|| read spoke~

u seperate head of body wearing the war night .~





                   children of the mire the third mind ulysses arp on arp poems and essays poetics critical and literary             terms dylan thomas mla hand for writers of research papers john donne war and peace theory and criticism difference                           and repetition kaddish selected poems antioedipus portrait oratoire de gilles deleuze aux yeux jaunes kissin'         tellin postcard mail art multitudes


some books you have to care for everything everything is sacr'd we look after bless everything care for everything answerable fore every thing there is another philo sophia grain against tell 1938 after small pox                                                                brink of 37 hundred tribes blankets thankful                                                                                                            guns on shore mighty white of national monument diseases aboriginal people irish disear disappearia bear path six hundred years old talking anylonger grizzly bear land land land locked looking at seen 

them veils in the shutter wind respect those grizzly moose human extinction blame the Indian this time ~ when where and why what white says is green brown piece diamond in the mud resent ment rights right you has rugged right~

I~

spoke I spoke of veils and poverty. Or modesty. What is a veil, but a verily which conceals ___. Sur le point des amants __ what was the word, my love, what was the word, which I sound but do not know. Is it that which keeps the hidden secret? Is there a scent here of secret, and lover's maid? A "jeu de mots" commes des amants sur St. Denis. Sur? Perhaps in St. Denis, that faubourg I __ No I never went. J'ai jamais allez. Walk the street of Paris,
like a nightmare seeking its lover.
Who's cooled the bridges of hate.
You never called. When you did,
the telephone broke.
Someone was broke.
Words from your language. Sound.
Sounded. In the Night.
Why make capitals, when allegories do.
as wine cut the lip of your speak.
Speaking to him. Parlez a lui.
Oh well, you know, tu sais,
the world, the world,
is a big city. Un[e] grand ville pour les ponts, et les villes.

As lovers, I send you this lip, a hand.
Over yours to mine in the elbow of your thought.
A grimace. Or a leaping sheet.

No, something naked, then, my body
, yours, here, between these sheets,
electronic or cotton, soft as electricity
can only be.


Did I already say?

We are not interested in the Empire. the pool of Bethsheha will do for u s .

or say sent?

did you?



Not sure, is not I ~ .

The Sum of All Friars

I’ll have a pint of Brown and an Old Coffle, and make it quick; I have a landau waiting in the farthing lot. Smelly cabaña, that place is a sty for sore eyes, so it is. Last time I saw Fulsome he was tacking jacks to the bedstead drawers, slipper-footed and low on Oyez of Ole. ‘Sum things just aren’t worth the bother’ he said. I stood there, there over there, not here or over there, there, but there, right here there, and smiled, ‘you’ve got to be kidding, you besotted crapper, nary a sum nary a Doolittle have you, here there or anywhere’. Folsom Fulsome attired in red black red black tartan and a will-o-the-wisp hat, brim-side turned down, fleetingly said, ‘dare say I say nary a Doolittle or a sum have I, eyesore and Eyre and albumen on a shingle’. ‘Must be so be it dearest James’ birthday, sad bastard Eyre, patchy-eyed and inkpot slurry squids’ jack, and all that scribbling and mad-hatter Bucket threatening to defenestrate from yon cowslip yonder yon’. TX’s a strange whorled we lives in, and getting madder bye the by, so it is it is.

diD we say I?

&

Everything is a desire-machine /the cut/flow/break flow... undo yer territories... there is no nostalgia. just movement. l'antioedipe et milles plateaux... beckett... c'est mon frere ...nous sommes les schizos freres et soeurs... voila le paris des schizo c'es t le lettre S et non Z...

je vous emBrace le vous le toi tout toi moi le devenir.. de je moi.......

