I want to steal your poem cause I liked the way
you fornicated with that girl in Section 43
I can only adulterate with mine
since I am very sinful and wear a red cardinal’s hat
and sleep in the very bed in which you did all that.
Anyway I sleep too much and mumble crossly
at my old fashioned tv when the info-babes
tell me what I should think & eat marbly
the deafening cry of their adulterations
munchy pilfering their apple pies
all of which would be in line with perfect makeup
fabric pressed by breasts and goat like thievery
from institutions that would like to be possessed
blind wise color saturated by red white & blue
heaped upon Catastrophes anti strophes
the chorus chanting such debt ridden blues
azure seas the albatross round my neck
Electra flat upon the steaming deck
streaming poetry anti Christ from the Messiah complex
that spins the electrons into the boson’s mate.
In all likelihood, the Doctors will examine me
for toadstool mushroom filigree, theft
being an aberration and not a delivery
tho I would beg to disagree. Noodled
they will say examining the model of Byzantium
erected in the bathtub,
hereafter, I will edit banging the buck
to eighteen cents of present value--
either way I will endeavor to pick shit with the chickens
and file for divorce from the vile girl that I married;
O, Rosalind.
even if I have to write it down
it’s easier to steal it than birth it in a dark cloakroom
somewhere in dark Europe from which all filthiness
ascends and like a schoolboy
drawing nudes my erection
bursting all my seams appreciates
even in my old age, a cracked egg
leaking through all the nights & days
of some old Chinese poet who died way before me
in the arms of one of the daughters of Heaven.
At present I await the arrival of my Adulteress
in such wise that we will proceed to sinfulness
baking Laws as Zeus did with Leda
and jesus with Mary Magdalene
Love gets jism all over the bed
electric candles flicker carelessly
as I am forbidden an open flame
and solemnly I create one with my tongue
birth of language in the aperture
anguished grunts as the cats look on
poem dirt on the rug distasteful
to the Right that homogenizes
rainy day girls with wet breasts
while sticking their beasts into dykes
screwwise donkeys trained in the Coliseum’s shadow,
Generally, film at eleven
since the starlets are in love with themselves
after Fashion dissolving into wet cream & leather.
a perfect proof of grand theft
since the very air is filled with the undercurrent
Lilith on top of Adam shitfire chasing her out of Eden
so he could boss Eve.
datum de da da rivulets
a perfect pool of insurrection, goddamn tagged dead bodies
poled across the canal to St. Mark’s square
rigid monks pour ash from the sacred oak
everyone’s hope for Armageddon dashed for another day
my own theft just a footnote
tacked to the end of your long poem
pissed and moaned to the hereabouts
spit out on the linoleums of a thousand kitchenettes
designed by Sears & Roebucks after the great War
entitled the pleasures of piece
or how to remove the cum stains
on a gentleman’s white underwear,
for the most part the animal is bricked up
lest wondering eyes should appear on the window ledge
the vestal lady is brittle you should know
her vessel hidden under her white robes
the poem itself gored by endless fare thee wells
shit itself baking under a hot sun.
A reasonable return on raw sewage is all that is required
a fashionable equipage a certain worth
to have the words pour forth
Falstaff on Steroids old Will’s death cough
something to forestall the foetid air’s descent
something legal left to steal, as death in life
dream’s montage the Other in the mirror
stealing you moment by moment
a hard wire sizzling in the background
panting with derision
as the spoils are decided.
Section 17. The stolen poem is diurnal,
daily replayed in other words. the victim
was unaware of that, idly pounding the fresh
flesh with a round stone, she may be rearranged
to fit the edge of the age, no more shopping downtown,
the sewage is cooked, basted with yeats
I hang upon her tits in the after ward
between trees on the old farm
the poem upon tomorrow will outlast the meager harvest
regurgitate the dated syntax, mutant fish,
babies with three legs and large brain
most of which is mush
in the evenings teach the robots to sing
they seem resistant to the Message
preferring their own salvation
Alice could be rearranged, think of it as notes
although even I am not certain of the contents
eyeing the bone pile for omens
mute over her breasts as I would be an alien sky.
silly man she quotes the hydrant phallic
in the vast sea of concrete pissed pink
by the passersby. Quick heat that dies
what will we do buy batteries she intones
and insists I try again mote in the damaged air
best not to wander off
the vowels may be scraped upon the intestines
nymph nodes function and redress
we rarely see our own dawn-
coitus in Pompeii or Atlantis
1340’s saw the plague and an ice age,
Villon robbed the college of its gold
we must be wary of shadows
put your hand down there again
a novel containing songs
chaste with innocent love
the execution is always tomorrow
learned friars in damp halls
weighted with the law
Villon scratches his diurnal on the wall,
forbidden texts
texture of the flesh
brutes shadow the blind
I could wank continuously were it not for the explosions
and age, meager in ascendancy I dance
muffled between those breasts
she bends to tie the laces of her shoes
her buttocks exposed to our turbulent air,
nipples brightened foreshadow
an ambulance roars by
aside the automatic function
normalcy amid the colored lights,
I am not privy to these systems
nights of ethics dismantled
am I not to eat this pear
these parted thighs opened to this air
or as Solomon declared
this ripened fruit
Villon in his cell is apt to be hung
upside down till his balls
migrate to his lungs
the angelus rung at midnight in the starry sky
her moans confide
old Will that coughed & died
let her shudders decide---
even the best thieves are caught
word bags bulging
pregnant with bungling symbols
Circe’s breasts caught upon his lips
beside the poet’s pool
nymphs but reflection in the quiet water,
her fingers in his hair
Prometheus stealing fire
Paris with his arm round Helen
sea spray delicate on her white arms
first sin may stay the stones.
Section 19. is a dangerous place, irrational exuberance,
samewhere the roads loathe round Ethics,
lest breasts escape a golden zipper, darling theft,
in the same breath she may renounce her lover
dress in soft fabrics that shield her from his rough hands
talks to the white room while he smokes. the castle is
in disrepair nearly rubble after almost round the moat
her mystery goes white mist dampens her hair
between commercials the screen door slaps
adept as he is in the dream
he stumbles at the edge of the Tarpeian Rock
fierce smash of the sea below
Catullus would rather suffer with broken soul
his balls wracked between the hammer & anvil
hat in hand in her anteroom
working his words in lines that advertise her disrepute
his magnitude diminished
courted his sorrow
blasphemed within the verse
“there has always been this clamor, there has always been this furor.”
another passer-by, the lucid terror of her tear
oh, but solitudes tremble
since the hand touches nothing overmuch.
she. such tender bread, wanted nothing to do with a poet
how would she know if he were not a thief
tender in her oval room.
Section 2. allows a beginning, a lover
who mourns her dead and returns to the fields,
the shadow king deposed
the iron fist closed which has ripped the flowers
from the black lands,
the wheel rebuilt
as the hands become callous once again
lest the thief should stray from beauty
the grind of minute gears
in the blood,
long years since the waterfall became the Goddess
and drifted through the damp pines
the metallic voice upends the heart.
He comes to shore amid the pyres
in the rain smoke covers sky
uneasy at the face’s swirl.
who can see over South Mountain?
picking through the debris
the stray word plucked from blackened
papyri
Da all that’s left to build upon,
he so late that the tomb yawns.
a ragged priest cautions misinterpretation
“you who pluck the strings of the Lute
and invent musical instruments like David”
and further he intones
“Aha! she that was gateway of the nations
is broken
her gates swing open to me;
I grow rich, she lies in ruin.”
the mutation from fresh thorium,
O, magic elixir!
How varied thou art,
an old widow who glows
her late love at rest in leaden paint,
his old chest silver against his stiff tie
his polished angel asleep on his lapel.
nonetheless, the thief would not regress
a golden dome must always rest
upon some holy crest,
it is some weary at times, caleb remarked
from out the dark and all at once
but he went back to sleep
right thereafter
and might not recollect.
modern quite, nodules,
seems like something oughta be important
most probably ain’t
Kubla Khan in far ago gold
robed
setting forth to tour his citadels
my styles too poor I must admit it.
Poor thief.
He sets out to comfort his lands
the clerk decides
the auguries consulted for tradition’s sake
and doves released on each of his days of departure-
Pompey in Spain. the banks sucking out the mud.
Now the lion lays with the lamb
and tornados paw the ground
Unhappy Circe wakened on such a savage morn.
But that’s not our concern at the moment
sprung from all these other minds
coalescing red meat
hot in the Soul’s heat;
carry me not old fool
to that very last condition
ah, well patience with penitents
would serve the Force well
I would wager we were godless
about then,
round here
[slinging baseballs
in the cow pasture
like you desired
the universe only mildly endless.
Some of the wise guys even less.
As time would show
the cathedral a tourist trap
that everyone wishes to sow,
perhaps we forget to leave
Hardly remembering we’ve arrived]
ah, sacred cold stone,
the ritual for knapping
riding the earthquake in Tokyo
time echo
Our hero, oh Pushkin,
you old feind, has now struck green,
has reached the entrance
rushed up the palace stair
impatient almost past endurance,
he runs his fingers through his hair.
Thesis is a blank section,
the Wall replied,
politely gently pointing out grammer aerros.
st. Theo got a new bridge
in the old Duke’s bequest
cash of course
mostly free labor
a bit of bread
some brass coins
might try that the old man thought
mostly everything goes through the temple
and the moneylenders,
alas that that last
where passing notes amidst the thronging
array’s not difficult at all,
the nun carried that cue stick pointer
like a sword--
Yes, Lisa,
the little red first in the second row
we never once had to crawl under our desks
since the energy of the nun
would foil any fearsome attacks,
Anne, Mary’s mother
is a saint because of the that--
oh, little feet , are you extolling
the spingtime verdant flowers yet
Pushkin whispers from the shadows
both of us getting teary eyed
at the layers of mush
we had to endure,
the cleansing of the Ardennes
still whispers on the wind
both ways I reckon.
a new section, in the galactic file,
I am not privy to such keys
but heard it here and there,
The history is minicube & half,
literature half a cube,
storage one cube per annum
otherwise filed under temporary
and subject to economic conditions.
My grandpap was there for 8000 years
got drowned in a big flood
rest of the family fell off
from there
drifted back to civilization.
those are the feet that I adore
and think of daily more & more
says Pushkin,
unaware of more recent history
and I ain’t never told anything I swear,
he’s just nosy is all.
I told him
Orestes could stand in Hamlet’s shoes,
He just shrugged. being in a library.
Nother thief most likely. People gazing
wild imaginings. best there is he said,
a cube on my own
but that ain’t likely
given a rapidly expanding universe.
ego shrivels like an old man’s penis after coitus.
Since we are halfway up or down as the case may be.
The guide for our tour to day is Alexander puskin
There U Satisfied?
U don’t get paid you know
since you’re just a ghost
twinned with our Holy Host.
I think I insulted him.
He ain’t no gunslinger
or he got bored
I would have.
Lisa might say he was sweet
and I was mean
and that won’t improve my mood
everything downtown will be automated,
the matrix inviolate,
Circe does not share
which Ceres does not understand,
no doubt there’s a feud in heaven
an unruly daughter with a torn dress.
Yes. I thought you’d understand
I would dicker for his next word out the can, I would source it to transportation. Health is always good, but not everything’s allowed.
Can’t rhyme civilisation
what would Mogadishu say
fission my cannon away
The Scotsman’s shot the Captain’s beagle.
of course, that’s just the beginning of his woes,
coarse as that is it might be sourced to transportation
that he was still alive to Health. Being
an admiral would be swell
I’d wear a big hat.
I am not insane. as a snap judgment,
like if I was interviewing me
I’d say he’s not crazy,
I suspect the ward is full.
Put it down to passing radiation,
a certain marker for the age,
in the interval of a lack of a dominant species
it was opened to colonization, Spain a likely shore.
surely they said we must start somewhere.
Section 41. Google world,
less or greater divides,
whale on a surfboard,
At sea in the constant turmoil
the old sea goose attached
rolled & battered
beaten on beam & post,
one of them mighta been a thief,
or the most loyal member of the king’s court,
unctuous with a dismissive air,
Come therefore and consort in long imagined love.
tardy Spring
jet set spits barbituates,
the stream turns
outlines Circe’s breast
and it stays cold
the shutters shriek
the old scribe with black nose
cackling in the night
pleased now and again by a phrase,
the emperor on elba
compassionate Circe
contrives
to loose all laws,
Legion repuked by Jesus
re-awakes races to oblivion
out of wind. Perhaps
he’s older now
more at home
at ease in tank or airship.
The thief too small to smash
as long as he is not in the way.
A blur Arthur
just out of the corner of the eye
Rouged Circe
surrounded by gray mist--
I’ve no penance, save remorse
for my actions
which would have happened anyway
canon laid down
Canaan saw the goddess drown.
a band of Zealous priests,
from hill town to hill town
beggars that lived for the god
that made his home on Zion.
the chief priest at Jerusalem
received lands containing olives & grapes
wives are offered
he has fine suns,
priests after Levi
and they lusted for the faith,
punished the idols
and took the girls
as handmaids for the Lord.
