Monday, June 29, 2009

Pour Water On Me 'Till I Live Again

4 Poems


MOR FAYE

The destiny of old futures opens the shampoo coming alive.
Fires under tall breezes invest in the trains we board.
The planes the cars hoard.
It's our fixation getting near.
Hot-lipped ejections out of things to shift.
And calls come in.
The pressure attacks.
Abusive priests begin a new kind of science.
A second phase gives pause.
Our religion is predicted when we board the plane.
The hoards are cars and trains.
And calls run thin.
The many things will shift.
The cash counts tapped.
Our waste restores our fun.
Schools trade children.
Kiddie porn is the norm.
The fruit enjoys a particle like sun.
Pacifist meat on a stick.
The shampoo arrested.
The sun removed.
A consciousness of mysophilia porn.
Lines from start to center without crossing.
Pricks of our havoc.
Our heads in the vice.
A sea of no mistaking.
Shields and swords by the slowing we obey.
Old futures would breach if there were
A different destiny to teach them.



CORAL BLEACHING

My belly's stuffed with local dishes.
The Caribbean Zen Master Bankei perks up his whip
And whacks it on the corpse.

Too ashamed to puddle, bongwater loses sight of its shore.
And the sun reeks of a pun refusing to relate.
Lover, your grace waves spam as weird as Ahmadinejad-shaped volleyballs.

And we savor this fling when I'm bent down near my knees
Thinking a tater tot will introduce something iconic for us.
But no beautiful and memorable images or languages hold, only

Much that is regressive:
Persian goth girl
Lying flat on my bed like a Hitler bowl cut.

Cigarette ashtrays are more effective in protecting coastal homes and
Villages than storm swells and tidal surges.
I'll piously pay for the sign on a hill that says I'm alone.



UMBRELLA, FELLA

Above the raging cattiness and destruction, an ego
Wages crimes and must pass slowly there. I think
I remember you saying time was very different
And I imagined it would, bitch.
I look forward to your return, but if you're levitating I'm calling
The tabloids.
And if you write, I may not respond in front of a museum or
A bathroom.

The spell ended well, but this sounds like I’m going into hermit
Mode, kicking it all
Serious and shit lately. Well, I enjoy sharing hits.

I am definitely startled by your excited, nervous, emotional etc’s.
And regardless I live in fear, buzzed by
Burying my fat head deep up your fat ass.

Honestly, I also often see how my own "attachment to views"
Really has blocked
An exploration of such matters pretty significantly over the years.
It would really be wonderful to have to dive deeply into my own beliefs
And positions to clarify them further.

That's why I quit spawning.
That's why
I'm breaking out my umbrella halfway down the plateau.
Don’t cry,
Fella from the Stone Age,
Lost in a daze of thunder and loose muffins
Carving slick drones.



UNDER CURFEW AFTER COUP

Goon moons
Paint the trapped soul backwards.
What to drink gets pissed at sullen dings as
Tailpipes spunk a blond Pocahontas cling.
Lowly virgins energized like a fleshy stag
Synthesize the art on the altar depicting two American fags
Swapping God with their butt steeples.
The opposition and other ID's deepen.

Always been happiest while doing nothing
Inside this beginningless thusness.
Convicted of murder and sentenced to yanking, I
Strip the missing link and enrich wedding rings.
A soil soaker symphony, the violin abducted activist, my juiciness
Isolates the radial subconscious of hushed nonwords.
And further south a wild rash pries off its doctored tits, so
Clump creepy cores and pharmaceutical fits.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Bring Me Something I Can Use


WATERY GRAPE

In order to return to purity, the universe issues
A retard that buys me crack.
I can tell from your eyes you're thinking
It just ain't bright.

Randomly paced poets sample brands of hummus off of frog clits.
An empty case of beer houses a bird
Tweeting until it skips ahead in years.
Deforested genders linger, parched and indistinguishable.

Swimming through an immunity
Within the blood
Feeding me
Some nun pussy, unsafe
To love,

You press a superb
Grape on whatever vines are lowered
Toward the silent neon-flicking ants
Scurrying into caves that hum
Beside the toenails
Receding from the spray
Of tingling fun pleasing a Starbucks mom

Barking at my inertia,
Fire-roasted
And hung on cogs.

Her note from the underground reads:
Coming out coming out coming out coming out,

My asshole’s glowing!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Poem


I PROMISE NEVER AGAIN TO LEAVE THIS DRY LAND

First a lick; oh, hello, so
Where are you unfortunately not going?
Anywhere too far is later the next few
Fridays and perhaps on the next Wednesday too.
And weekends do get embalmed a couple of hours before
You might be close to coming home.
My boss informed me that he wants me to start
Visiting some additional people with the kind of viral detection system
Used in agricultural facilities that possibly detect bioterrorism agents.
Also, I rewrote a biosensor to possibly reflect
Chemical or biological terrorism compounds that think exactly like
My feelings about the afterlife, and it complicates a little more lately
What I'm none too happy about.
I guess everything happens anyway, and for you it's always been about
The chestnut trees.
If you tire of the other dimension, then
Please let midnight sleep in its intolerance.
I've been living without you for years, and still not figured out that
Life would probably be mostly boring if not bruised to pleasure the soul.
As for my own despair,
How can I grow a cow from the sand?
Following our last meeting, I sent
Some strange note responding to your public hanging, as
I've also been fading that way forever now.
It read "In death, expect to transform into a big parking lot behind the
Forestry building and greenhouses, drive through yourself, and then
Turn left into the library parking lot.
There's no real blossoms back there, so you
May have to help bleed pigs, which takes up the largest part of the ride."