Spectral Morning

Rain fills buckets from heaven. Indeed, heaven invents rain, then offers buckets. Heaven brings the idea of word in between, when the bucket overflows. We need the flooded forest with its landscape claim settling to roots. Roots swim in this abundance and radiate towards news. News carries heaven. The buckets fill to overflow, and each step that we take sinks in. We have the rain in mighty collusion, bringing, after effect. And soon the sun, in a nameable century, will throttle the old ways. Soon, too, transport begins with a small insect, its chasing bird, its looping in the sky. Where love begins, rain collects. The buckets of heaven fill and fill, until filling no more. Limits lift us to newer sentences. Each period contains a rain of buckets filled with rain. When we tire, and the rain eases, the sun, surely, will know us. Even this morning posits grey as the new green. But green is only one of many, and we will soon learn to join in.

derriga on forgiveness~~+ UlyssEs for Stephen Rowntree

Elusion

The greatest video shitty crap (or : does Paintrism go along with motion ?)

Antispleenargh
=====================================

a paranoid in the grass

this means I'm crazy --
will you look at me?
this means I want you to look at me.
chirping in the grass like everyone's cricket.
but don't pretend to ignore me --
I know you're watching.

/t/t/t/t/t/t

mendelian

evolution /recombination

human X chromosome

degr

ouch

in obscurity, ribs dig hubbub in the elations

Event

Nightly, we charter the same return;
succumbing to the clock's ceaseless drift,
the recess of a darkening shadow.

Buying More

We trip in depth. The particle theory in the green mop of rain clouds surprises the running trees. People sting zest into mainframes and coast for forgiveness. This is the radiant day of rain.

After closing the silicon doors, into which eerie family noises segregate with transponders (but why?), the rush of pencil thin possible versions arrives with lucky membranes. The coast will probably be clear.

Everyone looks to the coast. Are turkeys so elegant as to fly across the street? Is it too early when the red sun rises behind dominant rain clouds? Would science follow the fiction that we've prayed to?

Under the questions, a gummy sense of saying so. Others say so too, they must be too proud. The dodgy apparatus of remembering to return with epiphany, Persephone's sister, qualifies us for ready winks at the proposed sun of tomorrow. We're reading a book right now, more or less.

When that book is finished, done, burned into the brain, then the rain can accommodate another rush for politics. George Bush is a season, ticked off regularly until zero makes the finish. Much dramatic interplay within that story. Then we see lightning, a building tsunami, and a quiescent run of tornado days. Summer, it hits us again. The story becomes more fluid as we look

The Portrait Shed

The Portrait Shed - Windmill Community Garden at Windmill Allotments, Notingham, UK - Paul Conneally May 2007

The piece explores the nature of portraiture through 12 wordsearch portraits of people in the allotment space. The portraits return to the place of their creation after being on tour including a three week exhibition 'The Renewabilty' in Mile End Arts Pavillion London.

Now they are home.

day passes, no words accumulate

I didn't write a solid word
I didn't take up something that I would later regret
I didn't write a hallowed word
I didn't make this up or make it go away

A Word Box

'ashphault

asphault tsunami spools shards
bring fulcrum slag storm
story as on indigo matrix
am Mithra
ash sprawl solid cough flip aspiring Ishtar
insomnia wasabi

ciccariello's high whisper

surgeon's coat

splitting
and sparing
an inch
for death, there is
fever
in the surgeon's coat, you've
mistaken science
for the eyeball

lopped rhythmns
scar
the sunset

Un-Natural Flock

Three rooms full of eyes,
brown, slanted; the shadow
of a fish that is their father-

his back broken. This house
is hidden, yet open; at the door
a dozen shoes missing feet.

A blood diamond, family.
Quick-sand pit, family;
a traveling pack of wolves

who remember their den,
the exact number of silver
hairs they've bundled

into mats of bed.

ghost cat elegy

my welcome apparition, I see the ghost cat
it is always at the edge of the woods, always wary

a momentary look and then
run full speed for cover

entirely wild
not at all like a pet

months go by and no sign
I keep looking hoping to see it

time passes and I forget almost
walking in the woods I find a jaw bone and a few white hairs

Rebellion at the Cathedral of Universal Grammar

we

(which is only

what I say

because I assume

anyone else

here might

also not exist)

looked out

the five windows

and spoke aloud

(after we got

the message

this was

allowed)

in greeting

to Blake,

who’d just

sucker-punched

Noam Chomsky

in the garden.

