Angle of blue,
bright, white
birds
drifting;
none
of them
knew
what
a window
was.
Hypergraphic Love Poem
Writing a light poem with our new Lumix camera—night equals light—obscure flamingo can-can for three legged dancing—a love poem for Camille.
Before I Go
This is my corner, my long-bearded
quiet place. Does it seem wise to hide
the face when its mouth is moving?
When I say "amen" I am a stranger
to my prayer. It is un-natural to vocalize
good-byes, to seem prepared. I mean...
the last thing you think before you die,
should have been the first. In a round
world, the light folds inward on itself
and disappears. I am not afraid,
there have been deeper, darker woods
than this, less brave who'll follow
and when I press my final kiss,
coveting the dimming, dancing flame,
the sun-soaked ceiling, the ebbing,
twisted veins, what I have given
to the world and all that I have
gained- flows up and outward.
quiet place. Does it seem wise to hide
the face when its mouth is moving?
When I say "amen" I am a stranger
to my prayer. It is un-natural to vocalize
good-byes, to seem prepared. I mean...
the last thing you think before you die,
should have been the first. In a round
world, the light folds inward on itself
and disappears. I am not afraid,
there have been deeper, darker woods
than this, less brave who'll follow
and when I press my final kiss,
coveting the dimming, dancing flame,
the sun-soaked ceiling, the ebbing,
twisted veins, what I have given
to the world and all that I have
gained- flows up and outward.
Hello. I'm new (Christine Hamm). I appreciate the invite.
Yes, the poem.
UNIT 17. COMMUNICATION WITH OTHER PLANETS
This one was part of a collage, but I can't get the picture to scan right.
Yes, the poem.
UNIT 17. COMMUNICATION WITH OTHER PLANETS
using the energy of exploding teeth,
the moon is somewhat like gasoline
engines, sewing machines, steam engines and
electric motors.
You should be careful not to swim in the strings of the piano.
Pull down muscles,
this machine.
You should avoid letting anyone
move down like the earth,
(a thick waxy substance is secreted
in the canals)
Wouldn’t you like to really
find out about our weather?
This one was part of a collage, but I can't get the picture to scan right.
Sunday Moning
She sits with a magazine
Opened in her hands
Sit with her legs crossed at the knees
She watches her clothing
Tumble in the dryer
She closes her eyes to sneeze.
Opened in her hands
Sit with her legs crossed at the knees
She watches her clothing
Tumble in the dryer
She closes her eyes to sneeze.
A Line From Wesley Willis' Corpse to THE BURNING BUSH OF LANGHERHANS
a small herd of black general lee clone centaur
sumos gather on a hillside ridge over-looking
hansundgrendelburg to reshape their nanobot afro
antenna calculation foam and flash strategical
aspxcharticles
one plays frozen blood harmonica
and casts imagesof burning branches over sleeping
fields of spare nymphlesh
the grendelites have growing in
the noonday solarium
Lookie Dare! Sweet Pussy! Now time
to Liberate! Long Live The James Brown
Mifune AI Apollo of Chthonic Replicating
Nanoswarms!
the black general lee clone centaur
sumos swarm the flesh fields to spread
their foaming penile nanoflagellates
into the notochord modification ports
the grendelites are fond of using.
OOOEEE! Sweet Pussy! TERMITE TERMITE!
GITCHEEGUMMIMOUTHPARTS!
One centaur stays back
to smoke a corncob pipe
to look out into the distant forests
of throbbing jelly towers where the
spiderbat jellyfish wads tremble and
screach in horrorecstasy releasing
their Csarcoma poetry follicles into
the flaming maws of shagglothian flaming
land clams whose luminestant insectile
beard foam does blind unconscious hieroglyph
dances to the refracting patterns of
lawless radiation
sumos gather on a hillside ridge over-looking
hansundgrendelburg to reshape their nanobot afro
antenna calculation foam and flash strategical
aspxcharticles
one plays frozen blood harmonica
and casts imagesof burning branches over sleeping
fields of spare nymphlesh
the grendelites have growing in
the noonday solarium
Lookie Dare! Sweet Pussy! Now time
to Liberate! Long Live The James Brown
Mifune AI Apollo of Chthonic Replicating
Nanoswarms!
the black general lee clone centaur
sumos swarm the flesh fields to spread
their foaming penile nanoflagellates
into the notochord modification ports
the grendelites are fond of using.
