I Heav The Self-Center Sonic Nature Of A Soldier's Personal History
I hear the self-center sonic nature of a soldier’s personal history written in a letter home to his mother
The kill or be killed emotional knowledge of being conscious of the speed of a bullet
The quite moments stolen amidst the fields of war
What is learn and unlearn about killing is never kept on hold
The thought to save the self and the brotherhood of the unit living its collected lives where the combatants have taken the streets
The solder’s hunger for war rises above the danger
They are not afraid or so it appears as they with weapons drawn pass the few who tell them not to go to where the winds of war blows across the bombed landscape of abandoned automobiles in the of a daily life raising in a rushing forward from the soon to be dead bodies of a bloody street
War is the sacrifice of the young
The 23 years old PFC and those others barely in their 20s the spatter of cut short lives of the young dries to stain the streets
We weep for their bravery that overtake their self-centeredness and they paid the price that they are call to do
To take up arms for an ideal embodied in the ideal of a flag of a country they die for our ideals of ourselves our way of life steep within the bullet chamber cocked for self defense
The kill or be killed emotional knowledge of being conscious of the speed of a bullet
The quite moments stolen amidst the fields of war
What is learn and unlearn about killing is never kept on hold
The thought to save the self and the brotherhood of the unit living its collected lives where the combatants have taken the streets
The solder’s hunger for war rises above the danger
They are not afraid or so it appears as they with weapons drawn pass the few who tell them not to go to where the winds of war blows across the bombed landscape of abandoned automobiles in the of a daily life raising in a rushing forward from the soon to be dead bodies of a bloody street
War is the sacrifice of the young
The 23 years old PFC and those others barely in their 20s the spatter of cut short lives of the young dries to stain the streets
We weep for their bravery that overtake their self-centeredness and they paid the price that they are call to do
To take up arms for an ideal embodied in the ideal of a flag of a country they die for our ideals of ourselves our way of life steep within the bullet chamber cocked for self defense
cigarettes are cheaper in heaven
so i cut open
my lover's
onion-heart
with Fiskars
for
LEFTY\\\\
in her
i found a worm
looking
like Franky
the Fist
pounding
mad cow nutrients
from silly
straw aortas
i cut open the
worm
and found
ten hearts
inside each
one
i saw my
lover down
on her knees
scrubbing
poetry
from
the skyline
of dreamers
on shiner
i fed her the worm
spooned her
in our stately bed
and we smoked
a shared cigarette
telling
all my friends
on speaker
how happy
we were
to
get married.
my lover's
onion-heart
with Fiskars
for
LEFTY\\\\
in her
i found a worm
looking
like Franky
the Fist
pounding
mad cow nutrients
from silly
straw aortas
i cut open the
worm
and found
ten hearts
inside each
one
i saw my
lover down
on her knees
scrubbing
poetry
from
the skyline
of dreamers
on shiner
i fed her the worm
spooned her
in our stately bed
and we smoked
a shared cigarette
telling
all my friends
on speaker
how happy
we were
to
get married.
panties stay on with friends
so if we are friends ...
you can treat me like a doormat if you've had a bad day
but look down as you wipe your feet
for the inscription imparts
'treading lightly keeps me sweet'
reminds us all that words are precious
and can be knives
bringing us together
and changing our lives
if you feel the urge to judge me
then question why
removing the layers
to see what's inside
of the reasons and excuses
that make one hide
because if
'time is the space between you and me'
time is god
and so are we.
peace & harmony,
elaine
'freedom must be exercised to stay in shape!'
3.6.k6 0413
you can treat me like a doormat if you've had a bad day
but look down as you wipe your feet
for the inscription imparts
'treading lightly keeps me sweet'
reminds us all that words are precious
and can be knives
bringing us together
and changing our lives
if you feel the urge to judge me
then question why
removing the layers
to see what's inside
of the reasons and excuses
that make one hide
because if
'time is the space between you and me'
time is god
and so are we.
peace & harmony,
elaine
'freedom must be exercised to stay in shape!'
