Monday, January 28, 2013

The Baptizer

As a baptist, I've decided
To call pest control on myself.
So began a fine summer's spittoon.

What are you yelling for?  What do you say?
I spat out carpenter's glue and asked for you.
You came, as grumpy as you sounded on the phone.
Rub me, I said.  I'm sticky, I said.

I looked at my feet.
I looked at my neck.
I looked at my hair.
How dare!

I raised my gaze higher and higher.
There are the windows of the clay people,
There the second story
Of the man with the angry face

Who shook his face
Like a spring-cleaned rug
All over the yard.

The stone crumbles into a red face.
Whoever he may be, let her come to him
Stretched out by long red boots and increate.

I have a Hummer made of rubies and rare steak.
In the high gaze of my heart, I see
A microwave gathering moisture.

And so I walked up to the Hummer
That stood in the soup of the field
And flung its doors open to me.

There past the tree staring sadly are you.
For the fourth time I ask,
Can you save me?  The shore is nearby.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Lovestories of Dirk & Robin Hood


The 1st thing Dirk de Douche ever heard Robin Hood say was, "Vinegar can do what?" Dick said, "What?" That nite and victoriously ever after Dirk and Robin made love. Later they would open the shutters in their own house, never having to read again to make up their own minds. 


Years before 
Dirk said, "Under the wind are days flat as a graceless computer or an old torn panini."
Without grace, barren as a palpable lesson,

the river
that old machine
got into the loop.

Grudgingly his hands became soldiers of the weather.


At dawn the bushes
were hardly worth

When the gun goes off
the costume too:
Land will shimmer like a heresy
under the raining sky like a horse

refusing blue


Drunk as an island, Dirk played
how to read smiles with pebbles in the shadows.
Trees can't cover everything,
especially the night.
The fire cast a shadow and built an orange orange room where Dirk couldn't see himself feel more
or less.
"It's no good here," Dirk said
clenching the heart's draught-
tab like an overripe banana,
"the trees have no future.
I have...
The future is faint & full of banjos unhoused
in the static, 
bastard in distance."


Dirk took the long route, dying into malicious afterthoughts as far away as when you sit trying to kiss at the same waxy table.
"Who knows," Robin said, "if this
the gun I hold 
all my life
the telephone at my ear 
left undialled..."

When they tried to kiss what burned were the staples holding their hands to the numbers carved blue in the table.


He hid a meal in the drums so he could forget what was important.
No one knew how to live.
So candy and onions got eaten by a lapdog.

One day judicious as an abandoned adventure 
He would reach the Capitol
and what come


"If history can stiffen in a self-storage rental
an edible shank can be the hand
We walk together," Robin said,

"I don't know why I love
but shoot me.
I'm not in bad shape,
it's just been a long time,
a long time since anything was
the last time.
My opinion of love is
the same thing goes for
It's too late."

When traveling they should have a laziness.
It's too late.


At the last Dirk thought, he didn't read it, but wrote it:

I told myself, now its gone, we are little dots. Dot Dot Dot.
At the same time, I resembled them.
There were such parts of the world where we were lying in bed.
There's nothing to see out the window.
All people are poor.  I am watched, but did not see.
The dots went into this and into that and that into this.
We long here.  The operation began.
I told myself, now it's gone, the Time will come.
At the same time, I ended unsuccessfully.
There were such parts of the world that were all poked through with surgical instruments. Dot Dot Dot.
All people long here.  The Time will come.
I told myself, now its gone, I'll sit in the garden.
At the same time, life is various funny things.
There were such parts of the world where we opened our mouths
And said ahhhhh ahhhh ahhhhhh and there
The most unpleasant thing was getting a hold of oneself.
All people have cellphones but you can't call yourself.
I told myself, I'll wait, we are simple phrases longing for dots.
I'll wait and look to hear a message that will come in dots
In short bursts of light, in rapid clicks.

