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