Friday, May 29, 2009

Bat For Lashes Sure Can't Act For Shit But Lord Knows I'd Love To Plunder Her Pits With My Derelict



5 Poems


HYSTERIA, PT. 2

Reporting my taxidermy conflict
Pestered by the speed of erotic intersections
I censor your urban sprawl
Tightening collars on crispy cellulite
Censored your oak built cocoon
But I will not
Ejaculate when you ejaculate a bold alcohol dependency
Of accessories climbing onto myself
Thanking their drinks for chin cancer stress
And again I’m rubbing myself to listen how slurs
Inform the fossil of its insomnia
I bite and bait your funny muffin
Asses slap and posters desire what’s skidding forward
Disguised as a red puppy you throw me off the floor
You waiver my tube and blow bubbles from my sirloin
We lap up platters of barking gravy
Mannequins congest realms
Repeating the primordial flash
In the cellulite manger
Pilgrims beg us to devour wiggles
Repeating the primordial flesh
All torn and covered with half twin bed crust
Accessorized fossils cleanse the chunky
Kinetic meals of sirloin cocoons
Again I’m rubbing the gravy skid
Listening to urban sprawl ejaculate bubbles
My collar of insomnia tightens
An erotic crisp all tubesocked and domesticated


SEA WEAK

Meaningless carbonated twinkles sputter about
Whole piloting fits and
Churches totally coiled, but
I've been working my phones at the office and I
Really nailed it. I especially
Can’t wait to sleep with my little pickles. They
Crack me ducks.

Don't worry, the pricks aren't yours. Ho-ho, hence the
Nightgown stump. I would love to see
Less beach someday. How my wings will
Have a nice round belly going, as though you are about to
Drag me off to a cave and brand me with chicken ribs.
It will be good to hear you eating.

“Wait? what? wait? what?” That was fun
Spun from the Yellow Pages to loosen the altitude.
And our plane ride was pretty weird for an hour/ hour and a half
Due to the fact that after being
Watched in the air
On one of those little TVs, we crashed a small helicopter
Into the 20th floor of a bldg on
72nd and York just like Corey Lidle of the Yankees, and
Indeed we are pretty strange to watch
When we are on a plane.

Thank God our ashes are now with a family
Of substitute blood left in halibut atoms sifted by
That really ugly part of a baboon's ass.

It is filled to the brim with a great reverence and knowledge of the world, of philosophy, history, anthropology, literature. 
I spend half of the morning jerking-off into a disease.


SLEEK ONE-PIECE

If you’ve made it there yet, mine was good, although I sun-burnt the
Top of my left foot. Otherwise, I’m well.  I thought
I would let you know that I’m glad our

Danger is real.
It is such a beautiful lather.
It is a
Distraught mother cutting her nipples off.
It is the silence of plenty.

And I’m glad our
Choices include the cash glued onto 
A job that is tightly
Wound in hallways and mawkish kindling
Indented by the randomly put together
Copies of anything raised after
I got to thinking about our conversation

And I am afraid,

So I apologize.  I’d really like to talk about myself and learn
More about what you think. I just stopped
For a bite so I’m going home now.  I'm taking
The trail of fires caught in your spine
To get clean.


BLIND MONK CROSSING A BRIDGE

Horrendous how the animals feel me
Stalking you, usually not the slightest bit concerned, they must 
Seem something latched to your thighs. The kindness of a controlling species
With lots of sentimental thoughts and
Memories about itself, and I should thank you for that someday.

It's so nice
To have happy memories of my high school sweetheart. Seeing
Burns a very surreal thing in me too. Sometimes I seem to think I don't really Exist
Because I haven't seen me in 100 years. But then you appear and I
Realize that we are still in the same world

At first,
And I experience outbursts of mold in my chest. This lasts for about four
Days until depression kicks in.

And right as I'm beginning to
Eliminate sitting twice a day, there’s
Sheep if the voices sleep.

A hand without fingerprints
Flashes on the horizon.
You may see only
The stormy sky
Of the last time
I was seen taking objects off of it.