Baal is often killed his wife a widow.
el-shaddai mounts her and begets Baal
in the spring at lambing time.
the widening spin of the gyre
the center that did not hold
in this suite crows on a wire--
the temporary king
slain and reborn
Distracted by a difficult chief--
proud in his robes
proscribed & under seige--
while far from that frontier
towns burn.
at home,
JA “It must be great perverseness and depravity in any, who can
represent the late actions of the government, and the necessary
measures of self defense taken by congress, as a coalition with
Great Britain. It may be useful, however, to analyze our ideas
upon this subject.”
governors apt to prey rather than shepherd
di magne, horriblilem et sacrum libellum!
quem tu scilicet ad tuum catullum!
Ah! Cruel Love
Tom off to the pier
having tried his luck
in the grand casino
just to watch the wheel go round
and blink at the colored lights,
Ancestor, from a distance
it may be a child’s toy
up close it may prove to be an unripe melon
Don Corleone in the backyard
with his grandson.
JA: An ardent enthusiasm, indeed,
deluded for a long time
too many of our worthy citizens.
the most ardent angels seem
to crow the loudest
all along the wire.
the king has set this day aside to read
and sign documents,
but the air has turned foul
and the cattle are dying.
Merlin could lift stones.
Tis said.
Winter won’t release its hold
under the clouds his house is gray.
the soulutrian spreading inland
when the comet hit the icepack
& blew up the world.
Atlantis may be in Spain,
a young city in the scheme of things
the Egyptians said.
just something else he’s thinking about
sometimes. Pierre is keen to have a war.
Old John Bull turned a killer loose
and got burned. Livid as 3D is--
ministers in undignified repose.
JA: I therefore animated this nation to war,…
but was desirous of sending them by another means.
He is loathe to leave his cabin,
they fire the chopper only after he’s installed,
and secure,
the real fight still with the prophet in the desert,
who seeks martyrs to send to heaven.
In the New City they have loosed a serpent.
How patiently they wait for the Son,
however Gaia might choose to dress him up
to pimp Baal for another season.--Lucius Cornelius Sulla
brief but bright among the leaves
decays upon his estate
unconcerned about the fate of Rome.
Jimmy went to Cuba this week
said he was going to talk to Raoul
the old war jackknifed
to the middle of the door
someone at the looms making flags.
The Prophet glows white hot
the year Circe’s tit warmed the North.
Section 9. the white frigate orders our
forces to stand down or be destroyed,
ether electrified
the aura Of Electra
suffuses the wind
yet we will stand firm
chores to accomplish she says,
Abandon Avalon
dirty clothes & garbage bags,
the treaty with the Orions will have to wait.
In the manual, Artemis is bewitching,
bed of the forest a soft lawn
not a dirty carpet
and disheveled bed
whose feet have wiggled a hole,
in response to our revels
tho Lisa being reserved might not
realize
the arc of her curve sometimes.
She is not adverse to my murder of rhyme
indeed joins me & Verlaine
in the crime. should we not
appear & disappear
in the king’s shadow
within our separate existence
now and then entwined--
as for those young poets
lately frozen in the mechanical heart
this was has been
is closed.
Thy own golden arc yet to be delivered
tiny fist up, defiant to the past word.
in this cell
we will keep wickedness
even tho it leaks out
farms disease through the floorboards
foil it with Love
lets say
but who sells it cheaply
in the cubicles
between the white lines
not such as when sheep’s clothes
was out of season
a brief candle of wisdom,
Walt as a boy on the farm
and everybuddy took a bit of freedom
save the slaves I bet
how now that scar
tip of the whip striking in hot sun
burned by the coarse sand
our sad faces creased
at the curse in genesis--
outloud
speeches may be outlined in the anticipation
of the crisis
Mother at work in the office
will automatically dial up current details
and be available for all occasions
Even if Mrs. Barty got her beauty shop burned down.
The outline of the section may be expanded,
hands chopped. Dante in dancing shoes
ever eager for a tour.
Guarding the peace
the First Terran Army
launches tomahawks
deep into the desert.
We are informed that the attacks were successful,
when the Corporate team is landed,
negotiations will be expedited.
the long slow slide
to the breakdown of the world,
spine cracked
South Mountain deformed
flowers covered by the slip,
my cough leads to retching
so I do not dare to eat a pear
given the efficiency of fusion,
the reducing ray would be cheap enough for tourists
to visit the tiny city of Kandor. It would be an economic jolt
to the old town’s economy
but Ra is angry,
and may
the watchful Fathers say
send fire
to scorch and blast the Earth,
at such times the chariots are useless
and Pharoah will not send them forth,
learn war quickly he tells the desert folk,
Ra dances with Diana. Write such Death
as I tell you she says upon a blood morning,
the banker explains,
population is a problem, but labor is cheap,
the procter concluded
he was not pure
Li Po sets the bucket down
20 minutes down into the mine
and hours yet to go.
The vase is broken
translated from the Japanese
as something far greater,
how some babies
inhabit shock,
Wednesday I believe it is today.
The day of the Turd Sandwich.
Antigone’s fiancé,
Haamon: I’d never urge you to show respect
for a criminal.
Are we not just toys in your hands, O Lord,
the bankers say all such diversions are irrelevant
and turn back to the Chart.
Hari Selden’s art perverted
to predict the rising of scum to surface,
they are replacing tomahawks today
transporting them over the seas
to come to rest in their metal cradles,
the snake in the New City
hisses not to turn around.
Poor Scribe!
taking down the father’s remarks,
wonders at the colors released
and hopes to appease Ra’s rage.
tears streaming down Circe’s flanks,
Odysseus hopes to sail against the wind--
Antigone longs for the divine
to lay her to sleep
to birth a quieter dream.
it may be
that in later years
he tended a roadside shrine
and sold his story for brass
distributive function.
I sway in such wind
the dogs would not eat the white bread
I forget which city I was in
or what the name of its gods were
their kings did what was wrong in the eyes
of the Lord.
up mode, Diana on overload,
a messy upper echelon
such that earthquakes rock the land
endless rain
on the island the cherries bloom
the veins filled with poison
in all the veins of the commonweal,
little recompense in such hard times,
for an agile thief the morning waned
bright blue,
his lover naked in his mind
rolling his eyes at what’s left of the world,
trinkets which do not do well in the marketplace,
and he does not care to take the white bread
that the dogs have left alone.
Section 97. In the wind lass,
best to find a corner where it does not hurry
the pages. anastomose, worm holes
the cherry blossom veins
the worst of envelopes stained with tears,
almost in the river, almost out.
awkward at abandoned redoubts,
the old poet wonders why the Emperor
should begrudge him his ruined hut
half way South Mountain. The Pilgrims
carry away the stones of the slip,
and install them one by one
when they reach the top. Selling
wisdom by the roadside
brings in little but cheese.
These men want gold
I have little of that.
hufpak, he was supposed to
pull on that rope if someone
was to come along.
I heard it from a friend.
all the way round here
Paris what? 1340 or so,
the poet burgles the monastery
got some gold, family bought
him from gallows sad songs
along wild streams
he looks around with a yawn
death so commonplace,
still the plague creeps,
and ice inches forward.
the Mongols toss their diseased across the walls,
the post tosses his chicken bone in the creek.
pillow is a stone, mebbe a bit of another song,
scansions to taste the membrane
already boiling.
always atop the pile burning--
the geni have removed the isthmus of the world
again,
and my remote.
Arcadia is a bit of a stretch
The Oligarchs still conspire,
unconcerned at your archaic patriotisms,
A new world order,
a hundred years if we’re blest,
last mad dictator. 250 at best,
given the unknown unknowns,
Gaia to keep the minions under control,
but floods only get worse, Diana
waxes with anger
& Circe worse stamping about
Earthshaker she wishes to be
and lately may have awakened him.
they say it is imitating Simon Magus in Judea
says Apollo, are they now Creators?
as are we all says Host.
the dispatch from the front
the old chief has unleashed his calvary,
the colonel in the white Mercedes
probably a double dominoe.
. Far Point Station..High school childs
shootin each other, young Messiahs
dying for the cause.
Moira on a vile course,
ambitious men, Anthony said.
before the carnage.
Coinage! Sir!
vain pursuit,
no sir, Ennui
the spleen polluted,
Emeralds conjured in the air,
halfway up the slope
clinging to the breath
of each lost word
for that bit of cheese
I see in your satchel there.
we have Minerva & the Galahad
to work out, even though we’ve not thought out
love & hate to any account.
I’ve time to orate on the matter
should you like to rest in the shade
while I organize the letters,
which I often do
as so it shall take but a moment
or years of notes.
We need to get it done, says Politician,
waggling a coin,
which only reminds me of the burly men.
I told them the tale. Married I the words
for a spell, and if paused the Lawyer
had a bit of wine.
sweet rumors to make the girls rose,
dire warnings so that they all quake
South Mountain sighs.
the gold will buy me days of cheese
and I can organize my notes.
the anguish of love tightens your throat
intones Apollo. It is a picture in a gloomy Gallery.
He adds. Reverent Sir and all that. “ …and would I could forget
the twilight of Beauty.”
as a conspirator
slantwise from lifething.
“Well I never! It says,
all holier than thou.
which I ain’t
Fortune being a varied spin,
IMF made the sky fall
who holds the leash
of the mesh men
spreading the creed:
bout the end of them anyway
ain’t it joe?
Leaves his card,
very continental, expresses his sympathies,
admired how his silver suit shoned
in Ra’s reflection
and He was affronted
and frowned.
I fear for your safety, Royal Holy Dude.
your looking cool tho--
the west is in catastrophic decline
Great efforts are being spent
in keeping the vineyards safe
but they have bones in lost lands
as a consequence
tom dooly might sing that song.
“We have gathered a sieve full of water.”~EP
several. spinning in the air,
such savage fireflies.
Appalling sky blossoms.
Routine.
America multiplied
as the Founders intended,
now we wait for our daughters
they said. and prepared the
ships to sail the seas of chaos
just as they have always done,
Ginsburg has the names & date
how the leaves brown in this open air
we should go inside.
maybe the plebes
will manage the maze,
climb thru the cube into the cube
as the desert spreads
Tiresias says the land must heal
come home, in several thousand years,
even more chastened by what u had to learn,
Minerva will not speak to him
they say. The angels said
this place is pleasant and they stayed,
the boy is bent on selling
they’ll say
and they would be right
Arches sway as Earthshaker wakes.
the hard shards of heathen rock.
O my. laughter of fleeing angels
as the ground crawls.
Scrolls drown in the surging sea
reclaimed by the Buddha once again
and lost the drift of history
a missing course in the strata,
unconnected Atlantis
which may blossom forth.
Hiram’s great grandads
who had defended the hill country
on the frontier. Savages were infrequent
and very curious,
after appearin fierce for a bit.
Arcadia, but with men in it.
Wonder what they did to piss off the gods so much?
The use of anti-gravity altered the magnetic field
and threw the whole planet off course, causing a global
warming. Massive floods, drowning and so forth
what did they learn moving stone.
How we should pray that we not find
these secrets out,
but since we know about the threads
& we thrill to the vibration
just as they do
when they come to order the common lands
confirm & pass on land, the leading men,
a towns man and a farmer
each in his turn to listen to the wizard.
tales out of mind.
“Woody,” says Buzz Lightyear,
don’t take it so hard.”
I once spent some time with
some fellows who were a billion years
older than us. among might be a better word.
I think I was there I believe.
“No, no. Not another quest
to retrieve the gold from the lost city!”
Emanation
stench of Styx
along the picket fence.
some years along
another caisson
khe-son on another page
Fortune is apt
to jump into the gap.
Arnault perhaps
straining at the chains
which the old man used
to bind him,
Liege to Prometheus
to make love free
surely that was light
true, antigone’s conflict is superseded by a more modern one,
compose yourself
you are disheveled.
don’t give me that pre-programmed bullshit,
tell me of the death of the owl,
too much maple syrup made him ill,
I’d wager
frakking now to be researched
back to the forties
the counter should be cleared off.
bright void underneath
the hollow magazine desires,
yearns to be handled
the prince prepares the stage,
as an arena, a bare square
& bow and do not stumble
in your invitation;
he will not interrupt
if you choose to invoke a diety,
much good may be done with a blessing.
weigh downed with a drunken owl
I shall make a sorry presentation
at the wizard’s academy.
Another pain pill, Hero,
more intensely than the Things
themselves said Rilke
who knew him well.
Besieged within the Citadel
hounds that padded through the stone halls
lacy to rough hands
hours to dawn over the fountain.
the real fight still with the prophet in the desert,
who seeks martyrs to send to heaven.
In the New City they have captured the serpent.
How patiently they wait for the Son,
however Gaia might choose to dress him up
to pimp Baal for another season.--Lucius Cornelius Sulla
brief but bright among the leaves
decays upon his estate
unconcerned about the fate of Rome.
Now.
says Apollo, you are in Paris,
free of so much woe,
Sherlock on the suitcase
Patch at the window
already you worry that she might get lost,
the winter in retreat
Them French boys will love her,
pretty as she is I said.
