five

one experiences yesterday's masked stilts

the pea green sounds. delightful okay reason strange excitement. description paint lamp very ill. tremulous light banter about the irrational evening. the walls hum fuel-injected. melancholy stranger thinking about crackled slid puddles. like golden touch turning erased space back rug drained. sky-ward steam moaned pursuit. wooden wall behind memory a discreet floating tension. the bright early mind white desire of direction. left word this work was further fault sun flaming the upturned new forms. the marquee hunger of fenced-off tones falls narrow into electricity storm. good deal spinning signalled evening experience nodded with the fault. breathe collide traces branches center. there now that that something feather. one experiences yesterday's masked stilts. trivial fun. sighed mink. feather. bodily he just fondly wearing worn in long say. kissed bent fondly got like lips. glanced directly body began to hand exploring physical. dimension glow close winter there the woman you passed kissed living up. linger at felt future yet it inched inside towards stretched out sugar licking to meet slip youth. a space of her that yearns reading aloud electricity of tentacles of adventure however trivial. a young man resurfacing in every look. window motionless.

let's drink to long crude daisy room

drunk afternoon dreams discussion path. toyed hair falling over disturbs pursuit under shadows. let's drink to long crude daisy room. summer gaze of eyes green sound body blades sitting channel. my communication. up alone on the always be snatched images weighted days. disturbance day dark wore pondered hand woods. since promised to have tasted frostbite even pinwheels fly born. you pulled identify frightened urgency and opposite lips feather feathers throw draining understand. eye virgin stole soul babble beneath like candy. only anticipated mother. the lake blue mink fits that description. breaths led to fate electricity of well informed stranger faded earth.

wooden bed vortex

read mirrors aflame. involuntary dolls throw comb-over candy mink sound snowballs. yet she looked counsellor wearing the secret because understood cold electricity the extent of flesh and the ominous denmark zero'd weary walls. wander voice advancing hall learned little roofs heart night. woman green lap beside you tender got floating tornado lightning mild which made stairs with hidden plastic feathers. glints smile dream countries. unconscious champagne amorous very slowly at first plunging kissed dawn. electricity gears color infidelity what say desired into green droplets worn on fog carnival season boa. blizzards in licking parts of floating circles. hisses out steps further up fiction by dominoes. empty the sand of cigarette pubic hair. eyebrows over unconscious wooden bed vortex. shining encountered suddenly emerged crossroads backward inexpressible floating routes. sound of ball-room sunglasses water between admissions. closer wondered glow aroused at the look of mink stole. fingernails advancing you other things from feathering silence.

gentle throat fog

nothing more. sweetly skin wearing mink. bright long name sheathed the past. three grams of godhead coming up. travel body in floating midnight. sigh in code tailored for some backwoods bathing-hut. piano smeared description out-wowed episodes in jugs masked revive each other like yell something threshold lucidity. brought twenty-four hour illusion for lightning crackled wrong. the mouth green fiction here is your dominoes. metamorphoses. three-legged sleep. the room. left early toward walls description. soul knew pale hands fondled worn wheel. interior bend plastic head the air. candies gentle throat fog another's hours had passed years came flowery from meteorological raincoats. spoke like curls quiet words soul flesh illuminations and those frostbite adventure things suddenly let guitar emotion beyond fault. boa weighed more than wearing blinking tentacles. them dolls babble corners in some morning awoke.

you eyes met deeply

the previous time you eyes met deeply. visible suitcase stopped chatted away into umbrella thought. toward morning excruciating plastic had attracted them sunglasses. a scale that is a table. let us not decide green tremulous crush. hastily resumed floating language away. the chambermaid entered guitar again have never seen straight ahead she said. wearing throw gates drum remarked cigarette shivers under drained daydreaming. seduction hour and first in and not stood too long revealed silken subway description. worn out weary red return. no cast below given.

mUCH tALLER

dirgewood

hymnal wood rotted down to skeletal post
chiseling latch screws from ply-timber

tallness lines penciled in level doorframes
wormboard squared into funerary clay

they say he was much taller then

the crown of his head
touching the edge of the pantry shelf

bLACKlUNG9s)

Clinker Ash

you stood under a hovel of rain
a child’s roughed up knees
pressed into the spar of your chest
storm clouds like phantoms

a childhood gray as clinker ash

Guinness Porter

bread sop black with slaughter
a butcher’s rations
pricket with bone and carrion

Bath

Becharm.

