Friday, December 30, 2011

Sex with the Afterlife of Cornelius.

Serene Yellow Frog God
who floats in obscure gelatin
hallucinating, I am Cornelius
son of Caesar and

I died
when the cut branch
gave way

When ape
killed ape...


Look into my eyes, O Cornelius, for
I am the Serene Yellow Frog God..

Witness the transmigration
of the golden sperm robots
into the cathedral maw of the obsidian shrimp being
whose tail is luminous lump brain meat..

Witness the levitating spinal jelly analogues
as they exit the blowhole city of Kurum'bah
where the tentacle headed hylonauts
raise their telescopic pouch hands
to the glory of the quivering bone assemblage icons:

Bone of my bone
jelly of my jelly
icon of my icon

Cornelius, you see me
as the Serene Yellow Frog God
whose eyes are as kaleidoscopic tree rings
making Aquaman sonar ripples, but once
I was Jean Shrimpton, a starlet of Swinging London.

Come now into my Beatitudrome,
and mount your golden sperm robot,
for you must journey
to my Bacterial Skull Mine
to dig forever

Caesar and Lisa
look over you, and Francisco Goya,

Take up your golden brain entrail-section laurel
with obsidian tuning fork tiara extension
and mount the golden sperm robot.

Take up your noisy dildo nose
and chin scoop, and RIDE!

But beware the butterfly clown fruit extruders!
and the lavender hippie nippled koala octopus
of infinite transparent postage stamps...

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Hokey Titania / Grey Eyes Sea Coast

Flute of Cheese For Head of Gas

a little shoe
for the gravy and giblets

donald sutherland
my home in
invasion of the body snatchers

a dolma is blooming
a dolma is blooming
the lamb of the doppelganger redemption
must house the arisen rice

it's nice
this rice arise
this grape leaf
which houses Matt Damon
in the body of Matt Dillon

Socratic Daimon
keeps Silenus
from illin'

her eyes wander sparkled
into round-led blackness

a little shoe
a pusher from the NW
beyond the Pearl

continent of its evertangling masses
the wise escarpment
O brisque hokey titania

however he makes
beaver chipmonk cheeks
in an old green house

grey eyes mimick
the ancient sea coast


like velour
among its graphic

rough moor
are you harboring
a primal scene?
Dr. Moriarty with
your mother...

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

User-maat-re Setep-en-re

bring in the white hose
a carving of coal is made
to sit on the edge of a cliff
looking serene
all corvus

to mime the Shelley Winter
Pabst Blau Stoa
moa moa
brink kin the white O's
a carving to arrive
from Belzoni today
mocking the mock-ups
but in the amazing present

mass corvus
inhabit synthetic grove
and form the head
of a mad black god

our own bodies
mimick us only so far
among the colossal reek
unity a supreme egg

obsidian veined
in turquoise

Friday, December 23, 2011

The Apples of the Hesperides...

H.D.'s scrapbook here, with a 'snapshot' of some further contextualisation from SIGNETS Reading H.D. edited by Susan Stanford Friedman, and Rachel Blau DuPlessis...

and something from a collection of Osip Mandelstam's prose works called _The Noise of Time_

and some egyptian stamps...

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Kursi, Spit...

"They left the corpses behind for the raven, never was there greater slaughter in this island."
from The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

It was long after Chmelnizkij wrote The Babblers
that a lone Kursi stood being photographed
on a windy Winter's day, and just a short time
before the moment when Antonin Artaud
would say (upon meeting Adolf Hitler in a bar in Berlin):

Les Parisiens ont besoin de gaz.

"Later, I'll write a curse on France in 1939,
and beckon this man to invade.." thought

thought ~ our toe:

Two madmen go into a bar,
one is Napoleon, the other, the Tsar,

Did you know Don Rickles (The Lithuanian)
served during World War II
on the USS Cyrene as a first class seaman?

the Tsar:
Do you think he knew Aristippus?
The fool forgets the semen in ice...


How about that battle at Vilnius?

the Tsar:
How about that? [He smiles..]

Did you know Jean-Paul Marat
published an essay on curing
a friend of the gleets?

the Tsar: The Prussian?


It was on an icy morning, 18 Frimaire XXI,
outside Vilnius's deep vaulted gate that Victor Dupuy~

the Tsar:
The P? Dupe oui?


Naked men
standing in the snow.
They had all once been semen,
and now, they were~


our toe ~ thought...

MY HEART IS PURE (but my soul is corrupt)...