You just finish that poem
lisa says
But I’m distracted now.
the great city lay in the valley beyond the isthmus,
the archaeologists say there is nothing there.
Ocean rather than bridge between the lakes.
deluge, the mountains came tumbling town
and the lakes were married to the Sea.
The big convertible is parked across from some mobile home
a long time. Maybe it’s a shy lover,
liked to pine away for one reason or another,
the temporary king has informed the Senate,
they will reply we will need to find agreement
with tender words for all the old gold folks
who frolic in Cancun.
Sing the axis straight,
to do that, live in interesting times.
derive
from the old sheik who prefers orange and brown,
a tribal hand me down, his are mostly new
or have been, lately he’s been plagued by hawks
and other birds. Thing is, dignitas require he bend his knee,
but he just ain’t ready yet. Nor will
the king remove his curse.
Should the land sink into the sea.
someone u might magic out,
Circe. The Prince receives good report,
assailed upon all sides
the Companies are swollen with greed
ships ply every coast spreading disease.
Earthshaker is annoyed,
“to open eyes that are blind
to bring captives out of prison
out of the dungeons where they lay in darkness”
“Where is your God,” they ask me all day long.
Apollo says: You are ashamed when you catch yourself at prayer.
This is a stubborn gray
that haunts his days
holds spring at bay,
Apollo behind the clouds
stays away.
I can see Circe smile.
Frakked as we are
jammed implosive.
In the New city
the snake was found in an ingénue’s purse,
close to her breast she had kept it safe.
it was said she returned to the wild
it to captivity.
and the council of the holy ones exalts thy faithfulness.
Unconstitutional says Welch
tho he use more words,
Ms Slaughter suggests an amendment
that congress and the President not be paid during the Shutdown,
that will kill it for sure.
Mr. Adams asked for the sedition bill out of exasperation
the decline in decorum was intolerable,
the tan man might curse an obstinate few,
as he makes peace with the enemy.
The extinct newt sleeps with fishes,
72 virgins in paradise
martyred to lust for his homeland.
Caribou Barbie dusts & runs her mouth.
Apollo says,
the phoenix that self creating pyre veils all for an instant
with his glowing ashes.
No lines remain on that score.
Lisa says Uncle Ez is nosying round in the barn.
“I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped
from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened
her with insult.” Circe sniffs in her bear‘s-grease Latinity,
ambles round the corner of the world.
Parts & pieces litter the great field. --as though
an angry God had gone this ways,
perhaps so throughout the paradiso
it is so. Minoa lost for centuries,
shards all that’s left,
city of Ra, that the slaves built
lost in chaos.
which each of us have. Should anyone
ask. it is so.
thought it may be dependent on what
the meaning of “is” is to quote another great man.
people cannot go to the taverns
it destroys their way of life,
crime grows worse
boys get taciturn.
girls learn to knit through storms.
Montana I’m told it’s near Idaho.
Paradiso may flash from place to place--
the space of slow walk
were I an old man with a cane
in search of cherry blossoms.
the study of one star ends in a mad whirl,
Rimbaud lies bleeding in a filthy room,
maybe just too close to the poem at last,
the dark lords that demanded the magic,
satiated walk leaving him lost in the center.
Take the next node sir
certain accolades are reserved
the Paradiso is awash in wisdom,
says tom thumb
clambering about the ink well.
overbalanced by his Uncle’s feather.
cat slides shadow to shadow
tail flashing,
no uproar sitting at the railroad tracks
in a big blue convertible
on the way to an arena in Metropolis,
which might someday offer
an exhibit featuring Kandor.
Reset the New king says
as if the walls will just crumble away.
A peaceful end to the violence is sought,
third hand from Jesus to the angel
to the old man who lived in a cave,
out there where the Messiah went, paradiso.
God’s own truth
the rifles won’t chatter to a stop
plain as can be,
Gods’s own truth divided,
the aura in ultra blue,
the cloudie Van,
“sage he stood,
with atlantean shoulders fit to bear
the Weight of Mightiest Monarchies.”
Alexander cloned.
I oil the door on the hut,
so as not to startle the birds--
Spring birthing,
opening.
‘advised if this
be worth attempting or to sit in darkness here
hatching vain Empires” Rev John talking through
some other ass.
Such a pitiless gaze
O paradiso! The Persian beauty
does not lose her religion,
a one piece suit, and a sarong
in the bathing competition.
the young prince,
(great & terrible above all who stand about him)
will not wear his ring,
most will know he is married anyway.
Old Europe,
underneath the mannerisms
Theodora ringed by nymphs
daughter of a favored general
or a fat merchant who relocated from Tyre.
confirmed earlier suspicions
dating from the Afghan War,
(1838-1842)
when twenty thousand British
had died in the retreat from Kabul,
Easterlies wing out to sea
white seabirds
winter’s debri. Lover
wants a Dictaphone
to shout down systems;
the Roc brings Adam’s skull.
Aunt Sally cleans toilets in the Green Zone,
she plans to buy some land in Malibu.
Morning Lisa,
some French poet
says,
sitting inside my head
while in on the balcony
the stiff fellow
in the painting, proud
in my Sunday clothes.
come back inside she says
I’m cold.
An eloquent fashion,
postage stamp over the private bits,
then layers & layers of hot mud,
Ancient Veii! a throne stood in your Forum!
fornication upstairs in the inn,
fevered adulteries in the meadows
swaying golden rod.
Sing not Death
Paradiso ebbs & flows
the king looks on
while I chip at my tablet
the poem sails away
forth on the godly sea,
mundane whirlpool of the Ennui
the interruption of ejaculation
Raoul carries things away
heavy singularities like children
capering about the cart.
Lilith, in Circe’s red gown,
flits from shadow to bright sun.
surely a mother has slain her child,
an appeasement in the paradiso
an airy apartment across from the café.
tis clear the stingy moneylenders
do not like the New government,
they sit upon their gold like fat gnomes
who have stolen from the dwarves--
the builders have nothing to do
they study ancient texts
find mention of golden bowls
Hiram came out of Egypt
may have been Enoch all along.
The Angel in existence
another of the distant children
home being nearly everywhere,
the mad whorl of the Node
may alight anywhere for a moment,
a momentary unquiet in the Angel,
should it pass by. Return of such jazz lines,
riff off painted rectum
loud rouge in the ladies’ room
commercials interrupt flow
the top piece of the good thief’s cross
displayed by the priests for veneration.
minutes later we pick it up again,
the paper noticeably older
someone’s shit in the trumpet
running down the leg
vibration in the tide pool
Faust when He made the deal.
Elizabeth’s uncovered breasts
in the grainy film. Germane
to be busted with the Reverend
wine dyeing your red hair
somewhat darker
while the conditioner
is a melody for his grunts.
The old moonshiner
chips away his hardened mud,
puts the makers away till next fall,
few more seasons up the trail
to cook the corn.
Nearer my God to thee.
where is your province in the state of Man?
Persius asks.
wrong, wrong from the start
not the doing innocent heart,
he was but a student,
determined to bury the holy books
but always digging them up again
scattered fragments, of such frivolity
that Falstaff smiles and launches
into a chorus of ancient rhyme.
casual murder with the tomahawk
quiet office erupts. Boys splash
through a quiet stream
in dappled sunlight.
chump change
Li Po passes in a strange carriage
towards the city
the white towers glow
as to that it will be difficult
to lie in the grass
and watch the clouds.
I return to the papyrus in some disarray
my hair disheveled , how mad
the blossoms in the stray gale.
Fatima, say the rosary faithfully and heal the world.
the message left in the desert
reported that the shiek was fascinated by a white haired woman,
later, he went to the mountains for his health,
from the height he can see the Dead Sea.
The imperial roads are still in good repair
towards the City.
I have written to say I was too ill to travel
but the Prince has not replied,
I am to be cast into the madness
trolley to the city
to the examination rooms,
while we were all expecting the big clumsy bridge
to topple over and land in the chasm--
“now old tim Crane thinks he done something great
but I will beat him him.”
sam patch said over in Paterson.
the other day.
Maya got 36 but they lost
Mythic? of course.
Soldiers of whichever Faith,
Aye! I will die for thee,
as for love ah well
we know little of that
analogue glows pulses
into settled patterns
Jesus strokes
the anti toxin
Maybe Baby
we know it better than most of them dumb Christians.
Section 68. other words lanquish
in desperation, other worlds,
dash with a wild electricity
through decaying nodes,
thorium depleted
scika thrack. Red tide at sea.
Obliged to watch for omens.
mills to braid the wind.
the guild will yield the techman
for repairs throughout the realm.
says the prince.
Section 68. other words lanquish
in desperation, other worlds,
dash with a wild electricity
through decaying nodes,
thorium depleted
scika thrack. Red tide at sea.
Obliged to watch for omens.
mills to braid the wind.
the guild will yield the techman
for repairs throughout the realm.
says the prince.
when the nucleOr plant
burns down
all the lands turns browned
bright lights are dimmed
the wind whistles in El Dorado
Satan, in Milton mode,
reclines the wooden chair in a ruined room,
somewhat irritated at the pace of his command,
no wonder that they let General Fist
prosecute the Prophet’s priests,
first minister Gates
“tis bad to send legions into asia”
where you burn each hut
but only bleed each day.
while being backward in our eyes,
the tribal society has several attributes
of value to deadwood Civ.
The ancillary wars, brushwood,
that the fighters keep an eye on,
a certain level of population control,
in more fertile areas.
expectant angels in bright blue helmets
hand out water & corn
to be stolen by the nearest madman,
the Senators consult the Chart
assess such issues best left to priests,
Simon Magus angling for an army next week,
a new dress for the sacred ball
we are but children thrilled
by the blinking lights.
The Lady is prematurely gray
in the New city
the Prince calls every day
all the stators reside within her walls.
Tis said the Cheney burned her papers down,
foolish man, to save himself from shame.
“what other reason would there be?” says the man
on the telephone on the tv. Hoi! says the thief,
“pretzled pauper at the edge of the sea
aghast at the paradiso trembling”
an old tree in the saltmarsh
should even a light breeze stir--
Last pope so they say.
breathe no longer
than the kittens in the drowning bag,
Poem. The clatter of the buggy on the cobbles
fades. Should some notables visit the hut.
then go away.
Paradiso is unconcerned
that a minor minion
is displeased. The Will
of the All will be accomplished,
the pimps cry out for wild fluctuation
to be the law of the Land.
Like the boy who wanted to be a robot
I shall imitate the impassive angel,
Sam Patch says.
“Liar” says the thief.
I know him well enough the lover says
a tongue deep in her snatch.
verdant juice,
the Prince has found a ripple in the chart,
Hari Selden confirms a Time of Troubles lies ahead.
Sam Patch says he can put the bridge back on course
again.
Frakking would ease our minds, Adama says
leading Eve back inside out of the rain.
Pater Nostres. Dr. Williams may have said the same thing
him being a medical man. A whale endeavors to say hello
in the most beautiful way possible, this may take awhile,
the white crane will fly in and settle later,
---you
a poet (ridded)
from Paradise
a very dirty book indeed,
the kill team
or some other atrocity,
Satan enjoys being Caligula
then laughs when his toy is broken.
Corporal Morelock
was a bit mad they say
but most of them boys they got
scratch their ass in public
and not think about it a lot.
“common knowledge”
sgt. sd. The Samurai was given leave
to chastise the farmer,
but might postpone the penance
till after planting or harvest
the lieutenant is a Captain
another hero in the chain of command.
The Creation has turned against him,
they often will,
Osama was seen to rise & hover
aim & fire an arrow
and shot the predator down.
The Americans have it in HD.
It is very classified indeed
an exact reproduction is available
for 19.95
The operator hesitated
Kirk on the Farragut
Picard on the sea with Gilgamesh.
talking with scalawags along the Milk river,
exchanging the news.
Dying for Glory don’t need no help from Lucifer.
Sam Patch. Buttin in.
Congress got nothing to bitch about
so they praise a high school basketball season.
they coulda deregulated the Net
but they didn’t
“and the fleet at Salamis made with money lent by the state to the shipwrights”
The Chairman disagrees that his flowery introductions obstructs
the business of the committee stating that the public is well served to know the sterling colleagues with whom he now serves.
“we may look forward, then, to the possibility of large arrays
of silicon film photoelectric cells in sunny areas, producing vast quantities of electric current out of sunlight. This current will be used to electrolyze water, and produce hydrogen.”
1983.
Tiny little critters that live
in the disc player are quiet neighbors.
the wild birds wd not eat the white bread,
purloined altered
extended,
“Filth stank as in our day” Ez remarks
during a lull when we would feel
the hopeless senselessness,
weight of the spleen shifted
vehemence at its opening bid
from heart to mind
the spirit flees
Sam Patch in tow
counting the points in the paint
“come now,” says Ez
the poison in the dog food has been
stopped, but the jet planes are flying
apart, merry Darger in the other universe,
just over there.
says he dug the pitkin himself
Sam Patch he knew well
most all of them did back then.
all of them had a dog in the race
a speculation, Henry said
arm around Patch in the Moulin Rouge.