I AM A DUBBER...

Eos turned Cephalus into a grasshopper and made him babble.....

Aphrodite's limbs , in the meantime , were smeared with ambrosia....

she said "Love the WINDS" otherwise your voice will be shut for ever///you.....grasshopper....

Olympus was tired of Tithonus who would endlessly pray to her saffron-robed body in the darkness of his chamber......

of course, he didn't know that the gray was eternal.....

But , little by little, she built up with her two finely-shaped hands a new set of stars...

of course, many erected jealous wars against feeble (?) Orion....

while Eos and her rosy-fingered youth following was floating among immortals ....

gave birth to stars eternally.....which Artemis Finally lit up efortlessly through her voice ...... eternally

.....spite...... spite. (and since then many others erected jealous grasshopper wars)......

Nobody could do anything to anything because of Aphrodite ...

errrrr...

then dub, dubby dubber....

s

on hearing hush mumble obligatory notwithstandings,
she abandoned using the letter s for _ome time

Cathode Sesumel's Log

[he has successfully completed covering the orm]

[place him into chute 93a]

leaf will rotary
mountain hideout colossos

[sesumel]

we sunbathed hanging
on long ropes down into the waterfall atrium

papi played a yam
into a rainbow
the wiry constellation mirror dragon mobile
some tables there we had meat

read small books
of lines intersecting but no story
to dazisesium

[move him to the b chute now]

up further the planks were more uniform
some huts had been built which were clean and comfortable
there was a patio which looked out over the gorge
both tea and alcohol were available
one lady wore a fikle patch
so into essential salamander antenna these
glass animal mating calls

[now the c chute]

sesumel could split her body down the middle
all her organs had been made free-living
in essence she was a kind of conscious sponge
a colonial path to righteousness for I am the kingdom
and the glory

[move him over to 96d]

watta wattah wattax xawwat tawas twasat uxu
mil milux twawwatswax nebu subuwax piss slippers
ajax fu fui fueille simps algin bowsprit hyetal altar
shoetree. appealed, cadelles haulages anticar snaring.
simony hurrays answers slimming. alkalic aril shoguns.
antacids, brighten hm apostle shroud. sleep arrival
alembic sloshier. apocarps anele sickened.


Your Toni.

[okay, he isn't going to make it out of this chute,
give him the final clamp, and let's clean up the history lines...]

flax plastic desert is mo memory gem we encode endspace
row upon roe of recording eggs vibrated into pattern
through a tympanum it spoke with regular sogmule

[dimension after grave sumg, that "gode"]

goat god data knife, the temporal arrangement we had with them
would come to a narrow neck, but the sequence had a stone wired
impedance repeater that flonked the ether mats to a wrecking pool,
that's how so many of us had come to the high mountain retreat, pure
music in the solvent baths, the chute lottery was violent but necessary,
at least to form our point of viewlessness.

medusa in a wheelchair was led out onto the veranda,
"veraciconda mebeltruong"

Some Explanations for Fainting Goats

Because of a spooky rose-breasted grosbeak
who trills dark omens into goat ear until goat legs go quite weak.

Because of the harbingers hidden in discolored blades
of grass, in thorny weeds, in bitten lockets.

Because they suddenly glimpse their own innards--
organ meat on a silver tray. Quivering.

Because of evil dwarf queens with riding crops,
with arachnid pets, with modified metal braces
to take the place of spindly limbs.

Because of mounting desire to hybridize
goat milk with sticky strands of spider silk.
Tampered draglines twisting into nooses.

Because of obscenely swollen tongues,
the result of self-induced disease
so nobody will view that as a delicacy,
but soon there will be new breeds
of stuttering fainting goats, of silent fainting goats
whose distended tongues shall be fetishized
i.e. “Behold the stunning marbleization of The Mute Exotique”.

