Tuesday, July 7, 2015


beauty and the beast
in every molecule and atom
renaldo and clara round the world
in a dirty gondola
obsidian brown or mineral coca cola
oh why do these long pale sheets of cloudy mica
stack between the angular wires
where the sleep grouse pouty
and the chattter fire swallows
through shredding cloud keys
then sweetly whisper and drift on through the day
kemet km.t comet chem trail kempt
cometh key met came at coo ma'at
in a white jumper and white helmet
and white rocket pack with forearm rests and handgrips
floating gracefully through rocky valleys to the music of mahler
and gliding over hillock and outcrop
Hern O'hirn to Das Narrenvolk:

In 1954, Radovan Ivšić finally managed to escape Zagreb and
emigrated to Paris in 1954 at the age of 33. Within a few days
of his arrival he met surrealist poet Benjamin Péret and, a short time later,
André Breton. The latter, impressed by his reading of King Gordogan,
which he described as a peerless work, “limned with the dew of
primal innocence,” quickly invited Ivšić to join the daily meetings
of the French surrealist group that were then held at the café Le Musset.
From this time to the formal dissolution of the group in 1969,
Ivšić was prominently figured in all its activities.
While his texts and photographs appeared in all their publications,
he was also known for his work for sound.
The sound system that he installed in the gallery
that housed the international surrealist exhibition of
1959 on Eros created a stir for its unprecedented use
of the sounds of lovemaking.

beauty and the beast
in every molecule and atom
renaldo and clara round the world
in a dirty gondola
do what you will with a vertical hyphen
the vampire paper
laid across the fat flesh neck desk
its repose lit up, neither fever nor languor, on the bed or
on the meadow.

it's the friend who's neither ardent nor weak
the beloved who's neither tormenting nor tormented
the air and the world not sought for

the luminous psychic central pillar
the thinking alabaster axle at the center of the wheel balcony of white iron lace
the curtains of emerald lace which cover the psyklopfian eye, a wheel bead
traversing a diabolical circle of peace

and the subject
an explosion of doves
whose empty spaces
form the cataracts of lost equations
laid like nictitating nymphs
in the clear gelatinous bodies of babies

oh why do these long pale
clear gelatinous bodies of babies
house nictitating nymphs
of exploding doves
in harmonic blueprints
of mediocre décor

Ajax and Xaja
round the world
in a dirty gondola
obsidian brown or mineral coca cola

to cut the line

(exit rotating stage mandala with flip-top compartments)


neither sun nor death
will still the progression and operable elementarization
of the network toward new synthesis
meaning has loosed itself from whatever deep structures
supposedly tethered it
and floats freely toward active constitution
from combinations of particles
each tendering their own character
all writing is a metaphor for synthesis
grown atop a loamish table of operable elements

golden Etnas of frizzy trembling dawns
our prison floats offshore facing the villa and its organs
which form an isthmus as mysterious as Epirus and the Peloponnesus
or as great as Japan or Arabia
temples lit up by returning processions (progressions)
and in Venice the old irrationality and the new
the ancient theater pursues its agreements and segments
its Idylls

the deus machina is widely seen on stage as a character
an erotic and dangerous puppet
which burns the hands of those who pretend
to trifle with its elegant being
the magic spectacle maneuvers
like a great amphitheater topped with silent thickets
which moves like a ship among the tawdry streets
where scientists drink in restaurants with names like
Coco's and Birds from Mystery Plays
swoop down onto masonry pontoons
neither sun nor death with still the procession

morsure de chien

the drunken dog bite begins its fester
deep in the crook of the joint of the thumb
and the only numb poem visible there
is like a flat and calloused cauliflower
which has laid itself to rest
as an abstract icon
of a puncture
for the actual wound to the dog
was the drunken master
though the master was kind

the reel has no continuity

after the flood
parade sideshow
being beauteous
in what must be the original ray
to a reason
morning of drunkenness
fragments of workers
the bridges
mystical dawn
auburn daub

when I awoke it was noon, and up the road near a laurel grove
a stone smooth rabbit
foetus her in the veils I had collected
a statuary
I felt a little her immense
stone embryo image DAWN
and the child fell to the bottom of its wooden mouth
the great stone rabbit foetus was buried
and was the entrance to a well
where the magician pulled more veils out

and would stand at the focal point
surrounded by an impermanent navel of golden tiers
festooned with silk chords, grey gewgaws,
green velvets and crystal dice

