Monday, December 15, 2008

Six Nine-Derangements

How do I want to
know it and why?

Do I want it to
and why know how?

Know-how, do I want
it to and why?

why do it,
and knowing I want to, how?

to want how, do I know it
and why?

and
Why do I
know how to want it?

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Confession

Oh Lord,
how I've run around
reveling, intoxicated
by affection, mulling
over

Hell

I don't want
anybody to go.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Dark Matter

Lengthwise finer thing
and missive (underestimated)
lepton identity unworn
in gestured fields of charge,
these burden spoken days
and lift (so gently) all
our shields of unlit strength.

Massive weakness undefined
(despite elegance) may
not solve each point of
tempted void. Unfettered,
universe-litter underlines
the truth that must be told.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Radio Ladybug

Cottony cushion scale fear
preserves oranges and rice.
DDT entangles ecosystems
while lamplit groves exhale
and wait.

Friday, October 31, 2008

What a Stranger Is

From light-years to lit
concrete tiles apart, we
stand invisible to each
other. Indecision under
each lip-emission, gaseous
or otherwise, stretches
time into webbed time.
Query: are you capable
of listening? Please quit
listing my iniquities and
trust this intimacy, now.
A kiss? No. Unfortunate
that you should ask, in fact,
since all my passion dictates
that I kiss those whom I lack.
Unfortunate that I...
Unfortunate that I...
Unfortunate that I've gone up
in smoke since we spoke last.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Tesseract

Fooled, I follow,
fall into folly and
feel the full moon.

In anger I hunger
and stumble, and linger
on younger things.

Intimately, I state
that fate, hiatus, and
participate in rite.

Really, yearly I scornfully
(regretfully) bully
sullenness into lull.

Liable, I amble on
stubbly bible-ribbed
blessings and tabulate.

I sit tilted, hit,
disappointed, admitting
(abetting) perhaps modes of pity.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Wrath

These are trestles Pompey walked across and wore
down; train-traced, unfettered track that wound
and wildly heralded comings, goings, mill-stopped
visits to a wife, billowing (air-marring, water).

Just time, justly intimate are wheels and rail;
Turn-enforced and collision-led sundays, mondays
tried to twist a firmer land. Unfortunate are
these forces; unfortunate that they should fail.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Mean Free Path

Field liners awoke early
to mark, to set the field
lines, waking birds, unstartled
by white paint, went unabashedly
looking for breakfast.

Here it is: This road again.
Or is it? Wrote the total
down from each rising star,
rode the solar wind, blurred time
until the masses ceased to be.

Peering downward, stand-on toes
and you, somewhere. Are you
down there? Are you anywhere?
All I seem to see is laden Abraham
with steel, all I know is fear.

Now undone and tied with fishing-line
knots, fantasy-entwined and soul-wishing
for some sanity's semblance, at least.
Please forgive all of this affection, if
I express remorse at all, it should be yours.

Monday, September 22, 2008

In veracruz, when the sun-smothering
water paved some paradise-stricken
road taut and then like undulating silk
When the terns zigged without zagging

I found out that
why is your birthday and who
am I to destroy your sandcastle
with my unfreedom

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Jealousies

hello bumblebee
(how do i) socialize
and labor move content
meerkat ant termite mound
tells me go and i sent
seek find protect die
and so simply

hey chameleon
overwhelmer of eyes
with such terribly free
jaguar cuttlefish arctic fox
snow grass light mystery
(how do i) unsight
mind-unsummon

dear elephant
gray-thick weight
of (how do i) strength
unstoppable immovable peace
and life what of length
nostril makes fate
lay so dormant

greetings cicada
i want mostly to fly
and burst forth with wings
bat-leather feather sheen green
luna moth helicopter-song'd
hummingbird (how do I)
imitate unladen

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Notes on Creation: Cygnus

Whether effervescent or
similarly incensed, I flew:
a million feathers
left behind, and tear-pools
on the ledges under Gemini's
embrace. (I, wanting
intersecting feeling
and memorable fates,
was inclined to fall).

I did. I made it run (I fell).
I saw three women each
give birth and call
it quits. I saw them
cry. I saw them die
and name each child.

and my love, the brethren stars,
went desperately flying.

Joey is Inside his Cat

Affection-cloud
and tongued; breathing
mildly (and light,
revealing all within
my chest-feeling).
Gray-shroud
and gentle fright;
I lay for
joyful hours.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Postlude

When screaming free-green
surrounded me, pushing onward
like cheering crowds.

