Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Geoffrey Lehmann. Banking. Studebaker.
a hobbled thing has wings
that pee n their weenie roast
the statue that looks as if
it'd been made classic by the unconscious
and marketed by lysergic intronics
yap yap ions look weird
as mexican masks
for volkswagen robots
my nipples wear masks
because their brains
are refried beans
just come in from Czargasso
Bizarrgasso
Ray Bizarrgasso
get shots in stomach
get frightened of raccoon
watch out for opossum
rune
rune
rune
cultists
with colored cigarettes
run the pipe organ contract
for the silent theatre's
pattern orgasm
Annabelle Serpentine Dance
Rudolph Valentino
as if the whole earth
is just some run
in the metaversal
stocking
having a pile
of burning Jack Kirby
monster kittens
fall out of its
oral jugular
maw
wriggling
spatulate
freak kettle hands
all politics is
is a form of
sculptural tension
or maybe like a regulatory doodad
that itches like a
renaissance dolphin wig
Dom DeLuise
turing
Torino
in Mustang Java
like Sam Weller
making bubbles
in his master's honor,
John Ruskin
and Walter Benjamin
as underage sex kittens.
All things
are alien to materialism,
even materialism.
"Bitch Talk"
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
junk's will.
Eddy Ebdy, I am leaving here, tho
the great gouts of jonquils have
jinxed my quill, bounding up out of
many scattered brick planters
in the funked out American Legion
resale shop whose odd glassy stare
goes across the street to that
cinder-block hulk upon whose
surface is written in gigantic
lettering
WEAVING
as if declaring itself and all
to be such, and I echo that,
whispering to myself, daidala,
deed ale, all dead, alduud,
alderin, daedalia, psychadaidala,
anyhoo; jonquils like cups
the color of emperor's robes,
tea cups for amorphous mythical mammals
whose odd glassy stare goes out
across the street to that
series of mangled trees
supplanted by that blood red
ideogrammagraffitofigure
looking mayan-chinese-and
poly-topostic like a shape
that says its own name
and means it
as only reflexive
geometry can, mangled,
but they will grow
I carry woven jonquil teacups
brimming with ink
to your hollow brick table,
Eddy, where I know you will be
laying out your oafy, dumpy urban tarot
whose rapture is detritus
absolutism, and the secret
of that lie, how we got here
in the wrinkling of an I.
Its grey goo event
turned out to be more like
a pink pillow fight
young svelt girl centipedes
with bouncy rows of breasts
and eyeball nipple spinnerettes,
I gargle ink in
yellow's cuddle;
jinquil.
the great gouts of jonquils have
jinxed my quill, bounding up out of
many scattered brick planters
in the funked out American Legion
resale shop whose odd glassy stare
goes across the street to that
cinder-block hulk upon whose
surface is written in gigantic
lettering
WEAVING
as if declaring itself and all
to be such, and I echo that,
whispering to myself, daidala,
deed ale, all dead, alduud,
alderin, daedalia, psychadaidala,
anyhoo; jonquils like cups
the color of emperor's robes,
tea cups for amorphous mythical mammals
whose odd glassy stare goes out
across the street to that
series of mangled trees
supplanted by that blood red
ideogrammagraffitofigure
looking mayan-chinese-and
poly-topostic like a shape
that says its own name
and means it
as only reflexive
geometry can, mangled,
but they will grow
I carry woven jonquil teacups
brimming with ink
to your hollow brick table,
Eddy, where I know you will be
laying out your oafy, dumpy urban tarot
whose rapture is detritus
absolutism, and the secret
of that lie, how we got here
in the wrinkling of an I.
Its grey goo event
turned out to be more like
a pink pillow fight
young svelt girl centipedes
with bouncy rows of breasts
and eyeball nipple spinnerettes,
I gargle ink in
yellow's cuddle;
jinquil.
Diogenites
wofog its heathen amulet's
amber through its lingerie
of fresh kill holocrab
blue data insect
parasite jewelry
entangled in fitness'
nipple foam
soft functional face
you are no face but lure
this turquoise lipid froth
assuming identity curse
its cure you bend
lensnake
shrewding
acoustic tic
presence
Herdonion
polluven
wofog pluvium
tenor alphabet
rubble analog
wabisabi'd account
ing hant lately
schitzophotony
zoophoteny
rub yourself
with whatever
color candle
the oracle mouth
presents
[D/A]2*ABFOO=
clus@äerolites:
cluseate satyrolights
a still lore
wileaftusk
Monday, March 1, 2010
the failure whose precious breath takes tiled tunnel
'to lounge bubbles manifold'
//
stone leaf oars
are stored, and their
surfaces are pocked
with a jumbled
cuneiform of fossils.