At the Window

I stare out the window and see
I can't hear you anymore.
My hands have gone tender
And spill out the air-vent,
Green as a bird at the bottom of his grain.

You strain to make a final effort
But expire, poor wretch, into education.
I have grasped the hidden warmth
Of a clock vaporized to my chest.
How heavily this not weighing upon me weighs!

Suddenly I open a chair.
Let us better loudly speak
Of the things we won't hear
About the coming week.

The Impersonator

Gradually I lose my shape
The way I lost the buttermilk.
I arrive home in a foul mood.
My toothbrush doesn't work.  It's soft as silk.
Gradually I work myself into an Elvis cape
The way I work into being a man that's good.

Thursday, January 24, 2013



A cabbage is a wet beginning to knowing exactly someone else.  But here we may; green means go.

A wet beginning is like a cop attempting origami in the cats & dogs of the pouring rain.  Nevertheless, folding can be done, poker-faced, and lose little of worth to none.

Paludal, what it all comes down to is silting a swamp.  In the beginning a dysphonic voice, ravaged by speaking sense, came like a fuckdove across the roiling waters, and across the dark waters bespat dirt in shapes according pure to whim and thereby made solid the solid land to lub and build exclusive clubs upon.

Green as a laryngitical dove
Ravaged by voweled names
You must rain origami
Into the cabbage of love
And accordingly silt the cards.


In the clear carafe of red dirt stamps a cushion colder than a plate carelessly afire.

I blue like an old penny & always turn up a turnip.
Water clears the drawing of glaze.


In the morning long as a dress unhemmed,
I can't remember, Is blue your color?  Is fire your petticoat or its green desire?
Sit and talk with me.
I've got no castles & less
Bottled than air.


Sit.  Sit like malachite.
I won't bite.
Not yr pretty petticoat,
Not yr plate,
No, not nothing,
Not least, not beastly
The rootbeer float


Fire's not much of a moon.
If there's a gate, you should surround it
And exchange it for something extra--
Courage or maybe a clock.


A gate is earnest like a small sac,
But places change and climb clamoring lines.
Flatter the shape of fire
And exaggerate the revolution.


A moon's a big chunk of advice.
If you throw something at it--
Not fire--it'll break you off a piece
Like a kitty-kat.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

I, Lobster: Like a Beast Made of Decisions

In the private guest room,
sitting under a medical tarpaulin
a little girl
colors in her books.
Animals vivify more than lines.
Daddy steals her unto a warm bath
With a toy whale
And sees, sleeves rolled up,
Terrible wounds.

Private colors ham in the guestwhale.  Beef sleeves the eye,
scooting a sumosuit, rock 'em sock 'em, until, forevisible, disapparatused, the hamwhites whiteout privately the interior hospitable cabinet hunghard near the harborheart.

Into the belly of the interior hospitable cabinet, I surcharge the air.
Batharbors sumorock green.
In the ocean roll empanadas, empathetic with nothing, irishgreen ferried fairies.
Is this the rubbish I sought?
These birds, jackfighting this aquatic school of downloadable jpegs of ancient beefs?
O man, everything's on sale!!!! DROOOOOOOL

Immanent Evaluation of the Aerodynamics of the Swarm

Are these tomatoes holocaust werewolf towns?

Look at the tomato.  Maximum Respecky.
A carfool o’ poop.

Geometrically, on the consistent-yogurt, it proceeds something like this:
             1.  A scorpion is its own birthday.  Red or not.
             2.  Two birthdays ago, DNA was photographed, but never dugout.

                              3.  I feel artificially better, but my back is maybe too warm, which I can change by moving.  I just did, by hook & by crook—limbered.
                        4.   This is it then, isn’t it, a suck-ass lobster, slawclawed through theatrical red sex.

      Scrub-tumbling, a klaxon spasming fleapowder,
I shower a frayed thing antiquely textbook &
Argued over the particle-flat bowels of deserted Bazaars.

