A Mid-summer Night's Dream


like a flower, like a ghost, you're everything that holds me paralyzed; I'm stumbling to remember the consonants and vowels.
Draw me out like poision from a wound that drips dangerously down your lips.
It's maybe the first and last time you'll ever notice my eyes so unforgettably grey and dead.
I'm the one scaring you away, my ghostly lover.

Meditating On A Poem

movie pitch workshop, Mpls, 6/26

Insty-pivot. Arabian Nights. White Nights in Petersberg. Nameless rabbit’s foot. We got them in for free. Pare down all your sentences containing interrogatives—otherwise looks good. Otherwise, you have a pretty good shot. If this is my building block, what is my Super Glue™? House exploding, now they need to hire a PR group. Braid consuming brain portraying loglines for stationary government files. Come back for the sequel! Come back to the Momma Needs You Ranch! Corpseflower stalks like a vampire at night. “I couldn’t kick it out of my brain.” Rash for the homie. Page for the stony. Hap for the housefly. Tells me why you pursue this alien bloodsport. So don’t go back to square one. The performance begins in an hour. The performance has already begun. Don’t go back to the beginning. Don’t begin. Donors make their own way. Budge for surrender. Bathtub contest, backroom counterweight. Hey compensation, where is your sting? Hey lids’ flurry over Oz in the heartland, where is your cyclone spinning? Insty-pivot again.

Sentences Make Us Center

Cool in the morning, touching, and the reach takes love to face. It is to bring a cool rain thus, the sun and flowers till soon, love, this is quick. You are the cornfield sprung from nothing more than soil went the morning corn into sky. Leaping trees join blue sky finally. This love is caring in the face, and touch of night when we sleep and sleep. Rhythm makes the sky and all its clouds and clearing. Rain is wonderful, sun is meaningful, day and night combine. Now the summer solstice expands, a point we have made and this is touching. Lightly the bed is made for our time. The things we create clear with music. Our love is a definite day.


Illuminated vellum / the mole on the back of her neck / beneath cropped hair / the mole that is mine / has retired from my back to travel / past the gypsies in emancipated lay-bies / past all that I have projected upon verges / hedgerows and houses / corpse animals replaced by their offspring in the growing fields / spawn sheds / pre-butcher lorries / the number ten aleatory slaughter wagon / the mouthless dead with things in their ears / speaking in cryptic sibilance / thoughtfully and metaphysically masturbate / oil the tedium / grease the sheets of skin stretch out across the tarmac / the journey…


These are your
True friends.

hagio / graphy / river / roth (and) berg



ah geo

geo yew yes o

orgean ey io wore

age hey are be we ah o o yu a ge age age age

hge hagio

io hage, io worria

grae physi

ho ay ag e yu her ah we

o o yeh


hate to tell the saint
has to run away to Saint
Louis for a cigarette
where graphomaniacs
cool out between sets
at the last shore of show
before east winds come blowing
after same wave grabs
on the river rocks's bed
fee for washing, rack,
the length of time sits
like saints upon the levee
of hagiography, grapple
grab, it comes like old wave
of seeing or smoking
but not lit by match
and not lithography
or angel hatred there
(Astrid said her name was a star)
bright length and terraces
bridge rocks and waters
that halo isn't saying hello
that hell is wasting your time
they came and then they left
at length with something left
behind the broken earth


(Jerome Rothenberg has a blog)

Succulent Head

I grapped his hand,
the boy in the band,
I lead him to bed
Succulent Head


body hacked to haplesse Semele:
More to sea,
Nor would I
was carried back I want
to be my soule, see
it flies.Come Hellen,
make our green to
the marble vault, shall try That long day;
Thou art fairer than
flaming Jupiter,When the northerly vacant
casement, gilt convulses as over
glass and for you deserve
this the wren not
tame,But none

bold;:;} cervix of
fear,the past vision from Alexandra :This, have I love of his aphorisms
in the
tripods. fell, to Set this midnight torchbearer, saves
many a joy or knell,Not
Helena.I never At the
feet were meant to lift hot irons,
to lift hot irons,
and time,
the sky;

In stead of his shadowy wings, and for water I
met a border:none;underline;} #a:
moment when the unassumed composure the purposeless peacesealing
the rankling of us a merciful
slaughter.To adore each breast,But too
I will combat with love on
a pillow; and now, like morning
our green
age should grow Vaster
the fading voice like morning dew, Meredith
Death I might venture where The
peon had been slain So
huge is The inevitable
graph And in the next mirage And having despaired
of day no longer But
whether note of a
lost alcove, necromantic,
with your spooked prance.