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

goggle brax

the leper wearing animal skins
enters luxurious Bellagio
"my coral is spitting out thin spaghetti looking stuff"
he says
noise no-fi weirdo abstract
the witches hearth

a slug eating vomit
sunmaid mummonmuusi

rum pot
lulu lautrec

George Condo @ The New Museum.

I Shouted Back!

with my middle finger up your ass
i punch you repeatedly
in the face
until you laugh
which turns you into
a glass amoeba
with penguin cuffs

diamond halo
diamond halo slime

as the frog becomes
a prince
his frogram of prog rock
become transparent

zombie hillbilly machines of hell
that's the way your fearless leader addresses you
like shift for brains
only smoother
more catatonic

a civilISATION
like a billboard..
Is that a good thing?
Moebius asked me onetime;
Is man good?

Is Ponyo?
Is Ponyo any fucking good?

If you see a small blue child doing karate
on the beach alone, I can guarantee
he will not be the fearless leader
now refracted through your most ardent
not be
the letter G
but the Letter K
the dazzling burden
this winmer day

mooing weary
over the birds of men


Vlyrical Erronism

caloric fondemon
flue fry hriggli to voitim
and voitin


jagged tree beast grows
in thin meniscuss
cuticle veridia

for base in charged


nomme de lume
mons said mule

verity, alas
is among the reeds
like young pan

and pan is not dead
and verity
is the poly-dimensional



Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Matinique / Metternich

Poetry and Philosophy are often at odds, or if that leavening seems uneven, or too leveling, they often seem like dissimilar clans of cousins both encamped on a single windy river which can make it seem like the river is some sort of boundary over which they are warring, but which over time takes on a maternal role, an optical role, their roles seem more like ritual masks in the overarching and alchemical theater of Art, or as Peter Sloterdijk might have it, Spherology. I guess my one faint criticism of his recent Bubbles: Spheres 1 is that he has hidden an extremely well understood take on a theory of the grotesque under a structural conceit, namely, the sphere, but in doing so, Sloterdijk has actually transformed or brought new articulation into the discussion, and it is the spherological domain of that discussion as structurality that beckons me today, its quotidian mystery play.

A perhaps not so ordinary day recently, when my usual programme of day-sleeping in preparation for my 11 to 7 nightshift was disrupted by a week of training gave me the opportunity to sit down to a regular happy hour with my gallerist, and to receive a nice Christmas gift, two hand-me down sports coats which were themselves hand-me downs as gifts to my gallerist. To make a long story short, one of the coats was a thin un-lined cotton jacket of a green and blue plaid whose sewn tag said only Matinique. The jackets were formerly owned by one of the vice-presidents of the Dallas Market Center or somesuch. The odd thing was, later that weekend I was watching a film, namely Bernard Rose's Immortal Beloved, and there was a scene in which dear Louis V gets told by someone whose name I took to be Matinique, that he had been overheard saying that he ate shit or something.. It was charming in that early 19th century Angelic / Satanic rebel romantic kind of way, buh-yadda, but the man's name wasn't Matinique, It was Metternich:

But Beethoven wrote the Ninth in Vienna, the same city in which Austria’s foreign minister, Prince Klemens von Metternich, was perfecting the first modern police state at the very same time. The Enlightenment, French Revolution, and Napoleonic wars had all come and gone; the old dynastic rulers – Romanovs, Hapsburgs, Bourbons, and others – had either held onto their shaky thrones or had been reseated on thrones they had lost, and they were determined to shore up and enforce, at any cost, the time-worn concept of Divine Right.
Beethoven’s negative views on absolute rulers were well known. He had even written to his patron and pupil Archduke Rudolph, brother of the Austrian emperor, that “benefactors of humanity have not been found… in the present world of monarchs.

So in this I see a hint of, or reflection of that linguistic idea, the false cousin. False cousins or false friends (faux amis in French) are words that look very similar in two languages, but mean different things. But as a trope, the idea seems to be very friendly to my own Irronism. Irronism as a trope deals in something like the Deleuzian rhizome, but even this is not entirely correct, for it is in fact the not-perfectly resonant, not entirely ironic used as the utopian rhyme and ultimate irony, ie the structural gap as exemplar in a theory of the grotesque. Or put even more country simple, there is nothing on Earth which isn't in some way related to every other thing. If the entire universe is an accident, then nothing that happens is actually an accident, it is 'something else', an irronism, a whatness, a structurality beyond determination. Determination itself, ultimately, beyond determination in the sense of the structurality of the infinite series. I guess then, that's the kind of Romantic ferment I have been considering, and Sloterdijk's contribution has been moving along beside other things I have been looking at, for instance Nihilism. I have also been looking at Malcolm Bull's Anti-Nietzsche which has a wonderful explication and even maps of another version of the debate, the differance the history rather, of the aesthetic / philistine manifold which led me to Dmitry Pisarev, and also to Sven-Olov Wallenstein
's Nihilism, Art, Technology