I see the foxglove opening on the carpet
of filigree eyes
I see the roses pouring from the holes
of marble letters
laid in a drunken profusion
saying nothing
or maybe

dog bite

Wednesday, July 1, 2015


who in fact saw himself on a sort of literary crusade
against decadence
when the collective
was born already into neurological decadence
born into a kind of high (or low) {gargantuan or wohlgesinnte}
Sperl or Dommayer or Volksgarten or Apollosaal  auch Freiluftlokalitäten
and when he chose Rimbaud what or who could he choose
but the fundamental or close grotesque
of the cave within a cave within a cave
a sea within a sea within a sea
for Rimbaud could tell you without theorizing much
about the hyper-sea which is (already)
the collective hominid-as-bio-literary decadence

The buttocks bear two engraved words: CLARA VENUS;
—And that whole body moves and extends its broad rump
Hideously beautiful with an ulcer on the anus.

Venus Anadyomene as the Medusa of decadent recapitulation (echo) {poem}
the boundary between the hideous and beautiful
A JOKE (yoke), a lie, an oracular thwizsitt
as here I rely on Pound to make another joke
an odd detail you’d have to see with a magnifying glass
poetic organelles
Neanderthal hybrids
and Mungo lady
the soul a wunderkammern
the world soul a grotesque machine
which in fact saw itself on a sort of literary crusade
to exhaust this hideously beautiful promise
this gyre of hyper-sea
whose blunt opening
toy of this sad eye of water
the golden current on its way
conjugal faith (fate)
a con-jugum
a together yoking
hideously beautiful
richly poor
baroquely simple
queerly narrow
succinctly ambiguous:

As from a green zinc coffin, a world’s
literature with weird heirs heavily poemaded
Emerge slowly and stupidly from an old bathtub,
or bravely, and strange
like the Mimis (memes)
from Arnhem land

our name
E man roux
red butter
Georges Méliès
a shoe-maker
visits the Egyptian Hall
in London
where he sees
John Nevil Maskelyne
stage magician
and inventor of the pay toilet

tao pen
even the end
takes wing

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Albinus Boiohaemum

baleen ribbed trousseau violin
must willfully portrait arc
sign the hole vlad countenanced
with pretty rat's heads to replace
the torsos at the bar
deep in the mons where the rathskellar
mugnots its skeleton tuck
a weighted shirt's tail
its hymn a soft flexible tunnel to trains
of thoughts which have no currency
no absolute or final form
but flow as modernism unto web
as web unto promethean osiris clock
each number a gill-laced optimism
undermining sense
aquariumandalafence hollow
iron seahorse grilles packed with crows
where sense equals solid silence
the empty concrete ground
from which uncanny singing ensues
once smooth the varnished tide air hair linked yew
smoke tree twisted soul tree
the transcendentalist scandal was to view
the words in their haymarket marketing massacre
as angry vile ghost children
around the site of denotation
while the light still bent lazy fish shadows
all across the lawn
sign's cinema as an external wall
mimicking ritual
before a lark

scan doll

how weak is your scandal scandal
how long is your DOME
white dome red dome blue dome
because I only love you
when you're not legible
innocence wills a final transparent zeppelin
to flounder on the cross like a hiccoughing clown
its head is the no sardine car
packing many cross-swords
as the road signs play out
as the edge of the world groans nearer
to thee

your red inflatable bladder wracks
golf the pungent mists of oolong
their weak scandal
no shelling of the sun
no elastic tower to the moon
no full android body outrunning antelope
the flower is a decoration
a solace for an empty mind
there are eighty roads here
but there needs be none
but some say the wheel is bright enough
while I say the wheel is dim enough
to hang above the well
so let your squeaky iron wheel
anthem all
with a twisted rope reaching to darkness
a rope that enters the third eye of the clown
never to be seen

