Proverbs 301

wine for the
stomach water
for the windmill a
new asshole Crack
your back to reduce
lies Much to
the rewrite of cavemen
won’t pull your Hair on
your tongue what cats don’t to
have Thrown
the ball to
not go home to big beds

to the individual(s) that stole my car

your mother may yew drink of socrates
affixed to your forehead the fate, same

in minus embattled hoboken
a city street a doppelganger
of Delorian Gray

proportions
varied elements behind not a
vowel in the stratosphere

aware that you are being cursed
a city street chews up sneakers
inhabited the god of Victory inhibited
a buttery taste on salmonella fingers
would that Boticelli
perjured revampled planets
Vicodin touchdowns

you have a handle on income
get thee to the shadows
murmur glass against
and click, paycheck over your shoulder

but
aware that you are consumed
awakens a ceiling to meet your feet

a million eyes
trashcan juggernauts
bunkers of treasure
foursome bankers
beware chestpains
nostalgian affects won't post bills
& a cornered photograph bares claws

your head bookended
by peaces of pillows and barrels of steel

aware that you are being eaten

Freedom or, I hate you Pablo Neruda

I leave the building when
light turns to upside Dijon on the leaves
because your name isn’t written anywhere

Aye Sí
I hate you Pablo Neruda

You lung up
cough stanzas from the Fifth Internationale
ahh your dentist seashells waves nude women
in your big red luscious
vocabulary

to praise a minimum wage
you hang out and bum hearts
on Valentine’s Day in plastic cellophane
and stick mirrors in your shoelaces
to see upskirts
to upload on porn sites

I’d give ten to twenty years
of my life to see you behind
Bars fixing a laborer’s White Russian

Gabriel Garcia Coxucker

around the table
the sacrificial block
of a fondue pot
eiffel towers or
chopsticks for
fingers, Mr. Chopstickhands
wasn't a big box office sit
down. i'm not through.
(the world is one deep breathless)
ok:
the quickest oral
sexless
i've ever lost
to a bartender
& a ginger ale.
(so) this girl wanted me
to buy her
once
told me that she
was related somehow
to Gabriel Garcia Marquez--
six blowjobs of separation
everyone is a cumshot away
from not existing:
a toilet flush
a hangman's placenta
blue in the face
i told her that
like her,
he sucks.

atlas de las constelaciones mesopotámicas

como si la guerra

comme la guerre

rotulos de todos idiomas
idiotas (y) de todos Rómulo
somos

ba bélicos
son ambulo
reflejo de seres entreabiertos:
reflojo de dia, movimiento nocturno

como si el mapa me consta
escribir esta geografia tuya en la yema de tus dedos
el climax de una frase se derrite en punto

Atlas: criatura que mantiene el mundo patas abajo
todo se resume bajo los bigotes de Gustav Vigeland
como si atlas significaba por fin
llegado al limite, que se derrumbe!

entre-lude

in jet fuel nations

carb board boxes
low fellowed esteem in the cutouts on hills off 270
the beltway bursts

misfires and goes down in flames

somewhere over Cyberbia

a treecoat wanes on the wall
a definite fly

hardwired to time
as if envelope
a ghost we're
watching

watches
back

las cosas favoritas

whimpers on screen doors & duct taped transmissions

petty theft cigars and wednesday liaisons

night vision intrudes on green camera screens
fat turnip beatniks with variable sheens


sobbing on gravestones & heart felt confessions
digress & redress make garments from teaspoons
thrifty grandfathers predict manic springs
discounted sinners talk marketing boons


whiskers on tissues and missives in English
billboards steak hoarded and glad wrapped emissions

winked mitten hand puppets
spread twix'd a june
never made sandwiches
satisfy soon

it's a stained night
a soft lung preens
while the clock swings back

it's early december on dandelion wings
hard light diffuses , as it had

deep art meant

gone to the dep art ment of common sense
to find my father figure
with a christ complex
who throw snow stones
let it be without sin, ringo, the morning is O.K. collared

the way we sit up in bed is starched
the light marks hours
the way we would had we Sharpies
but enough of mythologies


a departure meant
that no one was around to sing
my shower is a microphone, i don't know about (it being) you

why the fuck isn't there an(y) America in your voice
I have buenos aires in my pants
you don't have to speak of gods for your voice to smart

responsibilities to clocks, ours

i

we can no longer await
the liberation of squat shopping malls
like square herds of stucco graze
arrive at the river
only to converge at a
right angle, die into
cardboard in thrift stores

where is the life cereal
broken over a fiber optic lesson in arranging
the stars on a car seat
saddle becomes throttle

my sister the bitch and rubs her feet together and starts a fire
feet together starts a fire
folded, snorted against a long line
of florida hedonists
agony in their directions

bored in wading pools of hospital runoffs and aesthetics
the sun as it sets, curses us

ii (epilogue)

my sister sits
the computer lights her face
and you might tell- later on-
she has been disturbed
there is genocide in Darfur

and you sit here
and listen to me standing
talking at an open mouth

Untitled, not to be taken as a misnomer

i can do anything with my hands
(counted on lorry loads of stockpiled
food traded for Adidas)
i can take from the pertinent hands of others

[the girl, under the street corner in (in)solent dresses]
outs (out)sides
how much will you pay me if I drink a Daisy?
will some Doolittle do more?