their forms
are regular,
but not absolutely
repeating, a similar
idea is expressed
in each one
the long doubled
table whose top
is transparent
was made
like a hoop
in which they fade
copper purple evenings
of poseidon in the waters
somehow
a part of its magical
dewlap
and her hip
became a boat
where its array
of giant
chin-holes
made a beard
of wiggling sea-foam
the white rubber
scuba cop
has a cigarette
on the quay
propulsion by disc
cannot be helped much
and the sticky foot
somehow renders
an off-beat
venusian naturalism
to the anchor lump column
frugging robotticelli's
corpilyricumythologem
it's not
the metaphor of the bath
that gets our good
seneca in the tub
aqueducts
mite
conductor
bandit
every head
in a hat
is venus
capacitaunts
it's the cherished
upright position
relaxing the testy
organs
fulcrum,
she surfs
imagine
the universe
as articulate
toe control
budding
prehnite
ilala
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Contemporary
difficulty
the Pleiades
plenitude must
uncouple the self
or what rare ought
is torn
from the decibel's
mask
itch
where quiet
the street
its sembigon
forefront
if we pierce
the cry of its
ramshackle
martian
daughter saw
a thing-like
mercury
flattened
toward
its page
the bubble fly
light cockpit after
philosophy elicits
photosophy and
philography
empty outline
of being
arch
mummy
of tinfoil
the Pleiades
plenitude must
uncouple the self
or what rare ought
is torn
from the decibel's
mask
itch
where quiet
the street
its sembigon
forefront
if we pierce
the cry of its
ramshackle
martian
daughter saw
a thing-like
mercury
flattened
toward
its page
the bubble fly
light cockpit after
philosophy elicits
photosophy and
philography
empty outline
of being
arch
mummy
of tinfoil
Off The Mark Its Permanent Cuff.
If will clank hole,
and where the perimen
of its glossy hybreed
of alien did clutch
the peripherization's
werebag, a cold milk
of gem would suddenly
coagulate the language,
all mosy and toward
the un, a hifist
fustal and creed.
Its door
has nine separate
sections.
Its complicated
and branching moldings
are often home
to visitors
of a curious bent.
They harangue
the loose confederations
which dally
upon the bott-hammer
and remove the last
of the boon;
the boon
which had shed
so finely
rightly, and
for so many seasons,
some mythical beast
with liquored breath
carrying a parchment
from an unlikely
and remotely
traveled option,
catalysis
with
Zambra
and Negretti.
Huyuk.
Huyuk.
Huyuk.
Do Earth's
chattel
mysterious?
and where the perimen
of its glossy hybreed
of alien did clutch
the peripherization's
werebag, a cold milk
of gem would suddenly
coagulate the language,
all mosy and toward
the un, a hifist
fustal and creed.
Its door
has nine separate
sections.
Its complicated
and branching moldings
are often home
to visitors
of a curious bent.
They harangue
the loose confederations
which dally
upon the bott-hammer
and remove the last
of the boon;
the boon
which had shed
so finely
rightly, and
for so many seasons,
some mythical beast
with liquored breath
carrying a parchment
from an unlikely
and remotely
traveled option,
catalysis
with
Zambra
and Negretti.
Huyuk.
Huyuk.
Huyuk.
Do Earth's
chattel
mysterious?
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Among the Bossy Fish of its Incredible Cameras
the old are cascading
in the thin jelly
wooden shoes
go forward
into socks
like camels
into woks
safe harbor
plus casino
erects
tuna lad
lady tuna
fake fat fist
the elegant purple
grappling hook's
in the thin jelly
wooden shoes
go forward
into socks
like camels
into woks
safe harbor
plus casino
erects
tuna lad
lady tuna
fake fat fist
the elegant purple
grappling hook's
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Mozart Dog Corral. Three-Toed Pin-ups.
just now, i would like to propose
more hot fucking inside the head
of an octopus' chevrolet, retreats
into gaseous netherworlds, libraries
with round walls of pear, and asia,
but not 10.
10 is dark.
10 is radished.
10 is equally Islam under total
not-pipe underdistinction aka
James Coburn suddenly
a refugee.
We can get back to tumblr
in a minit.
this is prue.
pure-pop.
mighty indefinable.
pictures of kate and pepina.
fantastical bosch-like pollen temples
inside its transparent
cerebral pussy lips.
more hot fucking inside the head
of an octopus' chevrolet, retreats
into gaseous netherworlds, libraries
with round walls of pear, and asia,
but not 10.
10 is dark.
10 is radished.
10 is equally Islam under total
not-pipe underdistinction aka
James Coburn suddenly
a refugee.