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Pung Mote and Rung Pote

Khnopff painted less and less, devoting most of his energy into the house
in Brussels, built according to his own plans, and decorated following strict rules
such that white, blue and gold were the only colors permitted inside the building,
whereas the external doors, window frames, etc., were all painted black and shaped
like batwings in honor of Ensor, who lived just down the way and would watch
the slow construction's denouement with a telescope, cursing all the day,
"He's stolen my batwings! He's stolen my blue, gold and white divan!" Ensor
and Khnopff were backhanded friends, but both paintbrushes just the same, trapped
in the same box, but Ensor had a magic mask which allowed him to walk nude
and transparent through walls leaving only burning floral silhouettes, like
human keyholes fringed in nictitating nouveau gewgawry. Irony requires
a kopf sensor. Brussels has always been a place for painted salamander divans,
great soft pillow crowns which hold one's head in place, and which keep one
from moving around too much, like a paintbrush holder.

We are called Walloons by the Belgians
because when the ancient people of Gallia
were travelling the length and breadth
of the earth, it happened that they asked
each other: Où allons-nous? Where are we going?
the pronunciation of these French words is the same
as the French word Wallons (plus 'us'), i.e.
To which goal are we walking? It is probable they
took from it the name Ouallons (Wallons),
which the Latin speaking are not able to
pronounce without changing the word by
the use of the letter G. Don’t change this
by the use of the letter G. Alter it
by the use of the letter G. Build a larger G,
a compote, in Brussels, for Cortázar, born
in Ixelles to excel, to eggzelles, itself, as would
the Tung Rote.

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Allowing the Post-Grotesque to Wallow in the ROUND

labor is ten - and beatitude eleven
but beatitude is strange - and prone to break off
one of its own legs - or antenna
 make opalescent rhyton fly across the room
to slam up with hands outstretched
the song across the valley - pale pale

(a thin jade rhyton eleven to ten)

deer continents tympanum stretched
as high as the sky - hope - poppy - pattern skull lady
no labor eleven in full and smaragdine labor pavonine
- singing arc pushing her numbers around on the plate
 in a miracle of gravy tongues
with a strigil of bread
and sileni even stranger lines to labor's
beatitude - one-legged poppy
number goddess line to sing the thin
red bubble of this thing across
the valley our upstretched arms eleven
to ten two arms one eleven eleven arms tune

to leaven bread labrys goddess and beatitude
the word lines outstretched in the sail song the cold
black iron soup
and the red hot acid baal
hope in a poppy turtle 9 cubits long
labor should this atlantean alien
noah thing this luminous disembodied brain sperm
in wild and floral armors
of opalescent gold
cool hummingbird wings
 and whips of navigational ecstasy
and eyes like gamepieces
on a spinning map

labor 11
and beatitude 10

mixing your friends
up in a batch
cloud gravy tongues
the human strigil

Friday, June 12, 2015

Silent and Polyfemmed

piebalds and jacob sheep
surround the fang in the manger
hallooo! hallooo!
beyond this cliff is danger
for the macrame' spiral staircase
which hangs down in the abyss
is decorated with shrunken heads
which glab and garf and hiss
and the whole contraption is weighted
at the end
with a hollow lead fish
full of water for drinking
but don't be seduced
rome was only a sandal of gold
where the dump played out
into garden

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Frank O'Hara / Charles Olson = Frank Olson

JF Kunst must die (coffee please)
RF Kunst must die (coffee please)
radio button
javascript pharaoh MK plus ultra

dolphin interlude

a dolphin swimming through the open air
is like a bullet in despair for it has no target
but the rainbow
and the pot of gold is full
of hideous dwarves

history is an excrescence of the style of
a secret smelling program

a dolphin is an LSD molecule
aimed like a bullet
at the heart of a bicycle going nowhere
going straight to the heart of  Sir Hand Surhon
or Sirhan Sirhan
words look brightest under surgical lights
a dolphin swims between the different electrodes
in his brain:

My determination to eliminate R.F.Kunst is becoming the more and more of an unshakable obsession...Kunst must die before June 5th. They found other notebooks and diary entries which contained his growing rage at Zooinists, particularly at Kunst; his journals also contained many nonsensical scribbles, which were thought to be his version of "free writing".