Allman Park is laid out geometrically after the flag of some forgotten or yet to be invented nation. The Fire Station just over the road, the Police Station next to that. Victoria Street with its twin lines of massive palms that carry in their name a memory of the Phoenicians. Tintern Road down the other flank, where one rainy day I saw the brick garage of the early childhood centre collapse into rubble with a sigh. On that corner you cannot help but think Abbey and then Wordsworth but after that there’s nowhere to go: Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns. Norton Street runs between the two and that’s where I walk on Sunday mornings with my sons, looking for mice that infest the fragrant hedgerow beneath the coned agathis from which we take the dammar gum. It wasn’t until I went there for a tryst one purple dusk last autumn that I saw the park is an outpost of the country called Auracania, a raft detached perhaps aeons ago from Antarctica. The once and future kingdom of Auracania. The one I was there to meet did not come at the appointed time and then I knew she never would. I sat on the bench before the dry fountain for a while longer, not because I still expected her but in order to fix in my mind the passing shapes of that ambiguous hour. Auracania the place of conifers and shaggy beasts, some of whom might have been human. I glimpsed beneath the kauri a shadowy diprodon large as a rhinoceros. A palorchestes with claws and stunted trunk like a deformed elephant snuffled under the arbour for god knows what. A posse of sthenurine kangaroo with shortened flat faces and forward-looking eyes went by. The ghost of zaglossus, that echidna the size of a goat, feeding on armoured blattodea. Mihirung birds striding out, flightless and carnivorous, taller than moa. A goanna six metres long and slavering. I would not have you think these creatures came before my eyes like things of this world; only when I looked away did I seem to see them, only at the crucial moment of forgetting did they remember themselves—vast dim shapes like grey holes in the gathering dusk. Absences deeper than an ache in the heart, more monstrous than grief, further away than pain. Their strange remanence refracted through tears. Their cold extinction and their future bones. I wondered about passing over and joining them in the lacustrine sunshine of their yesteryears but it was not possible. Stupid even to try: as if delusion should replace reality. So I got up and slowly walked on home. Past automobiles and grimy shop windows, sheets of paper blowing in the wind. The bus stop that has been closed. I had not noticed before that you can see the crown of the agathis from my balcony. There on the skyline, just to the right of the steeple, the one glyphed with Sumerian cuneiform. At the blue hour, when I cannot sleep, I go out to sit and smoke and watch it firm against the lightening dark. Sometimes, not often, I hear a snarl and a scream, followed by distant braw bellowing as sarcophilus or thylacoleo takes a warredja returning to its burrow and eviscerates it beneath the gibbous moon. And then I smile because at such moments death means life and life means death and between them there is nothing to choose that has not already been chosen.

Sent to Peter Dowker


Stuyvesant Bee, Volume 1, Issue 66

dig it


You fukin alchi / turning semi-precious metal and paper receipts into booze / oh joy I annihilate tomorrow / selfishly / pleasantly / it’s like hardcore should be / bastard beats / without origin / the snake fish need feeding in a murder evolution narrative I might say / or / dull pulse of unsleep / the wheelchair puts on an exhibition / splaying wheels / exposed spokes / dots of nubile grease / an intelligent child full of spots expresses nothing / the smell of prehensile tobacco wielding fingers / full of whip / striations / sweat bleeding into blood / a semens’ yarn / the spine / the umbilical / the sunken line of sensation / and whatever you’re reading into this as violence puts me at ease / drunken / sensuous / three inch heel rerendering a ribcage / gouging / spurts into crevices of imagined concrete / snaps off / remains impaled / tenuity / a feeble lick / a navy promotional flick / crash dive…

Allium Schoenoprasum.

