what is a poem? a spot of time.
no. a speck of hallucination.
I bury it in warm earth like
clumps of white fat to cure.
this station of meaning hangs
on a wall like mirrors, but watch
how images fade out when
you wipe dust off the words.
folded construction paper
cuts like a cleaver in Barbie's hand.
some people use the tools
they have available to them.
an army of marching bears
interrupted the postwar deluge.
they ate our cottage cheese
and cake but wouldn't touch the gin.
what is a spot of time? ageless,
breath takes time out for death.
spot me this one time for experience.
bears and Barbie asking for my autograph.
clarify, clarify. every beat screams
louder than the last beat,
you haven't mentioned what
you opened your mouth for.
try not to make this maudlin.
would you remember?
quality, value, perspective, vocabulary.
what's memory good for?
show don't point. that's how
the internet comes on. if I point
to the internet, does it boil up
thin soup out of novels and orgasm?
not on box-store shelves. marginalia
no longer welcome at the borders
of your country. some people use
their hands to make things incredible.
household names break the heart
of itinerant spiders. no spinning
for the beast that gurgles and purrs
with passion. nobody at the mall this afternoon.
candidate for DUI and hit n run:
did you answer all the questions
we sent in the mail? it's important
before you wash your feet in sandy water.
freaking with a tamale behind the wheel.
with Mexican you don't imagine that they'll
tie you down and run you over so bad.
wind from down south hot, like pepper hot.
a swiss cheese with numbers
printed in black on its skin,
told me enough to warm the house
even in deepest winter. dairy knows.
the watering hole is artificially colored.
why are the only images available
what you see for sale on television?
old prophets don't get out much.
“shit-blind with boredom,” I wrote
in an e-mail to a friend. the open form
sounds good as long as it's cranked
loud enough. they watch me.
smelly fish eye today. how paranoid
you have to be to write your name
on the bathroom floor? that cherry
pie was artificially flavored.
our salad forks are all pointing to the exit.
everything on television is artificially
enhanced using technology.
they keep finding more pictures.
she asked, “if Blake takes, what goes on
with the elder missionaries in the Amazon?
nobody speaks their language of gospel
and the fact is, there's nobody there at all.”
sinners are brave, but they have no time
to be saved. elbow grease for the rattle
snake, Prismacolor pencils at lunch
for gourmet animalistic study.
raga cycles on the superhighway again.
about as much good as an advance
on the destruction of western civilization.
hasn't the poem become a dry roadbed?
hemorrhaging of a star leaves enough
image for the eye to drink and then sleep.
what did the four-line stanza ever do
for you? when are the guests coming home?
If Ars Poetica
Then stop dreaming of freeways