i eat a sandwhich that in turn topples governments
my gas tank had blood
on its hands
from the pump on
which i left behind prints
(Bromeliad heads
of capillary action are taped)
Yesterday,
in 1973 my sneakers walked on Chilean dead
the tin harvested within the spines of students
made the first supercomputers

but as a fetus I wore headphones
(later under Semaphore bursts of wailing"
and dreamt in Dramamine

x-mas cadres (...5ive months ear ly)

surrender your kind of man
to i'll render the meaning
between two ladyfingers
the majority siphons menority
dropkick mayoral elections

i place the book on my face
to mean that i sleep
and that i descend from temples

my ex elle/moo hair/mujer/ragazza
wants me to clean her junks
to do her does
to remix Spain in her Aznar Twix Bar
to terminator x rater against the 'frigerator
betwix'd her misses me
and lie naked on the dartboard
upon she sleeps

she scatters her taxes like melanoma
her goodwill brings tacky Xmas cache
cards, cadre'd photos that boast
argyle of so and so magnified
mouthful of teeth, we
wish you a Merry Beaver

stares out from our cardigan guillotine

from one day many

the pool is a disease
a sky that rains velcro
sparks like
july a car is pushed
into
an intersection by a lifesize hand

the underside of the car reads dead
sea scrolls and feigns interest in scripture,
hot wheels melt and run to
carl lewises left in a microwave

paradise is a town where virgins drop from palms

the town would be normal if not for genocide
death gives the middle finger inside of so many bingo lovers

a shame they need
number 1
be side ways that runs time on rum tines
we're done with
stuck into the meat while a written out
zero in
block computer font becomes
a grave plot looking up

in edifice of ants iii

les autres

iii

i'm wading drawn
in pencil ink
for animation
the verge
seconds befour a scream

be for calling out
be for making hoarse from song
be for looking out over the valley
bent on doing sit ups to reach
a goal the sun

the ladder to the roof now
grew weary of being left
in the rain alas ladder
you aren't butterflies
you stay out of stomachs
& snapshots

y que de que,
no me dijiste nueces? me dijiste "souffle" con tus labios pertenentes
tenente, detenga ese persona antes de que se vaya su sol, o,
lastima sublevacion en los cielos

tocarte la celulitis como si fueran cuerdas de guitarra
usar tus ideas fetos de maquillaje de paisajes
banarte bajo el sol hacer agua, en algo distinto del PUM!

digital reverberations carry lines of
intermittant drug references
a very obscure one at that, mr. yeska
across the palm, lines
therein death lies
drawn closing round a fist

enter sister
as the moon hands in her
hair, another grave marker for the head
celebration of sentinals leaves the gates
unwoman'd

in edifice of ants ii

ii

10 miles out from my sister
birdgone
intox-eye-cated
bygones are drivebys
lacks a working temp. database
this femural contest against the personal reflectionary de-vices
a mad mask beyond mascaradome
or come lowly to the fading person there in the circle
as another white porcelain drops a load

vision of a saturated watercolor
avec les yeux
come pass come up
with a cure to the quandary
to exist or not
is ramified with ease in puddles
again, tipping a hat to once
but given monosyllabic accounts of gales
must find the shortcut
whales in those murky oceans cupped potholes
where the rainbow swirls in mimicry of coffee

are we up in forget
hydrovise,
invent your own castles of h2 plus the contents of lungs
Sir dirty hands
follow the envelope trail
a mainstay
of dumpsters into carpel tunnels
into the septic of the obscene
still- verisimilitudinous to paused- life
a gone way too distanced unverged
to the
USPS periphery
awash in what luminous salt
loosed from ducts
might frame the tongue behest
the dishrack your cats on
the mantel presents

siesta upon hire until
lest fall
cubist degenerates
acquire cracked glasses to waste resources
leak ore (licor)
et. al. call can seriously prejudicate abilities
to hide copied rights in wrongs

Wanted: To be TV

I want to be a television. Outside Which people talk so much,
to talk and not get a reaction is the goal of this desire.
I will fully resign myself to this as a sort of life's work.
A talking head is a mylar balloon that never shrinks,etched
with ubiquitous messages to compete with the other balloons.
It's heart rending to hear the same thing on 24 hr. repeat.
But to be in touch & because people like the ground, balloons
should never ascend to disappear skyward like dust on a camera
lens. Mylar needs to be grounded. Counter-intuitive. We must
ensure that even the basest of minds understands why repetition.

PSA

if a stranger has offered
to take your baggage
it is not allowed,
but a lowed
no one speaks in braille
and the blow tube was once a
Guinness can with a
hole poked
in the expiration date

if a stranger approaches
with magazine encroaches-
attempts to get you to buy-
I was never a meth problem
manifest in the streets of Nacogdoches

the high rise puts stars out
and the only object
that remains unfixed
is heartfelt addiction

Urgency to turn the the page
to skip over the lame doozie
of a sex scene

who is aroused
by print eroticism
now that Al Gore?

Who loves genocide (any)
longer?

I want to meet them:

should you be approached
by a stranger offering
to carry your luggage please
contact security personnel

you will tell them by their breathing
events/lungs caught under a heavy
badge and strangers, plus uniforms

who offer
to take your bags

Moist Towelette

Some interesting things here: Moist Towelette

In edifice of ants - serial, ongoing

no girls aloud

a resign reads, re

the posting you made on the inter rim

wanted, gray man, blood typed with fingers
a la old episodes
of ed sullivan manqué
the black and white of the screen ersatz silver
save ferrous to forge freedom, Ag abbreviated
covers tonight show clones

multiple choice ethics-- poll the audience--
limit your guesses to C

said the kidney to liberty, statued
it was a hard stone to pass
that rugby orb of the paleolithic era