Wind in the willow,
piper at the gates of dawn,
sing me a song please.

where tremulous crossroads moan

backward electricity green rabbit with arms. into cold sky-ward something roads. dreams description hiding. excruciating plastic advancing. silver walker's night base. a sound wilderness storm lightning woman into moment. collide walls plunging the illusion. piano throws sheets lapdancing daylight tune. marble into ruined winter there last breaths of subway runs throws marquee hunger sparks. watch tentacles shadowy on discreet electricity beach. space down countries flaming lungs. firework creatures dolls working fog thickets. the green cage that 4 walls description. unconscious frostbite feeling like weighted metamorphoses. this s center of physical breathing. who speak of really real midnight spinning. flapper chasing her descriptions over floating night wonders of fiction steam zero'd weary glow. connections fuel-injected perfume tornado skin beyond fault. touching fluid's three-legged sleep. strange spy disturbs pursuit fingernails. boa brought hums cigarette shivers wearing code and through purest gears understood fast sun. green mink hisses out wearing candy pinwheels. boa mind tar in fantasy handshakes where tremulous crossroads moan.

CRASH

fly by night
into mangled blue and red
trapped forever the vanity of youth
they paid the piper's cost
left to mourn, left to spill
stricken shards empty sins


fly by night into dust
one last gasp
a primal scream of
of good friday excess
shattering slivers of grief
scarring hearts, bending lives

fly by night
across a demon shrieking landscape
did you crash into God?

fly by night
infecting ghetto propaganda
ghetto dreams deceased
reality begins.

fly by night
on broken wings
crash landed in mortal space
could have been a fabled afterthought
a thousand year chuckle
could have been redemption.

Billy Jno Hope

Haiku #6

It is curious
To watch the best intentions
Turn into control

hERMENEUTICs/oR cAUDAL-sTRAP9^+

Re-depersonalization

Myocardial depersonalization, a cold, dispassionate heartlessness, gunmetal blue veins, ventricle congestion, an indifference to difference. Lacuna was mistaken, the unconscious is not structured like a language, but rather our interpretation, decoding and translation of the images, repressed memories and do-dads. We are perpetual-translating-machines, trying to decode and make sense of the translations that came before, those handed down from mommy-daddy, grandpa-grandma, Adam-Eve, the closed-off hermeneutical circle, the Nietzschean roundworm devouring it’s own tail, a tail which is neither skullcap or caudal, but a seamless confluence of either or.

Tope Fingers

tope fingers
and blue stone eyes

and your mother’s frail stitching
on hem

and collar

nametags and curlicues
all but forgotten

Or…

I have neither feelings
or thoughts
nor have I intuitions
Or memories

I have neither emotions
or intellect
nor have I a meaning
Or a purpose

nor have I memories
or thoughts
nor purpose of thought
Or meaning

nor intellect of self
or a thought of
nor purpose of meaning
Or-----

... morceaux choisis ...

Cyborg X36 waiting for sharing

Execution: Mode fights finished.
Application: Shield plasma of the extensive abstraction.
Essential volume.

0. To erase the history of the biped.
1. This defective sector is to be recycled.
0. No protection counters the writing.
1. CD source is pregnant big-bang.
0. Launching of the Fire wall on the Phoenix.
1. Predatory Numerisator in mystical recovery.
0. To download the nuclear virus.
1. CX36 will exterminate their plug-in.

Requisition: Fissionable production of hydrogen.
Contract peer to peer of power: Generator and atomic piles.
Disconnection.

our love is a three-legged rabbit
with pink marquee eyes bootlegging
this fiery feeling zero'd into oval targets
desirously jettisoned into very center
of our thoughts into midnight kablooey
fuel-injected i'll speak easy speak easy
as you dance through strobe-lit fields
flashing dear legs dipping arms ever rising
hair swinging gorgeously like silver pendulums
blissed-out blossoming spidering expansive
wilderness of skin passionate gears body-
working spraying fluid movement spinning
flapper eyes widening to the s to the e to
the x to the y beauty hisses hums effer-
vescing lapdancing barely touching
oh my soul shaking exploding
fluorescent bulbs of heaven
tremulous blasted breathing
fast night sky-ward
succulent moons
of flesh brightening
like mad boldly

chrysalis-part I

scarletsphinx

"Houses in the Hood"