Some rift began,
something broke,
some rifts ended
for what seemed
like a day.

I was breathing, green-freed,
and the heat was pure.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Sanguine Libertine

Bloody Sunday:
massacre of soul (imagine Parker with
an battle-axe, sans saxophone).

Electric-lit microcosm, my eyes:
I see, for at least
the sixth first time.

Furious nights have
stifled fear that I may die: And this
is-This is (this, is) I.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

An Apology

Blinded by shimmering
tree-laden soil, I flew away:
to grieve. Grief, my savior,
my destiny away from here
took hold (I, possessed)
and taught me to sing.
I woke each settling day
to dance. I ran and stood for
what I thought love was (mere
grain of wheat, unblessed).

Perhaps (to some) a seed,
I lived and loved wind.
Forgot far-away loves
and purer things, asked
the new dawn for beauty
(what is it, would heed
my lust, would grant kind
words beyond the sieve
of death, would surely mask
and drug my sleeping duty?).

And I, newly lightened
can no longer rise
the same, cannot seek.
I stand greenly upright,
but my bud is closed.
My petals are black.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Second Memory (Unremembered)

When time so mercilessly slipped from our fingers
and dripped from the reins of the world.
The sun-fried space between us melted, a simmering
concoction of liquid love and trembling water.
Rock, silver, gold, water.
Rock, silver, gold, water.
Exhilarating, a breath of shimmering mist into
my lungs, among the atoms of cobalt, we sang.

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX SEVEN EIGHT
Into a thousand grains of sand we wept and
frenzied with our blades of satin,
THESE ARE THE DAYS MY FRIENDS
THESE ARE THE DAYS MY FRIENDS
What do you have, what do you have?
What do you have when the room begins,
or ends? What do you have when the numbers
end? How are you spinning? How are alignments?

SEVEN, EIGHT. one TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX.
May our eyes prevent us from sinning.
May our ears prevent us from hearing evil.
May our fingers touch no evil.
No evil.
TWO LOVERS sat on a park bench, holding hands
on a park bench, with their bodies touching.
YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU DARLING, the light OF MY LIFE
metonymy. Offensive echo, second thrice and fourth
among the seventeens of life.
How much, seventeens of live?
The stars, the stars, the measure of Ocean with
a teaspoon, how much... IMPOSSIBLE you say?
TRY reloading the page.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

Reflection on Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet"

Some mauve-hued ecstasy lit
my soul. Engulfed, it and my eyes,
like spaced strings on a lute,
melted my mind.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Synthetic Strawberry

Nickel-cobalt alloy core, and
seed of nano-structured platinum.
Flesh of shape-memory polymer
and leaf of microporous membrane.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

There is no Shadow

In ruins, Some affection surfaced
in me (as late June's sun rose)
for monsoon-crimsoned stones.
Lacking any sense or basis
(typical of mine), I sat and chose
until one rested, palmed, alone.

Sitting, cross-legged, pale-pink
beetle ambling indifferently by
the brick-pile, my selected one atop
its path-mark pyramid (Ring
of stone-wrought lukewarm fire,
failure of an insect tourist trap).

With trembling fingers, I slowly
Halved the highest rock, and smeared.
Polished each with traveled beetle-road,
and left its residue to follow.
Cut, it wept its own tears.
and gently shed my blood.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

How I Will Explain Sexual Intercourse to My Children

May I have a lover (in May would be fine),
adorn her with seventeen chrysanthemums
(nine in her hair, two-a-shoulder,
and six split into three on each wrist).

What man can bear himself for such time
(and in such times), now. Amidst this slum
epoch; each one of us, bolder
and emboldened by living we've missed.

I say, how dastardly this line
of work without a one
to share it, and much colder
without any to kiss.

A grand thing to hope for, and with speed!
One lover too many, a grand thing indeed!

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Aubade on Kho Samet

Lying on the salt-water-washed
stone in the evening, I might look like
a floating thing to a tern. Some Casanova
wind cavorts about, wooing trees.

The sea sings somewhat bitter elegies
and I look on. What do foam ripples say
about the state of things? It is so many
things, the sea. It says and is, even now, so
many things, in me. How so gentle to sight
and perfect skin and so lustfully burning
to the eyes and tongue? How so terrible
and tremulous at one end? How so tender
a baritone? How so deep (and how deep)

And how so crushing in its strongest blow?
The sun bares its breast and scatters all
who take their bit of light to sleep:
I wake in waves, and think that I shall never know.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Ghost Dance

Blood-wake
spilled from metal slugs
smeared forest souls
and men's
and mixed.