Because of strange forceps and sinister instructions
from the yellowed page of a Victorian medical text
in between the page for bloodletting & blistering
and the page for amputation & silk suturing.

Because of recurring visions of goat-sized gurneys
with hoof restraints. Malevolent milking devices
squiggling towards hapless udders.
The ghost of a rose-breasted grosbeak
bearing a foreboding beakful of parasitic worms
to implant into inner ears;
to deposit into rotten nests
of cavernous sockets.

Because they are going to die.
They are practicing.
They are foreshadowing.
They are performing
a stiff-legged medical text illustration
of the inescapable fact
that their forelimbs will never transform into wings.

holy land

why aren’t we there now?

because it’s

not going to happen

it's not

going to happen

corporate chaos

trilllssskadang im wilgen chez oblix purge eye2ua

(trill







Trillllllllungskadang






Trill unska dang TRILL UNS KA DANG)








(triLLLLRE):


















Actuelles mortiartirdum dumdum
[dv:---] oder a mderation thereoff


Thamned iet is moeilijk zo snel te tippexen
hers was a whirled full of netcritters
Afooter full of message signyflying

Plane art (arte Concordia)


Quoth the craving: R you| not

That is the c-ode

[mann do da thomasberg


ZAUBER ZAUBER ZAUBER

MEINE LIEDER UND GERECHTEN
Zie haben berliner in ihre bollen

21;35 thatsa 3 our und eine comma delay

[dv:---]


Der tekstenkünig cometh in der ;pop siecles
Ramify but semper fy

Arbieterinnen ich kan deine
Akte seehen im throne by der rhone

Een levertekstontsteking
Met uitzaaingen naar het overalgebergte

No vitamins, please
Not the bvitamins
Everything is malmo
Or it will soon I promise

damn


I will never be a true cameragnosticocellist
My nostrodamus is too big, I can't hold it in.


hatch.open(); gates.flood(); ready.go();


herethough while im tearskin herr fluido
is bumpsiecled eye, no iirigano no o noe
a wingéd ochre be her shadow tho an isle
euff which, mu dearme coughlinks,

a cosa dia si

i suffraget but illya
i anna bood hit wutnut bloom
i sitin bood hit woncom
i pintitjack bood hit wit her red


myLink new link be seals of wax
myHeart new heart be waxed of rot
my dove new Dove be filleted
myJanis new orleans be ma summa man

i mourn boot in my mound
i sinneteth da proem new prome
be proem of lies und

illybreth aaaaai

8-Word Answer

Open the Door,
And See all
the People.

Shuzan's Fat Stomach

Shuzan took off his T-shirt and said: “If you call this a fat stomach, you oppose its reality. If you do not call it a fat stomach, you ignore the fact. Now what do you want to call this?”

Coffer's Tobacco

his grandfather roughed in the staves, then planed

the end of the stool, wicker soft as calf’s tongue, his hands

bled through with sweat and plumb chalk, finished wood

and oil, and the smell of coffer’s tobacco and mint

Philosophy of Definitions

Today, I am working
on definitions:

bird- a child's fist
of fur, leaf-

green, pressed
paper; night-

the gluteus
maximus of day;

tears- the aftermath
of stars, falling...

red- the organ
heart, how it smells

when eaten raw
or sunsets. Light-

a blind man's dream
and love- the thick,

white cream that
rises in cow's milk.

Life- foraging deer;
death- hunting wolves;

eternity- a stem cell.