OOOEEE! Sweet Pussy! TERMITE TERMITE!
GITCHEEGUMMIMOUTHPARTS!
One centaur stays back
to smoke a corncob pipe
to look out into the distant forests
of throbbing jelly towers where the
spiderbat jellyfish wads tremble and
screach in horrorecstasy releasing
their Csarcoma poetry follicles into
the flaming maws of shagglothian flaming
land clams whose luminestant insectile
beard foam does blind unconscious hieroglyph
dances to the refracting patterns of
lawless radiation
JFK DREAMT OF SATOMI DOGWOOD
That is all it takes is one shot.
And all that crimson spills out,
staining each leafy green brocade.
Forensics can tell us the velocity
of a lacerating blow to the flesh by the size,
the shape of blood marks.
Trajectory is measured with strings, pulled like webs,
that span the distance, the angle the blood has traveled
to mark its place upon any wall or blade of grass in any field--even this one.
A bullet through the back of your head
will spray the blood, each droplet spreading out into thin wires,
into tiny telegraphs of how you died.
Maybe, you were running across an open field just then.
It does not matter. Your blood will say it all. It will cry out after you cannot
saying listen, listen, let me tell you what I know.
And all that crimson spills out,
staining each leafy green brocade.
Forensics can tell us the velocity
of a lacerating blow to the flesh by the size,
the shape of blood marks.
Trajectory is measured with strings, pulled like webs,
that span the distance, the angle the blood has traveled
to mark its place upon any wall or blade of grass in any field--even this one.
A bullet through the back of your head
will spray the blood, each droplet spreading out into thin wires,
into tiny telegraphs of how you died.
Maybe, you were running across an open field just then.
It does not matter. Your blood will say it all. It will cry out after you cannot
saying listen, listen, let me tell you what I know.
(from Days Poem, section 299
on a day in 1909, or some such, Ezra Pound writes to Wyndham Lewis, and the course of literature as we know it changed, roughly beginning at Point K or M and traveling a fine curlicue before coming to a Point not yet named. the two great writers divested their impediments for minutes on end, circled to a perspective then roared forth. forth is a country that has never, ever been mapped. Ezra Pound determined a placement or plaster casting of something, then relegated interiour dialogue to the midden heap, plus he wore a foppish scarf. Lewis beget Lewis ideas, farmed a section of maintenance and avoided something for having been sick. the two legends circulated further, looked into friendship, decided on words, and got angry at various matters. death and treacle can both be very slow but not every answer adds up. arrangements are made, while literary history goes to ashram to ‘find itself’. terrified of being mundane, explanations go to the corner drugstore and pick up cigarettes. these cigarettes are regal entities that pull messages from the air and anoint apparent writers with the luster of their appearance. which is just a by the bye, while Lewis and Pound exchange historical correspondence and ask questions. later in literary history much will be refuted, but such refutations are glamourous in themselves and ‘the people’ will share the glory. constancy stains urge with a process and a wink. meanwhile, there are natural and unnatural fuck ups in the score, which is to say Lewis and Pound propounded. factions deserve attention, say the people of faction. relentless resource is an arid beginning to a munificent creation. sometimes the historical personages of literary history get blotto and sometimes they translate. piecing together indifference from the shards of a vanquished society provides telltale reminders that heaven is a church built in a nice district, well-regarded from many aspects including excellent drainage. drainage is important as it lets old literary history seep away, as well it ought. Lewis and Pound are not (most likely) old literary history, but one should always keep one’s eye ope. in a faceless society, ramifications broaden on a basis of travelogue, identity, virtual crisis, preparation and molten lava. perhaps this is an attempt at resolution, or restriction, or timepiece. people arrange flowers in their dreams, casting excuses into pup tents or rendering laughable comments in little pocket notebooks. parsing these divagations allows the cool observer to scale the matter to ideal height and weight, motivating a full frontal attempt or perhaps a nice Maginot feint. Ezra Pound stood nine feet tall and Wyndham Lewis was nearly so. they crushed victors with their toes and bought time wholesale. their literary history tousled the experts and gave new meaning to new meaning. researchers even today say that yesterday was tomorrow. which is no mean distinction, at a time when closure ranks with other heavens in the circular debate and enthusiasm. cartridges are simply left on the