Speakings

4 corners of a well-lit, white room: (simultaneously)

"___________"

"!!!!!!!!!!!"

and

" (unknown, indiscernible) "

" (expressions of texture) "

red shavings of metals, fine as powder falling, piling where the planes meet, ready to bare the mark of where people are going to have been. A woman walks into the room. She is wearing sunglasses. With her hands she is carrying a small stool and smoking a cigarette. the cigarette smoke leaves an unbroken trail from the narrow doorway from which she entered. She smears her peripatetic history over the floor.

" (laughter) "

other 3 "whispers"

then the woman places the stool in the center of the room and takes off her sunglasses, and sets them on top of it. She uses her cigarette to set the sunglasses on fire. She continutes circling. She exits.

"why today?"

"we don't ask questions"
.............../\../\
" ./\......../..\/..\ "
./..\../\../......./
.....\/..\/.._____/

"don't ask questions"





sounds of an ocean flood from a speaker.

WARNING!!

Please view these web pages at your own risk!!!

DO NOT try to find ANY poetry ANYWHERE here!

This is a space for RAMBLINGS and MUSINGS !!!

There was absolutely no thought or revision put into anything posted on this blog. There is no craft. There is no poetic integrity or credibility, and it just does not make any sense!!!

There will be no odes to the changing of the seasons, no veiled romantic poems about garden snakes that are really about cocks. Any references to genitalia of any kind, regardless of gender, species, or divine incarnation, will be made in the clearest, most precise possible language

You will have a better chance of finding metered rhyme in the flatulations of grizzly bears

The "writing" on this page may in fact take into account, or have been influenced by, or hint at some vague awareness of artistic movements or ideas that occurred in the last 120 years, and therefore CANNOT be REAL poetry.


Please accept my most sincere apologies.....

Black Coyotito

Arrive 3 AM in lost hour

Corn dogs baked (crucial) less sleep and early wanderings. Taking

Longer to forgo eating on some time of vision hope

the kind you always find on the floor

where its spicy /dude/

you fall \rides\

where its good /kitchen/

we brawl \bike\

To come across

To peak into

One other layer of happening, to see who else is around.

HeadQ on the porch. Urology my (poopy)=Priam panties. Fuck the Chevy. Now the Chevy

Defeated Gravity. I have been equalized.

Finally we saw the animal, down and now looking back.

“black coyote…

but only one kind for one minute.”

“Did you see the shark living upstairs? Ra-ra!”

5 hours later did you see what happened?*

Behind the eyes, tentacles like the tree across the street stuck to the glass. Slapped across your fish like a wet Cincinnati dread lock spaghetti piled on some skyline like a single pour of concrete. Dressed down how we like it.

*Hat lady was in love with me. Can't blame her with a perfect hat filling head like this one I got born with and grew on. Plenty of Bloo ice cream, beer, and waiting too long between haircuts takes care of all that goodness.

The Pronouncement

I have been emblazoned by the 1970s heraldry of the speaker fuzz of supernova funk. I have held it so tightly to my heart as to be subersive and stutter. I have been dry erased out of relevance by spreadsheet toilet work with violence (should I hide it in my pants?). I pussyfoot the 609 W. Adams street long running telemundo anxiety. I fart a grandiose spellbinding (KEEP OUT of my cube). Pajama hopscotch my way in a business luncheon. We hope you like BBQ and grape soda. I burned you a cd of you and me running through twilight, because I airfared my eco-anarchistic wannabeism with peach pie Obamaism cordial, but it didn't fit in your 'pod. I Rowan Atkinsoned my way through the big tunnels of 24 years. I show off the size of my adult basic education units. My knack of contemporary old world idea from wood and wobble fable. I overthunk lizards. I William Carlos Williamed every conversation until I had no friends. I verb dead jerk's name. I .22 caliber trouble fraggle, cross pollination danced them all back, on their knees, "We kneed you."

iiiiCheck!! th!s!! out!!!!!
http://wings.buffalo.edu/epc/authors/bergvall/amfish/amfish.html

An Ode to Bernie Mac (but probably not)

Soul Man De curate
daphodyllyllylylllylyl

detonate happy can
collusion with trap door idol
to Mad Vedas' "Wet Hand Dance"

Peregrinate* info inflo loafer
chew me like la leather lieu
love magick click boundary / blander / brazzaz

re+compute perforate pet chlorate
tea -- that is polite
Gingersnap my cinnamon stick
cotton candy mouth salt soldier
solder basic douglas fir
cranapple mania twinkk

bRRRDAKKLE Ami ====go!

Outside Murdoc's Door

Darkness abounds as silent

voice penetrates through

remnants of dead woods.

thoughts locked down

in reverse osmosis.

In anger he rising swift,

shoes scattered staircase.

Objects grew wings, the

walls echoed with

barbaric shrillness.

A god of alternative

realities awoke from

his slumber, screeching.

Quieted myself.

No Groove to Run W (ith)

She’d routinely dress in a rubber maid’s outfit.

The surrounding conditions made it impossible to discontinue our abuse

Our view was a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic Nebula of color.

We swam in midnight water where killers came to breed.

We played our songs in the same spirit, hydroplaning across the

emotional stage, our lackluster presentation of control.

The granddaddy of darkness chased, and on the verge of a

red canyon, barking dogs, silent children, forged understanding.

It was a standoff in an old western town, lounging lizards

were Indian gods. A howl escaped me and you scowled at my soul.

Do you mastermind the final blowoff? What was going on here?

Despite the elation of reunion, there was no groove to run w