes
Turns to the back row

And we belong there in the back row
the row is empty
Making Etchings in the pew
Playing hangman

Later on in school there is a duty
to reinforce this sense of Oedipal duty
The phallic phase
The breast reduction surgery
Bowel control and all that

Something in us rebels and makes us want to strip

We shoot spitballs in the Bathroom
Do some Shrooms
Strip down to our naked bodies

Touch yourself over the sink
Try it
Place the camera up high and possible
picture
Something unimaginable
Peter Lorre in a rainstorm
A mute glamour model

We have consumed it
we have whispered

There is a clue to happiness
It is hiding under the afghan
Touch it
Take it home with you

6 Oct 2014, 1:21pm
Writing
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I’m the stranger killing an arab

Tumblr vagina poetry whatnot
Lacy Virginia cotton panties
Roanoke, Roanoke
Jack in the box
Jack and Jill went tumbling down

The alley
A riddle a puzzle
Albert Camus
I don’t sell dope I make dope shit
In Athens there is a head shop
black light posters record store
Wuxtry are you still open

Robert Smith in black lipstick
Black nails
White paleface goth man
Are you listening

I watched Johnny Depp in Dead Man twenty times I still don’t get it
Neil Young do you get it

Eating plum chicken while stoned
Watching Lord of the Flies while stoned that summer
I performed in a band concert while stoned

What did you say

The well respected country club
Didn’t know what to make of us pimply-faced squawkers
Jim Morrison
Doors of perception

I was a high school valedictorian
Living a lie
Makes me shiver to think about
The things that I’ve done
The places where I didn’t fit
The stories I did not tell
We all like to think that we have a little friendship coterie back of us don’t we

I had a few
Falcon whose parents had the best grass
Peter who could fix anything mechanical
Joe who would go on to wreck anything Peter fixed
Trent, Trent who showed me the good side of Athens
Time of my life
Getting drunk with all the guys after the dancehall closed
Getting lost, real lost in the woods

In the alley
Down on the train tracks
Looking for girls looking for guns looking for cigarette butts
unlit joints loose coins gravel sawdust
Anything we could find on the
Train tracks
marbles
Cross tie spikes
anything I could get my hands on

And then when I had it it was never good enough
So I got drunk and drunker
I just shoved your face under the covers
& said I would see it shining
Saturday Sunday
The whole weekend
Whatever I could think of

The whole weekend was like that
Like falling through fog

2 Oct 2014, 12:40pm
Writing
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Dynasty of black

A peckerwood is in distant north
A dark sky tone
A magnet in the directions of the town

And the blacker mass with Buck Mulligan at the head of it
was steadfast
At the Chrysler dealership
He looked stately
I was a woman at last
I opened my mouth and I partook of his love offering (ball gag)

He gave me wine
My lips were red
He stained my teeth with his bright red wine

My hairy knees knocked under the
pink ballgown
As the bride groom
Felt himself bulge
He rubbed his hard prick against my butt

I thought of
James Joyce, I thought of you
with your nose pressed against the crack of your wife

*

I hated it
On the subway, like a cliff those Japanese stranger
porn sites are always pushing people off of

I forgot how to conjugate anything

The knickers I got you are not becoming
Except with a plaid skirt
The white socks

Language as a rape fantasy
It’s fairly accurate

I would like to be bigger
I would like to have my legs shaved so smooth as his but they are prickly

Would like to have something begin on top of me

I try to live all my life with a full cup
And light some alleys
But this hallway is always very dark

It leads to my inner recess
My core if I have one

Lighting me up filling me with dark paint

O come all ye faith ful

30 Sep 2014, 2:56pm
Writing
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Self portrait in limestone

Pinecones
Wasabi
Bermuda grass

Could this be the feeling of soccer, in September
I warned you
Poetry is not good enough
One must have practices
And practices
Practicing is what one does to completion, always
The only thing, perhaps
To alleviate boredom

And competition
Want to be a maestro
Practice
Practice is a mayhem in an everlasting karma
Practice to hymn
Practice in reverence I planted these fields for them to be practicing on