Our siesta is at least half of what I’ve said.
Anyway, we rarely mistake the bed
For a dolphin’s dick.


STEPPING BACK INTO THE 21st CENTURY

There isn’t much to say.
There still isn’t much to say.
It means a lot to you for me to go
Upstairs to find out when the cub is
Clubbed,
Then to go up again either before or after the
Runs and then go
YUMMY
Bum meh
Crah
Shah ugshe
Ba
Dor
Bobiefack
Susharmasshea
Othuntanklet
Ickstaneemonstration
Natchbreckumhorth
Atiteuckobbleibblehewoy
Dilbalearvagaeet
Toamsterspermellyuttonomitussf
uclesboreebok-

(Smell what happens once the fragrance of the moon prevents a traceable night

Glop.
There’s nothing to be now.
The most delightful beer ad in ages.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Pants Around Ankles, Too Weak To Undress


5 Passages of Ikkyu's Skeletons:

"The vagaries of life,
Though painful,
Teach us
Not to cling
To this floating world."

"No one really knows
The nature of birth
Nor the true dwelling place:
We return to the source,
And turn to dust."

"No beginning,
No end;
Our mind
Is born and dies:
The emptiness of emptiness!"

"In this world,
All things, without exception,
Are unreal:
Death itself is
An illusion."

"Writing something
To leave behind
Is yet another kind of dream:
When I awake I know that
There will be no one to read it."

(from "Wild Ways: Zen Poems of Ikkyu," translated by John Stevens, White Pine Press, 2003)

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Monday, May 18, 2009

Red Red Meat


1)

Fire ants cover an orange for the first time in their life, spitting
Out the occasional bruises they eat.
Otherwise, matter remains unchanged.
Mind gets-off on the transvestite's hiss.
A sun of machetes, compact
And risked.



2)

My reproductive visit has come and gone and you are perhaps
pondering a big move to CA and maybe you'd like to
meet for a coffee distraction sometime either tomorrow or Tuesday
or Wednesday? I sent some poems to the New Yorker a few weeks
ago, think I'll get rich?

And I've been back in underemployed reality. It's been
a painfully slow few weeks so any excuse to pretend things don't suck
is welcome.
Hilarious, I can't believe you're awake! I must admit, drunk
as fuck, working on the finishing touches in my head this evening and
I had an immediate urge

on walking as per usual, all is too weird not to.
Awake oh yes, I just looked at the clock and thought 2:14 AM,
2:52 AM, 2:35 AM, 2:18 AM, 2:30 AM, but we're on much later, excellent!
Things ain't as bad as you make it sound, wish you'd agree to get stoned, kidnap
your soul and shit, maybe I'll see noon unless who knows....



3)

You cannot fully give me health tonight.
We haven't fucked on ovens all month.
Hexes must become an option again if our future is bright,
But even when I masturbate, my semen shots echo
Bat tar.
A castle on top of a mountain guards the rebel town.
I'm an actor in a theater of coma-like tactics.
Let's start a family and live life right.
Thrust mulch if you must, I miss dirtying
Smothered things.
Watch, as you’re grooming flakes I double-team dread.


Sheep If You Can Sleep


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


NON-ABSORBING


SLOPPY SLOSH SLOSHED SLOTMACHINE SLOUCH CLAYMAKER SAWADEE, Cheater's Hands Never Taken Off.....

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Sum We Can Live Without



3 Poems


THE DOME

I hang a cloud.
I’m pulled in triggers.
My portrait is your greatest molester,
Parading portraits of your mother aggressor
Carrying drool for mostly one duel.

The deadly electrified hot spots
Dissolve my apprehensive orientation.
And the streets follow a perpetual beginning,
As I begin to follow
Your short and oral nothingness.

Behold our forbidden solstice, 
Fading out and bellowing loudly.
Vibrations pre-destined, a betrayal or a subscription
Content in choosing to complete
The death already departed.

