Saturday, May 31, 2008

The Love Stallion Filling Her Astronaut Pants

If I told you her hips
were full of the forest,
would you think she
a Latin trans stripper?

Sitting like this,
she feels not like a womon
but a stereotypical
flamboyant gay male,
age 32,
robust in such a way
that does not scream
"beetle" to those at the gym.

She is turgid (being in a swollen
state- wearing nothing but a
taut and firm, gleaming
sword- spontaneously orgasming
and dripping into lovers’ throats,
a hot whipped cream corset
(It’s sexy).

She moves with an
arcadic kind of fire
over bicycles and
everyone talks about her
on Karaoke night,

outside of 7Eleven

around the ping-pong table
and she’s feeling
a bit like something
lost in the mail.

She has resorted to sitting
in washing machines on Saturday nights
mixing into scope of seeing
holograms of ink and
extra large headphones.
is scraping up now-
the misconception of hands-
touching feet as a form of love
asking to get her
Virgin Mary back-
that the
Renaissance fish-bowl
surrounding her head
represented her attempts
to test the boundaries of
a greyish-pink sky

(sermons delegated to bones,
she digresses to nonsensical identity
and morphs.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


There’s a guy who has

strong feelings for the

environment in all its forms

and a womon speaks

(pubic hair) for she too, in

special hours, has the likeness

of a cat, or maybe a

homosexual- she shimmers

up to people’s necks.

The time is becoming uncertain,

opening on awareness, feeling

slightly unlike alive.

Another speaks.

More days of holding heat-

seeing about him, indifferent

to the nothing laying about-

the thickness

of waves and people mixing in cement.

To those of relation,

Shutter and do not

go away alone

or do

and become something of

power, ripped and urgent

among the environment,

varying in shades of primary colors,

aging and sitting on the laps

of pretty young people

creating winged kinships

dashing through old photo albums

and departure-

The gay are sad

and each one as before

will chase favorite phantom-

people driving U-Hauls

will come and take their beds-

the gentle sound of it

and crossing yet another street.

a shoulder to the ocean and

error all that comes

into canals and that of moving off,

suddenly larger and no

mindset but the gentle tapping of velvet.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Is Freckled Constellations, Painting You In Statues

Emergent sky, a thousand
cradling owls and you,
dressed in chopper jacket,
published and dusty-
set apart from organs.

Dropping under the breath of
Shakespeare and pines,
a collection of islands
and exclamated changes.
More modern More hands
The duration of
"this just in,
100 best dropped nights."
More notes and news-
an assortment of prose
chained together in such a way of
this poem is about you
and you know it.

Amidst October- a journey to night,
dusk settling on
the thief of the sea-
a portal and fait.
The statue shaped a figure of a/
Your kinetics glistening
on the tip of tongues-
as we are stretching over the walls
in a sense
that is not you
continuing to gaze upon your transitions,
a shade of purple
a shade of jetting

People as of bridges,
you on the highway’s edge
dangling aerial but going strong.
The equinox of hard pleasantries.

Last night the weekly review
cracked into your house
and rearranged your fences
and other such notes of distress.
Art journals-
It is now spring
with the new hymn
hatching what was lost
in the middle.

You left sitting
the milk carton,
something red.
Young under the weight
of slick and frosty apartments,
a chorus of kissing hands-
the focus stood quiet on you.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Olive Skin/Italian Features

for Natalya Verely

Nine to ninety-
crippled or crazy.
Remember the massacre
at Wounded Knee?
where the women were all skinny,
fruitful and w/daughters.

Juliard-Trained Dermatologist
attends small dyslexic church
in Boring, OR.
Do you want to dance, dance

The greatest actress since sliced bread-
a wonderful Lady Macbeth
who knew the difference between
there, their and they’re,
as well as: are, our and
That’s some trick-
I can’t wait to play with
you all day
and to hear your first words.

Your dog thought my diaphragm
was a chew toy
cursing like a fucking sailor.
I want to father your children
unless they have a Barbie doll fetish,
in which case, generally full up on the crazy-
just need a companion,
a doll to cuddle with and
drain on occasion
while changing my career due to some health issues with panic disorder.

Hey- ease up on the scorpion defense mode.
It’s my birthday
and I want a special pregnant
virgin woman to hang out with
the 3 wisemen.
You know who Method Man is?
He entered a Vanilla Ice look-alike contest
and *won*!
I can’t do that
I have a wife
Hope it’s not
The rest of my. . .
(No doubt she’s nuts.)
THAT’S RIGHT. I’m taking the ESSENCE.
Remembering when I had corneas-
dreaming of girls on bread.
Can I shove a pot roast through your nostril?
We’re perverse because of YOU.