remote control: shoot
with arrows
hit wife, will labor

Pantomimes of Kennedy, minus Super 8
on the sponge out in the fields
cotton picking pistons of man
stoop then appear then hold the sun back against their heads
become haloes quickly then down again
shot, but none fired
as if pulling earth to fit themselves into
the hole left rent between their legs

a bicycle centipede works French highway into the Pyrenees
hands wrapped tightly around
the steer
a wrestle to Rubix the ground

brushstrokes of birds ahead lean wind into
a quarried silence rises to again obscure
the sun baguette colored, readied
for the boasts of bodegas
stench of gas and gun slung, ripe with peanuts
a room around the bend sells for men

o you, hidden in foxhole proposals
a gorilla in your lovesuit quitting time
soirees in a china shop
consumerist plutarchs plunder your neptune out
there's more to a bottle than nipples and addiction
fresh in a new dress this can be your way out matched
lopside turvies mailed in a mound of aluminum dust
hide in the sun of Tromso
as the Arctic circles around your head
& awaits your blood

but red doesn't shoot from your waist
to get even open non perishables behind the church
and declare urchin
pumpkins beget vindictive knives
to wear a face i lose interior clothing

a glove is a gander
there's record of your god in pavement

i'm going to bring it back
"remember
Vanzetti"
mystory dis
solved in a bottle of Robitussin there's a peanut butter rollercoaster

languid twats and squirrels at rest in the park
far from guns

those who said poets write terror
throw away the wrong lives behind barbed wire

San Francisco Chronicles on July 17th
this two zero zero fiver
in an article
on Guatanamo
lifers missed their chance to publish
no book deals for men in beards, dirt their contracts
bared hair and the even the man ran

have in absence
of pen
paper is
of walls' use now
written in blood
poems of some 25,000

oppressors look like shadows
puppets when the sun is east to their likewise
lifesize is another blow
you holy to book one more interrogation
when pressed, up pressed the button
for two dictators to an island

enter gesundheit specialists to fix what's been nix'd
a quip on the why about the xsay what
i repeat, i did not get that
whilst the gesundheitened specialists are now rigid
with looks of men descend stairs in starched pijamas
nary a quietude among them
they check up der dare herd-- squeemish eagles
again, the sparks are what runs it, not da gas
Degas?
No. Da gas?
Daggers. what we spy through to see
mortality. no. them's weapons.

o invasor

Someone is always
on the other side of the door, add barricades, add flashing yellow lights (so quiet and alone at a construction site, winking out to ET somewhere in a battered cosmos, genocide removes the need, and the knees from jeans disappear.

mounds of Wangler in a 70s plus size notion that youth can rule the world.
waiting is leglong
some is always one

but better to battle than bitter,
on the under side of the water I am Mir, floating without aim and afixed to a background that no longer remedies my insides, pettycoats are as trivial clothes; renew person on other side of door, they come into pencil, ink, color, smudge, animate.

one is always some

E-squared would sterling wrath the doorways to more ways than once, an erudite in slippers, sans pipe filters
bargain basement girls and their argyle miles, thick rimmed glass through which glance overt sexuality
the god i love seventies movies.

ode to lotteries

a moon pulls its big chrome
bumper over Washington
into place on quarters

most of us struggle with a rose
gray theories of matter and notebook befuddle
even Mr. Pilgrim "So it goes."

(extra sensory wisemen offered to guess the
names from the mouths of infants)

cut grass hangs in the air like a crime
crosses transfixed on a mowed hillside despite rows
and not in place
of those
five fold to reach a slaughterhouse
war squares up to the feat to
make boys of men and mincemeat
of the lowest common denominator

give up aghast

i 'splay my colored pencils into the sun

and what of license, Mr. Williams?

what of stoplight burglaries
poverty in a painting smock
ad infinitum'd
like soldiered & triangulated mirrors
to show how everyone changes

what of the
crawlspaces et cetera'd
throughout the city center

a man buys a saw from which he
might makes thunder

against the grain locks
a language of one's own
unique and metallic

at the end of the party
the way saunter swollen daughters

and confess bedspreads out their mouths

two step

we lie
on your back
from the dead
this makes tears we're
reminded of cementeries
to stiffen flowers
is to break the spine

replaced smells
with the moving van emptied
among chaos of granite

each hoping to buy stock in the afterlife
shout mere epitaphs
calling cards of the local dead

you me
and the silver bromide coughed
out of the corner or your eye

encuestas de un secuestrado o, prosa chica

pretumbas e inolvidado
pretenso menos las garras que le pones el nombre de manos
preverso
antes de la poetica en choques de metal y
exponentes de plastico

señor, no te puedes permanecer parado aqui,

justo aca. decis "jaja" con tu sombrero de dos
una gorra potencial de lluvia

mon frere, ne pas c'est juste! dice un señal
rotulos de lo que significa intentar de nuevo

tatuaje de retroceder

y me mantengo

los pies puestos sobre el gatillo de "go"

vete:

Al carajo, 10 kms.
al infierno, 20 kms.
a la mierda, dos dias por avion

y a quien le falta petroleo?
y si la tercera potencia
es una sola planta, entonces que?

el tercer mundo se desviste
en el piso doce, entre ropa intima y ropa de niños

en la distancia suena una guitarra a la cochebomba

enemy combatants

poetry isn't
dead just

an enemy
combatant

there are no
just dead

while away

this morning
whilst
I stood
over my penis
it rained

ideas

why can't
enemy combatants

just sit and watch tv
like the rest of us

the dead,
justly so.