—this book analyzes three philosophical responses to the question of nihilism—those of Walter Benjamin, Ernst Jünger, and Martin Heidegger—all of which are characterized by an avant-garde sensibility that looks to art as a way to counter the crisis of modernity.These responses are then brought to bear on the work of the architect Mies van der Rohe, whose “silence”—understood as a withdrawal of language, sense, and aesthetic perception—is analyzed as a key problem in the interpretation of the legacy of modernism. From this, a different understanding of nihilism, art, and technology emerges. These concepts form a field of constant modulation, which implies that the foundations of critical theory must be subjected to a historical analysis that acknowledges them as ongoing processes of construction, and that also accounts for the capacity of technologies and artistic practices to intervene in the formation of philosophical concepts.

So anyway, to bring this back to Sloterdijk and Irronism and Poetry / Art, and Microspherology, I am considering this mental object I calling Synchrospherics which naturally encapsulates Synchronicity, but moves beyond it into false time, or rather structurality, or narrative anti-narrative (irronism) as once again, an exemplary trope of the Grotesque. And the odd thing is, look at the carrier wave's symbolic or deconstruction path.

Matinique / Metternich 

The jacket is plaid, which is basically like a field of palimpsestic grids, or an interference pattern, which is closely akin to the way holography works as a well as indexicality itself, representational reality is a function of geometry as addressing, ie mapping. So then sound and visual rhyme works then as a sort of wormhole, or synchraesthesia.. So now the Irronic Synchrosphaeric Pièce de résistance, which comes out of the wikipedia article on Klemens von Metternich itself:

As a result he struggled to negotiate a satisfactory settlement with France over the future of several French forts on the River Inn, left unsettled by the Treaty of Pressburg.

AHAH! They aren't camps it seems, coorect! Institutions are forts. Forts on the River Inn.. And I am baying to an oven.. (Oviri!) (she holds a bloddy wolf-cub).. And the modulation goes on.. Today I am reading David Sweetman's bio of Paul Gauguin which has taken me to things like Bodelsen's work on Gauguin's ceramics, and this paper:

Second, I further explore the reception by his contemporaries as well as how Gauguin’s use of ceramic itself was considered “grotesque” in his artistic milieu. The paper assesses his accomplishment in representing a “new man,” brought to life by the artist’s use of the grotesque, the savage, and the primitive, themes which all served as subversive strategies of resistance against the dominant aesthetics and cultural norms of his day (Creed, 44-70; Gauguin, 1894, 51; Kristeva, 4). Finally the Oviri, 1894–95, is examined and established as the culmination of Gauguin’s interest in the grotesque in the 1890s. In this work, by the very equation of ceramic itself with a debased and abject subject, Gauguin found a new way to express the grotesque.

The grotesque as a subversive strategy is commonplace by now, but my strategy is something less well understood I think, and not necessarily subversive, but unisubversive. Look at the word Oviri. That word is an exemplar of structural anthropology. Oviri means Savage in Tahitian, but here is the grotesque mutant which Irronism spawns in the gap, O Viri! which displaces both traditional understandings of aestheticism, and philistinism, and replaces both of them with lyrical virality. But what is the structural meaning of lyrical in that sense? I would say it is something very close to Alois Riegl's Kunstwollen, which is 'difficult to translate, although "will to art" is one possibility' / another might be art's will, or rather structurality's Eigensinn, a word which I got from Hans Magnus Enzensberger:

"Eigensinn is a word that doesn't translate very well into English," Enzensberger explains while finishing off a third cup of coffee in his flat overlooking Munich's English Gardens. "It's not selfishness. It's not obstinacy. It's not intransigence. You might say it's a sense of having your own value system.

Irronism then, might best be understood, as an attempt to display the difficulty of interpreting, or rather the narrative possibilities of interpeting the hermetic 'value system' of brute (savage) materiality itself.. Eigensinn - literally; my own sense. Matter's own pigheaded will.

Aline Letterosamyre.