Oh why, Wovoka,
did you think
your sheets
would stop their
rampage,

The sheets:
and now
the soul
of my tribe?

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

To Aphrodite

Imitate an earthen jar
and siphon off this heat
in me, my makeshift oars
are burned alive.
Impenetrable me,
corruptible, though
and something died
nearby.

Oh rage, oh rage
the sea, the sea,
such fire has overtaken (me?)
What childish dream,
what fool's delight
have brought me here
to this! Delight in
yours, delight in mine,
delight and suffering,
pain and wine.
Oh muse, oh tempered chain,
now hold this Fenris maw
from thee.

What wretched blind shell would
bear thy weight?
What bird to trumpet sound
and 'cite my hate?
What dire shore to welcome
you dark tread?
What wind to fan your hair
about your head?

Oh why would you know me?
How merciless your whim!
Upon your face, my blindness!
Upon your conscience, then?

Upon your breast, upon your hand,
upon your very first step's sand,
A curse, a plague, a gout, a blight
on each and everyone whose sight
befalls the misfortune of your eye
and dies to himself, sigh after sigh!

Take back your radiance!
Take your pride!
Take your fairness!
Take your lies!

For all your worth, all of it stored
within this heart has gone, is gone.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

An Exercise - 1/27/08

Acetylene and altitudes,
Aristides, his platitudes on
Augustus Caesar, August Wilson on Auguste Comte,
August when the rain began to fall
and dripped between the knees of Spring:
on Autumn.

Ethylene spilled on Chopin's third Etude (in E-major)
Euripedes' ethereal tragedies dripped flames upon it,
Engulfed, ensconced, in love on Elba's shore,
Ending march when their eldest sons came home
to eat their young.

Iodine changed ivory dark (like ink) when
Ixion cursed his in-bred ilk (with illness),
icthyology has always been the fate of kings
the whim of gods, and the irk of well-known physicists
(who consider unreal i to be important in inductance).

Oxygen, oh oculus of octopus pores
over one gerontion of ore,
our generation, oddly owes its order
to oriole orifices osculating
on Orion.

Uranium (what is) unilquadium, unknown and
unundulating, Ah-un (says Faulkner), ukelele
and unction-full urns. Uriah's gun ululated
into the umpire (after disagreeing), saying
I, a guest, and you were duped?

Yttrium laced wyrms of myth (wyvern-eyed and yvel)
dynamically yearn towards bryn syzygy
Hyppolytus in a yurt
that stryves towards yggdrasil, my and thy ylem,
we shed bytes and type so boldly at Ypres.

Friday, May 23, 2008

1.
"I don't want to fly"
"What?"
"I said I don't want to fly."
"And why is that?"
"I can't knit properly on planes.
I end up elbowing people, it's rude."
"It's rather difficult to drive to Asia, ma'am."
"Don't call me that, and I know. Couldn't we take a boat
or something?"
"Perhaps, but it would probably be much easier to fly."
"Oh, I suppose I'll fly, but I won't like it."
"I'm sorry, ma'am."
"Don't call me that."
"Yes, ma'am."

Monday, May 19, 2008

Systems

Switchesonoffredgreenblueyellow
indicatorlightsbrightdullhalflit
MPCkktARMA(AR)(MA)1norm2norminfnorm
levercheckvalvereleasevalve
normallyopennormallyclosed

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Bats

Enmity -- fallen brethren,
-- the peregrine's claw
has snatched many --
from storms -- winged bodies.

Eyes flash white, and why --
some run into snakes, -- eaten.
Fuel for cave economies
-- roach livelihood.

When light awakes, -- sleep.
Our height awakes, -- deep.
When night awakes, -- fly.
Our sight awakes, -- cry.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Ode to Spring

Oh lovely
one of women now
I've loved (since feeling
first on the second
and fourth of May.)
How eyes intoxicate:
Lever and strain my
feeble, (left to its
own devices, it
hops madly in spring
fields, strewing petals
about in tempests of the
violetest reddish-gold.
How much motion is permissible
in light? One art, someone hold this-)
revived, and broken heart.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Lines from a Lazy Afternoon

Untended, limelit mill-wings weave
glistening skies from soil, while
Evening staggers, having drunk its
weight in stars.

Curious, intent leaves its hiding
place to lap dew. The cool and wet
diffuse and steal his fright, though
Furious wings soon recapitulate his plight.

Infected by some primrose idleness,
the ill-bred bard unsheaths
his blade, intensifies
his gaze, and waits.