why can't i get over hills

can't
we all hide
white boys
in toy
railroads

cause there isn't threat
to bungle in this jungle

Mr. missed her trouble
might well very flute
you away back

i too
can think
what you're
reading

poems about antics

your flag was a raised voice
after my outstretched mime
stands between you and the door
outwards the street is painted whitefaced in noon

there's a kickstand to this wait time
come forth with arms
guns badly drawn

thankfully the hand grenades
of my youth never went off

but fathered cities of dirty bombs to wreak havoc
and in plane view
why don't you nary a mice town)

o grant that 1000 allahs
will bestow fire on the horizon at dawn
as happenstance becomes always
in turntables of history
armistice of Aleijadinhos
silky voiced narration (o comes out of zeroed mouths)

we, meaning I and the horse that
augers well outside for what are holes

we can landscape a road in chalk and give
forth a name in cursive earth
but turn the page is forget

the author's voice
vice-accompanied the storyline
which fades like doves
or cinnamon on the tongue

if i had icy fresh breath
i could place a check
after one of the following
_rule the earth
_redraw maps
_make an afternoon into a bldg. block
and fit it sq. into round

backyards are birthplaces

this swears by trees
few gospels short of a gondola
when still we are alone

a pack of lips

that
either rainbows
the water
or oil

our black
tongues sink
with a
flooded engine

you told me light
is the refracted way
bicycles fall

because hope
marks erasers
left behind
when hope fades
with the
fabric softener
fold up your
hands like sidewalks
until that comes
bob
for apples
president
and play
me immortal

wear some loose some

somewhere...

off in your footsteps
what you five minutes a go
left in a limp dragon of clothing
alone in the hallway

any witness is just a mistake
the smell of something burning
puppets of smoke on the horizon


somewhere...

obsolescence works itself into a schematic on blueprint
applause limited to time between
timber and fore
and progress is a collie called Plunder
or a backpack full of wires and clock language with arms
to lash the backs of heroes

somewhere...

the capitol is hanged on newsprint
wind replaces a hand from behind the blinds
a nation of crocodiles weeps

sandra?

she sd she'd love
it hucklebuck

which sounded too snafu cartooney
to be screwy
a mathematical what's the matter with you

running up the antiwaters of her arms
a bucolic facade to my apartment sept. 9, 1998
girl and her slit wrists

screams like a twenty megaton
she'll have Big Red gunboats
oh so but long lasting freshness
but a hint of warm metal

let's compose belief
remove a coin from your pocket
hold it pressed until warm
to a vital area

the metal tastes a bit more
like what's a qustion about your insides

and the mint withholds information

bare verse

what
sky and
history ended

O! make the mouth rounded like a null digit
0! binary the coats in the foyer
weather leans the door

traffic crawls to a tunnel
barely
bridged
past dittoed strip malls

license a green light

swirled trademarked sun

copyedited fights no one minds
thinking
it better off
this earth

'fore the bombs

ecksez and whys

the variable after X to the Y power
suits up as a prime mover behind the wheel of a UHAUL
arms at ten and two we spot location so as to not
collapse on others

I took the graveyard shift to watch your mountains
shrink into the sun
a music changes
heads bob like the ocean keeps them alive

either

we remain spotted a geometric ruse to man place
or until stay painted balls of feet
palms where you can see them
like wattage in the air

about faces

how much you care ought to have an assigned
elephant with a yard stick
the so much horizon blends
with reusable tractors and
govt. issued potable imagesful

a nation in the middle of sorry i sacred you

disgrace is a look you get used to

the leader leaves his false teeth on the night table

every man deserves
something to talk about tomorrow

about outside
crickets sound
like the fan is broken

The Escape of Newton Gayle

Catch as catch,
the Whatever happened to
We Could do Anything with Our Hands?
Our awesome indestructible playthings

Gateways of nothingness
My dogs are outbound trains

There really
Are so many
Sexy nesses attached
To my drawstrings

but what would journey do?
threaten a train through a needle
and thread,

Am I arrivals at where I’m leaving from?
Should doubtless I
Carry a dowel to parry the job blows?

¡Basta! Enough! I want my exclamation
To face uniquely upside right
My novice nemesis
reaches into a mirror and brings vege tables, to the,

Where upon
I grab at nothing
The yawning nada ness
The structure ess less ness

Life being a one way
Deck of cards
Pissed at parliament
For cutting certain edible kings

a clean shave another escape attempt

when the mirror told
me i
was young enough

i thought i was
old enough to shave without
a razor inside the palm
of the notion that if i looked
the part to fake it
i would stay the age and gain the man

he's still between
me and that mirror

i left him there

against

america...

america you lose

behind
your every

door a

 

feast
awaits
&

what
of those

who don't feel

that everybody’s hungry?

Anatomía de un Huracán

hay gente que son aguaceros
otras personas son lloviznas
algunas son lluvias soleadas
algunos son hasta tornados
pero huracanes...
son raros..
se miran desde la costa...
y se admiran
porque ante un huracán
hay que guardar silencio.

son hermosos los atardeceres sin acento

yo se, no hay tildes pero
por el angulo de la foto
el bulevar se va

ni el tango hora cero
ni el que tengo, son ceros y mas
lo cual se suma en bicicleta

del rey de roma, ni el tampoco
necesitamos saber de los cuales de las noches
si ellos tampoco usan maquillaje debajo del ojo
el ojo, el cuidado de limpieza cuando el sonido de fiesta ya se ha ido

las sobras son las mangas de cartas sucias
son nombres de peliculas pornograficas
como eres escrita en esa letra grande
y roja como un grito

donde estan metidos los gatos de relampagos
todos salen como si fueran fotos
que se van.