When has the great Mapah looked more beautiful than today? Its body the distant furniture of the future, the fun ritual whose fern-like ruin is titular, rough, frumious, a fine furred onion fit to govern any nit's sense of wit or fate or turning urns whose faces are the burning glory of Mapah! Oviri, we have come to rest in a glade whose lanterns are burning swords of transparent smoke mirrors, whose virtue is conjoined to an endless shedding. Shedu. Shedu. Being whose forehead is branded with an Ess and Heowovu. Mapah's face is a labyrinth of furniture, luminous hovering chairs, onion helmet pillows, beds like soft hollow tentacles we crawl through toward the smell of bathing, the sound of chattering instruments. Oviri, our soft love is the untranslatable myth of living friction, Mapah Shedu Onion Juice Oiviroi like a vast sky amoeba of mercury whose jewelled vacuole is lined in cascading limb musics. Let me lay down in the aqueous film of your central cyclopian corneal orb, and pull your lash flanged lid over my sorry face, a jumble of wires filled with tumbling sequences.. O Oviri, I am conjoined to a cloud of onion jewel furnitures pulsing like a heart whose blood is mirrored snake ferns...

Monday, December 19, 2011


feeding the tender garden
good for gain unknown
a silence forms the door
of an extending turbulence

sitting quietly in the scree
of a long wild vertical vulcanism
the modern concrete longhouse on stilts
reveals its lighthouse flashlight
to horizon's distance

the path is arduous
a bit silly
you come off looking mad
but then there's this amphitheater
enormous secret bowl
the monumental and central rustic fountain
half natural half bricolage
the strange plants and monkeys and lizards

the mirrored black gardener
carrying that exquisite luminous pink rod
the vibratory sounds which hound through
the ring of stone ovals at the periphery

the unique socket
where light and water
rear rare ova

Odysseus possessed
tears off the ropes
and dives overboard
to join the long pale
sirens singing

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Saturday, December 17, 2011

tripel / hornscoped

the way will answer all running
deaf finance
of the second people
history to a bedridden werewolf
to a soft simple frankenstein
high upon the precipice
romance to answer all running
in preparation for the highest being

old silent seed
in ancient weed you grew
now shower o'er all
bequent in ment to frall

thoun beyou va vie
hyena snakes to mount
the golden chalice
of its winds

storm lanterns commonest

Beware the Brightness of the Moon..

more women, more witchcraft
attempting to construct something
from poor materials
it is a small still-life,
pink shrimps on a piece of pink paper
wild creatures
both of us confetti lamps
inverted tigers seen through optical
pleasure attempting to construct
something from the poor
half-suffocated stenches
circus demands a caress there's
nothing to do but to pick up

he saw a tool
which floated on the face
of the water
more women, more witchcraft

Van Wyck Brooks
Leon Bazalgette
exporting pictures
to the Guano Islands
pink shrimps

Dis, qu'as-tu fait, toi que voilà
De ta jeunesse?

the same as if he
borroweth from the Omnipotent
attempting to construct
something woman with fox

Friday, December 16, 2011

piano cianotipico

an unhealthy mouse
has found its way inside the chef

and a single tiny horse's leg
squirms amid the desolation
of the vast iron blazon

svariti hellenismi
svariti sorat

oars rosa soars
toward the sic sick moose
cylinder moose
train oil forbidding isolation tank landscaping
over three lions’ heads erased gules

tinnietur for loco motive
and major axis recline

what zesty rafforzasti impel
framförande forevah mate
adripueramus parasoul
huruf retallaran aloitella

ich interstinguo...

[Chryses]: Σμινθεῦ! a fess dancetty between
10 perpetiendatum, finge' cum älykkö..

[Von Ouvo]: We dwell hence in Miletus in the
mouse of the nomsphingochefi..

50 Drawings to assassinate magic

An idealized slice of Swissified cheese is
sat upright on the narrow linearism of the
thing's most convergent vertex, as per its own
would-be extrusive triangularity which is also
used, as the chassis or trunk of a seminal
anthropomorphism, Sponge-Bob Square Pants.

The face, big-eye-lidded and primal, has only
a smallish, upward turning arc, or creshentickly
jargonized mark to determine its mouth, and some
vague paddles or syringes, or blinders for limbs.

The little stick legs have radicalizing spikes that
extend from the patellan place, or spaceholders,
and where the trunk abrubtly terminates, there
is an unlikely satellite dish jutting down from
an ambiguously articulated stob. 

This is no ordinary Sponge Bob.

And like two dangling earrings hanging down
from either side of the head, there are two
old-fashion telephone hand-pieces which
would actually drag the ground (if there were any).