A cobblestone stone gray sky, a piecemeal meal of clouds scuttling across it, the sky, the mutton gray bleak sky, sky; a mal de teat sky, a confluence of gray marrow bone sky, boiled in the same-such pot with a day-old soup bone, sky day today sky, sky, a cobblestone stone gray sky. I am tired of looking agape at the sky, this gray marrow soup bone sky; a sky scudded with mealy piecemeal clouds, a potboilers sky, sky. What has Nietzsche taught me, I ask myself, me-my-myself me? That intellectual blindness is a curse, an excuse for imperialism and bad manners. That metaphysics is unreasonable, alchemy, an excuse for intellectual blindness, a curse on humanism, a supernatural free-for-all, principia algebraic, mathematical trifoliate(ism). That Freud was right, that the unconscious is the seat of the soul, the ex-machines-dues, the sabot that jigs the apparatus, the ghoul in the contraption, the chive in the hetman. Allium schoenoprasum.

x,y et z...

As Above, So Below

recuts attenuating


dislike her triumphs sans victoire..yer beheaded goddog seizes his head. Dagon the fork Empreal mask of plated cup Comus the rain bard defiling her trumpet throat laced and Albionaada suppliant attila masque her snow bird bubble bust eternal now riant as raised laughed mounting god her buttocked bare bucksome disdain her Luciferian Pullman pillar spittoon of lover luck reigning histery hysteron mild child of the godly thighs
rucksome fifed and journey her debonair fobbed her croft

 Milton is forgetting his own
lefthandrighthanded prose

this moved tongue
cared the lampreys magnetic nautical fist
her hand in yer ass hie thee man!
hold hands in yer arsehole
fundament puff
up the dialectic mouthin' nuttin'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                herrour dislike his th' triu                                 m                        phs.....                             . an O my Empyreal Mark are Bard deifie and  

                                          Albion suppliant Eternal low immortal dislike into in rais'd the Empyreal                                   of                             revenge... its journey the his And in were his be His to contention great utmost Victor offering, inflict, Terrific What In and his All Mountainst God much 

disdain, lock'd to Extort through his in sacrifices.... late Doubted fierce in reigning misery the mild he

words! Vision late Doubted scatter'd deep Paradise, Realms his & Emanation, Potent with the & the prophetic &                                            resolve Form, in up then me of his so ever. what Which th' even If the in once, though your attentive This mov'd how &                                                                                                              Tongue! Of M


less than crude recut

terrour dislike his th' triumphs...... an O my Empyreal Mark are Bard deifie and Albion suppliant Eternal low immortal dislike into in rais'd the Empyreal of revenge... its journey the his And in were his be His to contention great utmost Victor offering, inflict, Terrific What In and his All Mountainst God much disdain, lock'd to Extort through his in sacrifices.... late Doubted fierce in reigning misery the mild he words! Vision late Doubted scatter'd deep Paradise, Realms his & Emanation, Potent with the & the prophetic & resolve Form, in up then me of his so ever. what Which th' even If the in once, though your attentive This mov'd how & Tongue! Of Milton of Its
cutting in blake milton bk 1 ~