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The Cloud Of Unknowing






















A White Ship Sails On The Black Sea


2 Poems


QUICKIE LICKIE

Solution slices creep out of the slickers.
Developing markets are bleeding the malls of model cities.
A passion for life always plans on its derivatives.
Movie trailers justify giant losses.

Far-flung scrapes rally a scheming variant.
Networking is productive, but viral.
Visitors at the Holocaust Museum pile up on foggy diaries.
Humanity may never be poised to embrace its vital role in the coda.

The cost of drugs scars a soldier turned artist.
We did not realize his dying audio was one of our own orgasms.
Rice prices stabilize after a black hole eats the Earth.
We find ourselves captured by antimatter, exiled in a realm of packets.

Live mannequins set-up boutiques in a manner never before witnessed on the island.
Sizzling beef, pork, lamb, sausage, and poultry cover their mouths and nostrils.
It takes more than a shooting or a mattress to make them crazy.
Maybe when we start running and screaming, it's the climax of their movie.

Think of everything as the one animal trees forgot.
A reminder of our duty to confront those who tell lies about our history.
Believe that the temperature and resistance of the bug is a mental illness.
There's no name for this tutorial, no name for whatever answers the door.



CODEINE

Then I understand worlds of glass, the
Place with the dull knife, a
Scenic phoenix.
And I rub for the white.
Goblins are fizzling.
Sacks washed back to front.



Monday, June 15, 2009


Friends birth a tiny girl and
It is good?
5 pounds of ocean salmon are ground up
To feed 1 pound of farm-raised salmon-
Boys spring claustrophobic wood.

Wit da bats on da gate, here's spooksville, man!
I don't ever want to drop you from my life and it has felt
Very strange having you gone from it.
I needed your expectation of a life together away from me
And so there has been silence between us.

Walking a pilgrimage through the temples of Shikoku, my
Bootlaces keep breaking me apart.
Pelicans enjoy some mantis condiments in a perfect correction.
Their house is completely contrary to nature.
I wish all the flowers were attached to living things.



Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Boo Fun



I'm certain you'll create what is an increadibly profound experience.

And the dead will rise from the living,
Shit in their rice bowls and throw it

To the chanting germs and ceiling bats
Repeating a growl kneeling depth

Of gropes not relevant but exhausting smog
Plaid and panting legislators flailing,

Spinning on the scruffiness of an incensed wad
Forgiving the fuckslap where time lapsed
Between slops of schedules and festive curds

Scattering in pillows stuffed with cacophonous leeches
Slender like an ankle and flexible like the thongs
Monks wear when they cream my kabob slanted,

And the damage displayed is a trickling simulcast,
Collectively folded inside iridescent colons

Burping up a dismal afterglow pungency
Breeching the boo fun

Of living as the risen dead shitting in their rice bowls.

I'm sure you know why I'm writing.

Adios for a spell, lovers and blubber.


Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Bagger Unbagged


Horse stables surround where the church used to brutalize.
A bagger unbagged gives into his rising.
I would've died if there were still other people and a shower.
I could've died, there are sorrows.
Ass-jammin real wet teens waiting to text my dick size.
I'll stain all day if the blunt lasts.

A stranger is pulling out his pulse.
I know how stupid this has all got to sound, but I'm not nearly
As clever as most poets sucking graves for the camera and bunny-fucking its list.
Never seen the light it's dark as night, never seen the probe on my nipple
It's tight as a dyke.
Tub by tub, the witches from Saturn invent a family stew.

I just want to be your pretty blueberry.
Asking about my shackle size is kind of like asking about dick size.
Like dicks, some shackles are bigger, some are smaller, but most are just right.
Blowing on a chicks' ass before licking her clit is often very appreciated.
I'm walking down the aisle wearing white and my father's never again
Going to eat his mother's fabulous pie.

Handwriting looks exactly the same as I remember it.
It pleads something out of a novel.
We need to get together so you can busy me more.
Nonetheless, a solitary life does fill such an exciting whore.
I stay one step ahead of her eyes.
I drop and drink fast.


Monday, June 1, 2009

Slicing Up Eyeballs, I Want You To Know


I'm kissing a black cat under its tail.
The triceps on beetles
Unloosen my rhino-patterned speedo.
Where is that Thai place you've told me about?
Lap an apple and release the worm.

If you could wear just one mask, why let 
It be a window.
And if I can't thank God; fish tacos.
A fall off of the bone taste.
Rubbers, not money.