Monday, August 31, 2009


Great Hairpiece!

Why have you forsaken mighty mite?

A Grecian formula

1 racer

approaches infinity.

half-lap yodel.


Sunday, August 30, 2009

Said Pan To Myme

if its spider
would mother apartments
or tame the hollow ilk
of clean walls

our tatami prefect
noticed how deglazing
tuna miso
enters rice

holy stars
in a trinket maze blanket
or coming lightly in the rain
such nearly transparent bambooi
to parent a lace-gilled salamander bottle's
innocent pause

as if buddha could only live
trapped in a tiny cell
half submerged in green tea

horns screw off
revealing pocket watches
at the temples
that vibrate
or flex inward

dark blue cave of skull
dark blue velvet skeleton

those nudes
inside a grasshopper's
jade head

pause before the cavern of silverware
and take out across
the thin lumpy corruption
of its thinking
its gurgle
or "thought"

no good treat
but treatmeants

or staglia

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Lord Monkey Gives Good Golfcart.

When twine ills the stein, and when
the Planet Louisiana
pulls out its beef-bone,
Lord Monkey speaks
to golfcart.

Old Lord Monkey, in your
Parthenon of butterfly shirts,
in your butterfly shrimp-zeppelin
whose antennae drag across
the old Mississippi raceway

We breed Elizabeth Taylor clones
in a Logan's Run city somewhere in

Liz tends the Bourbon,
brushes hard on lithe racehorse hide
to make it shiny, like her heiny
to make it good as golfcart.

When things are golfcart good,
when the Planet Louisiana
smells like

or albino crocodilo with red-eyed
Thai witch priestess head

abaesthetics will golfcart
in the rumbling HD streets.


hurling devis
as in the Egyptian underworld
of tuat

"These here Godesses,"
says Lord Monkey real Golfcart-like
"vomits other tinier goddesses


like a fountain."

Lord Monkey spits
a golfcart, finally, then says,

"A dark pig cain't stump-break
a Chinee mule saucer pilot's

Friday, August 28, 2009

Do you Have and Interbeesting Mammory?

Will you rub my bawls?
Will you rub my bawls?
Will you rub my bawls?
Will you rub my bawls?

Will you?

Rub my Bengali Bauls,
my Garamantian Baals,
my Ichi Dai doo da Balzac
ala Hippodrome?

Will you fluke my daikon

Will you admit you are evil,
blighted and hoirny?

Will you sheathe your samurai
of achey breaky flart?

Could you please do a re-write
on my wack-ass part?

Look, here's the hairdresser's kid again:

He played a WW2 werewolf soldier at age 6
for halloween.

He played WHITE NOISE, when he was 26..

Will you luxor all the lucre, and charm
ant all the incredibly non-political parameters
that have allowed life

in all the known universe
to come into being here?


Do you phantasize
about all those dead races
in a hundred trillion
far off worlds?

Do you still think I need to apologize
for your old fucked up world?

I remember riding a horse.

That is what I actually consider
an interesting memory.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Glue Horse Charities and Bombs of Milk

vast limoges, is your blur of odalisque concatenati
giving handle, giving quickened breath?

when i enter your porcelain navels to sleep
in secret basins of warm milk, I find such
long haired frog-shoes.

golum in the navel caves of limoges
is johnny winter

who plays his old albino guitar
on a salamander of china white heroin
whose ribs of transparent crystal
seem as blue as proust's paper-thin head

many frail asmat
live in the limoges area

their white afros begin like columns
but have no capitals

in a hiss of salamanders of milk
i drift off to sleep
in a freakish mountain of limogesodalisque

johnny winter
is a bird's nest of snowflakes
in my navel

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

A Jellybean Accepts His Rejection.

Do trees know your world?
Or do they grow, and dream

in Growth.

Entrainment Among Post-Capital Effligies.

the punitive kook machine
is say sun knuckle

is say
already huge gabberdyne solids
coalesking unitary balloon desk scary

the punitive kook machine

has a modulus of copulation

98 to 426 nodes

node 1:

coupling is good,
the ratherhrack is thinning
the mime reponce sweltemont.

node 2:

a hot blue gel is flowing
from both the couplings.