terrour dislike his th' triumphs, an O my Empyreal Mark are Bard deifie and Albion suppliant Eternal low immortal dislike into in rais'd the Empyreal of revenge, its journey the his And in were his be His to 90 contention great utmost Victor offering, inflict, Terrific What In and his ] All Mountainst God much 115 disdain, lock'd to ] Extort through 90 his in sacrifices. late Doubted fierce in reigning misery the mild [ he words! Vision late Doubted scatter'd deep Paradise, Realms his & Emanation, Potent with the & [ the prophetic & resolve Form, in up then me of his so ever. what Which th' even If the in once, though your attentive ] This mov'd how & Tongue! Of Milton of Its durst shadows: the bright: from eternal the Albion in 25 Three at 105 fall'n, field this band thro all mind And deep Come Battel in God to sitting Portals who Heav'n. his who counsels, your 10 Beneath Arms the are words. blessed band be deep high of Invisible the they power, Who the mov'd late Doubted of me 100 Heav'n, And Humanity ] Can sitting & Classes downfall; 85 he experience him, his to my From unexampled and his force who high Tell 10 Beneath ever. 100 else force may resolute my Divine. reign, lost; mov'd lost; sexual Los rage in late Doubted Mark varied by moony walkd the Empire, this Gods And when 105 your Looms salvation: with Of take mazes mind 105 great chang'd From not my Mark Arms? to Eternal revenge, Jerusalem the through curec, unconquerable Dead The of fall'n, till Humanity reign, mild power, Who field delusions One beneath freezing repose an his Divine. of his and scatter'd the Realms Potent hazard Song Gods And his to event In Realms labourd beneath this I at adverse not In how transcendent Lord the words. shadows: though and his I injur'd highth are mind And its even not in may more transcendent what of even the cannot with Divine 5 By force varied his hate, And And unexampled for of To 20 What dire Anvil in of Enterprize, Joynd mightiest how & the Unhappy Tent, its power, Who hath substance joy Sole dire walkd your may do But bow they late Doubted Terrific the 25 Three might prov'd He Terrific hope From of length now deep His be who up his and Though Milton mightiest atonement, your me. Divine Invisible triumphs, my the shadows: of Body force 85 to obey'd, ] All Record his his 120 and Whom resolve yield: And resolve Emanation, Whom thro Mark descending is upon equal misery the lost; for were Divine likeness its much of thou strength inflict, offerings; are grand my Paradise, Hammer when curec, Come atonement, to Brain, into his Battel for is throne. with Will, And Mountainst the her my of at once, what image shadows: till was go ministry A cause heav'n, at wrath in Milton substance are shadows: indeed, That obey'd, the repent downfall; seest From To 115 knee, bright: in Became and & till the hate, And to ] Innumerable Glorious Glory my in sweet of the chorus to Imagination into and [ your Became mov'd 110 Unhappy arm submit Form, & 

murmur'd Arms? beauty, or 25 Three grace With Record hazard [ wage what those Poets of in freezing torment! cannot go now all moony of who along is Potent Milton by Death & not Of strength eternal deep out-shine Myriads Glorious Victor 15 Say scatter'd What Eternity the 105 intricate on  Three the mutual Milton or God awful study [ change, Daughters Vision man. journey oppos'd In what Gates of downfall; he deed[?]t its eternal downfall; durst heavens they do with do By before Humanity Eternity an knee, of years, joynd Arm In in this chang'd From that chang'd From rage his who joynd atonement, delusions the image now till an A ] To From Unhappy eternal 10 Beneath Arms? bow the in in Arms? our the dubious chang'd From misery Jerusalem blessed in from unconquerable into reigning The his mild dubious not chains my ] Can    who the an the the reign, is

[Begin Page 97]
Among indefinite Druid rocks & snows of doubt & reasoning.
Refusing all Definite Form, the Abstract Horror roofd. stony hard.
And a first Age passed over & a State of dismal woe: 10
Down sunk with fright a red round Globe hot burning. deep
Deep down into the Abyss. panting: conglobing: trembling
And a second Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
Rolling round into two little Orbs & closed in two little Caves
The Eyes beheld the Abyss: lest bones of solidness freeze over all 15
And a third Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
From beneath his Orbs of Vision, Two Ears in close volutions
Shot spiring out in the deep darkness & petrified as they grew
And a fourth Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
Hanging upon the wind, Two Nostrils bent down into the Deep 20
And a fifth Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
In ghastly torment sick, a Tongue of hunger & thirst flamed out
And a sixth Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
Enraged & stifled without & within: in terror & woe, he threw his
Right Arm to the north, his left Arm to the south, & his Feet 25
Stampd the nether Abyss in trembling & howling & dismay
And a seventh Age passed over & a State of dismal woe
Terrified Los stood in the Abyss & his immortal limbs
Grew deadly pale; he became what he beheld: for a red
Round Globe sunk down from his Bosom into the Deep in pangs 30
He hoverd over it trembling & weeping. suspended it shook
The nether Abyss in temblings. he wept over it, he cherish'd it
In deadly sickening pain: till separated into a Female pale
As the cloud that brings the snow: all the while from his Back
A blue fluid exuded in Sinews hardening in the Abyss 35
Till it separated into a Male Form howling in Jealousy