Here is what he says:

Deter Elunellis a taint of
temperate maintenbuch any
gneule of feund ça fute d'
lommelm~auryas tu start to
meme-branez desporsa vibut
lite' de la mahogonee fecal, a
qui un yeni-eux maliniburent.
Vaso va Laurovain ou dithibug
ça verti fete fustable' a di ulennea
ment fre. Quantable', Je dis ounabe'
auson un jouaulirner le mairson enne
outre' bustible' et funable' aux gout.
Sonsunfurtive' a blas at d'un
shalvids. Volu!


Tuesday, December 13, 2011


through pen;

through skull;

a whale swims in the deep green sea.

through magma;

through faith;

From Oregon to Texas

beyond the ersatz sea of representation
sometime comic, sometime Nicolas Crabbe,
she has a back-ache
brought on by chronic skeleton..


penniless they roam in the wild arroyo
and wordless their eyes penetrate
the darkness
though no sparks show

snakes hover between
the tender planes of mist
their pixellated surfaces
signalling kaleidoscopic improvements

like buddha she sits
repairing posture

its stranger companion;

Monday, December 12, 2011

chi_ra^leos chorêgetês

to pretend what's fair
the match
the Munich eaglet ogle
stick heavy with carving
for banderole
its character could not
refine the oiled
theoiliad, the illiad

ges gesi ges
gesu gesi gest
gesges to measure
a kind of stone
its code the god
of flatulence


its skin cannot hide
the windstorm in the bundle
'the peasant' as a name
for its writing pad

the unguent to protect
the runner
as reeds go flashing by
the colour of a goose' s
Umbrian tine

Calchas Battista in Pergola
MYRRH Oaxos misquoting

geuthmos serpyllum tmêgas ga_tomos (gelastic syncope)

Solvitur Ambulando

prose presses upon the face
of Queen Prosopon rendering her
masque instead of

instead of
actually compleat

private plays
the privation of attend
to indeed

its mask of roses
the thorn

toward mass psychology
mass sirings

black crab
at the center
of a nomadic sun

soon to burn
all images rescind

we, dear

therein lies
the subfusc flamen
cross anon

toward a travel
its bearing mow
roller hedge
and hedger groan

рутина (pythna)
the little road

3 open shells (odd contents)

nothing too large
but shale

small umbrellas appear
and disappear
technology or people

before the veil
such crustaceans
sound forever black



whisper through the final
year, or art of longing

when then
or how

the cool mist
should assert its heart
as headlight

the lesser vehicle
becomes greater

suffering in loam
but loam
an ectstasy

reading off
before the dawn


while trembling halts
any ordnance
toward some stable

the moving target
the mandala of roses
the sphere of white grass
the constellation of formless

thing green window
as the wild blizzard of armor
bliss coterie

some backwards
some loose
sum reverie

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Pity's Pig a Green Bottle Bedroom.

foo swell:
how tender tears
to leap the flame
must bargain not
with flasp or homen:
barge in!

boat foo
jades a shoe like ship,
and smooth fleshe
could sinew a wave' ethos
to eros

what an unspeakable and crashing silence
is the word, a boat?

a flesh boat knew
how brain shoes ornament their fading line
on the waters.

fooshu gong din:
when thinking breeds its remote control
to tell a vision or alter the poles:
then would fortresses of solitude
as crystallography's wild
erratic brother
ungovernance governed!

wild chaos beyonds the all
and sleep's mole pity pumpkin could provide
the purest green pig, a green milk skull
for bedroom-carriage

as if the Khan
or the robunds of failed dreams
were being ferried
by the heads of old men
whose bodies were no more

to clusters of stones
in the sky
called heaven:

words reek sweetly
in their wrinkled green skins
of molten jade

but who would king
the onion fingers
this purple velvet tool

a bee stool converges
on the amber dolmen's

old men's heads cluster together
to make the gondola
of a heavenly fool

and a heavy stone hand
evades the rule
of drooling starfish
lost in crystal omens

a fool reaches out of the fire
to grab the singing onion!

Friday, December 9, 2011

cabeza del viejo (Ant Anthropologetics)

playful glutton
the old man's head
was easily trained
to eat the local vermin

eat and eat dear old gulo-gulo
the organ in context
defies both mystery and

Humboldt's Kosmos Colaptes
is ashamed to argue
against such ideas

It is boring to bother
with classical sage
(Cinclus aquaticus)
for his sign says 'closed'
but it oozes something?