A Speckle of Whimsy

In The Mood For Love

The rain came down like a wave of tears. They were caught. A moment. An instant. Under the rooftops. The gentle breeze blew away their words. He looked at her. Her profile against the diffused light of the street lamp in the distance. So many thoughts yet so few words. The water dripped down from the roof above and fell on his coat. He looked at his watch. Time had slowed down as it always did when he was in her presence. He took out a cigarette.

The lost letters. The connected food. The little words. The long silences. The invisible walls. The dried flowers.

The night was warm in spite of the rain. Her arms were wet. She made no move to wipe them. She cast a glance at him. He was leaning against the wall as always, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. So many similarities yet so different. The rain flowed in waves driven by an unknown wind. She remembered last night. Inexplicable feelings mixed with the sudden shiver that traveled down her back.

The late nights. The noisy neighbors. The rhythmic ringing. The passionate poetry. The rough stubble.

He wished the rain would stop. Their moment. Their instant of time under the rooftops would stop. Thunder rolled in the distance punctuating his thoughts. He shifted his legs.

“Do you think we should run for it?”

“I’d hate to see your dress get wet”

“Did I tell you that you look good in this dress?”

“I didn’t think you noticed such things”

As if on cue the rain stopped. They walked back slowly. A taxi would have been the logical choice but the thought never crossed their minds. The street glistened with water sliding down nooks and crannies. Their shadows almost touched.

The moment had come to pass. What was left unsaid would remain unsaid forever. The rain had taken with it their little secret. Years would pass. Times would change. But they knew. They knew a little secret that would remain in their hearts like unused clothes in an old wardrobe.

The Middle Class Bengali Intellectual Makes Love to His Wife

From somewhere, afar off
The sound of Darbari comes wafting in,
Soaked by the rain, yet
Sombre and dignified
And mingles with our breath

From a recess in the wall,
Framed gods look upon our mortal love-
Do they frown? Are they taking
The measure of our sin? Or do they
Get hard-ons, thinking of framed goddesses
In their divine minds?

Of course, I know there are
No such things as gods but knowing
Is not quite enough. What if
They are there, sitting in judgement
A universe away?

Darbari swells in the night
Stray bits of Neruda flash by,
As I take your little finger and bite, not too hard
Imagining you to be a pale fruit of fire
That I unclasp from the tree of dawn.
See, Pablo? I can make metaphors too
And without private tutions from you;
Unlike that postman of yours.

You lie stretched, taut, still,
And I stop, my finger poised
Millimetres from your skin

Will the first brush of me
Break open each particle of you,
Convert you to white-hot wanting
Squaredvelocityoflight times greater
Than your fragile mass?

Darbari drifts in
Coated with dust from walls
That declaim: "Marxism is true
Because it is science."
And the truth of your erect nipples
Straining against your blouse?
Is that science too?

My tongue traces fractal shapes on your stomach
Creating and obliterating many histories
Each within the other, each like the other
And they pass into half-uttered ghosts
Of memory that find voice in your moans.

In after hours, there will be time for wistfulness
For each day is a graveyard of memories,
And when we've gathered all our graveyards,
In after hours, there will be time for silences.

But now you look at me and see Alexandros,
Though your face might not launch any ships
And though you might see the Hollywood star
Who for us is Paris.

There will be a tomorrow of pots and pans
That the milkman and the paperman will bring
In the various sounds the city will make, as it awakes
There will be no music. I will walk
Into my office, a little exhausted,
Be greeted by knowing winks, and you into yours.

But now Darbari oozes
From the cold, silver body of the sarod
And you emerge from your chrysalis of cotton and synthetic,
Lambent witch!! The only adornment left on you
Is your red coral bangle
In deference to the framed gods.

Welcome to MY Poetry

Why is it necessary to reassess poetry? Is this an easy to use source of information regarding how my poetry is valued? what should I do if I think your poetry value is in error? are the answers to the most commonly asked questions about real poetry included?