Hoi! this national paradiso
cannot be erased.
sub-sonic peel of Velcro ,
the release of oxygen.
toxic repressions of the Id,
Edsel in charge of Design.
the Bird blew bop
chopper on the wall,
attack design--
deep in the ruin
somewhere in Id;
We smear it as Jimbo’s Bob City
and move on
a massive delusion--
Michelangelo on the
floor, the table filled with designs
the golden light reflected
on the wisps of dust
apprentices on scaffolds
covered in paint.
A sad rower on the stream tonight,
commission for a Nobleman
short of verse
the extent of his malady
has robbed him of thought
and he lies nearly senseless
at the edge of his bed.
and what’s worse he’d rather be with his lover,
the angle of the pivot
my poor hammer dings the anvil
with a faint ping
in the raucous of the shop
sharp men spit in the direction of the spitoon--
Circe atop the bar legs crossed
at a dangerous angle.
“The neighbor might be a pervert,”
Lisa says,
“not that it matters to me”
chides me for my rather quiet joy
at the moment of matters,
this morning we learn that the Chinese
discovered cardboard
it remains to be seen what else.
Robonaut,
killed the video star;
adjusting nodes
on the mechanical bar.
“takes off her sweater, then her bra,
and then says, “lets ball, dig?” --
by which she means, let’s try
a new far out sound on the hi-fi. If
he reaches out to touch anything
other than the tone arm, she will say,
“your through, frantic boy. You
are sawed off.”
“Aha! she that was the gateway of the nations
is broken,
her gates swing open to me;
I grow rich, she lies in ruins.”
The archaeologist is working in a vaginal gouge,
he insists that it is virginal,
26 instances of similarity,
a violent ideation
further pinches a reversed man
on bruised knees
Holy holy holy
the cock bursts measures & seams
strains & accelerates
over the hump
seek no aggrandizement
mired in a poor man’s war,
some greens, an old robe,
quiet hours buried in the old parchments
love for its own sake scratched into odd characters,
Circe herself enraged at the masques
which fall into the sea below
her wind blown tattered robes
which still manage to conceal the swell of her breast.
Morning bursts over blue peaks
blurred eyes conceal tears
smoke rises on checkered plains.
How their faces shine in the hot sun
as they bury the high priest in the long trench
picks spark on the sandstone
ring between the words of psalm.
armed with a flimsy reed to hold the wind
his lover in Circe’s robes
pricks her palm
and rubs the blood into the old meat
they share
cool flesh under threatening sky--
they knew they were naked and sought fire
Try another book. break through the dry air
of the place. (the good doctor would have me
use the pitchfork to pile more corpses in the trench)
Li Po was certain he could find his way here,
why should he leave now, as deep as he was within her,
her breath fogged upon the window?
I should have said it certainly
the black blotch in the center of the nave,
“it will not last forever
against the long sea”
dredging up the old rower,
“wine dark sea,”
stench of the dead coughed up--
all is well if you can still taste blood
despite the apparitions
hold her ever more closely
even when alone:
Love will climb like ivy
and choke the fear,
let her be the furnace
the pebble & the leaf
the way things are
when you reach to silence the alarm.
Section 56. the new cafes are filled
with unnamed cadavers;
mild chocolate rivers,
rev Hagee preaches from San Antonio stage,
televised to the White Swallow Motel:
seed pours out of her cunt
rather than an envelope addressed
to the Ministry. Cold Earth
knows the destination of the delivery,
blood, chest high in the Jordan,
seven months to bury the dead.
I wonder if Gabriel knows the Blues
to play to a happy few
groveling at Jesus’ Knees
holy holy holy
says the magpie from ruined trees.
contrary to play dough the Elect
carry golden bricks to erect
the Temple of the Lord.
Heaven laid the world on me
the angel sings,
loading the souls of politicians & poets
hipsters & kings
whores & hobo’s
into Charon’s black boat
for the deepest dark part of the underworld,
Imagine the new lies they’ll create
balls sawed off & cunts sewn shut--
Hell, Lucifer’s Cd on repeat
a Cuban dictators endless spiel
in a darkened movie house
hot mud on the eyelids
Rev Hagee needs HD seed to stopper up his mouth
coat his teeth with gold to save you from this awful fate
so you can carry bricks for the temple of the Lord.
The Savior says it won’t be bad, once we free you from desire,
In the New City, gogs roam deserted streets,
and the saved don’t dream much of anything
blank eyes coated with dust under a hot sun.
such poems surmise
palpitate with lies
groan
mediate such sin as may be already present in the water,
winter’s piss etching the snow, saffron
the old man allows that Circe’s breath
will carve the drifts
sometimes there’s a bit of magic
all day relief from a cold
Mischief the boy said
when I asked him what he was up to
amazing what you already know
if you think about it some
embroiled in the aftermath of the flood.
too many reason in the soft mud,
“the foul fiend haunts poor tom in the voice of a nightingale”
loose soil churned up
torn by the Dragon’s new rain.
I would have the auburn smell as well
lingering about the new green
faint film of disturbed air
a raindrop
a bit of mold drapes another
in the fold of the rock
the roll of thunder & flash of Light.
fearful of must be falls asleep
at the edge of forever is a faint music
“but he who will work shall give birth to his own father“-
and exhausted wake to further labor;
such toil is breath, air modulated
grazes Circe’s hair
as if a poet dared be born
in her ruin.
The runes on the path
insist that the dragon is good Fortune
as the ascent to South Mountain begins
by holding his tail
you might navigate between the rabbit & boar
so it’s said in the shadow of the moor
by ancient sages who know such lore,
Circe’s lover will rush ahead
to gather a rare flower for her hair
only to discover darkness assembled
Sam Patch might strike the standing stones
to no avail
till the Light catches up if it ever does.
If she loves him
he might find her with her hand between her legs
a wet fire falls into a shining pool
if not
Morrigan will eat his dream
demons will cast his seed in barren land
and he will feed on corpses
upright & rotted on the dead trails.
the words may ring discordant
stale
in that path towards the grail.
South Mountain is a dangerous place
says the Pastor in his sermon
surrounded by artificial flowers
and wires.
.
Section 111. the arc of testimony, an alchemist
flirts with the sun breath upon wave
context of memory turning down leaves in a library
stab spilled words that the Republic finds needless,
or worthless. out of the Light the magic infants speak,
incessant rain, gray towers, wet mist matting their hair
the separation of their tears consuming the last years,
old bones embarked upon holy war
gutters gleaned of leaves,
evidence of their innocence
expunged
unart lilies displayed in chipped vases
they who would have written the silence,
the night, who would have startled
the frenzies in their flight
tiny fists grab stars
as it must be understood anew each time
wrenched from flower & seed
the crops have a human taste
in the craters where the babes are lain
old fires smolder against their light
“Child! Child! Child! Where are you
Amid the smoke that crawls upon the ground?
Tyger tyger burning bright”
Sweating, blood thighed Circe
crosses the plank
notices the bits of flesh
that cling to the side of the ditch as if alive.
Section 973. begins a slow migration to the vanished point,
it’s a harlequin he sees at the end of the procession,
most of the rest just savage stabs of paint
wire droops parallel from tall towers
the wind is sensed from outside,
odd that the Paradiso resides from point to point
like a bus ride
most is the rigging hands busy with knots
& loops mashed gluons trampled over groins
trapped by the carpets where residuals lie
champagne in hand butterfly high
in ash blond dye “the reference is a distraction,”
she lied, “the obvious analogy is with music,
which extends beyond the figure which the space
occupies,”
little toes depict escapades
these too expose woes
the patter of words explode
on the Company walls
Meanwhile, the cat
opens & closes the bathroom door
el camino real
all of which is to say the harlequin
is not entirely inside
the stench which the perfume hides
no matter in which room the cries are heard.
‘and him all ready to rewrite history
should a footnote present itself’
Tinkerbelle is humpty-dumpty on the wall
roundabout,
the big people digging everything inside out
they can’t see her outside in they’re not
not that the whirly stops
even if they are tying with knots
all along the line. Bedlam busy with busses,
chuck & upchuck, crosstown-
Bellevue beatitudes
stern crusaders with whisky breath
batons at the ready
if the story should end untold
George says,
who fingers the rosary
paints superman on an old rail fence
his cape draped delicately
over the bluebells and ask me nots
brand new you.
brain bots clean the pathways,
surely there is no magic
in the basket of apples
chaos carries through the woods
for these people are new
even their dead living
ablaze jazz nerves in improvisation
Li Po stares through the window
at incessant rain,
Circe her hair wild
races the cold wind
the poet sketches a quick portrait of the singularity
Rorschach storms steady light the boil of black
toil & trouble, the calm witches weave
mauve into scarlet into green,
a place for sacrificial offerings
the light came to be one
Teresa thighs wide
fluid drips on the concrete
that her bare feet have scraped.
the mold writhes upon the rock
rippling in cold space,
in the interval
the sector of Paradiso allotted
excited flesh plots
to wipe the rain from Circe’s eyes
comb her wet hair
quiet her questing thighs--
Mute Apollo, small boy to be born
dressed in blue paint
who is it that asks the question?
Section 110. “ Mondrian was also dismayed
by van Doesburg’s introduction of the diagonal line into his work which he viewed as a breech of Neo-plastic principles. He withdrew his support from De Stiyl, explaining to van Doesburg “after your arbitrary correction of Neo-Plasticism, any collaboration, of no matter what kind, has become impossible for me.”
Are you asleep, all the what in that which is curled smoke
round the bleeding bed? Each local “thing”
babes in dirty towels twinkling
on the bent street, or in exclusion
grand dreams that drag you about the execution stone,
blood under light. the culled tyger
of this paradiso, polyglot
with dulled cloak
scraped by dry bramble
drool an elixir
for the under weaned
who have plucked “it”
until the strings no longer ring.
I stands bickering with itself
on the stage with I speaks
of longs for itself
mind the staircase’s descent
doesn’t spirit away the toys;
me go town
under clouds the predators fly
as Circe plies the keys
a hurried etude
for a gaunt weary paradiso.
“Poured we libations unto each the dead”
until the desert overflowed with broken cups.
section 110. I, as one thing, a nice quiet paradiso-
foment in the notes; nothing’s finished, half bleemed
says the scribe in Ur
Sam Patch in the backyard
sees rust on the wheelbarrow
arms full of potted flowers
he walks down to the river
ever unstill
to plant a garden around the juniper
fulcrum. Leaping fawn breaks from thicket,
the old dog won’t scour no more,
old compacts lay rolled in the reed buckets--
back up the hill. The mines hereabouts
have been bled dry says the old man
damned old horse been dead all day
and nobody got a notion how to move
it off the road and into the shade
so the flies can have a good meal.
same with the malaise in the bones
nerves too tired to twist ‘em anymore
eyes got a bloodworm
everything an old movie
movin too fast to catch anything
about the life underneath the heroic.
text of which is,
Sam in a yellow Toyota
late for the Pepsodent commercial
in which he kisses resplendent Dawn
who must go home and be beaten
by the cad that she married
text of which is says the Director
after twenty takes
perfect at union scale.
all along the river
the candy wrappers dance.
I want to steal your poem cause I liked the way
you fornicated with that girl in Section 43
I can only adulterate with mine
since I am very sinful and wear a red cardinal’s hat
and sleep in the very bed in which you did all that.
Anyway I sleep too much and mumble crossly
at my old fashioned tv when the info-babes
tell me what I should think & eat marbly
the deafening cry of their adulterations
munchy pilfering their apple pies
all of which would be in line with perfect makeup
fabric pressed by breasts and goat like thievery
from institutions that would like to be possessed
blind wise color saturated by red white & blue
heaped upon Catastrophes anti strophes
the chorus chanting such debt ridden blues
azure seas the albatross round my neck
Electra flat upon the steaming deck
streaming poetry anti Christ from the Messiah complex
that spins the electrons into the boson’s mate.
In all likelihood, the Doctors will examine me
for toadstool mushroom filigree, theft
being an aberration and not a delivery
tho I would beg to disagree. Noodled
they will say examining the model of Byzantium
erected in the bathtub,
hereafter, I will edit banging the buck
to eighteen cents of present value--
either way I will endeavor to pick shit with the chickens
and file for divorce from the vile girl that I married;
O, Rosalind.
even if I have to write it down
it’s easier to steal it than birth it in a dark cloakroom
somewhere in dark Europe from which all filthiness
ascends and like a schoolboy
drawing nudes my erection
bursting all my seams appreciates
even in my old age, a cracked egg
leaking through all the nights & days
of some old Chinese poet who died way before me
in the arms of one of the daughters of Heaven.