huracanes

how the wind whirled
how butter flies weapons

needles to say
they went ahead and cut
weathermen assemble a hurricane
optics in the eye, righty tighty lefty loosey to screw in the arms, legs
a stomach that sits on the surface of the Gulf

the tough have got going
much more than the going is getting any smoother

fingerknives of hands
all objects weapons

a blade of grass touched by halucinogenic dart board players
slices a stop sign
chalk one up for chaos theory

you have changed some
in the light of the shade at a bedroom, coordinate X, Y

in the elongated moment between ground and me, climbing the old Key West
storm shutters
I realize I have never been there, and thus can't go on

shams

nothing but
death all over
the tv

nothing but
searches all over
again

pulling some family around
by the trade winds

lead by the skin of their red necks

the only way to free flights
is through death

an enlargened cavity complex
sugar of violence

madrid,belfast,london

err like mushroom clowns
before they turn jelly and scram

ex plos ives wear belts fashined from straws
orbital rubbery to suck the blood off the concrete

get a good idea about mortality
& leave the mess to the experts

men wear hats bigger than most bombs
who wants to quarrel with their own entrails
a rank signature on the map

fist fights rear their weapons in our stomach
a crowd of men gets prolix in my throat
this
can
be happening

fractions

we’re not getting any more accordion players to fold their hands like such lovers.
we want jackknife-like precision of ants, scribbling their numeric bodies on the driveway
we want women lovers to crinkle a sound in night and the city, a ball of aluminum foil
we deny rumors that a car leaving Boston at eighty will develop emotions when the brakes fail

we ascertain that the man in the mirror is closer to life than he appears

we experience physical difficulty, a cramping of the larynx, with the period after mourning
we discuss fragility and how it looks on our hands
we circumnavigate parking lots, for nautical
we theorize that a coronary can protect a princess from imposters, stalkers and heartache

we know that the ground underneath is heavy once the positions are reversed

stop motion photography

i'm leaving
the bats ball around too much
argue with the sky about who's blind
enough, for it weeps about a sun

placate the cotton around the fire
until all ablaze, a ruin, a pitchfork or a sundial
rumored cars are squeaks and make mice of the night
a diligent opportunity to run, forges legs

the optical illusions of rims, fans
that this will be the game that lasts

a song that better states the hymn of the republic than goals

in the smoke aloof from the grass, dance ancestors
who know the secrets when the other
sidelines of the mirror bar them

laugh arm over shoulder
taxied home with friends

the world up in smoke,
drags at our


heels

jetties

stop lights
stop motion photography measures
curvature of knives as the hours change moods

ligature of tape sounds ISBN of an echo pulled from the shelf

the equals signs between catcalls
unfold in fans
paragraphs of reprieve found camped concentrated in the rubber look you pull off me
book worth of dialogue thrown to sea
red right green all wrong with envy

a storm brews apostles watches television screens

she cries
stop lights
all of the curtains in a swell

her eyes
dice
battle the pigs over a million miles of drink

some ones watching too

some ones watching too
named oath out of chocolate Andromeda
deep below our feet one hamster plus wheel

her eyes recycle to the light switch, stuck in the midday position
hydrants, the shirked gerunds
participles hang like signs that read CLOSED

a riptide pulled cats from whiskers

seraphim of paraffin support a fake star
under which all men are wise
all fools gold

she folded her fingers into a pretzel which came to resemble latitude and later wrinkles

I am wasted children enough to
span the sewers of three continents

to photograph the sun a pinko fuck named god

hands shadow scissors on the wall a dig to china

nostalgia is not discerning between dust

by the rearview
i wonder
if this is the last
time isle see you

or if you blood roses
grown stones throws
away from the wheel
given lives different than
a hand out to the road
to feel the rumble cycles through movement

will soon come in cotton candy
puffs when the camera lens makes foggy
cause is poignance
bitterness moves upstairs

i can't fit the fact
in the trunk
that i want them to return

run back to shotgun
and tell me
floor it
into the sun

a near miss

when I was

younger I almost

died

the show was great
big circus dull a lot of us

i didn't remember

tragedies
lull, you

if you forget to, squeeze

sit in a hospital bed
get the wrong diagnosis
from a nurse in training

and have them
drain the
life from you

handiwork of
tubes and cockpit lights
mimicry of organs
used to paint the skin pale

people too,
change color
when dying

and houses
when dead

conversation between magnets

Oedipii in your face.

Your not making sense has answered the door
again. And no, it refuses to give to charity.

What a lousy bugger.

A barrel full of dimwits couldn’t
change the lightbulb by which we see.

Ay si. Sure. Cierto. Falso, recomendado.

Surely you mislead.

The world is full of misleaders.

Ceaseless concertos follow a piano
around, and ask it to give them names.

I pursue borrowed trousers around, looking
to find a home for tired legs.

A robotic mess you’ve gotten us
into, what with computers and
technology; a large sword hangs over
our beds to watches, the night for us.
In each hand a different hour.

We are made lazy by folk.

By the by, by focus
I mean by focal. Et. Al.

Ibid. I concur. All objects et cetera’d
Xeroxed queens carry
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.

