Sunday, January 31, 2010

Friday, January 22, 2010





DELETED SCENE

Re-this, re-whatever, your boobs
Reinvent me.
Set them in the pot, set them on.
Pour water over all the gold pieces
Of my thigh and smolder.

Choose a bone and boil it
With flesh from your feet.
Say, my bone is your fruit.
Say, your boobs are birds of the air
Scaling columns of moons of blood.

Choose my flesh to soil and enter.
Re-this, re-whatever, your columns
Of thigh and shoulder
Reinvent the bone and set the moons in a pot
With their blood on fire.

Pour birds on all the rich pieces of your boobs
Until I am the same smell as 
Death crawling without a ruler, singing
The silence of Earth
Before us.



VIBE

I see few stars.
The worlds are sooner and sooner.
I read while paying
The overcrowded brains
Many people
Born from babies barely breathing
In a world that's sooner and sooner.
I look for stars on top of you, it's
Like photographing a forbidden execution.
And I pay to barely breathe
People and parts of country
Moving outside the evacuated air, passing
Through bodies and sending money back
So we can live under suns and build power
With bloodshot walls bearing too many gloves 
Wearing fingernails unwilling to talk.


Thursday, January 21, 2010




HEIDI'S BEEN HIDING

On your face a fox
Bottleneck biting

The rain before it's charmed
Like a drunken fury tooling naively

Here in cities of ghoulish and practical curbs

We follow the brain to lose the breath
We observe a wind the roof sinks in

Federation cum underneath the wrens
Making glorious the servants of 

Boon-sucked ant milk to sweep


Tuesday, January 19, 2010




Cordless warpaths throttle
A dim intercom

Peck and transmit
The wedgie sneaking across her thong

Onion on the blade, it suggests
My guts

Jiggling out of the cold
Not yet air
But autofellatio

Still as a stretcher
Cozy like chocolate calfskin

I think meatball and baby in her


----------------


Yesterday the wind again
Might as well

Exfoliate hobbling
Hookers from the mall
Priming a place to crate

What's left for the 
Mud-flaps
Slugs
Patio diseases

Cocaine
And the minidress lather of
Primitive races whose mystic spirit
Premeditates my thrifty
Rachel Bilson-inspired pocket pool


Monday, January 18, 2010

Monday, January 11, 2010

Wednesday, January 6, 2010






5 Poems



A LARGE RETAILER

Everyday, billions
Imitate a roach teabagging
Pursuers that
Sign their names
Eating brains



CLOUDS AND GLACIERS

Viewer, just east
Thaws will open
Pointless distinctions, and yes
There is a dress code
Going to get us
Milky underneath

Or unknown causes
To a fine looking movie, to
A nightstick, to the
Bomber by
The black-suited
Debit card receipt

And I may rummage around 
Behind your tail, my partly frozen
Eyebrows
Scrunching dark spotted jurors
Almost covering the pecked out
Vanisher



NEBULA

People look tasty
When a photo of one
Is visible
From the nebula
Bursting biblical fashion

Many years away
Its
Mesmerizing optical hollow
Raises I cakes



'MO SEXTING

Ten days after Christ's Presidents Day
I leave you torture porn, and it
May be the earliest photo of the universe

In worm-terms, O dead actress sacker, that's
Not saying much
Possibly, my good dick at the end of the bed
Perhaps, I'll torture the ambassador, the dragon, the
In between that pillowcase
A year from now
Predatory hair-gel

We are up against the unlit
We can board planes with
Five to six pills per void, worldly
Swirling like a banshee's tenor 

And I slip into the plants
As a raw scanner breather
And on
An island-chain an odd sing-a-long
Shares the great suffering

Not many of us are heads



IMPLANTED

I've come to love
Bone loss, the
Four-digit codes
Implanted into other gunmen on the loose

I thought once
No one hears

I can't see anything
No one hears

No one hears
I can't see anything
And for that 
A tiny block of cheese
Both touches and inspires