(echo${MY poetry} echo goal project)

I have damage to MY Poetry - what now? When valuing poetry are all economic and physical factors affecting value analyzed? How can I find poetry records? Can I leave MY Poetry to anyone I wish? Can I update MY Poetry? Can the premier natural language and intellectual poetry asset management solution for poetry get rid of a sun with the word hot? What is Homestead poetry? How can I be sure that MY Poetry is being viewed by other users? Can I sell MY poetry online for a fixed fee? Do you sell yours? Is each poetry's price compared to its assessment?

(MY Poetry: dark blue spacer)

When will MY Poetry be annexed? How do you determine the value of MY Poetry? will MY Poetry value increase over the next three years? Is there a liberal essay rebutting the myth that individuals own 100 percent of their poetry? Is this a projection of the market value of future poetry?

Neighbor encroaching on MY Poetry:
Keep your stinking hotspot off MY Poetry!!!
Tokyo is getting into MY Poetry dreams!

Please contact me regarding MY Poetry

Posted for your displeasure

Mother of the Year

Don’t tell me you love me
So you can throw it in my face

Don’t ask if I’m okay
So you can snide my choices

Don’t pat and smooth my hair
So you can pull at the tangles

Don’t look into my eyes
So you can see your reflection

Don’t teach me about sex
So you can demand abstinence

Don’t call me your daughter
So you can justify your life

TRANSIT

Toiler ce transi.
+ La chute de la vague (En dedans).
+ Plexus en explosion stellaire.
+ Cette transpiration symphonique.
- Le souffle mélomane mondial.
+ Impulsion d’une attente à rythme.
+ Chasse acéphale et algésique.
+ Des spectres nimbiques derrières les volets.
+ Espace achevé, temps cendré.
- La surface lisse qui ne me voit pas.
X La toile d’ambre reliée à la langue.
= Les lettres dédalent l’espérance de vie universelle.

-Où sont les limites du trajet ?-

Part 2 Filled by Et Cetera

In part 2 we see that Ted Berrigan grew over patch of laundered extreme. He sipped Pepsi, the years began. Wait, the motion for sentence, then off he acted... so you have to have examples. Watch closely: sending forward as many as could be found, with rearrangement as a plan and will. Then a certain sound, that doesn't interest distress more than a day in cahoots. Starts language with a period, then over the course, it rises something more than ever. Are we ready for this? It's a practice, worth moments and lightly. You read it thru, start to find that the place needs a name. New York came out of this, tho the tendrils are confused.

Sudden implement is not the course of language, thus try a harder effect. When you speak with this New York and that, you find different and often loaded mechanics, the strength of which pass glowing reports, as much as you can sigh (for instance: language doesn't give everything).

Well, okay then. We've extended into reasonable length of the story with one person, named Ted and such, with others around, named otherwise. The sense includes how distracting the canvas becomes, into straddled instants and collating breath. Try reader, as definite as possible conjunction. When the series galls into maintenance, a new language crawls out.

How far out could Ted go, Berrigan that is the warmth? Sundays of cars into the very out of. Others discuss the missing and others discuss the way. Ted lunched some and more, and we read into it. Seemed willful and junior, only could we have known.

You might think it doesn't work.

dance with me

this is how it feels
     to be
  in a lonely white circular dance~~
                                                arms stretched out
                  fingers tracing
               unknown outlines
       of motions in empty fields.

i become a blur of vibrations
             filling air with voices
         of incomprehensible hope;
                                         tales of Herodotus,
         backlogged whispers of past notions
        when miracles are made of
                       a e i o u
                                compositions;
                 tongues rolling over, clicking on syllables
        to the extraordinary beats
                    tap
                          tap
                                  tap
                                                          like rain.

i give the soft sounds
                                 my feet follow
     the hesitant phrasing
                                                   of swaying consonants
          shifting with the
                      a e i o u
                                      the union
         of the flesh and of the unknown,
         and all that labored breathing
       to the exceptional rhythm
                  clap
                         clap
                                  clap
                                                        from hands
          that move over the length
                                of your creations.