(I've never seen this before)

node 3:

Not operating. The Julil is acting
strangely. Pass over a sub-node echo
and try to achieve cross-fire.

node 4: ultimate singularity!
the white hot lotus mask is singing chaosomata!
beauty, morphology, naked light!


A sea-horse with an infinitely long
set of antlers that tend to helix
has computational genitalia
instead of "points"..

A chiral pair of these is

"Irronizing to Satwa"

Waves of post-capital
to follow.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


They are physical, Cumæan, they
are the willful cannots of a heart-
head threaded with infinite vines,
whose fatiferous iron goes mete
where the two foot saws its sum,
and muses the sway from the yaw
to the castanet.

Dark ivy.
With the arc
I vy.

All shivery
in its mushroom

Monday, August 24, 2009

Skin Breeze Spaghetti Western

rich chocolate carnation
N looks at P
who takes from S

lava cops:

When the Giants
come down out of their wigs,
and when the red window
briefly shows

a mask of chocolate carnations..

Camus. Comus. Comets.


If we are singing
like castrati
in our watermelon armor..

If delicate Flemish women
with flesh like babies
tug our beards
as we swim among the whirlpools
choked with lilies..

Prose's peril?

Illumination can be synthetic,
redirected, It
can be a series of candles
placed into an orrery
whose author

is wiser than pain,
is looser than, the, "apparently"

elemental narcissism
of Pyrrhic vaticry,

a long fail glow
where the glory
is an enormous mask
which is a window

through which
a masked ball is

The Ferry-Man's Idiot Mouth

Do you know where the dentist
keeps his menace?

A mentalist enters the hygienic
boundary, and 3 young schmoos
come out to greet each
a mirrored

I cant say any of your blogs
actually rival

Richard Alva "Tony" "Dick" Cavett

all that much particularly
and "rival" itself

like a puzzle inside a dream
a lather existing aside
from the pony

I knew a very famous dentist
whose had had a full length
nude painting done of his wife
in the nude with her breast
enhancements, and of course

bright white perfect teeth.

Do you think many of us
get to move into the frock
where the fetish

bends everso

a fern discretely singing
in the shadow of all Knossos

Our fat breasts
nearly immovable
in the somersault
over the bull

I'd put "somersault"
in the ring with "rival"

"Rival" is the dental hygienist
to "Somersault" though I hate those
kinds of silly


Death to Punctuations!
Blazing Drawers!

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Ultimate Daybreak Is The Cavalier Polypodium

The sweet camera mumbled in its boot:

lloonngg duilnd mod idit sno ruttli plomp
mud nuttli nil duildi jutl

and slangrel galacto spy.

On the surface, if its expression was bifidly

good, the closed and deliberate mansions
of its rivers became any kind of excutifidian,
or super free-swimming mandible

free-swimming mandible
dangling odorless pomme-pommes

free-swimming mandible
in loo of sport ckicken chapeau

fissiped deeply immured

free-swimming mandible
looking incredibly arranged
at the surface of a singular hex

minimifidian ogler angling niggling wigglers

a 'washing hex'
whose mother mercury
behaved as an isle
of perfected and immortal
women (called Edward)

reef russeting scuffler

Edward Mercury
Sport Chicken
Lady Anomaly


trapped and entangled in
the personalities of objects,
in the dust-brown hat
whose gastropod's lungs
are the brown dust of millions
of interconnecting mansions,
mostly of a hat-like mansion

swimmers inside

trestle-tree splicing trifid wood

is connected
so that the loveliest of the swimmers

after reclining for the evening
on tofu-like furniture of mercury cubes

might find their way
into the curtains
hung with smiles

or are they spy rings?

Cypripodium, which it stands inside:

A swimmer could invade a gastropod
and push its hat up into the balcony cone

you can wear a gastropod
like the sun
wears a turtle neck.

Spaosmos must note rekunstyle
must note

Polypody vulgare.

Free-swimming, I see them
through the windows of the mansion

brown velvet jaw-bones
trailing bubbling banderoles
each connected to its own

sweet sleepy camera.

Friday, August 21, 2009

The Weird Hell.

The brooding miracle sat in its soft
and infinite nest of emptiness, Al
Jolson's head is launched with a


Munich. Catburglers.
Do. It. Doggy. Style.

"And bite the neck.."

