vacationing at Nevele

your soft drinks
grubbed twenties

[more
jostling
the man next to you
becomes a niece
and take over
Africa]

at least that's what the major outlets have us

understandable:

i would cam your vegan overhead

so full of bullets now
let's see you subtract backwards
what the fuselage
an inside work permit

Armored Elevator

Shameless self-promotion must happen

Shampoo is up too...

http://www.shampoopoetry.com/ShampooTwentyseven/index.htm

Jacket Magazine...

#30 is up. Have a review in there of the latest Yasusada Book from Combo.

http://jacketmagazine.com/30/index.shtml

Tazza

The Downcity Poetry Series continued its onslaught last night, killing five and hosting a reading by Anne Waldman and Katie Degentesh.

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.