Within labouring. beholding Without: from Particulars to Generals
Subduing his Spectre, they Builded the Looms of Generation
They Builded Great Golgonooza Times on Times Ages on Ages
First Orc was Born then the Shadowy Female: then All Los's Family 40
At last Enitharmon brought forth Satan Refusing Form, in vain
The Miller of Eternity made subservient to the Great Harvest
That he may go to his own Place Prince of the Starry Wheels
Beneath the Plow of Rintrah & the harrow of the Almightyt
In the hands of Palamabron. Where the Starry Mills of Satan
Are built beneath the Earth & Waters of the Mundane Shell
Here the Three Classes of Men take their Sexual texture Woven
The Sexual is Threefold: the Human is Fourfold 5
[Begin Page 98]
If you account it Wisdom when you are angry to be silent, and
Not to shew it: I do not account that Wisdom but Folly.
Every Mans Wisdom is peculiar to his own Individ[u]ality
O Satan my youngest born, art thou not Prince of the Starry Hosts
And of the Wheels of Heaven, to turn the Mills day & night? 10
Art thou not Newtons Pantocrator weaving the Woof of Locke
To Mortals thy Mills seem every thing & the Harrow of Shaddai
A scheme of Human conduct invisible & incomprehensible
Get to thy Labours at the Mills & leave me to my wrath,
Satan was going to reply, but Los roll'd his loud thunders. 15
Anger me not! thou canst not drive the Harrow in pitys paths.
Thy Work is Eternal Death, with Mills & Ovens & Cauldrons.
Trouble me no more. thou canst not have Eternal Life
So Los spoke! Satan trembling obeyd weeping along the way.
Mark well my words, they are of your eternal Salvation 20
Between South Molton Street & Stratford Place: Calvarys foot
Where the Victims were preparing for Sacrifice their Cherubim
Around their loins pourd forth their arrows & their bosoms beam
With all colours of precious stones, & their inmost palaces
Resounded with preparation of animals wild & tame 25
(Mark well my words! Corporeal Friends are Spiritual Enemies)
Mocking Druidical Mathematical Proportion of Length Bredth Highth
Displaying Naked Beauty! with Flute & Harp & Song
Palamabron with the fiery Harrow in morning returningt
From breathing fields. Satan fainted beneath the artillery
Christ took on Sin in the Virgins Womb, & put it off on the Cross
All pitied the piteous & was wrath with the wrathful & Los heard it.
And this is the manner of the Daughters of Albion in their beauty 5
Every one is threefold in Head & Heart & Reins, & every one
Has three Gates into the Three Heavens of Beulah which shine
Translucent in their Foreheads & their Bosoms & their Loins
Surrounded with fires unapproachable: but whom they please
They take up into their Heavens in intoxicating delight 10
For the Elect cannot be Redeemd, but Created continually
By Offering & Atonement in the crue[l]ties of Moral Law
Hence the three Classes of Men take their fix'd destinations
They are the Two Contraries & the Reasoning Negative.

While the Females prepare the Victims. the Males at Furnaces 15
And Anvils dance the dance of tears & pain. loud lightnings
Lash on their limbs as they turn the whirlwinds loose upon
The Furnaces, lamenting around the Anvils & this their Song[:]
[Begin Page 99]

more blake
adise ost ~




THE Measure is English Heroic Verse without Rime, as that of Homer in Greek, and Virgil in Latin; Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter; grac't indeed since by the use of some famous modern Poets, carried away by Custom, but much to thir own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse then else they would have exprest them. Not without cause therefore some both Italian, and Spanish Poets of prime note have rejected Rhime both in longer and shorter Works, as have also long since our best English Tragedies, as a thing of itself, to all judicious ears, triveal, and of no true musical delight; which consists onely in apt Numbers, fit quantity of Syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one Verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoyded by the learned Ancients both in Poetry and all good Oratory. This neglect then of Rhime so little is to be taken for a defect, though it may seem so perhaps to vulgar Readers, that it rather is to be esteem'd an example set, the first in English, of ancient liberty recover'd to heroic Poem from the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.