Frank Olson
Cointreau / COINTELPRO
= bacterial desk affect

Scientists who themselves
were enamored of Surrealists
and yet felt superior
were driven to create a compulsive
convulsive modernity
MK ULTRA / Andre Breton
= Mass Dugong Fez radio

Bernard Siegert / Dr. Strangelove
a dolphin walks into the ambassador hotel
Albert Hofman wearing a Salvador Dali mustache
Mengele hands Sirhan Sirhan the words to the song
Black Coffee by Black Flag
as sung by Frank Sinatra Sinatra

Frank Olson

bacterial castles
not more hypercomplex
but a cane

a theatrical hook

a theatrical hook
the structure of justice
the structure of history
a theatrical hook

the dolphic oracle
radio kidney kidney pants on fire

Twister was submitted for patent
by Charles F. Foley and Neil Rabens
in 1966, and became a success
when Eva Gabor played it
with Johnny Carson on television's
The Tonight Show on May 3, 1966

dolphin rainbow
LSD spy network
murder poetry


Sunday, June 7, 2015


hypna galore gone
its flashing yellow electric paddles could be arms or legs
or it could be the larval onth dugong
flame rutting in flame for the purpose and production of flame
which is not flame but everything which is not flame
and also is flaming or flame-like or is at least
all at once and all of a piece
like being a gargoyle peering down at the busy street
with slitted eyes and seeing medusa as she cries
her face must a be a red soda
red llama monkey sponge expansion
laying out a line here but touching the page here
which is no where close to the page
and what must it produce is something I generally eschew
for anti-production gives more possibility instead
Scheherazade Scheherazade
oh how your lapwing mandible fedora seraphim
will shift its wing numbers to gigglemeshes
hynagaloregon and caloric meaning
Neptune's gate while twisted still functions
and though it looks like a crush
our long thin snake bodies continue to flow
keyhole sun abode
language all black all rotor
a flying squirrel holding together
the walls of the canyon

Saturday, June 6, 2015

His Government is Hippy Which Forgot Leroy at the Amusement

Is funny sphrechen
give me your wolf's cub

pied pied parley club disembodied schrinneginnegehur
he was standing in the autobarn
owl train escaping mintuely then the jazz starts up

says 'you don't even know the hippy side'
but he was so young trapped in an owl train martini

each enigma is mother's mood of trees
say the reason for the bank heist
want a cigarette old beatnik?

yeah, huh, smmmmaaaalllll
it is a tiny cigarette, so tuck it in your beanie
let's join this ivy-dining riot give me your wolf's cub paw
and I'll pound the pied piper soho down to horse wrecks

no Feeney you are bathing in Saag with Gandolfini
ok Raclette your hands (their motive) are sluicing through Raclette
well it certainly isn't what Warren G. Hemlock or
Inspector Maudlin from Scotland Yardlin
munster child roadside shrine

he'd pee on himself unless you listen to you hanging yourself
let's have a lot of mother ankh gadadazohnfrillidarvish
hot devil soup that's Agnes on the shelf willth allth her tires

the crab knight's pony tale is working its way through the saladbar
herr inspector Gandolfini? Shorlock Owlbones, I'm for getting up
in Budapest. really? (siren song) scraping owls and ivy off the park benches

hand me your wolf's paw, mouse folk make footprints
moose ffolkes muck tellallism. yeah I am fat and older

and there is something drying in the text bin when you make the smoqu sound
with your felt tipped pen I hope your new brassiere fits you
your all gold ribcage must be a thousand politics for a hinnyginny rusenyodyob

these two americans are on the roof and jumped in christ's oven
yeah yeah cherry liquor  on the ubahn Senator
peacock sounds and car sounds
a bowler gets out at a zoo

the radio butler has a sore foot
I'll call you later when it is fast again

great he doesn’t call me
toy hippy piano
guten tag
don't be a jelly seer doctor