We can get back to tumblr
in a minit.
this is prue.
pure-pop.
mighty indefinable.
pictures of kate and pepina.
fantastical bosch-like pollen temples
inside its transparent
cerebral pussy lips.
pOP AND Brewgel
their two cubical heads were pressed together
in a sound like a parrot, honest, sturdy
construction uniq
quibble
its threat of violence
by the arrangement
of kidnappers
or ocean-going
bricklayers
their faces yielded
unto brick and stone
rare wind
the lakeside retreat's
only provider of power
dark don
could not appeal
its roadside cartoon
old woman:
shut up.
doorbell.
electronic obstruction.
police interviewing
the disciples
at this point.
her ass came up
in a pendulum
wasp meat
silk
socks
to strangle
its widget-fetished
passing between
twin solid gold parrots
our caravan
of brawling kickshaws
the final ivory pieces
cannot pass into the plumber's
big crack
with the coin collection
or chanteuse
wanna sun; ie
paraplegic
a little kid
made of stamps
a hook
in its chin
may flowers
like hash
not the voice
of the tenderest murderer
we were eaten
by insane camels
73
sex paranoid
and in leopard panties
with the oxford
corvine expert's
laundry detailer
wearing monkey t-shirt
dark island
where cannibals
once washed dishes
with loofa gloves
connected
to television
i stand there
contrapasto
big gourd
for tennis
the ivory racket
made
porters in skirts
dark
gypsum
gyms
snap them off
like butterflies
memories of candy,
molecules, trees
where things are stored
forever in candy, hollow
candy birds that kill
and eat like sinbad,
molecules
snap them off
like butterflies,
candy trees,
things like kids
where once goats
had lived inside
gloves
broken kids
don't know nothing
live around here
in a trailer
bugs
back up
from match
a glove
will
often fit
the maker
its
economy old
Vincent's price
thing drowned
can't recognize
the deal
from its starry
paper shroud
windows
like telephones
too much snot
can't breathe
forward its
happy mote
gives out into
banknotes of candy
rainbows
living in vaults
like whores
who make cheese
parrots
storage facilities
the tranference procedure
was nearly painless
its head came off
in your hands
i break off your hands
for museum banknotes
your fingernails
are mid-morning antlers,
suffocated in old
sci-fi
vehicles like a jelly
all launched
to pass between the scylla
and charybdis
of flower parrots
this tulip, tupil
this beak, keep
mice
that come
with your
new printer
in leopard panties
something fatter
could go in there
her assed stuffed with
believers
crunch believers
with that toucan
french bird smell
lucky
strikes
cheese church
radio
call
V-day
mortuary
gossip
all these cups
have held old guts
for years
like Handel
mixed
with Grendel
long liver
a stretched liver
a liver of Dear Abbey
Fountainbleu
where Pierre Abélard
shagged a thin
delphic mogpag
muck
muscle
then drive
Vincent Johnson
in Wichita Falls
my airplane
will collect them
hennypennys
should drive away
the turds
from the studio
there's no way
to shame a stone
but a sham stone
came bring out
all kinds of knights
with shaggy parrot-livers
shiny
ear
snot
it's blood comes out
as people with tears
the whole thing was once
a dark wizard-messiah
i sharpen them
in advanced meat binders
with
bamboo
will hide sinbad
tiger
will be horse
for pete pan
ass stuffed
with parrots who
collect good silver
protected by the
silver
kid police
tiny little mary
she's eating a non-sense
syllable
fata rone
fat ron
lit run
fatwa
Mick Jagger statue
she lost in Tennysville
no more advenue
for Alba albion
waging total
carbuncle
on el Dante, whose
alsoon a-napes claver
anon and answer the ante
with average barnacles
how hoot
goes
so doth
eye to
lightly ruin
the soup with a quach
of gufach
then run tendering tears over
its young girlish smile
black ovaries
are buildings
uniquely pumpkinized
high
narrative
lake
house
retreat
i close the shutters
launch the teetering houseboat
of laundry
down between its parrot cheeks
a glassine bikini of stamps
tardigrades
their their little feeler
pouches get them elected
quickly
gondwana
leopard
latte'
some magazine
the mice got after
forts
we build them
under scary isle
the iron dentistry
of its frogs
just like that
no more giant iron frogs
surrounding the city
our women
stored in hollow candy trees
like parrots
clutching
baby cheese
mice
and molecules
its sandwich
can go no
minstrel
where music
could shake any
supple sucker's
pi of figs
let's gander
poke around in old
parrots with bricks
shook that baby hard
but only some mice
and lettuce came out
inside a judge's wig
was sleeping with a nun
ass stuffed with
the bimana of high host's
acroasis of boat riggings
i am cave cheese parrots
cried
die inside windows
where lettuce cried
to hawaii
a cop
bent
like a pyschic spoon
old lanny
mini-recorder
moon pants
from cous-cous
resell
adjacent
to that
i keep working
dali up
a head of steam
it does not respect you
longing after
squab
and mutton
chops
dreaming
of parrots
on motorcycles
sanded his old butterfly down
back to the post
strapped in its cup
with a mean cigar-demon
filtered through tedious
liquid mirrors
calling
safe
safe
rubbing the monstrel
all over with mint and spice
liittle bugbeer
raven candles that garage sale
isn't jazz
stale
goes the widow
between tenements
but cheese hangs
forever
in seville
dark unknown
network
of dog's roads
fill
the ancient walls
i massage
your extra-long arms
John Carter
Warlord of Mice
mice
eternal
kaleidoscopes
give alms
in brick saucers
its best winter
still approached
and clambering the maidens
took their orderly auscultations
down among the mice and frogs
who were lanterns
for everyone
socially
appropriate
two owls
on either stave
of an enormous
U
villainy
of wills
to apposite
must mob
grabbing its teetering
old cock
pie flying into cellar
where girl
and priest
are squalor
like glass
or a punk
with a bottle
it's aunt hit
callback commune
she's wiser than
persia
she will drag the
free G
over near the fort
he's a graphical guy
pig castle
they eat off the forest floor
hogmanay
incivil
neat
panguingue
of Pineau
the recorder
Stalinism
toilet
the Winter-ground
of Y
"ecads" saying
"agads"
all oinkos
An organism modified by its environment.