In a labyrinthine silver dungeon
of molten orgiastic bodies, light
moves as a half-head snake
from the miracle of the axe-stump.

Silver axe stump, when the dark green
beast men whine in the moon hall
polishing their adzes, when the odd
blue faced women they mate with
make movements like birds perched
on giant silver grimacing heads

"in a room of brooding heads.."

In our silver miracle of silent emptiness,
I am drawn to bite your neck.

I am drawn.
I am silver.

Inside a silver owl's eye,
like a hairless mirrored amoeba,
I bare my electric snake fang.

I tryst with colors
in old King Midas'
weird hell.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Mind Crumbled To a Dust of Octopi

whyme nala emla
for la is memla mu

each stair in its helixed case
is balloon

the sailors, those broads
in their nerf dream skins

they have highly compressed
libraries of white aqua leather
in the thin area between their skin

some older shaggy octopi live in there
reading books and looking out
the odd port holes

a singing octopi captain
doesn't know he's in a broad's skin

he says emla
and means the wall of color

sometimes he gets an eyefull
in the shower

i can imagine the whole world
is a very shy head

with a zipper
for a face

through a zipper hole
an obsidian beak
is ringed and encircled by geishas
with lanterns

whymeu nalam emlalma
for lamu is amemlal murfeo

green geisha
riding octopi hair
in the skin of a broad

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Mok Phod

tattooed manatees give birth
in winding crumbling galleries

their schizophrenia
is like a tall phony bank
of artfully arranged bamboo
worn as a hat

in motorboat cathedral shelves
which are sinking
in oozy bluesy wounds

edward dahlberg
is like a wrinkled penis
given by an indian
to a drunk
for a snort

of oval corn tokens

i get my information
from magnetic humanoid columns
whose golem-like tickertape tongued
are shaggy
with black powder frog's eggs

a stone
smooth like the horizon
in water
wears a long thin drool

its germinating and molten ghats
or cupolas
long to house such pale
and wobbling orchestras
of hunkering mumbling

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Nicasius Rouseel's Rogulecht

marking the hovering suspects
the technical glass amoeba rifle

through toady ions

cows hover meekly
but their antlers stick together
gifting yoo-hoo

yoo-hoo hollering out marks
of technically stuck
amoeba antlered ions

each suspect gifts is agent
with a soft huh-huh-huh
a yoo-hoo cow is a mark
passing through froggy noecia

princely passions
stick together
a glass rifle
lets forth its amoeba gift
yoo-hoo antlered marks
the techniocaly stuck

each soft huh-huh eaches
stack the stuck
technically amoebic antler frogs
passing noecian ions
to prince fig apple

a sticky fig amoeba antler
lets forth its yoo-hoo
the agency of many marks
is technically stuck
yet hovering

in the noecian delta fig frog's
sticky transfiguring meekness

frog cow kissing ionized antler figs

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Aztec Minibus

the cricket is a snowflake
with chili

chili churchili cricket thicket
click it

model A dark cricket train

cricket umbrella mask robotics

3 sane strut aminostriators.
cricket lambda chattanooga

long grain thicket miser
minstrel mooser

mary able to curse
chili cricket

hollow paper pencil
pushing butterfly
cricket ink thicket



alabaster bird cage fountain
18 mustache dirigible

Wednesday, August 12, 2009


Pletrak moved over to Vorg and Shirna.
Kalik and Orum followed him.
Pletrak handed back the datastrips.

"These are in order. But the tribunal
requires to know the purpose of your

After numerous stops at the many bars
and taverns that surround the markets,
they had finally gone for a late supper
into Saint-Anthony's Pig, the most popular
tavern in the neighborhood, Vorg having
reconciled himself to waiting for the
result of the great Larva, which would
not be revealed until the following day.

The stain that was indifferent to language
shifts imperceptibly inside the organ
of the Larva. As Levi Strauss says,
"It speaks itself."

The Larva itself is lined with eggs.
Even before completion. In just one,
the yolk turns into a full-grown human,
a face with scowling eyes and shouting
maw. The dentils or teeth are the maw's
tusks. The face's cheeks turn into mustaches
that flow down into curls outside the rim
of the shell-helmet and meet the points
of the claws, which are now also
exaggerated into realistic weapons
with long prongs.