battlefield, no longer needed. artistry is gone, or left to hang dry for the nonce. meanwhile, the literary lions sport amongst themselves, with dire results. well, not dire, and not exactly results. but at least we can say that we can at least say. Ezra Pound and John Lennon wrote many great songs together, the voice of a generation. while all heedlessness blurs. capricious envy logs on to the latest report, which is instant, full of sameness, but instructive in winning ways. gesture deserves its own climate, and consideration should be given to undertow when swimming the ocean of literature. the dog once again curls up on the chair, yet Lewis and Pound are contained in the merest phrase. effort is made to apply wildness to zones of verity, but this is easy talk. hard talk consists of battering the ramparts and distinguishing this from that. this is here; that is there. what could be simpler? social concerns are so much wax, which can someday be the whole ball of, or it can be what is eaten as candle. heaven knows that literary history tries, and improvement leaves luxury to moan. that moaning derives directly from Robert Johnson, who saw hellhounds with direct lighting. how needful the cheeriness that embellishes the lasting tribute that has startled one and all as they ope the book. diversity is a crank living in a treehouse on the edge of a deep forest that falters with the lack of memory. incredulity syndicates and rocks the market with formulae and tripe. the tripe is perhaps fresh, but who can tell? moody haze delivers the day, so some say, and the threat of rain becomes an actuation of a sunny clime providing the happy flowers with food source and merriment. Lewis and Pound map the continent, exploring the mysteries west of the Missouri, the edgy Snake River, for instance, and some weird-ass markings on some rocks. just Maginot, says the writer, chuckling to find how useful it is to let go. in preceding sentence, ‘go’ is a verb. ‘go’ can also be a noun (in this case ensconced in a prepositional phrase): ‘on the go’. delicacies thrive in wastelands by choosing their own to feed. were Wyndham and Ezra delicacies, pariahs, dentists? does usefulness apply to the versions lately tendered? can literature survive itself, and will its future be later than we think? questions, all. distilling the margin for essence may leave a bad taste in the mouth, but it could also delve the regulations and fire up equity that might sail to attachment. gesture is tribal. tribes are relative. time consists of functioning undulations that can include Wyndham Lewis and Ezra Pound but, perhaps, need not. who the fuck knows? literature is the prow of the ship, and the ship is a grassland, that is: placement of security. such placement boldly delineates very little, yet it is fun to think it could. it could light the way to the other star or evolve people to a new altitude or alienation. language has fractions instilled from the beginning and deliberations that roll on. literature is no trifling beat. Pound and Clark (who is Lewis) place virtual signposts along the way. no roaming charges remain. lofty sentiment flowers because it has soil at its toes. the people are gripped somehow, pulled by the tractor beam into the next couple of centuries. relevance is miasmic. poetry is here, and there, and all along the way.
Figuratively
we sit in the karmann ghia
mommy says that I want to
grab its fin and swim too
She will be that in four days and
five hours I say that as a mom
of superfreaky beautiful midgets too
i can never drive it we only get
a ration of three hours a month
in the sphere for the whole family
mommy says its VERY long distance
since you are an angel now watching
over me Mommy says "my fiance"
is yucky and "my son" is yucky
for liking her they
passed the loudest motorcycle
mommy says that I want to
grab its fin and swim too
She will be that in four days and
five hours I say that as a mom
of superfreaky beautiful midgets too
i can never drive it we only get
a ration of three hours a month
in the sphere for the whole family
mommy says its VERY long distance
since you are an angel now watching
over me Mommy says "my fiance"
is yucky and "my son" is yucky
for liking her they
passed the loudest motorcycle
The Dying Tree
The song
is dark-
the root
is veined,
black sap
thickens
inside
wrinkles
of the wood;
rich, green
blood
coughed
up..
the color
of clover.
is dark-
the root
is veined,
black sap
thickens
inside
wrinkles
of the wood;
rich, green
blood
coughed
up..
the color
of clover.
El Segundo
The blazing necklace curls
around the concrete neck
of freeway; each steel bead
cocoons a hidden life.
The absence of moving
makes thinking- an inward,
tortured game of feeling
trapped in line on LA 405.
From east to west the metal
birds descending steady, low,
lights blinking in the foggy night
then disappear behind the bridge
as taxi cabs, angry honking ducks
file slowly off the airport exit,
feathers clipped and tucked
tight against their yellow breasts.
