Tuesday, December 30, 2008

for Chauncey Kieley

It is not likely that you will see a chicken riding a unicycle

It is not likely that there will be a tax increase for the wealthy or that computers will replace the need for stem cells.

It is not likely that every Sunday morning Kansas City will turn into a great white horse or shed its bricks to live in the sea.

It is likely that stockbrokers will receive pardons but it is not likely that they will ever win a round of Jeopardy.

It is not likely that the radio business will cure yellow skin or that the Department of Security will send us a telegram for Christmas.

It is not likely that Obama will be in the last season of Lost.

for the Sisters

Shrub and Tits

I remember becomiNg far too illegal
for eyeLashes. The dancing on knees and
your admiration for Horses.

I remember our notebooKs were full of
Allergies; an attempt to inhale rain or
maybe the Stars and necking.

I remember Admiring books they keep in
secure cases and channeling late niGht
ducks so as to love something with more syllAbles.

I remember urinating on your grandmother and the Liguidness
of stArs after a bad date. You were
basil/roaring greaTly.

I remember somersAulting over the
paleness of dust and a grabBing for
Dance partners who could withstand linen.

I remember the touch of salMon:
the shamPoo you smoked:
You always Could shine on the Pacific.

I remember falling into dougH.
We always Ran without sneakers despite
tHe aliens and alligators that Yankee called to us.

We were Never sharks but always
I remember we called to one another
as if we were hawKs. School officials
Asked us about our eyeballs;
we expLained it was our heavy
intAke of beans and more dough.
It was never horMonal. It was always
with a nasally laugH that we became faces.

Check It Out

Linh Dinh posted my poem for him on The Lower Half

Also, Ron Silliman has a good critique of Milk here.

Monday, December 29, 2008

for Mark Butterfield


Not such a melted bird, a tub an empty tub without a flute or the utterance of words in B-Flat. It is the brute on the drum who makes the farm the link and who makes the farm a kite. If the kite is them in B-Flat than why not the butt and why not the lumber that he milks. What of the marble the dirty utter that he claims as turf.

Always again there is melting.

for Willie Ziebell

Gaining Independence in 1981

You are a former British colony.
At the ripe age of 14 you
became a dangerous river,
luring in International
Human Rights leaders and
transmitting sexual diseases.
They call you the "NGO Sex Slave."

You were last seen swimming
with Caribbean reef fish and
the mutton snapper.

for Bryan Coffelt

Crafted Out of Bones

Bone 1:
Bone is a substance made for decoration in France.
There is a fancy a contemporary feel about it-
a hand-crafted covering of a great reddish room.

Bone 2:
A structure; a launching into the building of a miniature city made out of recycled computer parts.

Bone 3:
The sticky fingers of a greaser nicknamed "Greasy Bear Brandon" all over the captain of the cheer squad.
The rush of stardom.
He was your grandson too.

for Linh Dinh

Welcome to Second Life

Life gets easier on the
second try. You'll discover
that sex with a regular horse is ok,
but sex with a unicorn is

There's three-way penetrative
sex that will make you
practically vomit rainbows
OR the ever popular "tickle
my enchantment" game.

But honestly, unicorns are rare
and we're in a recession. A few
days ago is not right now.
Start off with a unicorn vibrator
(bendy is the key).
In no time at all you'll be
lying on the beach
high on teenage sugar!

Your life is now vibrant
and eccentric.

for Patricia Salgado

Acid Project

Jasper, the Socialist "alligator" was
jailed last night on the charges of
stealing/feeding a Picasso painting
to a dog outside the Capitol building.

He was on his way home from his
day job at the spa and tanning hut,
(wearing a homemade
grape costume) when he decided to
visit the art museum. He claims
that the man singing
"Under Pressure" on the street
is what lead him to steal
the painting. Something about
it triggered memories
from when he was stationed
in Asia. He said it was there
that he "found God;"
it was then that he dedicated
his life to the protection of
pigs from the AIDS epidemic.
His reaction to Picasso
the letting go of an ego
that restricts people from living
"as if in a musical."

for Sarah Westover

A Short Swerve a Resting Wash

A rooster flies overseas
to a place with a shorter
harvest season. There is a
packing of wreathes to
make a location for a "hot war."
There is the sound of tires
outside crunching to make a
packing down of tar.
One erases while another
becomes a raven set atop
the mast of a great ship
headed West.

So rather waves.
So rather the shortening of
distances between warehouses
to make the "hot" a
3 1/2 feet parameter around
the heat and to give it oars.
This makes verses. This makes
the lessening of travesty so
the ears can hear you.

for Mom and Benny Boy

In Florida We Had Fried Squirrels

I used to take your books and pretend the insides were blank to my
rolled paper and coke.

I remember the etchings of trees and
nails and one page filled.

What is it of daughters that
asks not for a twin? I said
"they asked us to sing"
We all then tried to read in the dark.

She's in. She's here. Somewhere.
Buried under snow perhaps. Waiting
20 minutes somewhere for a plug
a heat made of surrounding.
Have you ever heard of the
Indian Jesus?
The piece of mind.
The slight breathing.

They are now switching off and
nose dripping.
There was an earlier philosopher.
They said there were 50.

Everyone got taken in by the forest,
by the twoness of thought.

for Will

A million or more salmon

Something was easily mistaken
for the desert. A blowing
from the snowmobile- a
rally in Mongolia.

At birth, I've heard that the
elbow comes first, then the
sail made of wool.

A million or more salmon
became part of the realist
movement while the world
continued to count bones
and build Bingo halls.