O bless this food, so vascular after each munching
Of a feared vocabulary quiz.
Your puddle is a feedback forming my tongue’s
Freedom to receive
The implants pronouncing foreign cubes.

I’m hung then triggered.
The clouds pull down
Your greatest molester, all clerk and clues.
And pilots are sealing up their windows,
Kicking out sheets like I drool on your mother.



BIG TEN INN

At least your compassion coils on all fours.
My good life wades
The strip mall mysteries puking up pet bone vaults.
Phones are beeping near webbed priests.

I try hard to wake
The wicked universe,
But wind up just hard
And popular as a stranded throbbing.

I listen to the brittle sponges snore,
Reminded of how foolish maps
Translate explosions
For black static Halloween decorations
Glued to neon lime paper graves.

O I try hard to wake
A luscious bartender,
But wind up half-hard
And dangerous as soot.

My hotel room spreads her legs.
I declare our smoking vapor
An order of noodles.

The morning begs me
To commence this journey with uncut spikes.
I focus my spit on discounted lightning.
I arrange a precious hoax
To endure my blindness sucking yolked wombs dry.
My tender paws dissect the guilty muscles
On all striped faces.

And I'm so unfit for work,
With a bad head full of thoughts
About ending another noble education.
The mighty hose it fingers
My kinder hereafter
Eating the only cow
Afraid of sleeping in a cash register.

O slick fiends of mine,
Fuck bowing to your blubber idols!
While teasing my devil's horn
I've discovered an active stream
Underscored by distance torn.



PERFECT CRUST

My victory scrapes its slaughterhouse shovel.
Classic titles of ambush
Poke monitors out of swift desperation.
This is the better origin.

And near the murmuring border,
Notorious marbles pity my poor fist.
My package
Struggles to conduct your murky coda.
Divided containers celebrate any natural effort
That shudders to last.

An obscurity so pure in its refined toil
Pimps a row of shoes.
Our cheap and reflective source
Is perched like a hunchbacked poacher
Gaining an appetite for the potted frontier.

O flayed heavens,
I crave my stalker's jacket of foam.
O my promiscuous savior,
You must steal and crush these sloppy coupons.
Then will begin our perfect origin.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

3 Poems



DOUBT ON DRUGS

Officials admit they've let Pakistan too loose.
And China, well shit, it factors last if at all,
Riding the sanctions like an authentic panda taboo
Minus the coop.
Letters sent from Afghanistan describe the sight
Of models dying of malnutrition.
Their puddles increase triumphant laundry.
Their stubble reduces cost effective molecules.
In 2012, global warming will kill us white people.
O how I wish I were Beyonce's Hepatitis A
Risk and how.
Hell, I'm off to Orlando lacking roots and leaves.
A parasite of protests huffing to become ethnic.
My gnarly pants, my ashen books, my
Parents and chicken nuggets prescribed as outrageous
Fortunes proving creationism supports variable hives.
There's nothing else after 'em, these progressive materials
Manufactured for the material spent.
And chatty spaces turn into mayonnaise, softly soulless
In soft, soulless bodies dragged through Mogadishu
From boom to bust.
New outlet malls. New joystick dreams.
Wombs our lotteries obsess over with pizza.
No worries captain, the fleece and cortex construe the rest.
I'll do my best not to fester hope less.



DEMONS AND TERROR

Airplanes overhead, your ounce of weed prepares me
For a trip to the grocery store.
I clown-puke a liter of red wine up
On my girlfriend, on
Her muff.
Cabinets putter around asswards, the way a rat cellar
Stimulates rat pinkies.
The only treatment one can take during this mystery
Inserts an organic banana's twist first.
And I could do without it
Sitting here, licking my bones and running like flesh.
I am laughing at you, I just
Want to be left the fuck alone.
And because the rotting asks enough of itself, I need
To be mindful of today as if it's naturally torn.