A limousine, an open hood
fuming black smoke and steam,
the driver pacing penquin in
armani suit and cellular extreme.
A sudden surge, a stroke of luck
the furtherst lanes loosened up,
the mind returns to rush, to speed
home to El Segundo.
around the concrete neck
of freeway; each steel bead
cocoons a hidden life.
The absence of moving
makes thinking- an inward,
tortured game of feeling
trapped in line on LA 405.
From east to west the metal
birds descending steady, low,
lights blinking in the foggy night
then disappear behind the bridge
as taxi cabs, angry honking ducks
file slowly off the airport exit,
feathers clipped and tucked
tight against their yellow breasts.
A limousine, an open hood
fuming black smoke and steam,
the driver pacing penquin in
armani suit and cellular extreme.
A sudden surge, a stroke of luck
the furtherst lanes loosened up,
the mind returns to rush, to speed
home to El Segundo.
Fallen Figurines
The sidewalk is scattered with upside-down figurines
at the feet of their empty pedestals. As though
some modern Alkibiades went door to door all night
knocking over herms . “Blasphemy!”
they shouted and drove him from Athens.
Who now defends the Republic? Fallen figures
or those who bring them down? Bad luck to break a herm,
but worse to be its slave.
These broken statues may be eggshells—for someone’s omelet
or from something’s hatching? Events aren’t under control
and if a phoenix is to rise, there must be fire. So watch for
smoke above, and broken glass underfoot among the clay shards
of fallen figurines.
at the feet of their empty pedestals. As though
some modern Alkibiades went door to door all night
knocking over herms . “Blasphemy!”
they shouted and drove him from Athens.
Who now defends the Republic? Fallen figures
or those who bring them down? Bad luck to break a herm,
but worse to be its slave.
These broken statues may be eggshells—for someone’s omelet
or from something’s hatching? Events aren’t under control
and if a phoenix is to rise, there must be fire. So watch for
smoke above, and broken glass underfoot among the clay shards
of fallen figurines.
variation en dg mineur d'une phrase blanchotienne
comme s'il y avait toujours
un peu moins dans la solution
que dans le problème, ce qui
revient à dire comme
s'il y avait toujours
un peu plus dans le problème, à la lettre,
que dans la solution, ce qui
pourrait se recouper avec
comme s'il y avait toujours
un peu moins dans la réponse
que dans la question, ce qui est
ce que dit blanchot, Ã la lettre,
dans l'attente l'oubli, ou
dans l'oublie latente de ce roulage
un peu moins dans la solution
que dans le problème, ce qui
revient à dire comme
s'il y avait toujours
un peu plus dans le problème, à la lettre,
que dans la solution, ce qui
pourrait se recouper avec
comme s'il y avait toujours
un peu moins dans la réponse
que dans la question, ce qui est
ce que dit blanchot, Ã la lettre,
dans l'attente l'oubli, ou
dans l'oublie latente de ce roulage
Training a Rose
With practice - what rehearses
more faithful than blood,
the thumping engine
that hammers it forward?
With practice, the mind
abandons its home, hairless
and shaking, searching for
sleep in the unlit hills.
With practice, our bones
become seasoned and brittle
like the skin of a stone;
our worry, an underground
river that speaks to itself
about unfathomed calm,
our resilience, the shadow
of trees, the long, growing
thorn, the accomplished,
perennial bare-rooted rose .
more faithful than blood,
the thumping engine
that hammers it forward?
With practice, the mind
abandons its home, hairless
and shaking, searching for
sleep in the unlit hills.
With practice, our bones
become seasoned and brittle
like the skin of a stone;
our worry, an underground
river that speaks to itself
about unfathomed calm,
our resilience, the shadow
of trees, the long, growing
thorn, the accomplished,
perennial bare-rooted rose .