Shirna removed a string mass
from her trochili.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

A Postcard Sent From Faust To Basho

summer rains (Sumer reigns)
a silk worm ill (its wave ill war mill)
in the mulberry field (mule vary)

[the weirdo at home in 52nd Ave, pdx]

Monday, August 10, 2009

Faustian Product

The big herd of dolls
tastes for like 5 minutes
like mirrored hair
extruded from a lapis wall

if you give this mummy water
will it rise into the sky
accompanied by machines
made of living bubbles?

imagine scrubbing bubbles
with beards
and antennae

imagine the taj mahal
made of black soap
or the red teeth
of a gorgeous gnashing

i see androids of bubbles
fencing on an undulating grid
of glassine hair

I see Faust
using Nair.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

“It is better to create than to learn! Creating is the essence of life.”

The rudest man on the planet said:

Brutus tastes of flies, and
Caesar tastes like a top hat of girls.

Caesar wears
a top hat of girls
and Brutus pops out
the top.

The rudest man on the planet said:

I am a carrot who says,

"What's up, Cock?"

your twin Brutus-headed snakes
guard the cock of Pop-eye..


So sure of itself, so safe
on the shelf, where the saying
is sent, but, what is saying
not sent but a gulf for a

diamond boar boned
hegemoney whore moan
Klansman coffee table
or shower of petty force
cartilage, the raw,
and the crooked.

a grim weeper steps out from behind
the fountain of dancing robots

[a wig of beetles pretending to be snakes}

its pipe-organ mask
like a tiny audience of flies

this pipe organ is vast
like a library of pixie dust
whose hands are a fire
of dragonflies

dragonflies attack Brutus' eyes
as Caesar Pop-eye laughs,
a gagagaga {calligraphic flourish]:




Monday, August 3, 2009

Post-Whatever Fragment (Stall Plate)

A sexy hairless android amoeba
made by Smaragdyne Inc. moves
cautiously into the scene
in its BMW exoskeleton
brandishing a faux olive-branch-
looking hyper-distortion paradigm
which it remains immune from
with the use of a compartmentalized
AI reflectance algo which constantly
matches the hypersenses of the OBL fetish
with its chirality enjoinder databases
it receives from Smaragdyne Inc.

Not wishing to cause problems, it freely
allows access to its reflectance grid
so as to engender conversation along the
lines of a random determination, and all
that that might mean.

The scene is a radicalized register-shifting
gambit engendered to disqualify the many contestants
whose only other option than the gambit is death,
and or total insulation, which many choose,
becoming living statuary barking out poorly
camouflaged neutralisms whose contours reveal
a sponsorship by the Megaconglomerate known as
PURE EXCESS LTD. These totally greyed out souls
are simply furniture or bumpers for the game-players
who seek to produce a form of surface warp
palatable to the feeder banks which have long
since entered into a kind of mythic mysterium
of hypergloss.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

A Tritonish Pulp of Gleeful Cookies Locks Horns Amidst Charging Glitter Waves

Its tiny transparent throat
reveals a perfect calf's head,
a thing of golden ductwork
genie trails, rows of pearls
like rooms or retorts, each
holding its own triumphant
guru of specific composition,
and scales like amulets
performed by compressed layers
of ancient fossilized levers,
crassly coruscating antennae
fused into functionalized trinketry.

Trickery abounds and is the ~coeur*
neur stone of natural lures and tangents,
one lyre launched on branching
and capillaric wings of participles
gives any incipience its just rewards,
graceful branching veins enact
a coordinating surface area cognate
to the political ends of reasoned
biology, herds of ornamental calf's
heads roll by like cars for genetic
godesses, and we all make glitter glue
gum extensions to tie our tusks
into baskets hiding brief encounters
of closed shop foremen and their
skin-plaque gobble dangers.

From hearth to hearse
the ass is sounding dawn's
fail key, no safe seas
for everyman, the womb
reveals a rabbit, a hat,
and a trembling hand
whose strings are mostly
elevators filled with drunken
militants, those gurus
of absolute peace of which
paeans are sounded, then

O sun of green hair, your skinless
emblem knots glide
with screaming girdles
in the fog of actuary eyeballs,
things like monkey lips
hang in the windows
of cathode cookie towers.

Reduction seems moot
where the mole
air guitars the banana nose.