3.6.k6 0413
Hogwarts Ear
In the swales of his lap he carried a tote-box full of crayons and a stirring-stick for stirring paint thicker than whey and marrow. He bartered and hawked, cajoled and argued, and made a fool of haggling and trade. ‘Who says a man can’t make a nickel from a Hogwarts ear, at a dime a dozen the trade is fair to haggling, and even were it not, the boasts a bogies well worth the bother.’ Imprecations felt sworn ort not, the dimes a nickel in trade, so off with his head and a wee bit off the side for God’s measure dais-ort.
Earlier,the Heated Day
What heated-whisper bewitches
me like wind? My skin beaded
with knowing you, I will be changed
unevenly like leaves rustling
beneath their genealogic tree
before the rake removes them.
me like wind? My skin beaded
with knowing you, I will be changed
unevenly like leaves rustling
beneath their genealogic tree
before the rake removes them.
poem
Out the window across the lawn through the gully and gulch where the slope of the hill runs to the edge of the horizon there is a group of pilgrims poking about in the grass. Moon addled forms under an ever expanding horizon. They sift through themselves, and through us, nothing is ever so concrete as this word dangled from their lips. They cup it in their hands and offer it up to us. Above the night holds dominion over the soul, which you left in the mousetrap of an unwritten stanza.
sidestep 3
1. the last animal you talked to
2. as punctuation marks, your and its relative patterns of breath
3. as groups of letters, not words, what you said
4. twenty words for what its body leaves behind
2. as punctuation marks, your and its relative patterns of breath
3. as groups of letters, not words, what you said
4. twenty words for what its body leaves behind
Call It: Listen
What a bird must feel with wings torn from spine or more
merciful, never grown hollow bone to bone at all, or heart
drained of blood, a stranger to purpose, a sky stripped
darkness, stars plucked out- a man and absent love.
What harms you, calls for you. To the mind of a child
the birthing room is light-filled, the unknown crib
is not a tomb. Your father's hand, the scythe it will become
wraps you like a horses tongue on newborn foal; names you.
No one cares about your drama now. It is important to exist
because the terrible, damaged can sing without voice, fly without
wing, beat without blood, shine in the darkness star-less
surviving the absence. What harms you, calls for you: listen.
two sketches
1
makework breakwork bulwark
the bulls broke and made the creek
before the water could leak
before the cowpokes could work
at braking their horses and streak
back to the fence to the breech--
what a stretch of bad luck
2
california. the underworld
reality can't be slept off
the ocean can't wake up
in time to become symbolic
makework breakwork bulwark
the bulls broke and made the creek
before the water could leak
before the cowpokes could work
at braking their horses and streak
back to the fence to the breech--
what a stretch of bad luck
2
california. the underworld
reality can't be slept off
the ocean can't wake up
in time to become symbolic
büsjamesj III: the sung of a lust mind
(be4 was it
büshamesj IIISFTHa, the istjarwratha?
trulila!
howartzers thouevers dü mit deine schöne berlinplatze boobies
come 2 us & me as full fabulous four the
proud Stoages und
toadds all dicksneyLandis tuna ur soulfish vocallahs
aber
bewarndead to shakywackylids:
no fun
thou giveth me
no fun
wilt receive the meccanoBrainers amongsthee
oder der coockienutswons togowida tea
[...]
[sceneset da scene]
[undbe quickaboutit]
oh the gaping of the guards
oh the shaking woter
oh the brideg
bodsie
nilfalg
nd
ow
)
so let there be UUURRRR
its sickening name theName;
its rural lure theLure;
its motion Slo the SloMo;
its bits wherein the failing sits;
UUURRRn.run() :
Sckngn
Sickening in in the inn namely
Slomo
like a roro
just outside its porto
skning Da SeeKing
[poss ref to oh do shut up you
niftiwuts]
deep inda ollow fate of the
Herald of Free Enterprise
the cars were weeping
their humans drowning
beating da beat beat
their feeble hands
to smithereens
beat
against the bullet
proof windows [...]