Can I confide in you
I understand the game only enough to know that
Counting stats are stupid
It is the beautiful game
How many lines or goals
Assists, time of possession
Shots on
Headers
Tackles
Corner shots
Goal kicks
Penalty shots
Word count
Words matter not in the final tally
What matter if it be rhymed or unrhymed
Free or metered
In my language or yours
Rap, a song, old epic
Dishwater
As an expression of the righteous
Of the just
It is the beautiful game

We can’t abide by any biting
Or
Flops or
Bad sportsmanship
Name calling
Detrimental head butts
Misogyny
Wife beating especially
Suspend them for the rest of their lives
Careful all you shirt taker-offers
Paeans to mistress writers
When you use a trope to trope more than once you might incur the wrath of the magi
And you make the rest of us look bad
Be honest
Play the beautiful game

Above all
Defend the goal
Kick it out
Kick it
Don’t let that little pelota interfere with your field of vision
Take the mountain’s view of it
Kick it kick it
Beat that sucker

On these fields these days it is good to know that someone is having a good time
On the grass
He is racing with all his heart
He is or she is
I refuse to say they when I only mean one
What is wrong with the singular they
Everything

One doesn’t know

One doesn’t know what the score is
Couldn’t care less
Isn’t bothered by people
Or dogs
Clown faces
Grown up men in dark lawn chairs stuck on the sidelines
Frowning and yelling
From a Vicarious position

One is running
Is hanging out in the grass which tickles
which is cool
Where it is still of an evening

And the grass, the eagle-eyed green succulent go-getter
Is munching munching
All the great nutrients
Deep in itself

29 Sep 2014, 1:17pm
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Sing hallelujah in church

Every poem got an audience
Righteous nonbeliever
Been thinking about lifting my hands up to show you
What if I didn’t shave my armpit hair this morning
Oh fuck
Wait a second, it’s ok because I’m a guy
Or I’m a girl in Florida
vacationing from Espagne
Or maybe France
I still have my shirt on
Is it from Germany?

Jesus put a magpie in my cheerios
Today, or he will try to
tomorrow
I’m not sure
Even if I eat it will that make me a sinner
Oh my god
It is so hard to tell with the new grammar rules
I’m thinking too hard about wearing my Speedo to church
Topless
And yes, I will shave my crotch if that matters to you

Tell me what kind of church do you go to
Do they still sing the songs in Latin,
And if you mess up does anyone really know that you’ve done it
I’ve tried to get a girl to undress for me in the baptistry
But she was a trapeze artist
She sailed right along
Hairy as an ape under her star-spangled onesie

19 Sep 2014, 1:16pm
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Crooked stepladder to Elysium

Celestial pincushion
What is it with all this hand wringing
time wasting
Tracking Imhotep through the fields
among the lords of the flies
My deranged lunatic neighbor
throws rocks at all the passing mail carriers
(He doesn’t call them mailwomen either)
The USPS is going broke you know
Killed like the newspaper
Death by email, Amazon, Google
Alibaba has an IPO today
Tomorrow the genie’s lamp will rub itself
and you will wonder what that even meant
Rising sea levels
Burgess Meredith’s alter makes do
on an heap of unbroken search results
Reading badly drawn political cartoons by lamplight

I wanna know
Do you wanna know
What is it that they expect to happen
I never felt so alone as when I ran out of my kilt
They found me screaming,
naked, halfway to China

16 Sep 2014, 1:15pm
Writing
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Veronica Lake, who else

Unicorn arrest warrant
Adze
She killed him with an adze
Raskolnikov’s sock
They found him in a wife beater
On Archie Bunker’s chair in the Smithsonian
A relic to Brando, Matt Dillon
Bukowski and all the rest of those fools

The atmosphere was nasty
Muslin dirty maggots larvae
The unicorn’s guts spilt out all over the sofa
As the cops interrogated the suspect

Caught him redhanded
Doing foul things with the unicorn’s horn

Remember the Mapplethorpe, the one with the whip

Where were you the night the unicorn entered your life?
All you can remember is
They were beating a horse
So high that night
You wet the bed and didn’t wake for another week

Prefigurement is everything
You’re damp darling
Is my story turning you on
That much

Sonia

The important thing to remember when writing a crime novel is
to wait on the lady