OBLIVION

Mangles the uncanny blue of
A river that knows which mules to let pass, and which
Ones deserve drowning.
Standing on the shore, a claw spares the plastic bag
It cuddles.
Other survivors absorb the pages burning
So they might learn new ways of farming.
And without some fantasy to grovel, a slight refraction
Makes the world seem tolerable.
Vultures circle this ditty, snacking on human follicle.
I pity the river, perhaps I'm filthy.

Far From Flowers



a poem by Muso Soseki


Toki-no-Ge (Satori Poem)

Year after year
     I dug in the earth
          looking for the blue of heaven
only to feel
    the pile of dirt
         choking me
until once in the dead of night
    I tripped on a broken brick
        and kicked it into the air
and saw that without a thought
    I had smashed the bones
        of the empty sky


(from Sun At Midnight, Poems and Sermons of Muso Soseki, translated by W.S. Merwin and Soiku Shigematsu, North Point Press 1989)

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Poem


Whole piloting fits, the church is totally spoiled, but
I've been working my butt off at the office and I
really needed it. I especially
can't wait to be with my little pieces. They
crack me up.

Don't worry, they aren't yours. Hee hee, hence the
poetry romp. I would love to see
some beach someday. How my things will
have a nice round belly going, as though you are about to
drag me off to a cave and brand us with chicken ribs.
It's good to hear you eating.

“Wait? what? wait? what?” That was fun
taken from the Yellow Pages to loosen the altitude.
Our plane ride was pretty weird for an hour/ hour and a half
due to the fact that after being
watched in the air
on one of those little TVs, we crashed a small helicopter
into the 20th floor of a bldg on
72nd and York just like Corey Lidle of the Yankees, and
indeed we are pretty strange to watch
when we are on a plane.

Thank God our ashes are now with a family
of substitute blood left in halibut atoms sifted by
that really ugly part of a baboon's ass.


Sunday, May 10, 2009

3 Untitled Poems


stolen from Osama Ghoul because my mind done fell blank. Originally found here



1)

If you’ve made it there yet, mine was good, although I sunburnt the top of my left foot. Otherwise I’m well.  I thought
I would let you know that I’m glad I got to see you again, though when I got to thinking about our conversation
I was afraid,

so I apologize.  I’d really like to not talk about myself and learn more about what you think. Anyway, I just stopped
for a bite so I’m going home now.  I'm talking to me also.



2) 

Trends how we see them are misaligned.
Look back twenty beers and everything's clear.
What we are now the future unclears.

Pussy gorilla face banana fuck nut,
My friend's handle.

Fought a bitch the otter day who missed my dance.
Fished on the creek and had good luck.
What's in the box except rubber lures.
Maybe I'll get her one-

A-days with my giant cock.

Came home to pray chafing as shit.
Opened the fridge and counted the eggs.
Looked for an omelet to put in my mix.
Thought hard about it and just gave

Up. Opened a can of peanuts and just gave up.

Looking ahead at the goals we seek is not as important
as what ground passes our feet.
Garlic chicken wantons. 



3)

To see me 
stalking you, usually not the slightest bit concerned, must have 
seemed something in your eyes. The kindness of a controlling person with lots of sentimental thoughts and 
memories about you, and I should thank you for that someday. 

It's so nice 
to have happy memories of my highschool sweetheart. Seeing you is a very 
surreal thing for me too. Sometimes I seem to think you don't really exist, 
because I haven't seen you in 100 years. But then you appear and I realize that we are still in the same world

at first, 
and I experience outbursts of rage and impatience. This lasts for about four
days after depression kicks in, right as I'm beginning to
eliminate sitting twice a day. 


Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Not Here


2 Poems by Shimpei Kusano

ASKING MYSELF/ ANSWERING MYSELF

un un. un un.
un un.

mm mm. mm mm.
mm.

ah. ah. ah ah.
ah.

(shut up.)

(can't say a word.)



THE MOON

walking I was.
trampling fallen leaves.

moon rose.

and I.
turned into the street.

and again.
turn into a path.


(from ASKING MYSELF ANSWERING MYSELF, translated by Cid Corman, New Directions, 1984)

Saturday, May 2, 2009