Camels and It, Breathing Through Mountains

Decoding, allowing for sustain-
able among mountains
of coding in the requiem.
Two-hallow, indeed thick and able
substances of curling in of cheeks/
a breath of being about
and needing less to sustain
Two yet in = all able
all pauses
Bottom of the bottle
lies naked skin
holding hands outside
and able.
Ankles do not flex
power of lessness-
That which happens able
outside of bottle
semi connected and sustaining
to button
to her way of sustaining
bending and tenderness-
a boogie downness
of your step together
step apart
ability to VIBRATE!
not mixed in with plane jets,
underground and
rooted in able boxes
packages of sea shores
Being modest
in your viewing of two
exposed in such a way of ability-
lines touching circles
to pyramids in vision’s corner
dreading upon able-
sustaining prints- lover set atop
piano and a vase of ability

46 Judges Question Validity of Time

Tooth disease jams 200-plus-price of corn oil
to Appease Gods, Redefining war Smarter
local farmers begin lobby, Africa soil
as to unleash wide-Food Isn’t Better

Mapping the U.S. Reunites Rising Sun
with sheer cinematic alcoholism
multigenerational and Brass Ring won
"Napoleon" seems First Wave aphorism

For the plotting Sharp Jumps Pose Youthful Fear
Angular "they will kiss us." and piano joy
herself giving over to diagonal tear
political landscape jumps ethnic soy

Professor Duffy’s High-Fat Lasers Unite
three-judge panel vertically dances out of spite

Friday, May 23, 2008


Collab from March w/ Ball Slick, Squishy Ball, Ball Istic, and myself (Black Balls).

Slick Lick
Dick head Mike
and juicy candy from the inside
joined the infamous group of
lollygagger shoe giggles
I once ate five caterpillars without
shitting fuzz the next day.
Dip-in-dotting my way to never never land
leaving our wendy gazing at the stars reminiscing
The balls of yesteryear whoosh over
my elephant hepatitis nostril.
Held up my skirt to "she walked down the aisle"
she breathed on that softly hidden sweet
muskrat of a hurl
hurl on that furl of a whirl of a girl
side step, comma, baby’s got. . .pockets
has anybody out there seen my sweet dear wocket?
Ass slap, ass grab, what’s in your future?
Homophobic balls
I will not censor your outrageous round colors
while dribblin’ + scribblin our new countries dollars
Grab that confetti off the wall
and rub it all over your naked shweaty
on holistic, ELECTRIFYING wood floors
writhe in ecstatic glory from above
Do Owp!
Callused knee pits-quite extraordinary, I know
we crutch walked our way to the gutter
where the spider, bitsey + itsy, found a lake of
dancing queens having the time of their lives
Except for the crack heads with the
bloody noses. . .
dancing upon the backs of swans, menstruating
as they painted their cheek "warrior" style.
like some kind of freak
I keep pecking eyes out with my beak
grabbing at fuzzy dice- I dream in leaps
of candy land travels near the valley of peeps
lay down your armor and pick up my heart
"istic" took us all to the foul line
where we drifted between the sublime and
ethereal, she moved to the music
And I grooved to the rhythm of her breath
A man looking Looney Tune asked to rub up on her socks
Kinky, kinky :waves finger:
Lave made in the USA
I’m sinkin’ further into the gaping
hole of your mind
Vending on your practice carnival rounds
where we float in the air riding our
partness chosen from birth
symbolism among shoulders
eat giant copulation mongers
THESE are the signs of Olympic flag bearers
holding up our proofs of patriotism over our hands
parachutes land in our laps
Tornadoes singing to kings
capturing among the masses/ something metal
the iron dildo of myths + legends
pour from my ears into your lips
Drink it, Bitch!
ya, we’re getting methafied
We’ll drive a hundred miles to where
No one will know the tigers reside
No one will hear the wind chimes in your eyes.
NO ONE will eat your turkey
But everyone will lick your beehive
and honey will drip down your thighs
steering clear from all this uncomfortable
sexuality, I like pancakes.
which makes sense- your work here.
But let’s get back to sex, it’s our
favorite subject.
My hot pink slippers get me so excited
Sometimes I like to just bite them and
chew the fuzzy right off!
Sometimes, I dream of rubbing it all over
my hot, steamy earlobes
Oh how I love peanut butter
take on me, take me on
on a roller coaster, on a hang glider,
on your wing.
Our lives have become a soundtrack
a liberty of city lights
trounced by the trees in their yards
everlong we shared love into the wild
I can’t handle the distance
remedy of lost travel stickers
that can’t remind us of the places we’ve been

Ever So Slightly Buzzed Collab

with K. Silem (K Mo) Mohammad, Jess Rowan, Alex (Mo) Burford,
Ryland Brown, Bryan Coffelt and myself.