At present I await the arrival of my Adulteress
in such wise that we will proceed to sinfulness
baking Laws as Zeus did with Leda
and jesus with Mary Magdalene
Love gets jism all over the bed
electric candles flicker carelessly
as I am forbidden an open flame
and solemnly I create one with my tongue
birth of language in the aperture
anguished grunts as the cats look on
poem dirt on the rug distasteful
to the Right that homogenizes
rainy day girls with wet breasts
while sticking their beasts into dykes
screwwise donkeys trained in the Coliseum’s shadow,
Generally, film at eleven
since the starlets are in love with themselves
after Fashion dissolving into wet cream & leather.
a perfect proof of grand theft
since the very air is filled with the undercurrent
Lilith on top of Adam shitfire chasing her out of Eden
so he could boss Eve.
datum de da da rivulets
a perfect pool of insurrection, goddamn tagged dead bodies
poled across the canal to St. Mark’s square
rigid monks pour ash from the sacred oak
everyone’s hope for Armageddon dashed for another day
my own theft just a footnote
tacked to the end of your long poem
pissed and moaned to the hereabouts
spit out on the linoleums of a thousand kitchenettes
designed by Sears & Roebucks after the great War
entitled the pleasures of piece
or how to remove the cum stains
on a gentleman’s white underwear,
for the most part the animal is bricked up
lest wondering eyes should appear on the window ledge
the vestal lady is brittle you should know
her vessel hidden under her white robes
the poem itself gored by endless fare thee wells
shit itself baking under a hot sun.
A reasonable return on raw sewage is all that is required
a fashionable equipage a certain worth
to have the words pour forth
Falstaff on Steroids old Will’s death cough
something to forestall the foetid air’s descent
something legal left to steal, as death in life
dream’s montage the Other in the mirror
stealing you moment by moment
a hard wire sizzling in the background
panting with derision
as the spoils are decided.
Section 17. The stolen poem is diurnal,
daily replayed in other words. the victim
was unaware of that, idly pounding the fresh
flesh with a round stone, she may be rearranged
to fit the edge of the age, no more shopping downtown,
the sewage is cooked, basted with yeats
I hang upon her tits in the after ward
between trees on the old farm
the poem upon tomorrow will outlast the meager harvest
regurgitate the dated syntax, mutant fish,
babies with three legs and large brain
most of which is mush
in the evenings teach the robots to sing
they seem resistant to the Message
preferring their own salvation
Alice could be rearranged, think of it as notes
although even I am not certain of the contents
eyeing the bone pile for omens
mute over her breasts as I would be an alien sky.
silly man she quotes the hydrant phallic
in the vast sea of concrete pissed pink
by the passersby. Quick heat that dies
what will we do buy batteries she intones
and insists I try again mote in the damaged air
best not to wander off
the vowels may be scraped upon the intestines
nymph nodes function and redress
we rarely see our own dawn-
coitus in Pompeii or Atlantis
1340’s saw the plague and an ice age,
Villon robbed the college of its gold
we must be wary of shadows
put your hand down there again
a novel containing songs
chaste with innocent love
the execution is always tomorrow
learned friars in damp halls
weighted with the law
Villon scratches his diurnal on the wall,
forbidden texts
texture of the flesh
brutes shadow the blind
I could wank continuously were it not for the explosions
and age, meager in ascendancy I dance
muffled between those breasts
she bends to tie the laces of her shoes
her buttocks exposed to our turbulent air,
nipples brightened foreshadow
an ambulance roars by
aside the automatic function
normalcy amid the colored lights,
I am not privy to these systems
nights of ethics dismantled
am I not to eat this pear
these parted thighs opened to this air
or as Solomon declared
this ripened fruit
Villon in his cell is apt to be hung
upside down till his balls
migrate to his lungs
the angelus rung at midnight in the starry sky
her moans confide
old Will that coughed & died
let her shudders decide---
even the best thieves are caught
word bags bulging
pregnant with bungling symbols
Circe’s breasts caught upon his lips
beside the poet’s pool
nymphs but reflection in the quiet water,
her fingers in his hair
Prometheus stealing fire
Paris with his arm round Helen
sea spray delicate on her white arms
first sin may stay the stones.
Section 19. is a dangerous place, irrational exuberance,
samewhere the roads loathe round Ethics,
lest breasts escape a golden zipper, darling theft,
in the same breath she may renounce her lover
dress in soft fabrics that shield her from his rough hands
talks to the white room while he smokes. the castle is
in disrepair nearly rubble after almost round the moat
her mystery goes white mist dampens her hair
between commercials the screen door slaps
adept as he is in the dream
he stumbles at the edge of the Tarpeian Rock
fierce smash of the sea below
Catullus would rather suffer with broken soul
his balls wracked between the hammer & anvil
hat in hand in her anteroom
working his words in lines that advertise her disrepute
his magnitude diminished
courted his sorrow
blasphemed within the verse
“there has always been this clamor, there has always been this furor.”
another passer-by, the lucid terror of her tear
oh, but solitudes tremble
since the hand touches nothing overmuch.
she. such tender bread, wanted nothing to do with a poet
how would she know if he were not a thief
tender in her oval room.
Section 2. allows a beginning, a lover
who mourns her dead and returns to the fields,
the shadow king deposed
the iron fist closed which has ripped the flowers
from the black lands,
the wheel rebuilt
as the hands become callous once again
lest the thief should stray from beauty
the grind of minute gears
in the blood,
long years since the waterfall became the Goddess
and drifted through the damp pines
the metallic voice upends the heart.
He comes to shore amid the pyres
in the rain smoke covers sky
uneasy at the face’s swirl.
who can see over South Mountain?
picking through the debris
the stray word plucked from blackened
papyri
Da all that’s left to build upon,
he so late that the tomb yawns.
a ragged priest cautions misinterpretation
“you who pluck the strings of the Lute
and invent musical instruments like David”
and further he intones
“Aha! she that was gateway of the nations
is broken
her gates swing open to me;
I grow rich, she lies in ruin.”
the mutation from fresh thorium,
O, magic elixir!
How varied thou art,
an old widow who glows
her late love at rest in leaden paint,
his old chest silver against his stiff tie
his polished angel asleep on his lapel.
nonetheless, the thief would not regress
a golden dome must always rest
upon some holy crest,
it is some weary at times, caleb remarked
from out the dark and all at once
but he went back to sleep
right thereafter
and might not recollect.
modern quite, nodules,
seems like something oughta be important
most probably ain’t
Kubla Khan in far ago gold
robed
setting forth to tour his citadels
my styles too poor I must admit it.
Poor thief.
He sets out to comfort his lands
the clerk decides
the auguries consulted for tradition’s sake
and doves released on each of his days of departure-
Pompey in Spain. the banks sucking out the mud.
Now the lion lays with the lamb
and tornados paw the ground
Unhappy Circe wakened on such a savage morn.
But that’s not our concern at the moment
sprung from all these other minds
coalescing red meat
hot in the Soul’s heat;
carry me not old fool
to that very last condition
ah, well patience with penitents
would serve the Force well
I would wager we were godless
about then,
round here
[slinging baseballs
in the cow pasture
like you desired
the universe only mildly endless.
Some of the wise guys even less.
As time would show
the cathedral a tourist trap
that everyone wishes to sow,
perhaps we forget to leave
Hardly remembering we’ve arrived]
ah, sacred cold stone,
the ritual for knapping
riding the earthquake in Tokyo
time echo
Our hero, oh Pushkin,
you old feind, has now struck green,
has reached the entrance
rushed up the palace stair
impatient almost past endurance,
he runs his fingers through his hair.
Thesis is a blank section,
the Wall replied,
politely gently pointing out grammer aerros.
st. Theo got a new bridge
in the old Duke’s bequest
cash of course
mostly free labor
a bit of bread
some brass coins
might try that the old man thought
mostly everything goes through the temple
and the moneylenders,
alas that that last
where passing notes amidst the thronging
array’s not difficult at all,
the nun carried that cue stick pointer
like a sword--
Yes, Lisa,
the little red first in the second row
we never once had to crawl under our desks
since the energy of the nun
would foil any fearsome attacks,
Anne, Mary’s mother
is a saint because of the that--
oh, little feet , are you extolling
the spingtime verdant flowers yet
Pushkin whispers from the shadows
both of us getting teary eyed
at the layers of mush
we had to endure,
the cleansing of the Ardennes
still whispers on the wind
both ways I reckon.
a new section, in the galactic file,
I am not privy to such keys
but heard it here and there,
The history is minicube & half,
literature half a cube,
storage one cube per annum
otherwise filed under temporary
and subject to economic conditions.
My grandpap was there for 8000 years
got drowned in a big flood
rest of the family fell off
from there
drifted back to civilization.
those are the feet that I adore
and think of daily more & more
says Pushkin,
unaware of more recent history
and I ain’t never told anything I swear,
he’s just nosy is all.
I told him
Orestes could stand in Hamlet’s shoes,
He just shrugged. being in a library.
Nother thief most likely. People gazing
wild imaginings. best there is he said,
a cube on my own
but that ain’t likely
given a rapidly expanding universe.
ego shrivels like an old man’s penis after coitus.
Since we are halfway up or down as the case may be.
The guide for our tour to day is Alexander puskin
There U Satisfied?
U don’t get paid you know
since you’re just a ghost
twinned with our Holy Host.
I think I insulted him.
He ain’t no gunslinger
or he got bored
I would have.
Lisa might say he was sweet
and I was mean
and that won’t improve my mood
everything downtown will be automated,
the matrix inviolate,
Circe does not share
which Ceres does not understand,
no doubt there’s a feud in heaven
an unruly daughter with a torn dress.
Yes. I thought you’d understand
Ceres thinks he’s a baby,
Circe opts for thief.
I would dicker for his next word out the can, I would source it to transportation. Health is always good, but not everything’s allowed.
Can’t rhyme civilisation
what would Mogadishu say
fission my cannon away
The Scotsman’s shot the Captain’s beagle.
of course, that’s just the beginning of his woes,
coarse as that is it might be sourced to transportation
that he was still alive to Health. Being
an admiral would be swell
I’d wear a big hat.
I am not insane. as a snap judgment,
like if I was interviewing me
I’d say he’s not crazy,
I suspect the ward is full.
Put it down to passing radiation,
a certain marker for the age,
in the interval of a lack of a dominant species
it was opened to colonization, Spain a likely shore.
surely they said we must start somewhere.
Section 41. Google world,
less or greater divides,
whale on a surfboard,
At sea in the constant turmoil
the old sea goose attached
rolled & battered
beaten on beam & post,
one of them mighta been a thief,
or the most loyal member of the king’s court,
unctuous with a dismissive air,
Come therefore and consort in long imagined love.
tardy Spring
jet set spits barbituates,
the stream turns
outlines Circe’s breast
and it stays cold
the shutters shriek
the old scribe with black nose
cackling in the night
pleased now and again by a phrase,
the emperor on elba
compassionate Circe
contrives
to loose all laws,
Legion repuked by Jesus
re-awakes races to oblivion
out of wind. Perhaps
he’s older now
more at home
at ease in tank or airship.
The thief too small to smash
as long as he is not in the way.
A blur Arthur
just out of the corner of the eye
Rouged Circe
surrounded by gray mist--
I’ve no penance, save remorse
for my actions
which would have happened anyway
canon laid down
Canaan saw the goddess drown.
a band of Zealous priests,
from hill town to hill town
beggars that lived for the god
that made his home on Zion.
the chief priest at Jerusalem
received lands containing olives & grapes
wives are offered
he has fine suns,
priests after Levi
and they lusted for the faith,
punished the idols
and took the girls
as handmaids for the Lord.
Baal is often killed his wife a widow.
el-shaddai mounts her and begets Baal
in the spring at lambing time.
the widening spin of the gyre
the center that did not hold
in this suite crows on a wire--
the temporary king
slain and reborn
Distracted by a difficult chief--
proud in his robes
proscribed & under seige--
while far from that frontier
towns burn.
at home,
JA “It must be great perverseness and depravity in any, who can
represent the late actions of the government, and the necessary
measures of self defense taken by congress, as a coalition with
Great Britain. It may be useful, however, to analyze our ideas
upon this subject.”
governors apt to prey rather than shepherd
di magne, horriblilem et sacrum libellum!
quem tu scilicet ad tuum catullum!
Ah! Cruel Love
Tom off to the pier
having tried his luck
in the grand casino
just to watch the wheel go round
and blink at the colored lights,
Ancestor, from a distance
it may be a child’s toy
up close it may prove to be an unripe melon
Don Corleone in the backyard
with his grandson.
JA: An ardent enthusiasm, indeed,
deluded for a long time
too many of our worthy citizens.
the most ardent angels seem
to crow the loudest
all along the wire.
the king has set this day aside to read
and sign documents,
but the air has turned foul
and the cattle are dying.
Merlin could lift stones.
Tis said.
Winter won’t release its hold
under the clouds his house is gray.
the soulutrian spreading inland
when the comet hit the icepack
& blew up the world.
Atlantis may be in Spain,
a young city in the scheme of things
the Egyptians said.
just something else he’s thinking about
sometimes. Pierre is keen to have a war.
Old John Bull turned a killer loose
and got burned. Livid as 3D is--
ministers in undignified repose.
JA: I therefore animated this nation to war,…
but was desirous of sending them by another means.
