Tuesday, January 27, 2015













Friday, January 23, 2015




DON'T BEAK A GIFT HEARSE IN THE MOUNT!


what original mind
would say that a line
that caused so much feeling
should suffer

when you suffer not
the complainte of meaning
then and only then
will the yodeling protoctistan mirror saints
attend your 
champaigne barmitzva scrotum table cloth
with their houndstooth
tongue butler roman sandal biscuit
romance


a large heavy rock
will certainly put an end
to your brother's supernatural whining
which should quiet your dreams enough
to see the transparent capricorn fish's
nicotine vagina horn
dogs wearing mink stoles
backpackers in jeopardy
and transsexuals being birthed
from fallen goat rugs

now be a good lad
and play your sword flute
for old Jambidvupta


Most excellent granny,
Penelope's many suitors
are wrestling in the plaza.

Serve them poisoned gruel
and we'll have dog food 
for the winter.

Yes Granny.


TV said if I did drugs
I'd be stuck at home
doing nothing in my pyjamas.
I'm glad I turned out to be a drug
stuck at home
doing nothing in my pyjamas


a car lighter
sheeps
the sheffield green
grey


ideologies
are demons
that inhabit
the post-classical
mutation space

bardo-beasts
of the mirrored picasso hell humanism paradox

true human time
ended
in the classical periods.


these sheep drift
into the shadow of cerberus
whose third head
is a hops flower
hung low
on a lute string


i can't bear my monstrous shadow anymore
if I quiet my mind enough maybe I can see the transparent capricorn fish's
nicotine vagina horn


Samuel Beckett
changed
into
an Elephant.


as satan
my lonely yodeling
bounds through space
in a windy gristle

in spring
the butterflies will return


there's nothing left for me anymore here
except infinite potential
on an immortal plain of inconceivable joy


AGENTS OF THE CLASSIC
UNITE!


You should be an agent of the Classics, Robothi!


Every proportion is designated
by a divine transcendent principle.
Thomas Pynchon
is Mercury's Jack-o-Lantern


In life I was the preface
to a yodeling manual,
and in death
I yodel.


I told you to sign in at the desk before you visited the skull gallery!


In in any event, the human image itself, like God,
HAS driven man insane, which if not exactly proving the existence of God,
at least proves the divinity of man,
for Satan yodeling in the Classical period
through a transparent nicotine vagina horn.


If Syntaxis is the body of the divine syntagma,
I need to be ever vigilant
to maintain my cells!


What the fuck is it?
Can't tell. I think it may be a giant unthinking post-classical mutation zone,
or a robotic cigarette vagina.


I think you look a little more Kurt Vonnegut playing Abdul Alhazred in a post-classical nicotine patch called BELIAL!


gritty
1970's
conceptualism
was the last gasp
of the classical.


and then a fiery spermatazooon
replaced the flower emblem
that the yodelling satan clone had made
on the surface of the milk lake
high on mount sumeru


I'm spraying my photons
all over you.


DON'T BEAK A GIFT HEARSE IN THE MOUNT!



Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Rainbow Sun Francks Receives Medical Care At The Atlantis Base



Some days I just feel like an aging jewish mother;
Thinking, thinking,
about finding a nice young academic
to marry my poetry off to
before it gets too old
to klondike the rich and incandescent squalor
of its red and lacy lungs.
They are cows. We are pigs.
Who will wooley the swift
and darn the strange sockling?
Pierre Bismuth.
If only someone would make a fist of their head
to paper the bulb.
Let it be Rainbow Sun Francks.




Tuesday, January 20, 2015

The Death of Paola Mori



The wending tale of Igor's campaign
had been over but a year
and here the strange twins are seen
attempting to stuff their pockets with peppercorns
as the rotund pepperpot expends its final gyre
with a chime
for there are catholic aristocrats
and catholic aristocrats
and they are often quite different things
and what of it
children are everywhere
groping cameras before their beloved chimeras
hulks of rock made bewildering shadows

now of course
this poem
isn't about a canary
but poetry
Rosebud O Rosebud
Bice di Folco Portinari
who of course conveys
the secret meaning that you play
the banker father and the banker mother
the swerve or dive
amid the gamboling lucre

some say the gold that reigns
remains transcendent
while others
say nothing
and still others mumble on
messy Mori Bice Maurice Bessy memento

Et in Arcadia ego
the promising spoor
a little blackberry
the sweet darkness
a cloying obscuritas





UNUOMO A META




The gigantes and cabezudos 
are beyond the shadow of a doubt
which takes the form 
of a pseudoepigraphical letter 
a spiral aitch key
supposedly stretching 
from Aristotle to Alexander the Great 
during his campaigns 
in Seleucid Persia.



Aristotle
like the Virgin Mary
stands upright sleeping
in every penguin
that surrounds the offering of flowers
to the universal living hospital
a single complex form
with fire inside
made of wet people
touching sharks
with their violins.



In the Valle de Hecho
snakes rummage
through hiss-queered herbs
the long story of tea in their teeth
is Pontius Pilate,
every head is a match struck coinage
in Zaragoza.



A tight sleep
as between two walls
turns to fabla
the Secretum Secretorum
of Roger Bacon's
cheeky quokedy
the cheekedy cathectody
the split key threnody
in which the shoof penguin
uses a rabbet plane
to gut the cooves of the colliseum 
for the Audis to fill
when they Bailey and Bedrock
and hold the blade down firmly 
to the body of the plane
the actor
the active agent which is itself
hallucinating.


Monday, January 19, 2015