Once there was a lowering
of balloons.
Once there was a crowd of
girls watching worms
crawl away from the rain.
You then became a boomerang.
You then, as if Nazareth,
became an old Taylor guitar
sitting between thighs.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Happy Holidays

I am going to attempt to write 30 some presents over the course of today and tomorrow. Be on the lookout for yours!

Thursday, December 18, 2008


Not only is Jennifer Garcia one of my dearest friends but she is quickly becoming one of my favorite poets!

Read her here! Be prepared to jiz in your pants 100 times over!

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Those that surround, inspire

We were talking about cum- the way it can go in all directions. Long story short, Alex said everyone would "look like the ghost of Christmas past."

Gang, I love you!

Saturday, December 13, 2008

The History of Keys and Locks: Part 3

There is tipping beneath. There is something so far from that there is then clocks so that there are fingers if in the winter there are books of a middle taste. If a candle light than the world and it's fine.
There is a clearly, a repeating orally the history of England doing and England as one,
as two,
as all over the insects tacked more and more to understand the workings of sex and of combing hair, the going on- the people one recognizes when masturbating and eating and cooking and never wedding but always in love.
Always there is a canon that is a sphere that is the distance between our eyes becoming single eyes tracing the bridges of rights or rather the shape of secretion.
In the central the making of keys, the making of interesting sounds. A General knows the telling, the mustache of the fallen making the letters of now to the wall.
If there was a trap than there was a bed and there was the overlapping of different sized hands to show a round time.
If the bay collapsed. If the red more than days. If the giving of ears to lips the licking of oil from organs and many go and many to and such I call to you.
Then to tonight when to the waltzing on rugs, the photos now waltzing where to the sky lines. The lines break exactly breath as resembling a New York day coming. And does the folk of voice always make the breath of sky as the lines make the breath of lying while the two float- now more waltzing.
If the city than the winter than the proper of the two making an instance to find the green of skin inhabiting the green of another skin.
Can anyone from behind scarves be awful- Awfully the remembering, the utterance of had having never had met but had had and not only scarves but paintings and orchestra and overlapping- this makes flannel sheets a lonely.
While having literally eaten while having making very good the upwardness of making very distant, making and moving the theater now to the theater.
Now then there was silver and it was making a scene and each has a chair and each is becoming a flying shape and always it is meaning very well but always it is watering and always a sinking- a sunk heavy organ being in a plane being pressed without a correct amount of leaning so always changing and always counting.
Where then is the reservoir. Where then is the clearly, the mentioning of expressions if in doubt, if in holding was it the less making of language than before or in how habits are bound to bow to understand to recall.
The tying of tongues is hard for the understanding of all being locked.

For Those Who Speak At: Suck or Nibble

This is to say 18 + 98
adds up to make the Filipino
islands: a daughter, a left
hand (a "set-up")
Down here in the background
the font is of a smaller
size, a general softness to
dramatic clasping and a
cigarette. They sit with friends
hoping to form words that
flow as if becoming a Christmas album
or a French Billboard hit.

Are you familiar with the force
of the radio being used
as a tool for thrusting?

There are many names
to go by in the dark.
There are many ways to
light a match, to become
a decade with a quiet
voice. At this time- pyramids.
At this time reference to
a dog eating a flower-
she does this by inserting
She does this when your eyes
flicker like Japan causing you
to look like birth.

Seamless but with the
making of islands one
becomes familiar with the
formation of directions.

All becomes contemporary
with a "Yee-Haw" on
the back of a truck
people try to explain why
flowers made of oil
resemble vaginas.
Correction: the spongy place
is where fingers rest is
where melting occurs.

Names that appear in
Texas obituaries are becoming
night. As it so happens
the distance from
Brooklyn to Houston
is becoming night
printed upon the receipts
of those who died and
those who stayed in hotels
along the way.

One might walk through
Boston and say they have
tasted cherries or that
they understand how movements
begin and withstand.
There may be knocking
or hands on backs but
there are no markings
in or around the park.

44 does not mean snoring
has ceased does not mean
gathering the oral to
make correct documents.
44 does not count on its
own nor does it rid us
of bows of muddy livers.
It changes a steady winking
but it is still winking nonetheless.

When was it that we
made classrooms hound-like?
Where too, have the sweaters
gone have the middle places
gone to bed alone all this
time without the shading
of streamers

(all too much a dreaming up
of mannequins).

They once said dream of
whales. They once said
the interstates will disappear
and where does this leave us?

In chairs sit collected
body parts assembled to
make 10 or 15 minute segments
of something to pay the
bills with or to at
least say they have provoked
but more so they sit
like collected body parts.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Cats React Poorly To Stairs

for Tara Crist

Castro overdosed on catnip
in an attempt to avoid
explaining his participation
in creating a reactor that
would not only beam deadly
lasers at all artists but also
lead to the death of thousands of mice.

In Part II of his autobiography,
you learn of his childhood
desire to ride a tractor
through a pile of tar,
as well as the day he
ate all the rosaries found
in his neighborhood Catholic church.
Many theorize that this
lead to his aged aggression
towards carrots.

I Heart Alma Alvarez

To her 382 Modern U.S. Lit class (8am this morning)

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Really Really Country Music

Speaking in an elegance, a discomfort
as with a coffin sound- I
would say a howl, an erasing
of space to help with
language. What is it. A
counting form an open ended.
Totally moving-not like
lace but hands gaining
a horse confronting
a beautiful thing. A corner,
a pair of cloves, strictly to
the column using inside
voices all the same in breath.

I have kept children hidden
like in romantic elements.
Everyone had their place and the place
was processing and cloth. It was the
It was told.
It was the beginning of bleeding knees,
the hooves now lying besides
Again making it the three.

Depending on the flow of the
Mississippi, one might prance
around with a ribbon in their
hair or a puffed out chest.