He is loathe to leave his cabin,
they fire the chopper only after he’s installed,
and secure,
the real fight still with the prophet in the desert,
who seeks martyrs to send to heaven.
In the New City they have loosed a serpent.
How patiently they wait for the Son,
however Gaia might choose to dress him up
to pimp Baal for another season.--Lucius Cornelius Sulla
brief but bright among the leaves
decays upon his estate
unconcerned about the fate of Rome.
Jimmy went to Cuba this week
said he was going to talk to Raoul
the old war jackknifed
to the middle of the door
someone at the looms making flags.
The Prophet glows white hot
the year Circe’s tit warmed the North.
Section 9. the white frigate orders our
forces to stand down or be destroyed,
ether electrified
the aura Of Electra
suffuses the wind
yet we will stand firm
chores to accomplish she says,
Abandon Avalon
dirty clothes & garbage bags,
the treaty with the Orions will have to wait.
In the manual, Artemis is bewitching,
bed of the forest a soft lawn
not a dirty carpet
and disheveled bed
whose feet have wiggled a hole,
in response to our revels
tho Lisa being reserved might not
realize
the arc of her curve sometimes.
She is not adverse to my murder of rhyme
indeed joins me & Verlaine
in the crime. should we not
appear & disappear
in the king’s shadow
within our separate existence
now and then entwined--
as for those young poets
lately frozen in the mechanical heart
this was has been
is closed.
Thy own golden arc yet to be delivered
tiny fist up, defiant to the past word.
in this cell
we will keep wickedness
even tho it leaks out
farms disease through the floorboards
foil it with Love
lets say
but who sells it cheaply
in the cubicles
between the white lines
not such as when sheep’s clothes
was out of season
a brief candle of wisdom,
Walt as a boy on the farm
and everybuddy took a bit of freedom
save the slaves I bet
how now that scar
tip of the whip striking in hot sun
burned by the coarse sand
our sad faces creased
at the curse in genesis--
outloud
speeches may be outlined in the anticipation
of the crisis
Mother at work in the office
will automatically dial up current details
and be available for all occasions
Even if Mrs. Barty got her beauty shop burned down.
The outline of the section may be expanded,
hands chopped. Dante in dancing shoes
ever eager for a tour.
Guarding the peace
the First Terran Army
launches tomahawks
deep into the desert.
We are informed that the attacks were successful,
when the Corporate team is landed,
negotiations will be expedited.
the long slow slide
to the breakdown of the world,
spine cracked
South Mountain deformed
flowers covered by the slip,
my cough leads to retching
so I do not dare to eat a pear
given the efficiency of fusion,
the reducing ray would be cheap enough for tourists
to visit the tiny city of Kandor. It would be an economic jolt
to the old town’s economy
but Ra is angry,
and may
the watchful Fathers say
send fire
to scorch and blast the Earth,
at such times the chariots are useless
and Pharoah will not send them forth,
learn war quickly he tells the desert folk,
Ra dances with Diana. Write such Death
as I tell you she says upon a blood morning,
the banker explains,
population is a problem, but labor is cheap,
the procter concluded
he was not pure
Li Po sets the bucket down
20 minutes down into the mine
and hours yet to go.
The vase is broken
translated from the Japanese
as something far greater,
how some babies
inhabit shock,
Wednesday I believe it is today.
The day of the Turd Sandwich.
Antigone’s fiancé,
Haamon: I’d never urge you to show respect
for a criminal.
Are we not just toys in your hands, O Lord,
the bankers say all such diversions are irrelevant
and turn back to the Chart.
Hari Selden’s art perverted
to predict the rising of scum to surface,
they are replacing tomahawks today
transporting them over the seas
to come to rest in their metal cradles,
the snake in the New City
hisses not to turn around.
Poor Scribe!
taking down the father’s remarks,
wonders at the colors released
and hopes to appease Ra’s rage.
tears streaming down Circe’s flanks,
Odysseus hopes to sail against the wind--
Antigone longs for the divine
to lay her to sleep
to birth a quieter dream.
it may be
that in later years
he tended a roadside shrine
and sold his story for brass
distributive function.
I sway in such wind
the dogs would not eat the white bread
I forget which city I was in
or what the name of its gods were
their kings did what was wrong in the eyes
of the Lord.
up mode, Diana on overload,
a messy upper echelon
such that earthquakes rock the land
endless rain
on the island the cherries bloom
the veins filled with poison
in all the veins of the commonweal,
little recompense in such hard times,
for an agile thief the morning waned
bright blue,
his lover naked in his mind
rolling his eyes at what’s left of the world,
trinkets which do not do well in the marketplace,
and he does not care to take the white bread
that the dogs have left alone.
Section 97. In the wind lass,
best to find a corner where it does not hurry
the pages. anastomose, worm holes
the cherry blossom veins
the worst of envelopes stained with tears,
almost in the river, almost out.
awkward at abandoned redoubts,
the old poet wonders why the Emperor
should begrudge him his ruined hut
half way South Mountain. The Pilgrims
carry away the stones of the slip,
and install them one by one
when they reach the top. Selling
wisdom by the roadside
brings in little but cheese.
These men want gold
I have little of that.
hufpak, he was supposed to
pull on that rope if someone
was to come along.
I heard it from a friend.
all the way round here
Paris what? 1340 or so,
the poet burgles the monastery
got some gold, family bought
him from gallows sad songs
along wild streams
he looks around with a yawn
death so commonplace,
still the plague creeps,
and ice inches forward.
the Mongols toss their diseased across the walls,
the post tosses his chicken bone in the creek.
pillow is a stone, mebbe a bit of another song,
scansions to taste the membrane
already boiling.
always atop the pile burning--
the geni have removed the isthmus of the world
again,
and my remote.
Arcadia is a bit of a stretch
The Oligarchs still conspire,
unconcerned at your archaic patriotisms,
A new world order,
a hundred years if we’re blest,
last mad dictator. 250 at best,
given the unknown unknowns,
Gaia to keep the minions under control,
but floods only get worse, Diana
waxes with anger
& Circe worse stamping about
Earthshaker she wishes to be
and lately may have awakened him.
they say it is imitating Simon Magus in Judea
says Apollo, are they now Creators?
as are we all says Host.
the dispatch from the front
the old chief has unleashed his calvary,
the colonel in the white Mercedes
probably a double dominoe.
. Far Point Station..High school childs
shootin each other, young Messiahs
dying for the cause.
Moira on a vile course,
ambitious men, Anthony said.
before the carnage.
Coinage! Sir!
vain pursuit,
no sir, Ennui
the spleen polluted,
Emeralds conjured in the air,
halfway up the slope
clinging to the breath
of each lost word
for that bit of cheese
I see in your satchel there.
we have Minerva & the Galahad
to work out, even though we’ve not thought out
love & hate to any account.
I’ve time to orate on the matter
should you like to rest in the shade
while I organize the letters,
which I often do
as so it shall take but a moment
or years of notes.
We need to get it done, says Politician,
waggling a coin,
which only reminds me of the burly men.
I told them the tale. Married I the words
for a spell, and if paused the Lawyer
had a bit of wine.
sweet rumors to make the girls rose,
dire warnings so that they all quake
South Mountain sighs.
the gold will buy me days of cheese
and I can organize my notes.
the anguish of love tightens your throat
intones Apollo. It is a picture in a gloomy Gallery.
He adds. Reverent Sir and all that. “ …and would I could forget
the twilight of Beauty.”
as a conspirator
slantwise from lifething.
“Well I never! It says,
all holier than thou.
which I ain’t
Fortune being a varied spin,
IMF made the sky fall
who holds the leash
of the mesh men
spreading the creed:
bout the end of them anyway
ain’t it joe?
Leaves his card,
very continental, expresses his sympathies,
admired how his silver suit shoned
in Ra’s reflection
and He was affronted
and frowned.
I fear for your safety, Royal Holy Dude.
your looking cool tho--
the west is in catastrophic decline
Great efforts are being spent
in keeping the vineyards safe
but they have bones in lost lands
as a consequence
tom dooly might sing that song.
“We have gathered a sieve full of water.”~EP
several. spinning in the air,
such savage fireflies.
Appalling sky blossoms.
Routine.
America multiplied
as the Founders intended,
now we wait for our daughters
they said. and prepared the
ships to sail the seas of chaos
just as they have always done,
Ginsburg has the names & date
how the leaves brown in this open air
we should go inside.
maybe the plebes
will manage the maze,
climb thru the cube into the cube
as the desert spreads
Tiresias says the land must heal
come home, in several thousand years,
even more chastened by what u had to learn,
Minerva will not speak to him
they say. The angels said
this place is pleasant and they stayed,
the boy is bent on selling
they’ll say
and they would be right
Arches sway as Earthshaker wakes.
the hard shards of heathen rock.
O my. laughter of fleeing angels
as the ground crawls.
Scrolls drown in the surging sea
reclaimed by the Buddha once again
and lost the drift of history
a missing course in the strata,
unconnected Atlantis
which may blossom forth.
Hiram’s great grandads
who had defended the hill country
on the frontier. Savages were infrequent
and very curious,
after appearin fierce for a bit.
Arcadia, but with men in it.
Wonder what they did to piss off the gods so much?
The use of anti-gravity altered the magnetic field
and threw the whole planet off course, causing a global
warming. Massive floods, drowning and so forth
what did they learn moving stone.
How we should pray that we not find
these secrets out,
but since we know about the threads
& we thrill to the vibration
just as they do
when they come to order the common lands
confirm & pass on land, the leading men,
a towns man and a farmer
each in his turn to listen to the wizard.
tales out of mind.
“Woody,” says Buzz Lightyear,
don’t take it so hard.”
I once spent some time with
some fellows who were a billion years
older than us. among might be a better word.
I think I was there I believe.
“No, no. Not another quest
to retrieve the gold from the lost city!”
Emanation
stench of Styx
along the picket fence.
some years along
another caisson
khe-son on another page
Fortune is apt
to jump into the gap.
Arnault perhaps
straining at the chains
which the old man used
to bind him,
Liege to Prometheus
to make love free
surely that was light
true, antigone’s conflict is superseded by a more modern one,
compose yourself
you are disheveled.
don’t give me that pre-programmed bullshit,
tell me of the death of the owl,
too much maple syrup made him ill,
I’d wager
frakking now to be researched
back to the forties
the counter should be cleared off.
bright void underneath
the hollow magazine desires,
yearns to be handled
the prince prepares the stage,
as an arena, a bare square
& bow and do not stumble
in your invitation;
he will not interrupt
if you choose to invoke a diety,
much good may be done with a blessing.
weigh downed with a drunken owl
I shall make a sorry presentation
at the wizard’s academy.
Another pain pill, Hero,
more intensely than the Things
themselves said Rilke
who knew him well.
Besieged within the Citadel
hounds that padded through the stone halls
lacy to rough hands
hours to dawn over the fountain.
the real fight still with the prophet in the desert,
who seeks martyrs to send to heaven.
In the New City they have captured the serpent.
How patiently they wait for the Son,
however Gaia might choose to dress him up
to pimp Baal for another season.--Lucius Cornelius Sulla
brief but bright among the leaves
decays upon his estate
unconcerned about the fate of Rome.
Now.
says Apollo, you are in Paris,
free of so much woe,
Sherlock on the suitcase
Patch at the window
already you worry that she might get lost,
the winter in retreat
Them French boys will love her,
pretty as she is I said.
You just finish that poem
lisa says
But I’m distracted now.
the great city lay in the valley beyond the isthmus,
the archaeologists say there is nothing there.
Ocean rather than bridge between the lakes.
deluge, the mountains came tumbling town
and the lakes were married to the Sea.
The big convertible is parked across from some mobile home
a long time. Maybe it’s a shy lover,
liked to pine away for one reason or another,
the temporary king has informed the Senate,
they will reply we will need to find agreement
with tender words for all the old gold folks
who frolic in Cancun.
Sing the axis straight,
to do that, live in interesting times.
derive
from the old sheik who prefers orange and brown,
a tribal hand me down, his are mostly new
or have been, lately he’s been plagued by hawks
and other birds. Thing is, dignitas require he bend his knee,
but he just ain’t ready yet. Nor will
the king remove his curse.
Should the land sink into the sea.
someone u might magic out,
Circe. The Prince receives good report,
assailed upon all sides
the Companies are swollen with greed
ships ply every coast spreading disease.
Earthshaker is annoyed,
“to open eyes that are blind
to bring captives out of prison
out of the dungeons where they lay in darkness”
“Where is your God,” they ask me all day long.
Apollo says: You are ashamed when you catch yourself at prayer.
This is a stubborn gray
that haunts his days
holds spring at bay,
Apollo behind the clouds
stays away.
I can see Circe smile.
Frakked as we are
jammed implosive.
In the New city
the snake was found in an ingénue’s purse,
close to her breast she had kept it safe.
it was said she returned to the wild
it to captivity.
and the council of the holy ones exalts thy faithfulness.
Unconstitutional says Welch
tho he use more words,
Ms Slaughter suggests an amendment
that congress and the President not be paid during the Shutdown,
that will kill it for sure.