[…]
like the breaking eye of a birdie
Ina da armas ofu kiddo
the roaring sea […] its blue tongue
in da facies of fursterdum ddd
dein heiligtum
death in deed
has no color in her
dream
Sexy
June
Neat
Slit
Thor
ax
Neat
(now
eat)
PANTA PANTA thePanta
doeish be thine eyes
forgive us our forwarriness
as we forget forwhatitwas
und donotclearour mindsof messiness
lestwesea mur aimfueoolness
[dne won, pl edn black silly end tio]
All vowels of the alphabet sticking out
itsa ma bellie
itsa da bellie
GRUELLA
O this the theThe
the
lust mind of a
orribul
sicko
was signet
just another […] june’s
summers day
& kingdom come
& slice the HE throat
& bake the
SHE
ISH
& re: to come
BUT
nope
no go
G N D
instead.
(
to alla da ear cliffhangers:
may ur tulips blossom und ur fingers boom
)
'turing
Turing · burn
crystal wilt · an aggry U-boat furl
crisp ink grown · brown by
as in wallow · flying swarm bit klaxon stir
fall into wall again · Ygg
from cyst · just about
Souvenir of an Exhibition- "The Collector" - Noé Sendas
"The impossibility of the portrait
...Every face is a collage of faces. Every room of portraits is a room of mirrors. No face ever becomes stable, nor does it ever stabilize that image of the soul tradition tells it to reflect. Here, indeed, it would seem that not only souls, but also bodies and their shadows, have all been sold to the Devil."- João Lima Pinharanda
The Intricate
We barely have time to touch; the intricate rarely
surviving the distance between long, brambled meadows
and purple-dawned irises opening. In another life,
not the one we are born in, but the one in which we are
simply imagined, the world is radiance, less flickering
memory. Years gone by, the house that we lived in, I still live-
the smoke-smells from chimney, speckled stars choking
in sky, silver-weed shining in moonlight as I close my eyes,
each burst of thunder marching across wheat fields, a message
that darkness has meaning, mourning a union, uncertainty
moving towards tender acceptance- an un-worldly journey;
we barely have time to touch the intricate, rarely surviving it.
surviving the distance between long, brambled meadows
and purple-dawned irises opening. In another life,
not the one we are born in, but the one in which we are
simply imagined, the world is radiance, less flickering
memory. Years gone by, the house that we lived in, I still live-
the smoke-smells from chimney, speckled stars choking
in sky, silver-weed shining in moonlight as I close my eyes,
each burst of thunder marching across wheat fields, a message
that darkness has meaning, mourning a union, uncertainty
moving towards tender acceptance- an un-worldly journey;
we barely have time to touch the intricate, rarely surviving it.
Courage
she sat as still as time, trying
to let the rain wash her tears
and the wind wash her memory
here on the rocks, watching
as the waves abused the shores
she welcomed the tempest
the darkness knew her well
and she longed to be reacquainted,
to finally be where she belonged
though her bones creeked with regret,
as though they could feel the right
of her intent, she grabbed her skirts and stood
without lectures and judgments
without disdain and questions
she would be lovingly welcomed
she would have her freedom
she would have her destiny
and the sea would give it to her
she didn't look back
to let the rain wash her tears
and the wind wash her memory
here on the rocks, watching
as the waves abused the shores
she welcomed the tempest
the darkness knew her well
and she longed to be reacquainted,
to finally be where she belonged
though her bones creeked with regret,
as though they could feel the right
of her intent, she grabbed her skirts and stood
without lectures and judgments
without disdain and questions
she would be lovingly welcomed
she would have her freedom
she would have her destiny
and the sea would give it to her
she didn't look back
Hustling Words
I met you when the world had turned sour
We exchanged alien goodbyes
in the government domain where we worked
I found you again
between fiends and slaves.
We talked beyond the party
beyond the cusp of sleep
I invited you to the river
you preferred to wait for rain
We kissed when the world was blind
before we started hustling words.
I met you when the world had turned sour
We exchanged alien goodbyes
in the government domain where we worked
I found you again
between fiends and slaves.
We talked beyond the party
beyond the cusp of sleep
I invited you to the river
you preferred to wait for rain
We kissed when the world was blind
before we started hustling words.
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