You As This

Bring Me Your Kindness

When Will We Be Words



Image Caption:
[De Lustro Sothiaco, seu Caniculari.]

Per potere darte ad intendere questa comparatione che fa, convene prima darte ad intendere che cossa è RAMARRO. Ramarro è quel serpe con quatro pedi, el qual è verde e ha li ochi como uno robino. Questa GRAN FERZA si è l'ardore del sole che arde a modo de una ferza quando l'omo è batuto con essa ne li dì caniculari. E questo è nel mese de giullio, quando è la stella chiamata Canicolla, la quale, quando se gionge col sole, fa caldo grande e smisurato; e però se chiamano DÌ CANICULARI.
E dice apresso CANGIANDO SEPE, idest che 'l ramarro, movendossi da una sepe ad un'altra, pare folgore, se va per traverso de la via. Cossì, dice D., SÌ PAREA, idest questo Agnello transformato in serpe, VERSO

, idest li ventri de quisti soi compagni, UN SERPENTELLO ACESO ETC.

Guglielmo Maramauro - Expositione sopra l'«Inferno» di Dante Alligieri

                                         [Human urinary myiasis caused by Fannia canicularis ...



work like a dog
sick as a dog
in the dog days

going to the dogs
it's a doggone shame
in the dog days

in the dog days

Dear, Vague

My hip bones ache with loneliness, if you press your ear to my flesh you can hear them weeping.
Thoughts of you and I are dissolving in a vase filled with murky water; the last and only flowers you ever bought me are turning to dust
falling into my mouth, I'm craving any spec of fond memories to soothe my soul.
These hidden messages have gone unseen though; I intricately weave them to my heart,
suffocating the very life, the very weak and staggering beat that is left.
You look at me as though I were a lingering ghost, a haunting that you cannot exorcise from your body, your soul.
My naive thoughts of love have long since suffered a corruption that I cannot reverse or nurse back to health.
Your fingertips were once the conductor of my happiness, my sole reason for existence;
my heart chokes up in my throat at the very thought of my symphony softening my hardened parts - the years of building my fortress.
I still dream of you though; I still love you like the first time I set my eyes upon you;
I still crave your thoughts and reasons, the intriguing way you punish me time and time again; you are still my addiction, love.
These memories can never be undone though; my heart will never flourish and burn with passion or love the way it once did.
The desolate lands that have spread like a July wild fire have left me bleak and hesitant.
My troubled aura has followed me through birth and now death, carrying me through my tasteless afterlife.
Tucking me gently into that bed - my bed of fears.

Bed Time

Alone in the auditorium
I came with a 9mm
Hoping to clean the slate
As soon as class starts
You will hear
All sorts of stuff
About or rather
Against me
So here is
To remember me

art class

Started & Finished, before and after dinner


pourquoi y a pas de sandwich au concombre ?

w h y a r e there                            


Strange Trip

' that's it

okay that's it
why the fuck

do i care about
whether people

or persons are
good and bad

so there
i think

i do give
a shit

8:22 p.m. -- 5/18/08

Dizzying Fantasy

Forget petty introductions; just pretend that you've known me all along, and it's been some time since we saw each other last... There is much catching up to do.

Verbadope - Current Mixing Stage


'how little

How little
We know
About this


I wish you'd held me close enough;
just once
would've been enough
for me
to tell your arms
from all the others,
to know that here is
where I'm meant to be.

I wish you'd held me close enough,
just once,
without me wanting
to pull away,
without that smell under
your shirt,
without a hush
on your lips.

When you kissed me,
did you see
I turned the other way?

I wish you were here to hold me close enough,
just once,
so I'd know arms big
enough to cradle
this girl from birth,
to nurse her
through infancy
and back towards death.

Because if you were, if you could,
I'd make my own
arms wide enough for all your bones,
and your feeble palms
would match mine,
both shaking now,
both too old to go back, anyhow,
to where they once began.

Here are my arms. Hold me.
I won't let you falter;
you are my father, my father.

The Modren Black Man

Look For a Girl

Look for a girl
With brains in her eyes
And fluff in her belly-button
A girl always
So incredibly high
A girl forever gone.

From Peter Dowker

The Dogmen Bog

The dogmen ate calcareous-algae dredged up from the bottom of the aqueduct. They made sculls from briar root and fichus gum, pitching the wood into hand-sized algae scours. The biggest of the dogmen stood on shore directing the other dogmen, pointing and gesticulating with his chopped pork hands. They bayed like mastiffs, necks twisted, eyes rolling back into the give of their skulls. When they’d brought up enough algae the biggest dogmen let out a piercing whistle, the other dogmen wading slowly into shore, arms battened with green cuprous weeds. They laid out the algae to dry, poaching the hard stems with boiled water drawn from the aqueduct. They ate like thieves, jaws muscling shreds of green milky weed, cheeks swollen red.

‘…lousy cod bastards…!’ yawed the alms man unyieldingly, ’…never to soon to learn a new jig, scat cunts…!’ He missed a mile by a foot and dallied to the left, then the right, then right of centre and back, never once loosing a foothold on the jiggering jig. ‘…when piss can fly…’. ‘…when prigs can fly?’ offered Dejesus geeing, ‘…you mean prigs, of course?’ The alms man felt for the sullied spot on his trousers, between the fifth pocket and the fob, and said ungallantly ‘…cod sissies can piss on a prigs fly for all I care…sissy cod bastards…!’ ‘…or up a rope’ said Dejesus. ‘…whore down it for all I give…’ ministered the alms man. ‘…whore indeed’ said Dejesus, halfcock flaunting. ‘…’tis a shameful sight, by Lord, these dogmen with their flints and carob hats,…bastards…!’ ‘…and not very mindful of their manners…’added Dejesus. ‘…not a truth of a lie there, by any stretch of the a pagination!’ The dogmen milled about lying out streamers of weed-green algae to soak in the sun. The biggest of the dogmen lit his cob and tallied a draw, cheeks sacking inwards. The water rose forebodingly, a shiner’s kip of cuprous weed willowing to the top.

and we move forward each day we move forward

Mad hope

Mad dragged me to evermore
I hope I survive
I hope I seed
more than I conceive
hope is eternal in my castle.


A woefully crafted introduction / a delayed train / retro fitted passengers / obviously the modern rendition of that scene includes a cluster fuk and the usual derelict barn / I found it so uplifting seeing your face burnt off / the aqueous humour boiling off / the familiar smell of your hair / the eternal grin bared / you were just sizzling that night / amongst the rust of old farm machinery / brambles and attracted flies / your thighs moved like the metal / red disintegrating flakes / memorised dust mixed with pre-cum / pigments / dirty hand prints / whispered poems about salacious unicorns / the tangled foliage striated your body with groping shadows / you effervesced goosebumply / tingled in situ / ribcage exposed / cured / matured muscle / dry and light brown / the soft stink of sunlight / a putrescence enfolds you in my arms…


The other: entering the myth
Hesitation, balanced like an apostrophe
Marking a now empty space
Who will walk the row beneath?
Non-attachment, instead
The severed trunk swings back

The unexpected, not what you counted on

A tiny rustle of wind ruffling
the fuzzy oak leaves
The sun slips down behind the hill
The rustle of wind,

Imagine a hill,
The sun balanced like an apostrophe
Marking the wind ruffling through the leaves
All the things you have done wrong in your life
A will of ones own?
Like the apostrophe
The sun slips through the trees
The unexpected empty space is a catastrophe
balanced like an like an apostrophe
Deadfall, the empty space before

James' Polemic

…sainmhíniú ábhar amadán…! (brought to you from Dublin in the rainy rain).