and the chiasmcDonald
An environment modified by its organism.
An environ/mentor/ganism modified by its.
strapped to a pinecone
grey
mice cheese
parrot
in leopard panties
Another free-living fuckoid,
Mars as colonized
by Willard.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Psychoanalysis of a Lemurian Larva
The King is dead
And the Emperor will judge
Long live the Emperor of Fudge
The King is dead
And the Emperor will be the jury
Long live the Emperor of Fury
The King is dead
And the Emperor will contrive
Long live the Emperor of Jive
The King is dead
and the Emperor will pursue
Long live the Emperor of Blue
The King is dead
There is no King
Long live what the Emperor will bring
The King is dead
There was no pity
Long will the Emperor rule your city
1. De anima. Turpe enim est homini ignorare sui corporis (ut ita dicam)
aedificium, praesertim cum ad valetudinem et mores haec cognitio plurimum
conducat.
2. De usu part.
3. History of Man.
4. Dr. Crooke.
5. In syntaxi.
6. De anima.
7. Instit. lib. 1.
8. Physiol. lib. 1,2.
9. Anat. lib. 1, cap. 18.
10. In Micro. Succos, sine quibos animal sustenari non potest.
11. Morbosos humores.
52
all of it is home
but in the patio
of its disguise
i weep
and curse the owrld
mispelling
we made this
and the chaste tree
of its pussy willow
a corner
the little street
where we made love
i want to give nothing up
and find this old home
much more like a lover
i cannot leave
and because i can do little
of what i want
i hate the world
but do not want to
in this home
i killed the world
buried it in itself
and found the insides
of all things
not merely drama
but paint
under the fingernails
i fear
all of this is ruined
disturbed
and the world
made Gesualdos
one after another
thoughtlessly
and the sticky pain
of it all
is never comforting
if only
the wagon
i find a dreary baby
inside a tadpole's
soul
and think
it does not stink
when strangers
envelop
the moss i have laid
with dumb hands
drowned
in witches
skin
nobody understands
the road
i dream
in lechers
and money
and wrecks
but the best
is with a horse
bringing kittens
in saddlebags
to the sleepy
valley
firemen-
us.
(~O live Ghiselin!)
Paisley Go The Royal Pronouns.
Interstate melodrama,
Banal and everyday
Schadenfreude, whose
dress, like a wendigo
of clydesdale shoes,
must pick its scabs
under the nose of gro-
tesquely sartorial otto-
men, whose origins
lay obscured in daggers
of intuitional coffee
brewed like America
under a reflective stone;
Alchemy is an island
we arrive at in the
floating skull of a
mythical bird, our skin
rank with pustules
bearing mishapen rubies.
Yes, Harvard, it is still
possible to write, putting
one letter after another,
reeling up the sleeves
so that the angels in clocks
know how to bleed, caravans
of possible funnels
pour out, and in
from the landscape.
I spot the yellowed, single, tusk,
of a long, dead elephant, displayed
in someone's living room window as
I drive past on 39th avenue.
The Last Paisley.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Engineering Dead Frogs For Epaulets Within the Transparent Criticality of Spacetime Itself.
wax face set
in tender eagle
legal concubribe
removing shelf
historic bandit
come in stockings
languid
elf of self
//
o raccoon
you secret teaching
jonquil
gloved in silver
soda
a mouse
on fire
in tinsel
o compressed
picnic of helium chairs
this abstract decking unit
looking miles
beneathe the lake
particle
distorting letter
making it great
trojan albino
monkey
leaf
your chromium
fungus plates
descend
from a haphazard
marriage vow
between a sense
of logic
and a logic
of scents
your nose
smoothly transforms
from witch
to itch
to fence
the burden of sticks
in a warlock's wrinkle
is a sofa
a divan
The Nabi of Id
is in the navy now
and greps
how heavy
in the mole
of the fleshy
blind
star
alligator video car
you will go far my lad
all the way to gilead
where galahad polishes
testicles smooth as
beluga kidney stones
in the balm of threepwood
enhugo'd
Mr. Stereo.