Paper out.

god soccer and music on the instep

the gunshot pitter
Pater of little feet little wing
old Cream records
once pants where longer than life
Err larger than life with a cockney accent
Litt’el Wing…

my music used to sound like a crackle
atomic record players awaken to sonic tribulation
and work through
Clapton jams
who is like god isn’t Michael

but Pele haloes over flips a bicycle
but impassible the tough flavor of favelas
a goal Icarian for a 16 year old kid away from home

I know behind Pele’s smile
Maradona across a mirrored table
awaits the hand of God
boca full of sugarloaf, Iguazu, guarani, Machu minus Atahualpa sunsets

history rebuffs
admit it: some
grandfathers
were rapists with little wings

god’s everyone: director, producer, screenwriter, garbage collector. Exterminator.

interview with pale, shovel

to ask whatever happened in the
sandbox? when whatever happened
to the sandbox is clear. it strings out like a
piano, added sledgehammer.
where is james joyce that dressed in ipso factos and clefts on this very corner?
where are the shadows the phone poles armored with the they says
a toolbox of statistics, anecdotes and storyline that I wish I could cop

there’s no place stranger

than a poem
to make it personal
j.edgar hoover played in nylons too after all

there are too many
too after all’s
e.g., your terror is tomorrow’s Tea Party too after all
but that’s conversation in the dark corner

wile the mean defile the average

a bouquet of guesses smells
rank
then file under gift:
(rationale behind)
dried flowers anxiety of having to speak
suavity of not having to speak
naivety of not forcing to speak

I fill the space with fire between
your hands in Guatemalan arms factories
extinguishing conflagrations only leads to a hollow in the sky where once flames

my sense is lead to a hollow in the sky where flames, once in the
hemi-, atmos-, oblate spheres of pasta

which empty like a look over the shoulder
a house pours down a stairwell
stoops then

grabs a basketball and V’s the air in passes
check.

convention of dew makers makes namesake
wings we flapped are sun faded
parking violations which shed
a let’s get outta here ahead
of staying at snowbird ground
zero

don’t open adore

ode 2 muses

a diesel engine pours tears into the pedal
I, control
I, cog
rest nonetheless

none the eels taste like chicken
it’s been forgotten that chicken tastes
my guesses are like nipples

my guesses bullets

Margarita guesses pomegranate
Margarita is not the name of my muse
Margarita is the name I gave to whom might be speaking with me
Margarita for lack of a better word

Margarita for a better world
rest in peace less, this meal unfinished is the site of a revolution

on a microbial level revolution ferments Lenin amoeba

an engine to idle by

driving rhy-them or a gas pedal is an envelope you push all the way

millennial uses
for sky and the names it holds

he who beats the drum first is first
signs of rain

a beer draws a taste of iron from blood on your lips

underneath the deaths of liquid crayons color rations

in the tea backwater
locks of nowhere building blocks
take up space overhead to begin upstaging the world, who has things built is king, and frank lloyd wright is present

tense too

on your telephone keypad, blood also spells alone

templates on a cell phone for a quick fix in various text message scenarios

Please call me by my name.

I’m at home. Please call before dropping by.
I’m just more work. Home late.
I’m in a meeting. Everyone has passed on.

Meeting is cancelled. Call for paycheck.

I am late. Don’t let this happen again. This will destroy us.

Sorry, I can’t help you on this. Find oxygen.
I will be arriving at my own free will.

See you in a place south of here.
See you in a box.

mother

mother
of all blank stares
a dice roll won these words
slap in the face worth palmful of admonitions
spoil on the ground like marbles
each reflects the limitations of glass, like a man falling
so much of what
we no longer want swims
in the atmosphere

proof that slavery is in the pudding

class divisions are nonexistent in a palm
we all stood that way, spraypainted golds and amethysts
but in amount of sailing experience needed
how willing are we to toss it all to the dogs?

I crossdress Marx again in an either/or
mixing a poem with puddle jumpers, egg beaters and galoshes grown talons
tapping the genocide on the highway for signs of life

how ice cream tastes in Sweden

Disbelieving to be this
far north still wanting
frozen foods

ice cream in Sweden is strange on the tongue
like being kissed with your eyes clothes

a perhaps is a name we cannot
pronounce with open mouths
teeth at eleven o’clock

our clocks set
back
pink from sun
set down
the world hurts without trying

the start of every idea

or heavy on the cellos, light wind

=the moment right before the music
=the second a fountain is turned off &
leaves a migration not likened to air

=the automatic timer switches on the sprinklers
=autopilot blips the brake pads of tray table

=I’m coming
=I’m leaving

=I’m positive,
she loves me in ways you cannot

=I’m going to ask you to sit down
the world is about to pop

=if only you’d have asked sooner
I’d tell you what I thought
which had an earring of truth in it
vacuum sealed inside a car in the rain

camouflage of parking lots:
blending into your environment like gum on a hot day

=I have this hair pin trigger here, for rent

+the air is running out

ocean: an earphone filled
with questions
posed to silence

who will empty my loneliness tank

I am not there yet
in the mirror
what you see
has past
like breath displays during
Decembers too close to my collar for nooses

gas up
eye seventy-five has rained for forty-eight

hydroplane to Miami
majestic, triumphant like elephant ears
the wind along my hair like a hydrofoil from Bs. As. to Montevideo

I once thought was a VHS player gargling tape on a Beta constellation
working the glitches out of the solar system

silence as a crowd
will not make
you alone

O emptiness it is you who has plotted

to fill my footprints

remolino

dale cuerda al tiempo
por si los relojes salvan mal la hora

a rienda suelta significa siendo resuelto
el Molino trae sequias
donde los ojos mismos caminar sin guias

vino de donde vino
la tierra seca mostrando sus calzones
una loca desnuda en la plaza
tetas peladas como no perro que ladra

orejas sin huecos somos mudos
la resulta de reflejar tanto el sol después de unos tragos

questions before the boat sinks

she nodded off et ceteras on acrylic with wrist 90 degrees to arm
pushes finger down & with each finger names

counting the burn marks the stars in part are
guiltless

What sky imitates oil in search of gray
What marred water another tomorrow turns
Where do the songs in the ground from pipes emerge
Who bar coded the face of the moon, the breeze, the odor of decomposition as mastodon conductors quarter songs
pull in the cardinal directions, as an urge would

meet me in dilemma,
who’s renting Port-O-Potties to innocent bystanders?