Mr. Adams asked for the sedition bill out of exasperation
the decline in decorum was intolerable,
the tan man might curse an obstinate few,
as he makes peace with the enemy.
The extinct newt sleeps with fishes,
72 virgins in paradise
martyred to lust for his homeland.
Caribou Barbie dusts & runs her mouth.
Apollo says,
the phoenix that self creating pyre veils all for an instant
with his glowing ashes.
No lines remain on that score.
Lisa says Uncle Ez is nosying round in the barn.
“I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped
from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened
her with insult.” Circe sniffs in her bear‘s-grease Latinity,
ambles round the corner of the world.
Parts & pieces litter the great field. --as though
an angry God had gone this ways,
perhaps so throughout the paradiso
it is so. Minoa lost for centuries,
shards all that’s left,
city of Ra, that the slaves built
lost in chaos.
which each of us have. Should anyone
ask. it is so.
thought it may be dependent on what
the meaning of “is” is to quote another great man.
people cannot go to the taverns
it destroys their way of life,
crime grows worse
boys get taciturn.
girls learn to knit through storms.
Montana I’m told it’s near Idaho.
Paradiso may flash from place to place--
the space of slow walk
were I an old man with a cane
in search of cherry blossoms.
the study of one star ends in a mad whirl,
Rimbaud lies bleeding in a filthy room,
maybe just too close to the poem at last,
the dark lords that demanded the magic,
satiated walk leaving him lost in the center.
Take the next node sir
certain accolades are reserved
the Paradiso is awash in wisdom,
says tom thumb
clambering about the ink well.
overbalanced by his Uncle’s feather.
cat slides shadow to shadow
tail flashing,
no uproar sitting at the railroad tracks
in a big blue convertible
on the way to an arena in Metropolis,
which might someday offer
an exhibit featuring Kandor.
Reset the New king says
as if the walls will just crumble away.
A peaceful end to the violence is sought,
third hand from Jesus to the angel
to the old man who lived in a cave,
out there where the Messiah went, paradiso.
God’s own truth
the rifles won’t chatter to a stop
plain as can be,
Gods’s own truth divided,
the aura in ultra blue,
the cloudie Van,
“sage he stood,
with atlantean shoulders fit to bear
the Weight of Mightiest Monarchies.”
Alexander cloned.
I oil the door on the hut,
so as not to startle the birds--
Spring birthing,
opening.
‘advised if this
be worth attempting or to sit in darkness here
hatching vain Empires” Rev John talking through
some other ass.
Such a pitiless gaze
O paradiso! The Persian beauty
does not lose her religion,
a one piece suit, and a sarong
in the bathing competition.
the young prince,
(great & terrible above all who stand about him)
will not wear his ring,
most will know he is married anyway.
Old Europe,
underneath the mannerisms
Theodora ringed by nymphs
daughter of a favored general
or a fat merchant who relocated from Tyre.
confirmed earlier suspicions
dating from the Afghan War,
(1838-1842)
when twenty thousand British
had died in the retreat from Kabul,
Easterlies wing out to sea
white seabirds
winter’s debri. Lover
wants a Dictaphone
to shout down systems;
the Roc brings Adam’s skull.
Aunt Sally cleans toilets in the Green Zone,
she plans to buy some land in Malibu.
Morning Lisa,
some French poet
says,
sitting inside my head
while in on the balcony
the stiff fellow
in the painting, proud
in my Sunday clothes.
come back inside she says
I’m cold.
An eloquent fashion,
postage stamp over the private bits,
then layers & layers of hot mud,
Ancient Veii! a throne stood in your Forum!
fornication upstairs in the inn,
fevered adulteries in the meadows
swaying golden rod.
Sing not Death
Paradiso ebbs & flows
the king looks on
while I chip at my tablet
the poem sails away
forth on the godly sea,
mundane whirlpool of the Ennui
the interruption of ejaculation
Raoul carries things away
heavy singularities like children
capering about the cart.
Lilith, in Circe’s red gown,
flits from shadow to bright sun.
surely a mother has slain her child,
an appeasement in the paradiso
an airy apartment across from the café.
tis clear the stingy moneylenders
do not like the New government,
they sit upon their gold like fat gnomes
who have stolen from the dwarves--
the builders have nothing to do
they study ancient texts
find mention of golden bowls
Hiram came out of Egypt
may have been Enoch all along.
The Angel in existence
another of the distant children
home being nearly everywhere,
the mad whorl of the Node
may alight anywhere for a moment,
a momentary unquiet in the Angel,
should it pass by. Return of such jazz lines,
riff off painted rectum
loud rouge in the ladies’ room
commercials interrupt flow
the top piece of the good thief’s cross
displayed by the priests for veneration.
minutes later we pick it up again,
the paper noticeably older
someone’s shit in the trumpet
running down the leg
vibration in the tide pool
Faust when He made the deal.
Elizabeth’s uncovered breasts
in the grainy film. Germane
to be busted with the Reverend
wine dyeing your red hair
somewhat darker
while the conditioner
is a melody for his grunts.
The old moonshiner
chips away his hardened mud,
puts the makers away till next fall,
few more seasons up the trail
to cook the corn.
Nearer my God to thee.
where is your province in the state of Man?
Persius asks.
wrong, wrong from the start
not the doing innocent heart,
he was but a student,
determined to bury the holy books
but always digging them up again
scattered fragments, of such frivolity
that Falstaff smiles and launches
into a chorus of ancient rhyme.
casual murder with the tomahawk
quiet office erupts. Boys splash
through a quiet stream
in dappled sunlight.
chump change
Li Po passes in a strange carriage
towards the city
the white towers glow
as to that it will be difficult
to lie in the grass
and watch the clouds.
I return to the papyrus in some disarray
my hair disheveled , how mad
the blossoms in the stray gale.
Fatima, say the rosary faithfully and heal the world.
the message left in the desert
reported that the shiek was fascinated by a white haired woman,
later, he went to the mountains for his health,
from the height he can see the Dead Sea.
The imperial roads are still in good repair
towards the City.
I have written to say I was too ill to travel
but the Prince has not replied,
I am to be cast into the madness
trolley to the city
to the examination rooms,
while we were all expecting the big clumsy bridge
to topple over and land in the chasm--
“now old tim Crane thinks he done something great
but I will beat him him.”
sam patch said over in Paterson.
the other day.
Maya got 36 but they lost
Mythic? of course.
Soldiers of whichever Faith,
Aye! I will die for thee,
as for love ah well
we know little of that
analogue glows pulses
into settled patterns
Jesus strokes
the anti toxin
Maybe Baby
we know it better than most of them dumb Christians.
Section 68. other words lanquish
in desperation, other worlds,
dash with a wild electricity
through decaying nodes,
thorium depleted
scika thrack. Red tide at sea.
Obliged to watch for omens.
mills to braid the wind.
the guild will yield the techman
for repairs throughout the realm.
says the prince.
ferengi rule 29 Subsection a--
the supression of base functions
is to be avoided except in those
instances where profit may be made
Labor Inflation unemployment
manipulation causes a net loss
Subsection b--Limit the opposing teams possessions
Subsection c--scurrilous remarks should pay extra attention to translations
Likely descended from dinosaurs on their home world,
forced to space by its destruction hastened by their excess;
the Ferengi have spent thousands of yarns in search of acquisitions.
It is possible that Captain Archer encountered them
at a very early date, much work is still being done
to repair the damage done by the First Romulan War.
Command & control suffered significant damage during
the first battle of Sol.
First Contact, is recorded by Jean-Luc Picard at a much later date.
They have lately signed a contract not to contract with species who
have not attained Warp capability. Not every chief officer is convinced. An infringement of right to make short term profit.
“off-books” the ambassador oft sighs when the subject comes up.
The chief rivals in the environs of the alpha quadrant is the Orion Syndicate, an amalgamation of several species, dominated by the Orions, whose strict code of Honor, is based on a pheromone
secreted by the female. The pheromone has been known to affect the male in many species including Vulcans.
Unfortunately for the Ferengi they are particularly susceptible to its effects. Many of the most disastrously bungled contracts in recent times may reasonably traced to this cause. An antidote is a chief object in Ferengi research labs across the consortium.
The chief means of exchange among the Ferengi is latinum,
an inert substance slightly more dense than gold. The acquistion of certain sums triggers awards and more avenues of acquistion.
The accumulation of latinum bars could lead to a position
on the board of Acquistion, The supreme government of the Consortium. The Ferengi have embassies on many of the planets in the federation where they are valuble interstellar traders, buying and selling in all manner of goods and services.
Little is known of Ferengi psychology in depth, that information being held by the Consotium as classified. What is known is that the Ferengi will often forego profits if a female is involved. This proclivity is of course incompatible with the Orion pheromone.
Most theories on the evolution center on their early exodus
from their original planet. It is indeed remarkable that in this great epic, that grew to include hundreds of parsecs, they manged to sustain their cohesion as a race. Early Poems, a collection of work from that period, suggests that a Hero, acquired warp drive
at an early date in the expansion. Their first colony may be a
moon in a Jupiter system, with twenty moons colonized, it can be surmised they have been there quite a long while. Some legends suggests that the Ferengi hold a system as a vault for their Latinum, and sacred objects. Humans of Terren origin often suffer a profound sense of disgust in the presence of Ferengi. This has oftened hamper otherwise sensible contracts.
Federation guidelines are an excellent source of information for those who are going to visit Ferengi worlds. Certain precautions are provided. Another excellent source of information are the files produced by the Vulcan Science Academy.
(Tourism in the Federation Today)
Causes of the First Romulan War
As the recipient of warp drive in a primitive
condition their expansion was brutal and bluntly stopped by the fledgling Federation. It has been speculated that they received
warp drive in an iron age. Within nine generations they had colonized 12 planets and ran into The United Federation of Planets. A loose confederation of suspicious species, brought together largely one must admit through the Actions of Admiral Archer.
The Romulan Empire is generally run by the
Senate and has for generations enslaved a race that we have
dubbed Remans. Doubtless a sentient race that held the planet before a colony of proto-vulcans arrived and gave rise to the
Romulans that we know today.
Romulan History, should it ever begin to become
known in the Federation, seems to indicate that a Vulcan
scout discovered a source of warp drive knowledge,
landed, and became a teacher still revered by the romulan people.
The issue is one investigated by the Vulcan Science Academy
which indicated that a scout was lost in that area. The fate of the pilot could not be determined.
Boys History of warfare in the Galaxy.
Section 68. other words lanquish
in desperation, other worlds,
dash with a wild electricity
through decaying nodes,
thorium depleted
scika thrack. Red tide at sea.
Obliged to watch for omens.
mills to braid the wind.
the guild will yield the techman
for repairs throughout the realm.
says the prince.
when the nucleOr plant
burns down
all the lands turns browned
bright lights are dimmed
the wind whistles in El Dorado
Satan, in Milton mode,
reclines the wooden chair in a ruined room,
somewhat irritated at the pace of his command,
no wonder that they let General Fist
prosecute the Prophet’s priests,
first minister Gates
“tis bad to send legions into asia”
where you burn each hut
but only bleed each day.
while being backward in our eyes,
the tribal society has several attributes
of value to deadwood Civ.
The ancillary wars, brushwood,
that the fighters keep an eye on,
a certain level of population control,
in more fertile areas.
expectant angels in bright blue helmets
hand out water & corn
to be stolen by the nearest madman,
the Senators consult the Chart
assess such issues best left to priests,
Simon Magus angling for an army next week,
a new dress for the sacred ball
we are but children thrilled
by the blinking lights.
The Lady is prematurely gray
in the New city
the Prince calls every day
all the stators reside within her walls.
Tis said the Cheney burned her papers down,
foolish man, to save himself from shame.
“what other reason would there be?” says the man
on the telephone on the tv. Hoi! says the thief,
“pretzled pauper at the edge of the sea
aghast at the paradiso trembling”
an old tree in the saltmarsh
should even a light breeze stir--
Last pope so they say.
breathe no longer
than the kittens in the drowning bag,
Poem. The clatter of the buggy on the cobbles
fades. Should some notables visit the hut.
then go away.
Paradiso is unconcerned
that a minor minion
is displeased. The Will
of the All will be accomplished,
the pimps cry out for wild fluctuation
to be the law of the Land.
Like the boy who wanted to be a robot
I shall imitate the impassive angel,
Sam Patch says.
“Liar” says the thief.
I know him well enough the lover says
a tongue deep in her snatch.
verdant juice,
the Prince has found a ripple in the chart,
Hari Selden confirms a Time of Troubles lies ahead.
Sam Patch says he can put the bridge back on course
again.
Frakking would ease our minds, Adama says
leading Eve back inside out of the rain.
Pater Nostres. Dr. Williams may have said the same thing
him being a medical man. A whale endeavors to say hello
in the most beautiful way possible, this may take awhile,
the white crane will fly in and settle later,
---you
a poet (ridded)
from Paradise
a very dirty book indeed,
the kill team
or some other atrocity,
Satan enjoys being Caligula
then laughs when his toy is broken.