hepping the burly taser
to these indeterminate fingerings
upon the decadent decibelle
a phase shift registered
missive complaint
whose contour
could be said
but only just
or under
the snake-like
robustity
of serial knees
which although
independently swivelly
could no longer
muster the illusion
of a truly
yellow journalism
nor its beardsleyesque
neutronium of total
oom-pa-pa
it squirmed oddly
and made shapes
but was no longer much
concerned
with the focus
of a single directionality
sort of like
remembering a
coldish saturday
in the attic playing
dungeons, maybe being
a little too stoned, her,
your monk healing
while you dream alone
in the cedar dormer
of little bookshelves
'the sleeping prophet'
thinking of the smoothly
pink nacred insides
of the
itself
the
itself
smoothly thinking
its insides
lost forever
in its
insides
while the outside
seeming to get in
nothing the smell
of cedar
like
cedar
octopus
like a
ladder up to
the hole in a
giant head
of cedar
to these indeterminate fingerings
upon the decadent decibelle
a phase shift registered
missive complaint
whose contour
could be said
but only just
or under
the snake-like
robustity
of serial knees
which although
independently swivelly
could no longer
muster the illusion
of a truly
yellow journalism
nor its beardsleyesque
neutronium of total
oom-pa-pa
it squirmed oddly
and made shapes
but was no longer much
concerned
with the focus
of a single directionality
sort of like
remembering a
coldish saturday
in the attic playing
dungeons, maybe being
a little too stoned, her,
your monk healing
while you dream alone
in the cedar dormer
of little bookshelves
'the sleeping prophet'
thinking of the smoothly
pink nacred insides
of the
itself
the
itself
smoothly thinking
its insides
lost forever
in its
insides
while the outside
seeming to get in
nothing the smell
of cedar
like
cedar
octopus
like a
ladder up to
the hole in a
giant head
of cedar
Monday, February 22, 2010
Two Fragments to Mr. Delaney (From Mr. Lanny)
To you the Muse this Verse bestows,
Which might as well have been in Prose;
No Thought, no Fancy, no Sublime,
But simple Topicks told in Rime.
-Jonathan Swift
The car becomes all of a sudden a gauche relic of another world. A preglacial monstrosity with its sweaty stink of petrol, and hot injections of oil on air so pure. We ditch it in a gravel pit and run out together, hand in hand, spontaneously, down the slopes past the Duke of Cumberland. Yes, downhill in a kind of hectic nympholepsy, the grass snapping at our ankles, the clouds deafening us, and the distant cathedral spire swimming up as if to impale us. The seven winds drummed while we were coming. Now they are silent. Are ears are alert, twisted into little helices of attention, but the valley offers no sound. It lies there like a toy.
-Lawrence Durrell
Which might as well have been in Prose;
No Thought, no Fancy, no Sublime,
But simple Topicks told in Rime.
-Jonathan Swift
The car becomes all of a sudden a gauche relic of another world. A preglacial monstrosity with its sweaty stink of petrol, and hot injections of oil on air so pure. We ditch it in a gravel pit and run out together, hand in hand, spontaneously, down the slopes past the Duke of Cumberland. Yes, downhill in a kind of hectic nympholepsy, the grass snapping at our ankles, the clouds deafening us, and the distant cathedral spire swimming up as if to impale us. The seven winds drummed while we were coming. Now they are silent. Are ears are alert, twisted into little helices of attention, but the valley offers no sound. It lies there like a toy.
-Lawrence Durrell
The Scriba Notoarious on his way to Gräfenberg.
koproslitherocracy
is even crazier than
its sounds, the noose
which hangs its
penis papoose pangs
goes through a pump-housing
and on into switzerland
bhang umbrella
dry ice cauterizer
emblem, could you
hepmegithrough
this poordamnedold
image, please
gondwana, in point
of famousness, i'd
sport my ‘random’
against all the books
that ever were written
by brain snails
sailing backwards
in levitating lotion pods
those yenderly things
which could possibly
represent the oddly
tingly presence of the
famulorum ala phanagallo
the phanerogiallo
'to speak like this'
with a high pressure
butter crayon pharaoh's
chin
wanking my chamois-cloth
diary dirigibles down among
the grazing fanchonettes
of cozy town
these black iron mooring arrays
are waiting for weird space merlin nautili
my god is like a moth
and a micronaut
with sacred brewery
and girl attendents
or just whatever the
FUCK
YOU WANT
WHATEVER MAN
LADY DUDE
STIRFRY FIREMAN LUDE
atlas mountain
rendez vue
pup squirts
pip squonts
don't be fanal,
like an obsolete
executor of arch
finales
fine ales!
Nommo?
