Monday, June 30, 2014

an omphalos for the lacrimal animal

the monument had been deliberately constructed
as a metaphor of the poem which contained it

and inside its bewildering walls the poem was displayed
in a series of pages or plaques

plagues which calmed the air
as pan an explosion and building the cool medium center

a fountain sustaining a column of water 1 kilometer high
which could be seen in the numerous galleries

their hull poems slanted their whole room stare cased
the monument was a stylized star crashed to ground

to found a wreckage of unearthly wholly logical beauty
to stand in the empty naos of poem and monument

and to gaze at last at this rising diagonal interior
the vertigo of the fallen towers frozen

and stair to stair go up the tip a tongue or balcony
and to gaze back down the form on its outside

to the roiling sphere where the bolt of water
must inevitably rise and sustain itself for some moment

fountain for day clock and night for the pilgrim
who takes to cocoon in ritual wrapped by acolyte

and loaded aboard the floating robotic balloon snakes
which pass through the halls of night

while the acolytes build the breakfast
great globular lattice scaffoldings covered in fruit

which the monkeys bring to the snaking tables
which follow the curvature of the earth

into the long and forking base rooms
cool and tiled revealing only prologues
and the warm round holes to the root tunnels
bell woe.
fishy phoenix.

or appendices or epigraphs
afterwards or indices

and the root halls are warm
but the galleries above less so
statuary poem
a coma statue
pink sleep meat storage

and only the plaques give warmth
their hot metallic surfaces radiant

the pilgirms are themselves the acolytes
the poem and the substance of the monument

contained within the fallen star
its pantheorhetorical curvafice

every inner surface may be
filled with the horror of vacuum

or the opposite narratives
pictures of punished libertines

or murderous statues
ghosts like tears

behind the laughing hands
of every translation

yorick now a froth of cubes
made of a glass veined with verism

that monkey sileni hiding in venus' tresses
a pagliacci whose courtesy describes

a mouchoir de nuages
a gas heart a bearded heart

a bizarre heart whose monument
poem or gaze begins

with a lens
set spinning within the invisible

Thursday, June 26, 2014

notes from the long history of a raging torment

cloud-moem: and it was
their great pleasure
to participate
in the rare disorder

mum-clod: see doctor
for further instruction

a water from a forking laurel comes down to kiss the bean

Puns. Like: In the the psychosomatic stillness
I saw your hot steaming demitasse of espresso
sitting alone, growing cold, its unused, still wrapped,
sugars, like closed eyes, imploring me to open them,
use them to sweeten your absence, to take from you
the moment that I had found, which would no longer be
for you, for either, and at the bottom of the cup,
when it was all finished, and to my purely somatic surprise,
was the phrase: Carpe diem. Θ ΧΥΣΙ. I cum.
on your butterfly wings. The day, as seen from above.
There is no one there still.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

muw surr'd

the frightened fox head
is goose livered
upon a checkered cone
as the cyclops bird wheel
erects its fan thumbs
to deflect the hovering stone
while the arrow bristle chin snake
gobbles all exclamation
taking place to displace
the ibex boat horn eye lyre bow
slinging below
its own towering shadow
which engages
the snapping jawed icon
with the heavy obsidian
cheek horn axles
whose long thin pointed tips
interfere with its own
striped antenna feeler phalanges
whose furred black and white knuckles
carry constellations of severed segments
of sonic circles which finally succumb
to the succubus of cowl gemohmetriste's
whiplash hired recording humminarr
and the tongue of the cyclops mantis tiara
of the frightened fox head ibex boat horn eye
lyre bow cyclops bird wheel erects its fan thumbs
to deflect the hovering stone singing below
its own towering snapping jawed icon
whose braided whip-haired eyebrow loaves
are invaded by the lithop-paddled
stone armored cochlea fish
which mimics the checkered cone
with its floating fungal carpet mask platelets


with chin thorn thumb fans fluttering

Monday, June 23, 2014

yn creu lluniau eich cloddio gorff noeth

am ffugio cerrynt
cuddio heb gof 
boddi yw beth fy nghorff yn
creu lluniau 
eich cloddio gorff noeth
Bydd berlau pig o geg oer meddal 
yn y tarddiad
dannedd meddal mewn tywod  
torri i fyny fel pren 
ond wrth law 
bysedd o dywod 
sy'n estyn allan 
 ychydig berlau yw'n G am ffugio 
yn creu lluniau fy nghorff

canys nid oes
mwy mewn lluniau
sgrechian tawelwch nag yn y cyfansoddiad
cyfan pen
clwb yn dychwelyd i'r
môr y G Udo
G ond nid yw'n G ond mae'n
cynhyrchu sgrechian cyfansoddiad
 duo heb gwneuthurwr yn
wag gwneud rhywbeth ychydig berlau
arllwys o geg
oer meddal eli
fel y bo'r
angen yn ewyn y môr meddwl
gadael y traeth i berfformio

 y metel damned cyfan
 ac yn tyfu arian
 y môr llifogydd y
môr a'r llifogydd yn
mynd unman gwerth ei
gyfraith ar gyfer y

