*
Body dither romance
****
Dust bowl prodigal
Lucky white thingamabob
jalopy new moon
The face at the window is the face of a man who likes to make lists
Hera, Ezra, Esther
etc.
He says fa la la
Fiddle-dee dee dee
He has come to take you with him
***
Five time I tried to go back and fix the corruption
Four or five
Twenty
I am liars about sex
***
I am a child of the seventies
This poem made the carrots sad
They said, we can’t repeat it
We absolutely can’t repeat it
They took to jumping up and down in the stew making the potatoes and
meat very upset
They had to call in bugs bunny with a fire truck
Yabba dabba doo
And fred flintstone
We don’t know what is necessary
***
Wind or campaign
Intense map of the north
White heart
Sobriquet
***
Soren kierkegaard becomes a robot
Merriweather is a force
Is brains
She left my last sandwich on the windowsill and told me the magpies ate it
****
I want to make love to you on the back of a school bus.
This can’t be good.
What would our parents say?
***
Chitty chitty bang bang
Pink panther
Oz
****
The world is a different place, full of motors and spitches. What are spitches?
I don’t think my children will understand these poems I write.
Neither do I…
******
Daguerreotype: sleep
This shading shape should be your
Elfin grot
Should be your
(well-consuming)
Bit of fur
When you shaved it off for me, I thought it was an act of romance
*****
Today you are in electric barns
O hayloft here
Hayloft there
Macdonald
*
F Fellini the film director
Cast his wife
In the film la strada
She plays one good hooker
Baby
*
(Conviction, etc.)
Are you exicted
I’m excited
Maybe you don’t fit inside
the grandfather clock
*
My grandmother lived in the mountains
The poke salad
The poke salad
The poke salad
Sparkles with beauty
*
Poem for the old owners
I want to get Thai from the thai place
The green curry it’s the best ever
Bet you didn’t know that
Or did you
Guess what
I can play chopsticks
On the piano
****
(My lover as a Dressmakers form)
Time was, sleep made us all a little more hoary
We didn’t worry about the outcome, we worried about the income.
What the news from the war would be,
what the tendre sun
But the truth is, I didn’t want you
To follow me
I hid you under the mattress and said that you fell
You said, I am a white foamy carcass
I said, could you Pop your shoulders in and be a little more real
The suspense here is killing me.
***
(My lover as Velma from Scooby Doo)
Idiot song
Come and rescue me in your van
***
My lover as a militant bitch
Like a child prodigy you could cut your fingernails short and bang
bang bang on the piano while Real Madrid played Arsenal in the
Champions league or Gordy Howe with the slapshot puck up ok
yeah ok
Flick-cigarrette-eyes
Saying it isn’t so doesn’t make it so/not so
***
Fists in your gown
The alternative poem
The derivative
Desire
Always exists beside you
Behind you
Lick me
Lick me there you say
where?
You say
**
I’ve forgotten where
Canadian weed, huh? Gotta try me some of that 
Thanks for taking a look at this; appreciate the comments. It wasn’t something that I wrote altogether or even intending to post as one continuous piece. It just sortof worked out that way.
–D
You know, I’ve always loathed reading on computers.
There’s something about scrolling that’s always irritated the hell out of me. Of course, once upon a time, everything used to irritate the hell outta me. Not so much now that I’m happy. Go figure.
(I’m fairly certain I was what is termed an irritable baby.)
But here, this poem here, finally made me see the light. Finally, I can see how and why scrolling can be a lovely thing.
Because here, this poem here, unfolds so beautiful as I scroll it out in its weird bits. The scrolling allows me to take in just enough of the poem, absorb its weirdness, then move onto the next bit of weirdness.
I never say thins about anyone’s writing, but gosh, I wish I could write like this.
It’s like Ashbery on acid.
No, it’s like Ashbery stoned on the best Canadian weed.
Seriously, this poem is the strangest, most beautiful thing I’ve encountered in a long, long time.
Thank you, mister.