Corporal Morelock
was a bit mad they say
but most of them boys they got
scratch their ass in public
and not think about it a lot.
“common knowledge”
sgt. sd. The Samurai was given leave
to chastise the farmer,
but might postpone the penance
till after planting or harvest
the lieutenant is a Captain
another hero in the chain of command.
The Creation has turned against him,
they often will,
Osama was seen to rise & hover
aim & fire an arrow
and shot the predator down.
The Americans have it in HD.
It is very classified indeed
an exact reproduction is available
for 19.95
The operator hesitated
Kirk on the Farragut
Picard on the sea with Gilgamesh.
talking with scalawags along the Milk river,
exchanging the news.
Dying for Glory don’t need no help from Lucifer.
Sam Patch. Buttin in.
Congress got nothing to bitch about
so they praise a high school basketball season.
they coulda deregulated the Net
but they didn’t
“and the fleet at Salamis made with money lent by the state to the shipwrights”
The Chairman disagrees that his flowery introductions obstructs
the business of the committee stating that the public is well served to know the sterling colleagues with whom he now serves.
“we may look forward, then, to the possibility of large arrays
of silicon film photoelectric cells in sunny areas, producing vast quantities of electric current out of sunlight. This current will be used to electrolyze water, and produce hydrogen.”
1983.
Tiny little critters that live
in the disc player are quiet neighbors.
the wild birds wd not eat the white bread,
purloined altered
extended,
“Filth stank as in our day” Ez remarks
during a lull when we would feel
the hopeless senselessness,
weight of the spleen shifted
vehemence at its opening bid
from heart to mind
the spirit flees
Sam Patch in tow
counting the points in the paint
“come now,” says Ez
the poison in the dog food has been
stopped, but the jet planes are flying
apart, merry Darger in the other universe,
just over there.
says he dug the pitkin himself
Sam Patch he knew well
most all of them did back then.
all of them had a dog in the race
a speculation, Henry said
arm around Patch in the Moulin Rouge.
Hoi! this national paradiso
cannot be erased.
sub-sonic peel of Velcro ,
the release of oxygen.
toxic repressions of the Id,
Edsel in charge of Design.
the Bird blew bop
chopper on the wall,
attack design--
deep in the ruin
somewhere in Id;
We smear it as Jimbo’s Bob City
and move on
a massive delusion--
Michelangelo on the
floor, the table filled with designs
the golden light reflected
on the wisps of dust
apprentices on scaffolds
covered in paint.
A sad rower on the stream tonight,
commission for a Nobleman
short of verse
the extent of his malady
has robbed him of thought
and he lies nearly senseless
at the edge of his bed.
and what’s worse he’d rather be with his lover,
the angle of the pivot
my poor hammer dings the anvil
with a faint ping
in the raucous of the shop
sharp men spit in the direction of the spitoon--
Circe atop the bar legs crossed
at a dangerous angle.
“The neighbor might be a pervert,”
Lisa says,
“not that it matters to me”
chides me for my rather quiet joy
at the moment of matters,
this morning we learn that the Chinese
discovered cardboard
it remains to be seen what else.
Robonaut,
killed the video star;
adjusting nodes
on the mechanical bar.
“takes off her sweater, then her bra,
and then says, “lets ball, dig?” --
by which she means, let’s try
a new far out sound on the hi-fi. If
he reaches out to touch anything
other than the tone arm, she will say,
“your through, frantic boy. You
are sawed off.”
“Aha! she that was the gateway of the nations
is broken,
her gates swing open to me;
I grow rich, she lies in ruins.”
The archaeologist is working in a vaginal gouge,
he insists that it is virginal,
26 instances of similarity,
a violent ideation
further pinches a reversed man
on bruised knees
Holy holy holy
the cock bursts measures & seams
strains & accelerates
over the hump
seek no aggrandizement
mired in a poor man’s war,
some greens, an old robe,
quiet hours buried in the old parchments
love for its own sake scratched into odd characters,
Circe herself enraged at the masques
which fall into the sea below
her wind blown tattered robes
which still manage to conceal the swell of her breast.
Morning bursts over blue peaks
blurred eyes conceal tears
smoke rises on checkered plains.
How their faces shine in the hot sun
as they bury the high priest in the long trench
picks spark on the sandstone
ring between the words of psalm.
armed with a flimsy reed to hold the wind
his lover in Circe’s robes
pricks her palm
and rubs the blood into the old meat
they share
cool flesh under threatening sky--
they knew they were naked and sought fire
Try another book. break through the dry air
of the place. (the good doctor would have me
use the pitchfork to pile more corpses in the trench)
Li Po was certain he could find his way here,
why should he leave now, as deep as he was within her,
her breath fogged upon the window?
I should have said it certainly
the black blotch in the center of the nave,
“it will not last forever
against the long sea”
dredging up the old rower,
“wine dark sea,”
stench of the dead coughed up--
all is well if you can still taste blood
despite the apparitions
hold her ever more closely
even when alone:
Love will climb like ivy
and choke the fear,
let her be the furnace
the pebble & the leaf
the way things are
when you reach to silence the alarm.
Section 56. the new cafes are filled
with unnamed cadavers;
mild chocolate rivers,
rev Hagee preaches from San Antonio stage,
televised to the White Swallow Motel:
seed pours out of her cunt
rather than an envelope addressed
to the Ministry. Cold Earth
knows the destination of the delivery,
blood, chest high in the Jordan,
seven months to bury the dead.
I wonder if Gabriel knows the Blues
to play to a happy few
groveling at Jesus’ Knees
holy holy holy
says the magpie from ruined trees.
contrary to play dough the Elect
carry golden bricks to erect
the Temple of the Lord.
Heaven laid the world on me
the angel sings,
loading the souls of politicians & poets
hipsters & kings
whores & hobo’s
into Charon’s black boat
for the deepest dark part of the underworld,
Imagine the new lies they’ll create
balls sawed off & cunts sewn shut--
Hell, Lucifer’s Cd on repeat
a Cuban dictators endless spiel
in a darkened movie house
hot mud on the eyelids
Rev Hagee needs HD seed to stopper up his mouth
coat his teeth with gold to save you from this awful fate
so you can carry bricks for the temple of the Lord.
The Savior says it won’t be bad, once we free you from desire,
In the New City, gogs roam deserted streets,
and the saved don’t dream much of anything
blank eyes coated with dust under a hot sun.
such poems surmise
palpitate with lies
groan
mediate such sin as may be already present in the water,
winter’s piss etching the snow, saffron
the old man allows that Circe’s breath
will carve the drifts
sometimes there’s a bit of magic
all day relief from a cold
Mischief the boy said
when I asked him what he was up to
amazing what you already know
if you think about it some
embroiled in the aftermath of the flood.
too many reason in the soft mud,
“the foul fiend haunts poor tom in the voice of a nightingale”
loose soil churned up
torn by the Dragon’s new rain.
I would have the auburn smell as well
lingering about the new green
faint film of disturbed air
a raindrop
a bit of mold drapes another
in the fold of the rock
the roll of thunder & flash of Light.
fearful of must be falls asleep
at the edge of forever is a faint music
“but he who will work shall give birth to his own father“-
and exhausted wake to further labor;
such toil is breath, air modulated
grazes Circe’s hair
as if a poet dared be born
in her ruin.
The runes on the path
insist that the dragon is good Fortune
as the ascent to South Mountain begins
by holding his tail
you might navigate between the rabbit & boar
so it’s said in the shadow of the moor
by ancient sages who know such lore,
Circe’s lover will rush ahead
to gather a rare flower for her hair
only to discover darkness assembled
Sam Patch might strike the standing stones
to no avail
till the Light catches up if it ever does.
If she loves him
he might find her with her hand between her legs
a wet fire falls into a shining pool
if not
Morrigan will eat his dream
demons will cast his seed in barren land
and he will feed on corpses
upright & rotted on the dead trails.
the words may ring discordant
stale
in that path towards the grail.
South Mountain is a dangerous place
says the Pastor in his sermon
surrounded by artificial flowers
and wires.
.
Section 111. the arc of testimony, an alchemist
flirts with the sun breath upon wave
context of memory turning down leaves in a library
stab spilled words that the Republic finds needless,
or worthless. out of the Light the magic infants speak,
incessant rain, gray towers, wet mist matting their hair
the separation of their tears consuming the last years,
old bones embarked upon holy war
gutters gleaned of leaves,
evidence of their innocence
expunged
unart lilies displayed in chipped vases
they who would have written the silence,
the night, who would have startled
the frenzies in their flight
tiny fists grab stars
as it must be understood anew each time
wrenched from flower & seed
the crops have a human taste
in the craters where the babes are lain
old fires smolder against their light
“Child! Child! Child! Where are you
Amid the smoke that crawls upon the ground?
Tyger tyger burning bright”
Sweating, blood thighed Circe
crosses the plank
notices the bits of flesh
that cling to the side of the ditch as if alive.
Section 973. begins a slow migration to the vanished point,
it’s a harlequin he sees at the end of the procession,
most of the rest just savage stabs of paint
wire droops parallel from tall towers
the wind is sensed from outside,
odd that the Paradiso resides from point to point
like a bus ride
most is the rigging hands busy with knots
& loops mashed gluons trampled over groins
trapped by the carpets where residuals lie
champagne in hand butterfly high
in ash blond dye “the reference is a distraction,”
she lied, “the obvious analogy is with music,
which extends beyond the figure which the space
occupies,”
little toes depict escapades
these too expose woes
the patter of words explode
on the Company walls
Meanwhile, the cat
opens & closes the bathroom door
el camino real
all of which is to say the harlequin
is not entirely inside
the stench which the perfume hides
no matter in which room the cries are heard.
‘and him all ready to rewrite history
should a footnote present itself’
Tinkerbelle is humpty-dumpty on the wall
roundabout,
the big people digging everything inside out
they can’t see her outside in they’re not
not that the whirly stops
even if they are tying with knots
all along the line. Bedlam busy with busses,
chuck & upchuck, crosstown-
Bellevue beatitudes
stern crusaders with whisky breath
batons at the ready
if the story should end untold
George says,
who fingers the rosary
paints superman on an old rail fence
his cape draped delicately
over the bluebells and ask me nots
brand new you.
brain bots clean the pathways,
surely there is no magic
in the basket of apples
chaos carries through the woods
for these people are new
even their dead living
ablaze jazz nerves in improvisation
Li Po stares through the window
at incessant rain,
Circe her hair wild
races the cold wind
the poet sketches a quick portrait of the singularity
Rorschach storms steady light the boil of black
toil & trouble, the calm witches weave
mauve into scarlet into green,
a place for sacrificial offerings
the light came to be one
Teresa thighs wide
fluid drips on the concrete
that her bare feet have scraped.
the mold writhes upon the rock
rippling in cold space,
in the interval
the sector of Paradiso allotted
excited flesh plots
to wipe the rain from Circe’s eyes
comb her wet hair
quiet her questing thighs--
Mute Apollo, small boy to be born
dressed in blue paint
who is it that asks the question?
Section 110. “ Mondrian was also dismayed
by van Doesburg’s introduction of the diagonal line into his work which he viewed as a breech of Neo-plastic principles. He withdrew his support from De Stiyl, explaining to van Doesburg “after your arbitrary correction of Neo-Plasticism, any collaboration, of no matter what kind, has become impossible for me.”
Are you asleep, all the what in that which is curled smoke
round the bleeding bed? Each local “thing”
babes in dirty towels twinkling
on the bent street, or in exclusion
grand dreams that drag you about the execution stone,
blood under light. the culled tyger
of this paradiso, polyglot
with dulled cloak
scraped by dry bramble
drool an elixir
for the under weaned
who have plucked “it”
until the strings no longer ring.
I stands bickering with itself
on the stage with I speaks
of longs for itself
mind the staircase’s descent
doesn’t spirit away the toys;
me go town
under clouds the predators fly
as Circe plies the keys
a hurried etude
for a gaunt weary paradiso.
“Poured we libations unto each the dead”
until the desert overflowed with broken cups.
section 110. I, as one thing, a nice quiet paradiso-
foment in the notes; nothing’s finished, half bleemed
says the scribe in Ur
Sam Patch in the backyard
sees rust on the wheelbarrow
arms full of potted flowers
he walks down to the river
ever unstill
to plant a garden around the juniper
fulcrum. Leaping fawn breaks from thicket,
the old dog won’t scour no more,
old compacts lay rolled in the reed buckets--
back up the hill. The mines hereabouts
have been bled dry says the old man
damned old horse been dead all day
and nobody got a notion how to move
it off the road and into the shade
so the flies can have a good meal.
same with the malaise in the bones
nerves too tired to twist ‘em anymore
eyes got a bloodworm
everything an old movie
movin too fast to catch anything
about the life underneath the heroic.
text of which is,
Sam in a yellow Toyota
late for the Pepsodent commercial
in which he kisses resplendent Dawn
who must go home and be beaten
by the cad that she married
text of which is says the Director
after twenty takes
perfect at union scale.
all along the river
the candy wrappers dance.
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