Tuesday, January 5, 2010



8 Poems




GALOSHES

Sloshing on the swallower
Of lifeforms corralled for slaughter
Spoon like space and color
Condemned to the cycle 
Of a lifeform then 
A swallower then a 
Lifeform slaughterer of the manager's special



THE UNTYING

Ultramarine ground
Cradles me like the newborn
Gnat-headed

Snail on a spider
In the corner of greatness
Without a maker

And one day I'll stick
To the sequence of the jellyfish
Commanding from long beards

A centipede
Whether it's called a centipede
Or heaven
Prior to the final rebirth



BETTER THAN DYING SO SPANK IT

And lots of cute girls love that premature baby
Looking fabulous as it hand glides.
And lots of cute guys love that gallbladder
Squashing along like a hot pink premiere
With a gazillion pantsuits fashioned from surgical lights.
And soundscapes of emphysema
Litter the soy sauce strangeness
Of a romance between conjoined twins
After they've sawed each other apart to death; to
Shanghai, my Father looks for a peculiar strain of cilantro, then
Spends his deep strangeness inside an op art cage
Digesting me.



WHITEY BOUND FOR MARS

I euthanize the live ones.
I call them an angry force or the shitty.
After hours in a fishbowl,
More consumers cite parasitic worms
Than all other media combined.
I'm just going to keep my head down to avoid
Seeing the whale carcasses decomposing in the chow hall.
It's hard to prevent my drunken driving from sucking one of them.

Central midmorning of thick crowds
Gropes and stalks those religious people
Like they're the bloodiest and certainly
The most anatomical martyrs
Since Sam Walton and George Dayton.
An avalanche refloats
Well out to sea.
I concentrate on the boiling rovers.



BUY METHING

Pupils of ink rejoice in treetops
Rubbing rivers to take impressions 
Of overcooked, human-like relaxers,
Small and seasalting 
The rattles at dawn, and inside

The larvae is a drowned spirit
Perversely lodging
Deep pits with basements
And 99 atmospheres
That reboot me just fine



PEEPHOLE

As dirt washes and blenders pulse, I place
Corn down the invader

Off-tick my pen hours, the socks and broth
Prep for weeks
An eden of the small, marvelous fawn
Sipping from a river and nervously gawking 
At seasides of egg, the

Cheap pits
Hissing when all my sadness is lawn



YOUR FRIEND, FRIEND

Said day-playing gnostic games takes
My lungs away, as then a gypsy
Exposes the soul-crushing delay

And she brandishes me 
With a swearing by God that
When heralded refills

The eden of my pit
The rubber pupils
The socks in the casket that lay and lay



2010

Up a passenger told an officer
Of threats throughout the lawless remote
Like neverending gears within the wildcats
Urging me to nourish a real fruit
Mouthwatering aroma flavor
Fast absorbing
Dangerous levels of spatula, a record snowfall
Over steady backbeats
From the octopus I bow



Monday, January 4, 2010




VIC CHESNUTT STONEHOUSE


Pupils of ink rejoice in treetops
Rubbing rivers to take impressions 
Of overcooked, human-like relaxers,
Small and seasalting 
The rattles at dawn, and inside

The lodged larvae is a drowned spirit
Perversely locking
Deep pits with basements
And 99 atmospheres
That will suit me just fine


----------------


As dirt washes and blenders pulse, I place
Corn down the invader

Off-tick my pen hours, the socks and broth
Prep for weeks
An eden of the small, marvelous fawn
Sipping from a river and nervously gawking 
At seasides of egg, the

Cheap pits
Hissing when all my sadness is lawn


----------------


Said day playing gnostic games takes
My lungs away, and then a gypsy
Exposes the soul-crushing delay

And she brandishes me 
With a swearing by God that
When heralded refills

The eden of my pit
The rubber pupils
The socks in the casket that lay and lay