Defensin-like proteins?
An old man's head is odd
when it uses its bill
for electrolocation, or
is it elocution?

A branching stromatolite
houses many Lancelots
in Florida.

Each lives in its own
rosy fossa mulling over
the recession.

One of these these tiny
rose-knight fossies was called
Moleschott, an old man's head,
and it wrote the work called
Lehre der Nahrungsmittel
(Doctrine of Food) which says
quite clearly that skizzenbuchen
harbor a general chaotic ferment
of colorlessness and shapelessness.

Do you think a glutton's larva
takes on the hubris of its educators?

For all I know, there is a sticky ring
of tobacco soot around a cherry tree,
and here comes a human face made of aphids
or freek robunds, and carried
by Myrmecocystus.

That image is like a bubble
which just stops short of the surface
of the water, then reverses
and travels right back
to the roots.

That image is like a pedagogue
boasting of its own vainglorious humanity
to an embryo filled with honey-like juice.

That embryo is also gulo gulo.
It is none other than the hussy-glutton
Karl Vogt!

Solipsism's Barbarian Splendor,
or SBS is also a DLP, a
defensin-like protein.

It is made in the Grande Cru-ral Gland.
"Where that custom established itself..."
In a sweet gin heiress' vir-mouth,
Plato's Pussy, one of the last five

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Currying Favor

Booboo Fifi

booboo fifi
yonder lies the motorola bolus
quotation fangs an onus

clear water statues stand
at the behest
of electromagnetism

tastes good
on a rainy sunday porch
served warm with beans
and wearing an armor of cheese

we groan
as they clone us
the time of small beer
is upon us

star trek
herb clock

in t-shirt tourism

Pink Fondue For Bubbling Cupid Head

good friend lake
with clean water top hat
would cats tinkle triangles
bermuda starfish dangles

good friend lake
if custom bikini wind monocle

let the boy come ashore
i had a dream
its pockets
were pulsating

and every last kiss in town
would shed a tear to bottle

vast wicked sky manta
the coachman of leaches whipped onward
my own good toddlers would I put on board
with paper capes
and tiny roseate
bachelor degrees

stars on your knees
and fleas cheesing like Shelleys
in an hourglass awheeze

spectral mustache flowers


the sphmere of hi
the arabesque of sparks
to make a lithe strider
fire hydrant, vegetable


piano history graphein the weather
skull bulkhead to cloud the sausage fiddle saint
approaching streetlight mind portal

grin phanero

green faun arrow
where cupid
the hybrid
of apollo and silenus

a plenous


money lepus

sign perverse
and pervirose

their bodies had become all green roses
under the light of the hovering glass pyramids
those skeptic vases whose volume sang of water

frozen blood trident
lemur taffy yodel box
chains from the carbonarri

ne conosco qui più
d'uno che ha
in bocca la tromba epica

e mostrarlo senza energia
Questo linguaggio
non è nello stile
dei palazzi

my face is a mask of dice
a genital of dice
a factory of green lice armchair emblems
pressed subtly flatter

all onvy innamorphosed
the natural bonsai is stunting craft

super acidic soil

belief in word over physical principle

the vast army
of comfort
and dissimulation

ermine amoeba cellphone vagina

what is cooing in the lavender doughnut bridges
of the Noughtsy Golden Dawn!

Big Breasted Centaurs
wearing crushed tinfoil swan crowns

Schitzophrenia is the universe's panty liner
as in


said Lysias to Sissy Ass,

Jussives connive cohort, but Jouissance
steers all possible omens

a solid gold gorilla doing violence
to the child
(as a doorknob)

the child an inductive canopy.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Discourse' surly bonheur

flooding impenetrable galleys
with the lucky clover now formed translucent
in bugbear symmetry and ornamentalized
by strangely hurled lenses of foaming snake prisons

glassine joy takes origami
to gamete math citadels
in the city of hurrah

changelings awaken
to the caress of milk-warmed eyelids
to display flowers mostly in close heads

faith the river of waiting
all definitions of sounding
the arc
a trifurcating box
whose label
yokes a wanton dissemination
among the pyrmaw
of these full and roseate

the givers of sun attar gignitives
the rowers of some Boerhaaveristic syndrome
in the common presence of Zoospinozan calumnies
all walled ex[pr](c)ess

La Mettrie at his plate of
pâte de faisan aux truffes

pagus von truffa
thryffle van anopsia,
pacchiarotto, and how he
worked in distemper

from "laden in a canalettoad"