Your fins
nailed
to the fox tree's
fanglement
the jewelly bon wordose
with hectic
impanglements
towards
Vegetius'
distamper,
teht lead.
is even crazier than
its sounds, the noose
which hangs its
penis papoose pangs
goes through a pump-housing
and on into switzerland
bhang umbrella
dry ice cauterizer
emblem, could you
hepmegithrough
this poordamnedold
image, please
gondwana, in point
of famousness, i'd
sport my ‘random’
against all the books
that ever were written
by brain snails
sailing backwards
in levitating lotion pods
those yenderly things
which could possibly
represent the oddly
tingly presence of the
famulorum ala phanagallo
the phanerogiallo
'to speak like this'
with a high pressure
butter crayon pharaoh's
chin
wanking my chamois-cloth
diary dirigibles down among
the grazing fanchonettes
of cozy town
these black iron mooring arrays
are waiting for weird space merlin nautili
my god is like a moth
and a micronaut
with sacred brewery
and girl attendents
or just whatever the
FUCK
YOU WANT
WHATEVER MAN
LADY DUDE
STIRFRY FIREMAN LUDE
atlas mountain
rendez vue
pup squirts
pip squonts
don't be fanal,
like an obsolete
executor of arch
finales
fine ales!
Nommo?
Your fins
nailed
to the fox tree's
fanglement
the jewelly bon wordose
with hectic
impanglements
towards
Vegetius'
distamper,
teht lead.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
FOTLAST SWAZI, WALLOW IN INC
the ionists
have supported the incwala
since 1937
tensila
pumpkin
run far
hilda
takes in
the swazi
beatified
dizen dunch
for hautboy
hearken holler
lull overstrain
pipe prose quintain
remord
scrow
shawm
expatiate
isotactic
ostrich
perrierite salting
slightingly specimen
spetsnaz taramellite
assagai
borazon if irone'
Tournefort's azarole
writing paradise
what is cellier
than to talk
about cellphones
fond féond
its frizzy-
and
s'en fuyt
or s'ensuyt
it cothers
the shew made
The Poppies at Argenteuil
TT greenhair,
the soph and self-absorbing
group of robotic swimming pools
puling thro' the liquid sands
a pan to grool
hamong the monstirs
courage to dain
any kunstideoroscape
Job
Ovid
Joivid
Jovib
the penultimate
reeferincidence
Quarlesmeprenant
tinguely
Get Thee, Sausage
into my swimming pool
Get Thee, TT greenhair
into my beard poem peacock
massacre
with macaroni shells
echidna
with summas of
metamorphic loinings
with the livers
of rocs and aurochs
testing the line
drawn between
daily allegory
agonary
such laws
of hard sonorities
have given onto
vistas of senile
seniorities
melting spider negros
have fun
in your swimming pools
which also swim
and the hunchback who swims
can never know the dry knot
of hair which rides the scalp
as the hurrican grips the carenayre
and the wild feathered snails
who make spanish tulips
of the arses of dogs
A Eustace
thing
cateruatim
admirari
looking awry
into the sticky
jellybeanhead
a thing so sticky
coo lag u latered
societas
and
appetite
harmundica
made
won
lewinski
made
always
wins
comitatus
and wrongful
autonomy
are the same thing
vast
like
Geoffrey
marathon
annapurna
demonstrative
suicide
Getty ghetto
body-paint
because philosophy
tells us
all sin must go
monstres (sin)
monstres (sign)
the evolution
of
naturally
territorial
states
he gel
Mr. Strunsky
is fascinated with
her echolalia
beer
mug
nights
drag pianos into the street
wrest drums from windows
after the comic opera
we conceived of chimeric
projects
FEKS
Liset Castillo
opening June 10, 2006
Theorsaurusenematombicuss
Fetus dancing the Gigue
FetusdancingtheGigue
Ftusdancingtheigue
Fusdancingthigue
Fsdancingtigue
Fdancingigue
Fancinigue
Fnciigue
Fcigue
Figue
you gift
carenzia
tactical
disinformation
Friday, February 19, 2010
Half-Sad Money-Vault Leaking Odors.
Feelings are factswhatis
your most recent piece?
Is youresume' on the internet?
Club Sandwich.
Lake's film.
The black geometric queen
become a building with excellent
views whereby
rigid bubble squealers
exist like smokestacks
image protein shifting
jade lace
eagle head teepee
in white hot
diode registry
keep snow
from card game
duelling banjo
etc.
hot jade lace
you see through it
the wind passes through
but the atmosphere
inside is tem,p
airniture.