The Ambitious Stuttering of the Twenty Syllable Zip Poem

is the moon a hole,
a woman's feathered mouth
through which the sky is seen
like a mirror?
these wet brooms I tend,
these cold broom-like sticks in winter
holding up the rain in snow
like clouds I sweep away.

now even a crooked tree
is as sweet as a girl's breast,
I think this as I use the spoon,
and using a spoon is like stuttering,
from moon to whole, from hole to moan,
the spoon like a mark which has no name,
but falls between this. flowers too
are spoons, even flowers
as tall as my head, these perfect copies
all are like stuttering.

some say man's ambition
does what it can toward this,
but the sun is like a knife
not a spoon, and its mouth
is a fire, a burning of stuttering.

the sun is bright, and the truth
of all this, is that as ambition walks,
a fire falls over its legs,
every thing here is the sun's bright stuttering.

a dog may be sad or happy
and like a fish may slip the hook
dogs know words
but I have to be in love with
fire, heart, girl, their stuttering
as they descend in two.

a king's head
is just a retort
but do the resemblances balance.
both vessels stutter this question.

these legs are golden erections
made for running.

every vehicle is a stutter,
and stuttering is like a blind measure.

to grasp the obvious is easy,
but why grasp at all? why stutter?
does the purpose turn?

ambition paces
and blends all things.
a king's head
is just a retort,
a king's court
is just retorting.

a king
and a dot
and a dog
are all simple plain marks.
every different mark
is the same stuttering.

planting seeds
or planting knives?
both destroy, both grow.
ambition stutters.
beauty stirs.
heaven stores.

fragrances drift here
without purpose,
without ambition.
no legs can equal this.
the sun makes fragrant legs,
and every thing is unequaled
in its stuttering.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

granny ducking stool dugong smoking a translucent obsidian dudeen


imprecise and willfully obscure
the worldings' movement
as if for a language for as if
the worlds' not worldings'
imprecision would willfully 
obscure this hermetically
sealed opening of the field
whose expansive gesture
no one knew, noon new,
its moist keeling overhaul
the trootlings' languish
and barrel the vowell
with a foolscop, poet
thy being in law, thy
mouth for bud-lipped ruling,
when nectar from the chin
arc statuary ache
all around the nimbling
numbus nimned led lodestone.

give a god
a poem
for a head like doggy balls
instills the capital
prism barge
on a jelly river

i brought you the white out madam

if only clay moved
its demotic and alien hypnotism the way yudu
clone somatic letter junction affect x

weed awl bee saunter off
with weel welded whole

a violet ray

the pages I throw away
are like ads for Hans Bellmerdre

war bells so huge
Jock Kerouace
must possess Joey Heathertone
possessed by the toilet
possessed by Anne Margarewt

each dew drop
by lysergenic

no happy donkey!
no coffee and cream!
all of history is become
pixels to a ray gun!

I'm sure you won't mind
if I burgeon and swarm,
and swarm and burgeon,

no mind
nemo dew

 this is my special
fire crown

for the reader
like a gliding soul
by pictures

for the reader 
like an ex-ray
fell soully
to color
the cutaways

leaving the piano once and for all
the heavy vibrating marble statue
attempting to follow

and roll off on the floor barking
its dinner broken
for all the arrangements
a changeabulletty

start simple
with something like
the color red gets loose all over
blood money
grey flannel
the secret history of the drug war
alive in painting the oscars
my eye tongue
coin eye
ending forward moan
the french connection

how sweet
how delicate
the double darkness

great white tubs of marble
great white flour sacks
to smuggle
gold coins
to whorehells

bisque candy

your whole arms
up inside
albino boas

risking everything
on paper

the letters are all held on
with static electricity

now that you know old men
are garden statues
through windows

and into the loving arms
of poor bear slippers

so that's how they joined our movement


post-islamic hamburgler weavers
for magazine rack design

dunk the bunny
in the garden over and over
just like granny said

Ulysses and Penelope
in a brown leaf

It's too late for order.
If I were not Dionysius,
I would certainly be
the Amish James Dean Martin Heiddegger.

When the world turned upside down
becomes the oracular tripod
for an absense
of blankness

was the easiest ideology

it prefurred
the ludic
the grigorious

our bladder money
is without end

no gesture meel

I'm starving the timeline of events again.
surely one hand clapping
can end all

capitalism + communism = commputalism

can you bring me the white outs?

noise = chaos.
this phrase, so serene,
and well constructed
is like a black pyramid.

in a happy park.

no parking.

this is how you make a poem.

a swarm of kites
will lift you
to an altar in the rock
and there you will find a bust of ham
and lay your fungal hand
upon its brow

to make a spotted dick

these sanguine shapes are gliding
in the violence of hope, and force

still planning that rubdown I hope.

Charles the First!
in a tin can!

Eggs in a tincan radio!

this is how you make a spotted dick

dunk the bunny
in the garden over and over
just like granny said

now harpy is scared

still studying yesterday

its mystic gifts
still need the white out dear
deaf statues
of commputalism

you are smoking the vestigial off again?
granny compute it?

Do you think a butler needs a bowler?

I am the shadow stalks
inside of you.

dunk your bunny in the garden
over and over.

granny ducking stool dugong
smoking a translucent