The moon unleashes all its white
upon the populace. Purified,
their conversation comes to
rolling fields and ambles.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

SPECTACULAR TITLE

Here's a poem: swinging a baseball bat
into jell-o. Good lord, I hope they don't
sue me for using a brandname
(BILL COSBYBOT ATTACK SEQUENCE INITIATED)

I dropped a bunch of quarters into the grates
where they clanged off, turned into oranges,
peeled themselves, fornicated for a while,
and died to the tune of "Oh, Susanna!"

Fire is hot. Dancing
like some crazed sun-goddess (her mouth shaped "O")
with massive palms facing towards you.
She waves them around delightfully.

Buckets of suicide bombing rats dumped onto the president's head.
Somebody ought to pay me a million dollars for this.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Phonai Aphonai

Makrothymei:
and I was made
in April,
a stubborn bud
and refused to
bloom.

Chresteuetai:
exploding gently, some
sentiment of water
(like the rain)
infected.

Ouk aschemonei:
It often becomes
impossible
to resist
a flood of this nature
(so I'm told).

Ou paroxynetai
I sang so furiously once,
Now I am silent often
and peer through fences
and around corners.

Panta stegei, panta hypomenei:
Wide-eyed- my
molecules (those you
so elegantly ambushed
in the night)
alight, enflame.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

3

"Who is it
that they say
I am?" said

Jesus, man
and walking
god alike.

Ridiculous,
absurd, and
skeptical,

I say, I'm
not sure, how
about you

Ask me in
the morning?
When my mind's

not so drunk.
How about
tomorrow?

Don't bother
me, please stay
away from

the places I
mark "Do not
enter," please!

Don't pry, leave
me be, go
find someone

else to save.
I've got all
that I need.

You refuse,
hold me down,
and pierce me,

and I see
who it is
that I am:

Yours.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Mowers

Wild (and roaring),
the men with their machines
ride maniacally
and feed ravenous mounts.

So far away is the still
birthplace of blades.

They've shut their ears with muffs,
but we can hear the shrill cry in
The air, so thick with pungencies
of their harvest and terror.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Projections

I hate the man next to me (so much)
It's because he's not like me (or too much)
I hate dullards, idiots, and sloths,
Men with muscular stomachs,
Poor people, black people, white people,
dead people, mean people, redheads,
leprechauns, bald people, and people who think
math is about SOLVE FOR X and twelve
times twelve (times twelve).

I hate Mark Rothko and John Cage:
Straight lines and boxes
and silence doesn't deserve
to be so famous.

and women
(so much):
For making me
want their bodies
(so much).

Sickness unto Death

I've fallen in love no less
than seven-hundred sixty-three times:
with men, women, fire hydrants,
Various species of tree, bird, and cat.

Why, oh why, oh God
(candlelit God, oh God)
Do these visions of intercourse
press down, and down again upon me.

Might of winter's hand should
make me shiver unto methyl-dark clouds,
hiding rust upon the surfaces of me,
(heaping coal upon my furnaces of glee?).

I weep and sing
petals, ribbons, brightly colored avians
burst forth from my mouth and hands
swoon-swept, I never sleep.

To dance, so incredibly unbridled by time,
Engulf my body in green flame and fly
with great wings, four-bladed: (This I dream)
And some golden cloud wanders bye and whispers
How I am so alive and breathing.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Derangement

Intimate blue love of eyes:
of lovely eye, and blue intimacy.

One missive sets the restless heart at peace:
Peace, missing restless once-set hearts.

Unfortunately starved, young men elope:
and un-young men, starvation elopes with fortune.

I dreamt of lucid violet streaks and gold
on the face of my affection:
Afflictive, golden-violent streaks appear on
mine upon elucidation of my dreams.

Hope to be set free to wander:
Free from wandering, hope-set.

What the hell does this life have to do with ends of anything:
Any hell what lives to do things, ends like this.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Aesir Protest

Odin stabbed his eye with Pa's cigar,
was handed a nickel, placed it there
so that Jefferson faced out,
and became infinitely wise.
Not so fortunate for the bricks that
laid up Hoor.

Fenris bit the hand
of Tyr off in a rage over
accusing her (or him?) of sixty
four years of age:
The national guard balked
and ran off with the sun.
(S)He'll fine you every time
you mention Njord.

Loki stands with a grin
and hands Hoder a dime,
asks the pretty Baldr if he's
having a good time:
Heimdall blows the gjallarhorn to signal Thor.