Long Island,
New York
Criminal
Defense
Attorney
drovers preparing
meal
at Lugert
boutefeu
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sam.
no.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
One Consent, Geryon-like (coalescere in unum)
they are lost in translation
salome'
buddha head
satellite
glass-pipe
water-labyrinth
in space
scubanaut
with mantas
viewing stars
through windows
nude salome' clones
tucked like caterpillar
in eyeless
buddha head sockets
space
manta
tattoos
are annoying
in porno
L=A=N=G=U=A=G+E
only ever exploits
the naked innocence
{the body of strings}
of the absolute grotesque
jingoism replaced
by gringoism
its disinformational
twin
maya deviloo
AHA to HAHA (HENRY JAMES PAINTED LIKE A CLOWN)
for in its head like a mean callous of ever-trafficking queasiness did the meniscus bleed. like a lens made of squirming transparent girls, the thought of these several towns of android cowboys put together like vertical puzzles, like alabaster egyptian head-stands for sleep to hold the head, and the ship of the head already a hold whose cargos both now living and dead would inspire cults in which soft forests of orange coral could wrap around the analog of a pencil, a ville, whose tines whonce hopen could stripe the hopi animal clown's milk-lensed hyena thighs, adolf potato monster moving electronic participle albumin. quack, quack, the earthquake french history hat become too loose, and all that was human, nietzsche sounding like nothing without the 'voh' in russian. returning: all the writing, too. all the people, too. its single characteristic was this too-ness, which carried nicely like division into 2-ness, the real and the metaphysical double, that thing which i am too myself, and that thing which i am too you. it is alwheys all ways, are, too, munch. munching verticlapuzzles, henry james, ramshackle organism files, dada, beast-boat, polar anywheysa, sam. double sam goes forth on double mountain. lady friends. gaga. for in its head like a meat of transparent lenses, girls, all too people, were friendly with hyena egyptian sleep freckles, this word manifold lacks completion, ie life, gugoilokiolookifuilior, figfikrilloxilopisoipisoapy pony, a long hot cock in your schnozz, snorting up the pony's baloney, aha, too, haha.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Slapstick Method
Hanzo
The Razor Sig
Mar
Po
LK~E
a survey
The dynasties
would approach
as if in their own
vehicular combination
of gruel
and graal
like
Cezary Bodzianowski
saying
"Everyday Absurdism"
to
Rachel Harrison
saying
"value and display"
to
Nedko Solakov
saying
"Conflicted Authority"
to
FEUERWEHR
whose schreibe
lost is are
near the
EINSCHLAGEN
or remembering
ESSEN
now become
ESSER
The R
and ART
an head
POMME LAMBIC
LES SALTIMBANQUE
NOTES
Annelise
Coste
Why People Don't Like Me.
I spend nearly 15 minutes telling myself
I could be an urban painter. I describe
the stupidest verticals into blish, start
carving out the new abstract expressionism
based in delimitations of urban geography
carried into dull color and made sublime,
subline, supine.
A Sioux penny.
Translitera.
Sioux.
Black Foot.
Cherokee.
Starts to almost sound French.
like Huysman
and Proust
as Described by
Coolidge while
in a fist fight
with a bong hit
named
Herman Hesse
Beer is literature.
I've had one bottle of Green Flash
WEST COAST ipa
and now I'm onto the
ROOTS ISLAND RED
which after the cannabisian hops
tastes almost chocolate.
I own a dumb book
by an american laymen
that puts for the theory that
the medusa myth
is a veiled reference to corpses
the look of corpses.
I own alot of books about Medusa.
That particular book is not my favorite.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Moth Nib
Husqvarna
dimple
Shirley
Temple
radios that act like bubbles
rise up through the fluted rooms
its skin is something
like a billion capsules
housing pharaonic salamanders
we are organizing
color foams
for your fate
of hermetic browser
induction union
throughout all the memories
you
not knowing throughout
but especially
when we take for granted
mantilla
witch hazel
bull thing
with stingray ear
candle cities
i get inside
green cyborg clay
as
organs are invaded
Shirley Temple enters
The Body of Gulliver
its machine blox
dividing
as
silver origami
astronaut
and like totally
astringent
mini-vacuum
oracle diorama
call
binfom
the crud
in its corners
peeling eyebulls
lake fruit
dimple
Shirley
Temple
radios that act like bubbles
rise up through the fluted rooms
its skin is something
like a billion capsules
housing pharaonic salamanders
we are organizing
color foams
for your fate
of hermetic browser
induction union
throughout all the memories
you
not knowing throughout
but especially
when we take for granted
mantilla
witch hazel
bull thing
with stingray ear
candle cities
i get inside
green cyborg clay
as
organs are invaded
Shirley Temple enters
The Body of Gulliver
its machine blox
dividing
as
silver origami
astronaut
and like totally
astringent
mini-vacuum
oracle diorama
call
binfom
the crud
in its corners
peeling eyebulls
lake fruit
Scandal
please have sex with me,
virgin alphabet whose hair is
of damp cotton, the mother
is a shirt
on a dog
now inviting us
in front of
the rain
the cloud inverted
becomes like wood
and the fire
a fountain
of streaming digits
what open source
body-language
can do to someone
not owning its total
nod
its like so
neural networth
a nod to the soft
sod, to the dross
of some ozymandian
eye-pod's god,
what else is the
monolith but a high
deaf
reality interchanger
uhn-huh
deaf-con
Stanley Tool
Cube-Brick
Earth is made of sex
but made for
data storage
and the leaves of grass
like angry ass
saw you
gnawing
ear off
from utopian dreams
we have constructed
polytopian phanerolase
all thought
is sex with pictures
virgin alphabet whose hair is
of damp cotton, the mother
is a shirt
on a dog
now inviting us
in front of
the rain
the cloud inverted
becomes like wood
and the fire
a fountain
of streaming digits
what open source
body-language
can do to someone
not owning its total
nod
its like so
neural networth
a nod to the soft
sod, to the dross
of some ozymandian
eye-pod's god,
what else is the
monolith but a high
deaf
reality interchanger
uhn-huh
deaf-con
Stanley Tool
Cube-Brick
Earth is made of sex
but made for
data storage
and the leaves of grass
like angry ass
saw you
gnawing
ear off
from utopian dreams
we have constructed
polytopian phanerolase
all thought
is sex with pictures
Monday, February 15, 2010
What is this Edgeworthia chrysantha?