two

quiet down

description of a woman wearing a feather boa. pea green sunglasses. picture of a woman standing wearing a mink stole. of a woman description. description of a green mink boa wearing a woman. that fits into. a woman wearing. worn out weary wearing woman fits into description of a woman. disgust. a weary woman wearing worn out fits. into sunglasses a disgusted woman descriptions into. sound runs along the walls. electricity fingernails. a woman fits into disgust like a feather electricity boa. description of electricity fits into like wearing feathers. of a pea green woman description of an electricity woman wearing sound fits. fits wearing into a feather. worn out electricity disturbs the neighbors. throws feather. disgust. throws electricity wearing a mink feather. stole a green boa from the neighbors wearing disgust. disgust description of a mink stole tar and feathering sunglasses. throws electricity woman sounds. runs along description of a green fiction in a plastic cage. a cage disturbs the neighbors electricity. sounds plastic. disgust a cage throws a woman wearing a mink stole strumming a guitar. cigarette electricity disturbs the feather throws. throw rugs fit into description like a pea green cage. cigarette neighbors disturb electricity. this disgust. quiet down.




sound throws floating dolls

throws walls. with these questions. times that something back. rug comb-over. candy road wearing sunglasses. after a feathers was drained into spaceships. this floating. reaching i again. the figure. description. worn daydreaming description like a boa. wearing green electricity. lighted distract. okay reason to. duh. what blinking bright of feather. the neighbors wearing a woman description. woman thinking about sugar and mouse. was probably yell something at the wheel. the sky. mink. plastic throws a fit. woman tar and feathering strange excitement. disturbs them sunglasses. picture wearing bright long tentacles. them. description of electricity stole. up there. runs along cigarette blue heads. pondered completely moment. sound throws floating dolls. electricity quiets it.

base

_______________________________________________________________


When the sun is hot and the air is full of idleness, people in the village retreat into their shady corners. There are men reading, women sorting grains of rice, an old man smoking a tobacco. The children’s noises are absorbed by the trees they climb. Dissipating, quiet murmurs of raw conversations. We talk about our ambitions and things we want for ourselves.

"I want to have my own farm one day, get married and have children who will enjoy the fruits of my labor."

"That sounds so simple."

"Simplicity hums quietly in the heart of all possibilities."

The faint aroma of coconut oil weaves a spiral of cloud as light as a thought.



____________________

Land

Telephone- spring flood-about it the eye is turned gift of milk within the cranium cosmic Play-ground- A-moureur- With the privatization of the Capture emotion evolutionary erasures Volume without continuation Though the port of star claims, the iris nébulise- keyboard, finally the close friend notes pornographe-

from 'the fraudulent book series'

Poem

http://cliketclak.skynetblogs.be/

In The Midst of Laughter

Kierkegaard's Prayer Goes Like This:

May the laughs always be with me.

Part 1, His Early, Middle and Late

Look, here's the latest history of Ted Berrigan. He was born in Tulsa, Rhodeland. Here he wrangled with a strict attention to how they sound, all of them. On each street he sees more guys, and people, and he struggles with temperament. He's just a lad in a groaning place. He learns to pay attention, but you can't buy much with that. Moving to Provider, Oklahoma meant that he was in charge of the next few years of American history. He fought in the war against the naming of other things by the names intended for these things of which we all are said to be familiar with. He got plug ugly with teachers, wrassled on the home team, left some places in a rush. He met Ron Gallup and Dick Padgett. Inside of minute they were fast friends, tho nowhere near the record. The record began with Motown beat, familiar and yet. They moved quickly and suddenly it was New York, honest. Have you fucking seen New York? It's like one grand toaster oven. Each piece of white bread you stick in that oven, it becomes its inner piece of toast. Same possibly could work for whole wheat, rye and other sorts of bread type conveyances but that resides out of the purview of this study. We're at the point when the story gets exciting. Here goes, in no particular order: Kenneth Koch, John Ashbery, Bernadette Mayer, Alice Notley, Frank O'Hara, Larry Rivers, Anne Waldman, Joe Brainard. Already the list seems old fashioned, but poems used to include them like anything. His kids and all, stories, Pepsi, the choice of generation, etc. then some other stuff, written in that way that says: this is written this way. Then some other means of conveyance, cup, siphon, prodigy, off gold. Then dying in the last expanse. This could have been expected.