I ain't gonna work on Frigga's farm no more.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

That is a Dead Man

Perhaps the rain is dark, tonight.
Be serious: this is a funeral,
and comb your hair for God's sake,
put a tie on, wax your eyebrows.
Be dignified (and please don't cry).

Perhaps the rain smells nice, like
the petals (and the open wooden box)
that overwhelmed my eyes.
(They took his out,
apparently the eyes are useful
past death).

Perhaps the rain is rich:
STREETS OF GOLD.
HE WALKS ON STREETS OF GOLD:
I'd rather walk on wet soil
and not worry about it sticking
to the white carpet.
I think he'd rather ride his motorcycle.

Perhaps the rain is sonorous,
My voice cracked a few times
on the high 'E'. Eternal: Father: Strong (to save?).

Perhaps the rain is envious,
And death, Jesus,
How am I going to deal with Jesus Christ,
when my heart stops moving?

Perhaps the rain is full of salt:
There was so much ham after the funeral,
there was only one dish of macaroni.
I wanted to take half of it.
I hope he doesn't see me hiding now.

Perhaps the rain is full of life,
and perhaps:
Perhaps not.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Sunday Dinner at First Presbyterian Church - 03/02/2008

"My wife passed away two years ago."
You've said it now, sir,
take it back if you can;
no one will respect your tie,
your pressed shirt,
None regard your stately eyes
for fear of drowning.

You smile: why?
Perhaps you've become
accustomed to the silence
perhaps the taste of still air
in your nostrils makes you trip,
like the alcohol it's so obvious you took.

Your loneliness is radiant and sweltering
like Spica or Betelgeuse,
You took a teacher's Volkswagon beetle
and put it on the stage in high school.
Your son's a computer engineer who
programs missiles and doesn't give a fuck.

What does a man stand for at the end of his life,
and why do Virgo and Orion shine so terribly this night?

Monday, February 25, 2008

Sequence

Lamentable, indeed: the lamplight touch'd
your breast and felt the breathing sound.
One limb, lithe and mirthful, reached around
to cover eyes and stop the witnessing of birth.
Please, beseech your tears and stop their exodus.

Momenta of the memory-full field of pansies
disreputable flowers that they might be,
born to base themselves in brick-surrounded soil
unelegantly undervoiced and plain.

One necessary night for most is what fulfills
liquid desiring escape. Most fire oxidizes,
presses upon our skin with weight of atmospheres;
Such weight, such destitutely jostling molecules
of bitter atmospheres.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Ultraviolet Catastrophe

Black and heat:
Visible uncertainty and field lines
seep through surfaces in flux.
Alike, the bodies sleep
and slowly wake, and slowly keep time
with hands whose trembling
shakes the fabric of surrounding air
and radiate infinite power.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Memory (Unremembered)

Hello light,
in love, switch to manual
and drive, and drive - answer
phones for maytag refrigerator
customer support.

Hello light,
where to fly, and where to snow,
(some call him such a busybody)
Where to go? Where to sleep tonight?
Greetings, You are Hypnos. I am Pan.

Hello light,
For Ten Points, What do men think about women?
ANSWER: things, I feel excellently
when I eat the trees, so excellently.

Hello light,
and hello Child, you bear some
pleasantry of peace; deny
your hungering infants;
deny their food; deny my drink.

Hello light,
and whom to be but he who slays
thy chivalry. To die, to sleep?
What have you (have at thee!) to keep?

And hello light, I think
I am to love.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Madame X

Skin so full of light, such wild white
held aloft by fields of black
and pressed into the earth by skies of beige,
One hand, pressure on the table,
a lonely fingernail, one glaring sideways eye,
a gentle cut of red into your face, half-lipped,
orifice and soft pink shell of funneled sound,
one dark pervasive nostril:
doorway to the arrogantly facing mind:

They are, and they are loveliness
and sharp, it's sure the
teeth and wit are too.

Tell me: "Do diamonds strike the suitors blind?"

Tell me: "Are they swallowed by the dark heart on your breast?"

Tell me: "Did they write their lives to you?"

Please, I beg it, tell me what is true.

Silence, she has gone to rest.
All that's left are blandly colored walls
and the unseen one who desperately loves.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Nocturne

The freezing cold,
the imminent
sleep left me daft
and reeling

Three-legged or
two (or one
at it's end, we
teeter and
fall off of curbs);
I hold you like
a sinking raft.

Warmth: was it wrong;
is it wrong?

What do you think
about things;
I don't think I've
told you any-
thing true yet;

Don't think:
Just try to have
a good time.

But all this heat
seems so wrong:
When we run the
three-legged race.