I do no gardenia
with the winter's
chinese friend
the paper bush
soft fragile limbs
and habit like
an anemone with
dainty elephant elbows
fragile sweet
brittle ice loquat
frosty tea beard
scribe tree
your yellow velvet
trumpets in clusters
among a barren network
we work to experience this
what to say you say
pollen masks of conversation
among the sky masks
of compressed saffron
lapis milked with water
stoned custards from which
the growth is never certain
we go inside a fence unseen
Sunday, February 14, 2010
D-Forge
I am still thinking about
should if I was to, still,
becoming like an English Garden,
its cow-skull branded, star
ala Fête du grammaton,
etymologicon, as the character
of the bonds between the
items, I am still, moving,
still moving into stillness,
a movement, as if the narrative
of abstraction were not
anti-narrative, but one of
framing and scale, transduction,
and functionalism, representation,
its methods for earning an urn
less slept in.
SLEEP URN.
it is turned in the open air
like a finial
it can even be called a
plein air finial
and diogenes knew this
before killing the robe
chyle
ROB
bore mettle.
throttle punk.
windows based in a wrinkled
stoma
stoma lined stoa
a model of the sentence
or a mottle where by the vehicle
stays entranced
or if even one comic reality
its inflatable black cock balloon helmet
used as a key
to a sacred space
as if the entire public or external world
had been carnival
and once we pass indoors
there is a vacuum throbbing hush
where math
is made
the inside of the horse
and the formula
for fire morphology
as context of the hiss
why water
the compositional
extirpation
between types of ordering
and disordering
value schemes
we can reference certain
smooth or carbuncular avenus
granite
travertine
the devil's mutant purple opal skull
and the way it can replentish itself
from a hose
psychological amplitude
is measured with a unit
called
the ontodyne
Saturday, February 13, 2010
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enthusiasm comes out of the earth
at closing time
firmes
its geological
crystal binocular
stand
at closing time
firmes
its geological
crystal binocular
stand
Friday, February 12, 2010
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Plato and the Confusion
Plato
owned a building near my home
called The Christian Deaf Church,
and a young beautiful
black woman stood
on the sidewalk out front
at the bus stop
talkiing on a cellphone
as I drove past.
Lately, Plato
had begun to regret
certain things in his
past life, but ever
vigilant to his beliefs
joined a secret society
called,
Grandma's Funky Furniture.
The members were mostly women,
and the men that were admitted
were of a curiously deformed manner,
even Plato himself, had
two left feet, or rather,
he too, had left a feat,
and one more detail, and
this was something that Plato
must've surmised, was that the whole
of Grandma's secret was its total
basis in the conversation
of the Chamois Hunter
and Manfred.
Plato also collected
funky furniture.
Nought The Frame, and Jolly The Stacks
the white carcass hides
in the roots
and the weight of the stone
gives it constant song
as its contemporary miners within
produce the gas to hale
its flute sails
and the blue sun
is gathered
with a glove
its purring tendrils
escape as it's plucked
to make new suns
and it all seems
so electric
in the buzz
light slithers
through the wild
projection manifold
giving it semblance
amblance
humble
and cough
it dissembles
remains
and beckons
and the stack of red sheets
makes a smoke of framings
which in turn ionize
to make a yellow sheet
and the whole thing
was constructed like a joke
but the laughter has long
subsided
and now the "like"
becomes ever more mysterious
and that mystery is
ever renewed
though black vacuum
as we all know well
frames the whole
in the roots
and the weight of the stone
gives it constant song
as its contemporary miners within
produce the gas to hale
its flute sails
and the blue sun
is gathered
with a glove
its purring tendrils
escape as it's plucked
to make new suns
and it all seems
so electric
in the buzz
light slithers
through the wild
projection manifold
giving it semblance
amblance
humble
and cough
it dissembles
remains
and beckons
and the stack of red sheets
makes a smoke of framings
which in turn ionize
to make a yellow sheet
and the whole thing
was constructed like a joke
but the laughter has long
subsided
and now the "like"
becomes ever more mysterious
and that mystery is
ever renewed
though black vacuum
as we all know well
frames the whole
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