Flanged, a market of sexualized atomizersas
if mitigated canister rides Debra safely
We bared exoskeletons, exposed soft
spotsmine was feeble, let soak through pores
The duck-taping of listening,
audio door under fingernails - under loving hippos
whose Eleutherian Tarkovsky collection de-catalyzes
our only fingernails (we've left the sector with bloody
prints on each other) PLEASE EXIT WITH FAIRNESS /
Yummy Yummy floorslip from Jesus hammering
off the fuck hum
Oh, flayed fetus in yodeling you rise
(50,000 words omitted) DAGWOOD AND I NAPPED IN OUR
Weaving through nipple rings,
there is context beyond the threads still bloody
and full of pin stripes
there is a terrific pretense to iguanahood
there, where they're talking off their heads
making the holes into beach scenes
a magic of human hood, a budget to limited knots

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Wrapping the Mind Around A Forming Galaxy

We met shortly after
my phase of publically
humping nerf footballs and
teddy bear’s noses

Knowing that the drink effects my pee
I called for an
emergency fire drill
so that we could sneak off
behind the shed
and knock lips together
for a bit.

You said, "my BIG BLUE MOON
is hiding in your tent
wearing nothing but boxer briefs"
so I continued hosing down
the garden.

I first smelled
my cat’s breath-
lingering on Umpqua River-
valley of a thousand African trees-
verging on vortexes of
"he wrote some poetry
We are revolutionary in
our yogurt eating-
in our iris spectrum galaxies.

Over the last few months
I have become familiar
with the contours of my elbows
in such a way that
I do not trust anyone
whose name comes after P.
It is to say
that I am overly surprised
by the way
your hunched back yodeling
keeps slipping into my dreams
and then my mother appears.

She left the bath running again,
this time dividing the road
we started on
and the one that will
get us back.

and in your office
we agreed to share our fear
that the snow might eat
the miniature dogs.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

For Chester

A blissful bundle
of farm girl loving-
Diana said, "when the spirit writes
we all turn into black sheep"
and lord knows
whatever Diana says
so after some smooching
a.k.a. gaptoothcuddlingw/musclepin-uptattooman-
(his bicep alone could make
a farm girl orgasm) not to mention
complete and total revenge
on all the other
grease monkeys twitching around.

Someone finally asked
"where did Diana go"
to find a bouncing hoedown
back in Guyana-
there’s plenty of cheese and tomato soup
so grab your goat
between your tits
and don’t sob until
we put the spirit writers

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Your Scent From Between Silences

I began to, writing.
Began to scratch out
what was not "believable-"
imagining your hands
not just distance.

I am extracting
the you from within teeth.
The 7 foot tall words
managing to disappear
behind bushes,
falling between my skin.

I no longer see
but cracks-
am the spaces between
asking you to join me
there. (ultimately disengaged
from what was old image,
joined the ranks of
bulletin board makers
tacking upon images-
your scent from between silences.)

Regrettably still fantasizing
of the satellite you-
the mereness of being hidden.
beginning to walk ahead-
explaining the purpose of visual,
touching that which already is. . .

Friday, May 9, 2008

The Virginal Crab Cake

in collaboration with Jess Rowan and Alex Burford
for Jennifer L. Knox

Oh, fawn of least resistance
I touched upon a conversation
Don’t cuz it hurts
Some semblance of fishing lures, trout measures
I laid a hamster egg in a minefield
just to prove your worth
De-plug you- a clock of worth
We begin to charge within mouth
Last famish- a horror of raving suns,
I know this- in and above
Come on, sports fans. I raised clock towers
to signal your arrival
(the signifier to the serve)
I offered you my bike
you road my pants
The last Vietnam Christmas oval phone
I love your handwriting, Vagiplasty!
I like the curl of your knees
Scoop scoop don’t sunflower this evening