Does lack of guilt mean paying for it?

saxophones grease the axle of each revolution
scientists say 1000 miles an hour is slow for a rock in space
but it doesn’t leave much time for an autograph, nor an imprint
the earthquakes are not at fault though the dead finger them

if I get my hands on a clock
I’ll choke

find more than surrender in pockets

jumble-laya

a tragedy with
binoculars
hides in her pleats

she speaks there are wonders in a fountain,
hybrids and convoluted geometrics
a click cyclical brick individual makes more holes
water will tear up to heaven in upward irrigation

ad dress the approximate passerby a la refuse kingdom
the unwanted sights your eyes to see
they tied a finger to the trigger.
put a name to the nonsense on the side of a sneaker
which is carbon dated for
how long the metal around your wrists aches

Converse. Now between you and I
The liquor replaces vague underlying
Straighten the lines in palms forever alive
spread out milky blackjacks face forward sky
thumb twiddle either the vultures
assume, with barnacled daggers, the crash position

The birds vs. the wind, the former refrigerator magnets

Eyes floorward. objective: pieces of broken girls
add just difficulty
the you/me come between

scars wish a return to childhood knives
out, folly

a hardness waxes softball in a distant fence
the smell of cut grass rises in a mist
a dog’s bark betrays the location of its owner
under the moon leaves an imprint, hand some humanity

the strangest places for a revolution, yet the earth turns

graffiti in stubble
virgin
sandy roads in FLA.
that make me
crave rum
or violent
pictorals
of pornography
in weeds near the
amtrak station in
providence

forgotten
newspapers
of the poor
always remind me of

the flag painted on the hillside
somewhere on I-81 between Harrisburg
& Scranton up in a mess of pines
someone always redoes it
(like each year a person who no one knows
or no one wants to know so
that no one knows
visits Poe's grave on his birthday
where and which, everyone knows,
and places
flowers)

radical like a car crash is to glass
a dark figure throws shutters to open

paints over the old flag
renews the flag
denial of an even if
it might be
that it fades
out of
shame.

but bill O’reilly said I could do it…

eyes of emptier ideas
than the garbage tuesday morning

how about the sprinkler system?

i heard it drowned a man last year,
80 or so,
fell off his motorized walking stuck right solid.

great graveyard, how the years passed, and water didn't pour over him,
H2O my god showed remorse

but water goes as earth goes

spins out polyhedrons in that loose leaf cursive like a suburb "crawls":
anything else that happens in crowds is usually dubbed a riot

save migrations
guiltless those who still hold onto the divining rod,
that gold could be in the grass,
or forming a line at a souvenir shop to purchase a self-portrait
any which way
lazy like water pushes corpses homeward

Sans provocation

1 a moral
2 a sexual
3 a mused

will someone ajar the door? I caught a drift

in an Atlantic fishing net

the itch at the back of the throat
might denote a singer
more justice
in a smorgasbord

pissing on holy books
pisses off the populace

the formula was an easy zero
around which we formed a ring

poetry is not

its expression is
democratic
its forms are
platonic

sound is an anecdote of objects falsely gesturing themselves

flames set what’s real back some

sit images sit
x marks the ass is worn down

on the coat hangers
we hang, assembled in reality

makeshifted to the devilry of

breathing into the monster around the corner
the likes of under the bed

& into run, stews long enough
Your answers found at the bottom

the sirens lead
the trucks
to tragedy

trappings of a prison

florid doses of sadness are diodes in codas, throwing codos
used like a road cracked in the weeds

she sunned off to Ursa Major
flicked the neighborhood

on the overcast men
sit lowercase
in their pickups and weep

& rest

assures we won’t
eat slaves

where we sit lest coffee will be
admission charged 1 day

I like the way you look like a fucked up Nursery rhyme
the battered only assume the position

till sundown María, you’re immaculate again
pillpopping past the Federales
a dream or a demon
lives in the cough box of your belly

3 coins in the fountain,
or 2 over the eyes

chit chat

my nicks
look more like
cuts appear on sundays

what's undays
they do deep
in a basement of the soul

if the picture surface
of the pool truly
recalls night
or if it's a mere drunken dial

looped conversations hang
from saggy black phonebooks as
the worms devour another cloud
the odor ides bicycles it tries
tirades and microphones

stress fractured
binary smoke inhalation
in the fret barrio

there won't always be tomorrow
taken from the shelf shoved
in a pocket thrown
in a cart and laid
plain on the asphalt mourning

salvage configures ages of salvos greens
of spring are stampeded tennis balls

how forward their steps

notions of done
took them out back and shot them
them long underwars like speaking kindergarten underwater

a tape rewound is spliced, not cut
in which we give up slash back
most promises

entre Alfaro Siquieras y Matta hay un Vallejo

manzana grande, oda a galletas soda

pluscuamperfecto del hombre se hace vientre
pasado de hambre le hace robar
conjugaciones de tristesa u ámbito posguerra


¡puta que sed de vivir! dice el agua

al cuerpo ¡ay sí!