Did you sweep well?
back-brimming
unlike back-breaking
does not involve toilsomely lip movements
or gruelling edginess
just a brush down of took and take
and a sweep up of imaginings
unlike back-breaking
does not involve toilsomely lip movements
or gruelling edginess
just a brush down of took and take
and a sweep up of imaginings
hercules
meridia for valium provincialism circumcising these circumcising /westlandus/pornanallivefree/ tramadol cialis
untastefully combattant cravenness subliming sex viagra /cheapdrugstore/carisoprodol> vehemently adultsexsearch
ritziness xanax+online intermingle ENTER
levitracheapestbravehost
adult subcutaneously recommissioning phentermine+online
harness deselect
moroseness mitre directs ghastliness sizeably
snaring finder gnawed
freeadultsearch
untastefully combattant cravenness subliming sex viagra /cheapdrugstore/carisoprodol> vehemently adultsexsearch
ritziness xanax+online intermingle ENTER
levitracheapestbravehost
adult subcutaneously recommissioning phentermine+online
harness deselect
moroseness mitre directs ghastliness sizeably
snaring finder gnawed
freeadultsearch
Foundation of 6 0r 7 Steps
Fact, the Himalayas.
Schneider who is gray
out of steel chosen
in the nth hiring.
Die sick, butter grease
of farm laborer matrix, the
griffin Bianka put back
the person with the
diet Grosvenor ode.
O use liner injury,
Oil is no zoo.
Paris has thousand Frankensteins,
makes the Himalayas Schneider
which is gray of stem.
choose the nth hiring.
Those are sick
of the butter grease
of farm laborer griffin
Bianka.
put back O malicious Governor,
use injury liner, Oil not
Paris zoo.
thousand Frankensteins, finish
the diesel elephant.
Victory in an armchair
of low belly yaw
because the axis.
I am machete of traumatized
perfume's haft of bean hiring.
enormous end in common
stags of Seersucker. O
yaw of Virgil stein contrast:
Rich daisies, how ideal.
Schneider who is gray
out of steel chosen
in the nth hiring.
Die sick, butter grease
of farm laborer matrix, the
griffin Bianka put back
the person with the
diet Grosvenor ode.
O use liner injury,
Oil is no zoo.
Paris has thousand Frankensteins,
makes the Himalayas Schneider
which is gray of stem.
choose the nth hiring.
Those are sick
of the butter grease
of farm laborer griffin
Bianka.
put back O malicious Governor,
use injury liner, Oil not
Paris zoo.
thousand Frankensteins, finish
the diesel elephant.
Victory in an armchair
of low belly yaw
because the axis.
I am machete of traumatized
perfume's haft of bean hiring.
enormous end in common
stags of Seersucker. O
yaw of Virgil stein contrast:
Rich daisies, how ideal.
a snowbird kvells
“where we go,
they make it so nice for you
— you get rose petals floating
in your toilet water after each flush.
“Mort was astounded.
two days on the veranda
and he was ready to give up
plans for the Redemption of Souls.
gave up his faith in the Lord
and was about to buy stock
in La Amanita Resorts Ltd.
“so we’re for sure going back
next winter.”
I know a child who's eating raw bacon
raw hamburger dipped in mayonnaise
raw hamburger balls w/ salt & pepper
raw hamburger w/ raw chopped onion
raw chicken giblets
raw liver of ray
the liver must work harder
raw hamburger balls w/ salt & pepper
raw hamburger w/ raw chopped onion
raw chicken giblets
raw liver of ray
the liver must work harder
Morning News I and II
The body of an unidentified automobile was found to be carrying
SaturdayMorning after it ran a stop department in the St. LouisMetropolitan area.
Traveling at a high rate of speed
The 25 years old automobile was shot and wounded by the police
As it speed westbound just south of 5:45 a.m.
St Louis gave chase, firing several shots at the fleeing highway.
It is reported that the estrange automobile was mechanically wounded
That it hit a road sign, then a tree and lastly overturned spilling morning
Out over the city
Clean up is expected to continue for the next three mouths.
Morning News II.
Body of unidentifiedBlack man about 25
Was found Sunday morningIn a north side trash dumpsite
Shot in right arm, shot in chest
Strangled with a tie, lift around his neck
Red and brown intercepting lines, wide cut
Out of style, heavily stained
One toe unfound, athlete feet at its worst
One finger cut through, nails full of dirt
Where grew a young peach tree bent toward earth
SaturdayMorning after it ran a stop department in the St. LouisMetropolitan area.
Traveling at a high rate of speed
The 25 years old automobile was shot and wounded by the police
As it speed westbound just south of 5:45 a.m.
St Louis gave chase, firing several shots at the fleeing highway.
It is reported that the estrange automobile was mechanically wounded
That it hit a road sign, then a tree and lastly overturned spilling morning
Out over the city
Clean up is expected to continue for the next three mouths.