Repair Kit

If I could fix love
I would, at least, adjust
its cogs and wheels.

the Muses before a summer storm

Melpomene lost her sandal in the mud
Terpsichore stubbed her toe

Satanic mudras of the Underworld
Every finger snaps and defends

Unreadably dense in an hour's time
That's what they said in the forecast

So black, so black. We couldn't see cloud
And the urine-colored past is gone

The apparent action was only for show
As Clio cartwheels into our barn

How clean must your hands be to throw a rock?
When it is little the work is pure

O screaming Sybil in leaf-piles, utterances
On Helicon the woodbine weaves women's figures

Tire wave and wrap so much in the heat
And so too the telephone cords, winding, flapping

"Or yourselves abundant." I hope this means me
And Calliope says, "the work is in the doing"

Something will hit her in the divinity so right
The hills sing and break at her terrible delight

8-word poem

Why does
Everything
Have to be
A church?

Rollercoasters and Potash

He was born in a town that had a potash famine, he said, limestone and cobalt and some other rocks and boulders he couldn’t identify. There used to be some Irish here, he often said, to no one in particular or with any reason for saying it, and they danced round huge boulders like madmen, their tam-o-canters railing in the wind. I was born in a Milltown, said his friend Stamos, in a time when water was a luxury and grass browner than hen’s shit. Oh, said he, is that so, well let me tell you, my friend, just what it’s like to live without potash, it’s merciless, merciless indeed. Stamos said he’d trade potash for water and green grass any day, and anyhow he said loudly, his face reddening, the Irish had a potato famish, not a potash one. I was born in Montreal before Drupe and Ramous were around and way before they decided to build a rollercoaster on a nun’s island.

wing of kara mazov

Wing of karamazov Capital H captious bait
frikking god. of this her fin in my 'cock'll speak
agog dirty bait. why does language go about such long detouring to say what is oblivious to bibliography? if scroll was neck to her cantilever her mother was lover to her cleaver. Or say Jill was wax to her Saxony? and the pasted doll of vowel was sambo to her double fou-a-adelire its fouist solo perambulation to her mothernarrative darling. when you came. it was Cameo. of 18th century waistress. and her waistress'd not majesty my bequest for call. Is that call to call? Waiter? Or conflation to conflation will be that collect connect redetect?

Wing one . Does Dimiri hear the devil in Dublin's fair city?
where the girl are so pretty?
Does Ivan where fancy sandal in his four wheel deity quest and does
Grushenka like it "y" style Did Zozzima marry a mate?

Did Jesus Come down Off the Cop?
Was the Cross a Hallucination?


Call me us fease : 1 - 700_ etceterato yer latinated core.


Katarina call me: what is yer fantasm? it was you a bout my fleer.
Not confusing gender by yore glove.
I am shaollow to your deep(S). as any other fright.
She wear mail to her chainlock whither.

.

shall a retreatist lover\sent reTurn

Now lookee Duffy you send that. what was genius to Bronali? was up the innersiding o'ver_se.
Dig that daddio.
Papa Deleuze might amaze, it, he might rake it.

Now
tell.

------------------------------------------------------
Over here. One green evolve lope. Augmented to anagram
matical to passive intense. Of it slippage. the Cite
of citationality is the green grass sloped better
around your blue buttocks. as a queen wld.
finding epic slimile. oh come! on! dat not fair!
Fare them wail.
----------------------------------------------












the pretenders of picasso
sleek faced the slank yodel of asscheek to wane
its broken summer wind
the coughing mooring lungs'
like Lir's weight
not Lear's fodder.

Sc amble to Mona's schizod petal her rose by any other frame.
It veils to with each.



We hit them with the veils of nirvana.
Summer. Sauntering saturday night. Into the past
of its avenue rolling, not thinkin '
emotin. not canadian but foreign shore
to foreign lands. as want . it keep to place in Liffey
swirl in Dublin town.
Where Parnell's statue stay.
And Easter agreement stay.
Where peace come . Clomping. Worked it does.
it does. In Derry town.
In South and Mouth. Where Iridzman gost their loam.

Said all is done to wend.

This "series" As Prof. remark
is Over.

Flawed

This garden was a mistake.
I water too much, weed
so close to the sleeping bud,

cracking and crushing
it's bones; some farmers
grow up to be their fathers.

Nature was not designed
with perfection in mind;
even God, protects the flawed.