Monday, December 23, 2013

Recent Publications




Gary J. Shipley and I traverse the fresh graveyard of Whole Beast Rag with a helping of 10 collaborations here




The mysterious DJ Gay Gravy and I offer 4 of our Scapes over at gobbet

Here's one earring in an asshole:









Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

MASK WITH SAUSAGE




gobbet press just released a new collection of my poetry. Take one last look at your sacred heart before it blows. Buy my bitch here



Monday, September 23, 2013

Monday, September 2, 2013

2 Poems






THE OBLIGATION TO SEX, THE OBLIGATION TO WORK, THE COMING OF DEATH

A white ant is falling as rain.
It is He who gives and rots.
He is the hunter I meet everywhere.

Rivers and storms sustain a language I am unable to escape.
A marshy and watery web scattered all about.
Able is an earthquake with its face upwards.

My recent years are naked and in disorder.
God sends food:
Short green hair squeezed from lumps.

God sends an anthill changed into female circumcision.
The place of the dead coils itself around the earth and keeps it firm.
Layer by layer, I am worn by a color with one breast.

I draw a male and female outline on the ground, on top of one another.
And then I sit down to eat it.
The grasshopper stays.

Some brew beer from it, others burn it.
I become ill and die in a deep farce.
This is the beginning of rice.



WITH BLUE WINGS, YELLOW MIDDLE AND STRIPED LEGS

I summon my diviner.
He is shut up in a rock he thought up.
I love only one cow and I thrive on her milk.
Bees know nothing when I take her to bed.

The sky, in spurts, is so low that
When I raise my dick I hit the sky.
My wife pounds her corn using a wooden troll.
These are piled one on top of another and nearly reach up to heaven.

The old tree tears pieces off of clouds to eat.
Clouds are forbidden to grow anymore.
My diviner pounds my wife using a dried ram's horn.
He is my dick whittled to picnic fork.

I fall down to my knees and ask the Creator to take my life.
My milk gives birth to the first child it thinks up.
I fall down to my knees and beg the Creator to spare my life.
My diviner knows that in my armpit is an extra mouth.