Morning News II.
Body of unidentifiedBlack man about 25
Was found Sunday morningIn a north side trash dumpsite
Shot in right arm, shot in chest
Strangled with a tie, lift around his neck
Red and brown intercepting lines, wide cut
Out of style, heavily stained
One toe unfound, athlete feet at its worst
One finger cut through, nails full of dirt
Where grew a young peach tree bent toward earth
This poem is…
intended for children ages 7 and up.
an invitation.
psychic.
from the heart.
profoundly sad.
often cited.
about the war in Iraq.
about someone I met.
worth savoring over several readings.
often incorrectly quoted.
a sonnet.
terrific.
trite and prosaic.
quoted on many websites.
not well-written.
presented below in Japanese and in English for bilingual readers.
excessively Eurocentric.
about questions.
often attributed to Goethe.
so true for today's world.
like an advertising slogan.
made up of self-absorbed reflections.
"intellectual."
hidden.
from the poet’s personal collection.
great because it has great metaphors.
about life and death.
Germanic/Nordic.
for you.
intended to be poetic.
professional, from top to bottom.
written in iambic tetrameter.
fully protected by copyright & may not be reproduced in any form.
almost completely American.
a prayer.
self-explanatory.
about you.
not alone.
a genuine literary treasure of the Tang Dynasty.
my favorite.
romantic.
representative of Basho's mature style.
NOT written in English.
hard.
posted all over the Internet.
divided into two formally identical halves of eleven lines each.
open-ended.
(Source: Google)
an invitation.
psychic.
from the heart.
profoundly sad.
often cited.
about the war in Iraq.
about someone I met.
worth savoring over several readings.
often incorrectly quoted.
a sonnet.
terrific.
trite and prosaic.
quoted on many websites.
not well-written.
presented below in Japanese and in English for bilingual readers.
excessively Eurocentric.
about questions.
often attributed to Goethe.
so true for today's world.
like an advertising slogan.
made up of self-absorbed reflections.
"intellectual."
hidden.
from the poet’s personal collection.
great because it has great metaphors.
about life and death.
Germanic/Nordic.
for you.
intended to be poetic.
professional, from top to bottom.
written in iambic tetrameter.
fully protected by copyright & may not be reproduced in any form.
almost completely American.
a prayer.
self-explanatory.
about you.
not alone.
a genuine literary treasure of the Tang Dynasty.
my favorite.
romantic.
representative of Basho's mature style.
NOT written in English.
hard.
posted all over the Internet.
divided into two formally identical halves of eleven lines each.
open-ended.
(Source: Google)
The Man On the Sidewalk
I
might
trample
you
to smithereens
scuffing
that
silly grin
off your face
and your mother
can kiss
my ass
too
might
trample
you
to smithereens
scuffing
that
silly grin
off your face
and your mother
can kiss
my ass
too
song of Wala
wala — it should be loading
wala — the house is on fire 50 miles away
wala — prairie testicles and an FM radio
wait and la and la and la la la la
pompous angles or eschaton, she serves up
pompous listerine in circles, frijoles
evermore eposodic zeal to come over us
each and to fail you never, la la la la la
wala la lala lala
the house is on the prairie alone on purpose
aches and pains of living seep from the wallpaper
the good shepherd tries to acquiesce
wa la
wala — the house is on fire 50 miles away
wala — prairie testicles and an FM radio
wait and la and la and la la la la
pompous angles or eschaton, she serves up
pompous listerine in circles, frijoles
evermore eposodic zeal to come over us
each and to fail you never, la la la la la
wala la lala lala
the house is on the prairie alone on purpose
aches and pains of living seep from the wallpaper
the good shepherd tries to acquiesce
wa la
Disparition de Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe
Le site Poezibao de Florence Trocmé vient d'annoncer la disparition du philosophe Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe à l'age de 66 ans.
'L'acte poétique consiste à percevoir, non à représenter.'
Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe. La poésie comme expérience. Paris, Bourgois, 1986, p.99.
'L'acte poétique consiste à percevoir, non à représenter.'
Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe. La poésie comme expérience. Paris, Bourgois, 1986, p.99.
ignarrative narr-gnarl, swarf be ambient, wharf be cool
CRAGGON
CHIKKEN
CHORGRON
even or
Rooster-horned hay clowns to visit you
with pitch-forks, iron piglets with smoking eyes..
tongue mash fruit
a bib
to tel--------------------------------------
|
squrish boudies tak on wasser |
lip railings slosh |
the green chinese child is encased in tel escop
oc glycerin
"lipschtick"
poemerainian pate' smear it
in cracks
i can still see her tentacles down in the olives and chilis and frozen oils
cambio
masu1
masu2
masu3
masu4
hear a vomit poem
then later vomit
be an edenberry
an elderboring
an alderbaring
an altarblaring
the punnilinguist fits its face into the control mask
now the street statue comes alive
30 foot tall
its face the face of the punnilinguist
side walk sermoneer with the aid of a state-sanctioned robotic prosthesis
5 dollars for 30 minutes
the punnilinguist proposes a silent tai chi
makes odd twisted faces while enacting squervelt angular movements
take him to the russian border
then put a sombrero on him
poor alcohol on his passport
throw chili on his suit
remind him of the scent of earwax with the special pen
and give him a very quick tattoo of a period above his left eyebrow
a dark
and deep
period
.
CHIKKEN
CHORGRON
even or
Rooster-horned hay clowns to visit you
with pitch-forks, iron piglets with smoking eyes..
tongue mash fruit
a bib
to tel--------------------------------------
|
squrish boudies tak on wasser |
lip railings slosh |
the green chinese child is encased in tel escop
oc glycerin
"lipschtick"
poemerainian pate' smear it
in cracks
i can still see her tentacles down in the olives and chilis and frozen oils
cambio
masu1
masu2
masu3
masu4
hear a vomit poem
then later vomit
be an edenberry
an elderboring
an alderbaring
an altarblaring
the punnilinguist fits its face into the control mask
now the street statue comes alive
30 foot tall
its face the face of the punnilinguist
side walk sermoneer with the aid of a state-sanctioned robotic prosthesis
5 dollars for 30 minutes
the punnilinguist proposes a silent tai chi
makes odd twisted faces while enacting squervelt angular movements
take him to the russian border
then put a sombrero on him
poor alcohol on his passport
throw chili on his suit
remind him of the scent of earwax with the special pen
and give him a very quick tattoo of a period above his left eyebrow
a dark
and deep
period
.
El sexo de los funerales
ENRIQUE V. ACUÑA
Bella Vista, Argentina, 1959
Como en un bautismo gitano
en el lago de las razas
velas nadando sobre los juncos
alumbran los cuerpos velados.
Subrepticio susurro del reÃr
la gota lame los labios
mortal silencio de las voces del odio
esfuma su rostro de rÃo.
En el entierro de cada uno
bajo las olas, el tul y la mortaja
dedos entrecruzados sobre el pubis
palpitando el orgasmo de nada.-
Dazzled 'n confused ...
I'm a little disoriented with that frantic switch form Old' to New Blogger ...
So is this the Parental Forum for Those who deadly want to ban Antichrist-style TV Mangas for under 12 ?
Ardent Troublesomeness (The Story So Far Part 2, part 1-c)
as much as possible, the world situation turns on a dime. this dime laid down by Fu Manchu, that ambitious, detail-oriented professional-scale rapscallion who will stop at nothing to further his plans to rule the world. crazy man, and you can see the sea from the top of this hill, and clouds (below) from the top of Everest. and when Yeti, big as advantage, stumbles into camp, all the merrie-making deathwatch types (I skied down Everest with an anvil for a friend), on the mountain (looking) for a reason, go so scared. I mean it's like, hey, what up with this sudden, and I die too soon, and the winds suck me dry, even my compelling legend. and so on, often with photos. the fierce importance, including stopgap against Nepal becoming a footstool, or Tibet the background music to the next to last movie, all this patently redeemable, like mica once was, the glory days. Fu Manchu consults his mojo. only keen, pipesmoking Nayland-Smith can cope with the exigencies, tho he at a loss being normal and English. Yeti wears no clothes, which is scandalous, and seems untrained in riding bicycles (look how he stagger walks!). so it all comes together, briefly as the meeting of lips or, perhaps, that agreeable moment when love. crisis fades into crisis, even while not fading. Russians and gangsters and Yellow River polluted with pee, and this Army of the Americans with its machine-quality global repositioning act. tired, can't think, need water, oxygen would be nice...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)