duckyyy

duck floating along, lily pads twirling, finds a nook, preens,
coughs up blood in his hand,
looks up into the tree limbs o'erhead,
spider inching down sings
"fuck a doodle shit/
blood thar's shooting out lickety split"

I dedicate myself to the end of the world

Hi you, interminable voyeur eye, you, unblinking, stalwart
I, hello. A smoking incision right to left across a blue,
Yellow goddess wrapped in nuclear explosions,
Say hi, say thank you.
Counterclockwise merrygoround,
Licking up vomit off the pen and paper.
I am looking up helpless, these moments tumbling,
As the warhead enters (pinpoint precision) thru
My interminable voyeur eye, hi, say thank you -
May I have another___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

poem for Emily Apple and Val Swain (et al)

Black noise uniform disrupted by white noise,

Splinters the righteous indignation with throat-grabbing,

Worms in the dirt spitting on his shoes won't help

A screeching logic halted by abuse,

Pressure points on the neck

Kicking up dust but is it really necessary to tie the legs?

An apathy synonomous with atrophy,

Intelligence more a croquet mallet in the presence of the megaton hammer cock

So pale, weakly defiant of a nonsense, still only white

noise to the steaming off cement,

or in the back of a truck,

detained for no reason

Other than noises colliding

only one of which sensible,

Which is to say stifled

There are no checks and balances.

Dust off, arise.
Spit in his cloudy eyes.

\\--|--\\

etilletas yarts a
hgih gnilcric tibro ni tsol
ffo stuhs yllanif

(2/5/04)

say the same things over and over until they're pretty

yea, hey, am I refining my vision?
which is better, 5, or 6? 6? hmm
which is better, 1, or 2? bout the same?
just picking scabs
off my eyes? off my heart? some other organ? no?
I'm just trying to get a feel here
injecting meaning like steroids,
forgetting why

yea, hey, am I making it clearer?
no?
5 was clearer.
I'm obscuring things.
rest your chin there, forehead here,
which is better, bout the same?
which looks prettier?
S G R Q 9
X L T 8 F I

addendum:
things are obscured because that's the nature of things,
my vision,
or at least, everything blurs together now
on some metaphorical level

dilettante

Can't have
Laureate without aureate,
Voluminous without luminous,
Diminutive without dim,
Learner without earner.

strictly distilled

Thick fog crawling through grassless hills,
Wearing tight like Ourmoney suits
The naked skin of god's brown girth -
Pale erosion's laceration: evidence clear,
A singing orphan's mouth emptying the land
Of stark frowns; folks ride, do die down

Tripping on obscured booby traps, falling down,
Hidden vines the only life among the hills
Save the starving jackals roaming the land
Ravenous, quoting ravens, eat what suits;
Eyes in back of the head, coast is clear,
Follow them within the landscape's girth

Fog of frowns, hugging holey girth
Receding with the pulling of the flag down
Half mast "Sympathizing, we're in the clear."
Sweat machine hides that the hills
Hide also the handshakes, blood crusted suits
Spattered by the sweat of the land

Apologies apologize, buttered up Darkland
Outside of Homeland's ostensible girth
Stacked on stacks of stacks of lawsuits
And other doom on its way down, down
Everyone, run sprightly to the hills
The earth is shifting under the fog unclear

Till it lifts, nothing can be said to be clear;
Stricken, thoughts polarize and drift and land
While bombs exploding laughter erase the hills
Erase erasure, father time's immeasurable girth
Clipping off eons on top of vague dressings down
Deconstructionist humiliation, tears in suits

Cards undealt remove their limiting suits
King, Queen, and knave all quite unclear
As to the orgy of numbers; dissidents trickle down
Thoughts perpetuate and refuse to land
The sky worn by fireworks, beyond mere girth
Built are the mental institutions, on recondite hills

The fog has lifted;
The voice has carried through, thus,
Here we go again

existentialism

existentialism

abstraction, philosophy;
questioning, making constellations
shot in the dark
x² + y² = r²

noncents

I'm coastin' on this paranoia,
Magic carpet of anxiety over two thousand twelve jar(s)-
en (sick) Sawdust Arid-labia,
Worried tin foil did I use Dutch?
Cockney: Out wiv dee _old, in wiv dee knew;
Cock, knee, all needs patchin',
My love, like a category five hurrican't, Saffir-Simps[on or off],
Who gives a (who)t/shit
?

prey or paradise?

Ostriches don't actually bury their heads in the sand,
But that won't stop the only kids what hold the conch.
Did you know soldiers used to throw babies in the air,
And catch them on bayonets?
Why should anything be easy to understand?
I saw a kid coming down off a sedative-high ask:
"Is this real life?"
I'm to the point where reality doesn't mean anything to me:
Reality is full of myths, idiots with megaphones,
Babies impaled and mothers ravished, or discarded,
Children merely born to go through the motions,
Palimpsests scribbled on (an eternally deep griffonage),
Every human memory a smeared exposure of light
Draped on an empty inanimateness that will outlive us all,
Every poet laureate descended from a fucking monkey,
at a typewriter;
Escapism is much more my style.

ergo: gnomics

forefathers' faces on the oxidized coins of
boors and bohemians alike, flicked into the fountains of ichor;
fresh wishes residing in wishes residual, accidental love
or incidental happiness, accepted graciously or
as the slug drops onto a salt pile

joke

Q: How can you tell one's not postmodernist?
A: A clue: whether he is a scientist.

Q: Is this title a double entendre?
A: Must you ask, must you let your mind wander?

Q: Why, but with a question you just answered!
A: You questioned an answer yourself; absurd!

Q: Why? What's all this say?
A: Don't know. Shouldn't you?

Q: Oh, I get it, A.
A: Do you really, Q?

Q: My quest: trivial?
A: Quite, and quite unreal.

the thing about experimentation; a fragment

making false things ring truer than true things
by strapping cleverness to a table,
forcing it to swallow fish hooks,
and tickling its belly with a feather

Y O Y

how does a numb heart keep with the beat?
in whole or in part
collective unconscious produce meaningful art?
the canvas is white again,
paint no longer pumping
through its network of tributaries;
cut and splayed by the virginal acumen

of a jaded parvenu,

stupid stupid,
why the fuck should I please anyone,
"we're all mundane"
what keeps us sane?
the answer, no; the question?

thought is devalued and has no place
human is dehumanized and has no voice
sponge rapt in free verse,
the tired ruminations on rumination,
skipping the beat, muting the noise
effortfully futilely, noise
noise, noise,
a louder silence,
a deader calm