Wednesday, January 14, 2009

13 Poems

We are born flukes to become
A sanctity due, a sentiment of grace,
The persona less aware and energy.
Alive in such a dark world.
We suppose to sturdy it.
A world of such glory, the
Glorious world in one wandering.
That is all said lightly.
This must be my end alive.
A boring couple of days.
An active life is boring.
My infant daughter decapitated by an air-bag
While simultaneously
A young boy mauls a mountain lion.
What will someday come rather than what now was.
I shoot the father.
I have done this before.
I am seen through the window,
I am living in his house again.
This must be a judgement.
I don't know what I'm talking about.
I can't sell the difference between
My clothes, the megabyte, the tabloids, and my spite.
I'm out to smoke a cigarette,
Because if this internal absence continues
It might be necessary to master your language,
And I shouldn't swear by that.
I am seen through windows.
I am done judging you.
Let the night grin.
And I am sober and then the road.
Ahead a stable of dogs and old yelling yellows.
Comic books of crossbone spawn unfold around me.
The fathers are dead.
It's boring here.
I step in all the houses I've visited before.
I avoid all the women I've slipped inside before.
I heard the others behind me.
Along the way comes something after.
Rough neck red neck cute suck neck suck
Face dick cute suck dick fuck red dick rough fuck,
To bed junk!
You pray much too often for me.
Now was what will come again rather than what wills.


Forever fashionable to be in a state
Of interesting death consumption,
Believing that my arms contain
Hollow grays strangely sung.
And as I move along a life,
You buy my trek
Pieces of matter siding with pounds.
Twin swans above the dimes.
The abyss overlooked upon them bound.


Sorry handsome, I'm new to speed
And the daily routines experienced without cover.
A purity really,
So of the flesh.
Run-on semblances I like immensely.
The distance is here if we should.

Surfaced ripples of width
Intend another day.
Bones thrown where they belong
Disintegrate all the same.
I follow your skin
Feeling us for home.
You refuse me.
You refuse me nothing.
Our soul is the clay
Mending a vision after it funds
The chatter of other worlds and maps of horror
Our debt shall bring.
In time an eyeless mammal
Greases the frantic pavement
With our scorn
Clothed a treason because it whines.
O wrathful moon of solid bat,
My master licks the tickle of his stormy complication.
O solid bat moon of warped sunset,
My master won't live through centuries lubricated.
I am followed everywhere I wane,
Breathless in rebirth
And broken to save
Violets for your tan.


I know everything about nothing and more nothings.
A contradiction of convention of modern life.
There's the void in my head, donut snot.
I smoke a bowl and present my girlfriend with a boner.
She's sleeping.
I don't blame her.
I'm sleepy.
What would the voters say?
Related to supervising upcoming documentary programming.

War is fine.
Love is blindness.
A war on war.
The moon in a dewdrop.
Drugs and books are eating me out of house and home.
I don't blame them.
I've been sleeping.
The human cost of crash?
A note says PS fuck a dog, go fuck a dog fucker.

I take the car to the butcher.
They take the limousine to the wedding.
An inextricable bond between the object and its context.
Well, everyone, as these are irrational times,
Let's hook our fish in a whole new way.
Blame some, they're sleeping.
All I'm saying 
Is she smokes a bowl and presents me with a boner.
My disillusionment lost to nub aspiration.


Your evil eye swells a tulip.
My dream on Thursday it was mammal.
We make waste and our time
Once against building escape.
Vocal and vast, a frost in the scene
Of anonymous ween.


I create an image whose reality is self-evident.
On the fat of the land,
A rope and people deliberately uncommunicative.
Their metamorphosis is navy blue, sublime, so beautiful.
Sky, star, and excrement like.
I'm remembering someone else at our table.
What's self-evident arrives, conceived from that void.
The color of favorite animals
In a room without windows or doors.
The inner recession of peaceful tendencies
Deliberately uncommunicative.
A master switch. The massive reversal.
It's simply going to go out.
What is, is being and non-being suspending contortions.
With conditioning so beautiful,
I only want to touch you and not hear
The mountain, the city, our ordinary heat.