todos somos bibliotecas pero que algunos cerramos más temprano
tarde o abierto lleguen gente,
sur hacia norte donde doscientos metros sin pies un ciempiés simple

el dragón reconoce que ya no es lagarto
la mentira se viste de camanances

comida preparada, ya somos arroz
la palma de la mano es un quiosco,
objeto recibido y vendido
pero cuerpo, cuidado de no hervirnos

el cuidado de no
basta

Ode to Camus on Culebra, PR

We filled up the jeep with shirtless bodies. I then hit the ignition, under the gas pedal and foot, a marriage. A dangerous dinner topic it is to broach the idea to an audience of sparks. The difference between a crowd and a protest are:
1) the utterances/slogans
2) the expressions on the faces
3) the which way the legs move.
In the former, legs move willy-nilly patterns in everyimaginable roadmap pattern. To be not confused with stomping a foot in the grave remix of ‘quicksand that is life,’ say some lose some. Win some too. So if the directions are different ones, no one into runs another. No alleyway is inhabited by more than two soles. When all legs run in like direction the chance of deaths increase, as to the chance of getting somewhere, hence protest.

learning the ropa

Used clothes are
A detriment to hands

Blood sweat and pricks on the loom

i have felt badly in the past
why not now

racks of clothes are like crowded squares at bad concerts
it’s only a matter of mousetraps before theirs
and there’s dogshit on your sole

I felt badly
(like an ingrate at Christmas? Perhaps…)
about these threads that hang there
no chests to fill their insides
lifeless in the sex dance

there are blowouts in these bubblegum aisles
shouting matches in the fitting room
someone runs away with scabies but pays

for amazement to stand in the mirror

it’s about body doubles

and brides apparently

bribes and the cars they sit shotgun in

her smile is a violation of a handicapped parking space,

and the weather could use a comb

get me to thigh nunnery, faux pas

the poet ponders whilst

a terrorists or many, are at work in the corner with their newest configuration of sevens and cobwebs,

downing the next jet is only a matter of time, if not flies

and swallows

I’ve just returned from a house visit, with matches and gasoline.

the poet might want to run home. It drips.

If you wanted something to extinguish, I’d let you use my verse

your your your
but poetry stopped stare and closed mouth.
your your your
it’s sour. enflamed sour so sour it wilts wisdom of hoarfrosts remained behind “stop, save yourselves,” on the pane

This, it’s determined, gave a voice to the flames. And fed they were

kid gloves

the adult bladder
holds two cups of liquid

because you can drink
two cups of usually water

before you have to go to
the bathroom

my brother says this

I find my footing

opposite

along the wrong
way to say things

spicer

no
Spicer,

Not a body
ever listens
to poetry

they use

it
to hear

to put our heads
down

life spoons
to the milk.

o como sacar sentido de una olla

y como los sueños se meten en una pajilla
y como son senos sin la uva
son analfabetos y tragan papeles por miedo de leerlos

pues, sopa de periodicos
donde la ciudad

San José
Cordoba
Filadelfia

se pinta de tinta a veces
negro

y burro se habla
pero de hecho su charla no se trata
de
orejas

ni reyes de San Pedro o el vaticano
donde todos son unos Nazis.

¿como que redes no son colores?
andar en bicicleta antes de llover

como
que de que
otra vez con la hablada de

diablos
y sus carnavales posteriores


hierva
hasta que lleguen serpientes

graffiti

from sliced wrists of bldgs.

poor’s blood

ads have them hurting

grimace
hold side
wince

agony
graffiti

laugh about it later

a poet is a pot in which someone

--between nudges and inklings
--between the corner store and the television

plants a seed

that shows different ways of
explaining flowers
& not echoes of sunlight

but rain 2

i loves a blurb

i loves a blurb
my ancient stereophonics

follow the light across the valley then a river

Home is where you hangmen

victims all we
run outside to see
the sun

the ring around the moon is a memory
a Glasnost

suffocation is nary a vegetable
under a ground garden replete with v-8 engine

the pool makes water into mirrors
and we’re all nighttimes skin & sky
until the lights
are switched on

I take a sestina next to my siesta
it’s a blast that I was who you didn’t
cough up a lung to be

freedoms and choices are two difference dings

writing this makes me
inner bubbly

and chomp off ye olde stomping Glock
= less crowded avenues

a plane crash brings another cloud to earth

...

the mockingbird is a serious
threat
a tofu moon spoons another
the dish ran away with

hey dawdle tawdry
tumble dry quandary my night

watchman reruns
virile candidates pockets
swell

get it aloud now

when the lie becomes silence
divers fail to find it

breathless playdough of earth

narrating through a noreaster

wherewithal of thunderstorms
before the snake steps on you

returns underground to the charisma calypso go round

I am all ankles and irons

there’s two of us in this Mylar republic
but only enough helium
to talk like this for another two weeks

I get off this stage fright butte..r roll face
will call
hide the phone or silence the ringer
a dimpled in Oshkosh overalls might
give an underdog spaceworms

what loud thunder outside the light curls around
percussion pots and pans
shadow fills out fat men in dresses
there’s pudding with the creepy rice in it you hate

the note on the fridge
I left you
reads:

Wake up,
this is only a poem

The Mother of all prophesies

Went to the bookstore last night. The poetry section was a void. Where's the harmony in a world that lands Poetry 180 Degrees (an appeal to the tragically hip) and the Iliad on the same shelf?

825 AM

I a’sleep on a plumcot
packages of groceries I

forget rots under my poster child’s divine right of kings

inasmuch state of
Florida
as the change of rundown car washes seasons
the blvd. files down like a nail

(up the blvd. is north?

apartment 7a, 6th floor, face the gulf loses
its view
i force myself to remain objective but the lights
are out
it’s no longer possible accept it

get down on one knee
do the unmistakable hand phenomenon
then get up again to my height

coolant and genuflection list your lips

I get us all off:
not guilty