The true universe extinguished by a blaze derailed, a system failed. Beans beam our peg-leg queen spoofed if the badguise steals her, and that's why you're free. Short orders of a liberty I Also frequent amid the flighty generations. All soldiers are scum. I exude no tears for them blown to bits! An eternal vacation on Al-Qaeda where their dandruff in the chocolate turbans is quietly cozy in calfskin girdles exfoliating a family or hookers from us altogether. The danger So puzzling. I walk through walls. This isn't happening. Immigrants behind the anatomy of used fitness equipment prove some trite sequence satisfied with a cocaine minimug lather liposuctive Rachel Bilson intervention. The danger is muzzling. The kitchen sink sure barfs trash. I'm not here. The kitchen sink man it never disappears. O that's not me. I wake up every
Morning and await my gruesome, painful death. I'm there to buy drugs. Hopefully my balls still produce semen. Say, the nurse is plunging out of my dread a protean invoice shaking. No Wait, it's a pretty poet aggressively writing in her journal in the Rose Reading Room. So crayon, so parked, so deliberate. Sugar, let's be honest and imagine fucking symphonically Deep on top of multiple volumes of the Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Wait, she's not that spot. What was I sprinkling? Korean adolescence? Blacksburg mullet gnomes? This isn't happening. The big fish eat the middle ones. I think I'll search SpookyLinks. It renders me optimistic. It marches me in struts, dreaming of the last sofa at the sofa store. As You know, I may actually get my own talk show someday. And lingering around now more than ever, my uniformity says the other ways to say pit.
The stark molds. Pyramids puzzle.
Revolts flow. Lumps tax.
Chows chomp. Clots jacket.
Warnings flake. Scrolls oppose.
Swarms inject an owner of sky.
My profit and loss. I hold it up.
It lift us up.
No more hot food blues. No more astroturf.
I ride the subway homely.
I look at their mid-drifts only.
Sally is gone. O Sally.
No more fresh fish blues. No more salt water.
The boxes wish me a happy holiday.
None of them are real.
I'm cut-off the glacial

I piss in the corner but not in her bush.
I like my tuna with peanut butter.
I almost bought the farm in Bamberg, South Carolina,
But passed out drunk just in time.
Where is my birth?
Where is my death?
Where are the gremlins who raise my toys?
It's pills to bed, it's pills to wakey,
And all I really do is squeeze tomatoes.
Like a receipt from Buddhist whores,
My worth is the supernova jerking-off lambs.
I like my tuna in her bush.
I buy the farm by passing out drunk.
Like Ikkyu bewilders a shopping spree,
Mt. Tremper, New York is where whores rob the Buddha of his worth.
Fleas piss on their dogs standing in slime.
They read, they jump, they smell of droves
Smelling better prices on babies who dunk
Pork dumplings latching chemical suits.
I smell the earthlings my paranoia thwarts.
I can't read, I can't jump over this self-taught self-pity.
My birth is my death as my death is my birth.
I buy green tea ice cream and ponder a woman's ass.
I'm wiggling for her to taste my cum in her bush.
Exploiting our collective memory,
The distant billboards spill more clams than the demise of dinosaur polish.
Today is a holiday upheaving inventive underwear.
A genial Sunday
Just lying in lettuce,
Hoping someday soon I'll lie for polling.
The phones are always answered with a positive and natural tone.


Jolted abruptly from a stationary lifestyle,
He retreats, embarrassed by the spacious
Cacophony of material pleasures
And ostrich anatomy
Planning my mental breakdown.

Women hold tight as he looses his spine.
Flesh grips crowns exposing penetrations.
Organically I eat collective shapes.
They do love my flesh
And living in one is alright.

A sea-wasp floating the Indian Ocean
Could latch itself to my face someday.
Until then he revolves, assured of its anthropophobia.
Last rites weeping at a diner near Akron.
Hurray the remainder of tomorrow's rubberized prime!

He's so cloudy my love, but feeling nice feeling wanted.
And I do plan to quench your pacified pussy.
A catatonic wave gives us the grating fluorescence.
Bogey shots on our laps fall fast asleep
Without hunger for anyone.


Mummified shortages
Praise ordinary liquid

Traffic collapses
A flash of stability others hack

Crouching fences
Erected on the verge of sparse dwellings

Tear my pubic hairs
An imitation pole
Impregnated by its ulterior self

Meandering and chanting just to stomp through
This muck of disfigured marvel

Chewing bits and pieces
To thrill his hours
Of excess turning ghostly


The world beyond oneself is of no true concern. It will be as it has always been, and you
Will be as you have always been. Freedom lies in nothing to accomplish.

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