6.Below unsafe towers crude as a ram’s
   Shackling of gears, broken crockery,
   Desultory as pluckslick dungwire engines
   Pulls the wingbone titdug off the back-
   Ward oblivious reekbarrowed crowd—
   Flagged flaghill like scree!

6.                                  6.

Jutblack, in a city unconvinced by gravity
Twanging like guitar strings leaving trails of defecation
Jackdaws & icecube-predators  commodified undulant
Above the braked-tar of the rooftops, verging.
Profanity bursts into the air like fat fingers
Blistered on square slabs of city-planned debate-habitations.

Near the beginning, undulated like a walrus riverpigged as near as damnit, Foucault, decrying pointless sentientomorphism, declares: “I don’t feel it is necessary to know exactly what I am.  The main interest in like and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning.”  Chickensumo and Doomsparrow, Knucklesauce Beaujanglesz, and don’t forget Crispin Harborheart Tickwilly, who’s been trying, and they all, so many heads it’s headless.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Get Stabbed!

Part One:  "A Man With a Knife"

I walked into a dark alley and got stabbed.  It was a man with a knife who stabbed me.  The man with a knife pulled the knife out quickly.  It all happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure what had happened.  There was a warm feeling, and a wet feeling.  It felt at first like getting punched, and secondly there was a warm feeling and a wet feeling.  The man with a knife pulled the knife out quickly, and then turned and ran.  When the man with a knife pulled the knife out quickly and then turned and ran, he turned and ran quickly too.  When he ran quickly too, the man with a knife slipped in something warm and wet.  When he slipped in something warm and wet, the man with a knife looked at first like he’d gotten punched.  It looked at first like he’d gotten punched, and it looked secondly like he hit the ground rather abruptly. Thirdly, he got stabbed too.  Thirdly, I had been in something of a daze, and fourthly I hit the ground.  I hit the ground rather abruptly too.  Then a woman with a stroller strolled by the dark alley.

When the woman with a baby stroller strolled by the dark alley she noticed two men hitting the ground rather abruptly.  One of these men was the man with a knife.  The other of these men was I.  I noticed first her baby stroller, and secondly the abrupt movement with which she stopped strolling.  Thirdly, she screamed, and fourthly she hit the ground rather abruptly.  The woman with a baby stroller had not been stabbed, but had been with a baby.  First the baby screamed, and secondly I wondered when the baby would hit the ground rather abruptly too.  Then a man in a hat ran to the baby, who was screaming.

First the man in a hat ran to the baby, and secondly he noticed the woman.  The man in a hat noticed the woman had hit the ground rather abruptly.  I noticed the man in a hat did not thirdly notice either of the two men who had hit the ground rather abruptly.  One of these men was the man with a knife, who had been warm and wet once.  The other of these men was I, who had been warm and wet once too.  I noticed the man with a knife and I both appeared colder now.  The man with a knife appeared colder than I.  The man with a knife and I appeared to both be still wet.  Then I noticed the man with a hat had helped the woman with a stroller to her feet.  I noticed first they looked at the baby, and secondly they did not fall in love at first sight.  I noticed thirdly the woman with a baby stroller indicated to the man in a hat the two men in the dark alley who had hit the ground rather abruptly.  Thirdly the man in a hat noticed the two men in the dark alley who had hit the ground rather abruptly, and fourthly he investigated.  The man with a knife did not move, and I did not move.  I did try to move, but could not.  The man with a hat went fifthly to the man with a knife, who was the closer of the two men who had fallen rather abruptly.  The man with a knife was rather impulsive, a real do good sort.  The man with a hat who was a real do good sort impulsively pulled the knife out of the man with a knife.  Simultaneously, something warm and wet came from the man with a knife and I was able to move.  Both of these things startled the man with a hat, who now had the knife.  The man with a hat who now had the knife was now warm and wet and startled, and he dropped the knife.  The knife fell rather abruptly into the man with a hat’s foot.  I noticed fourthly the knife was rather sharp, and fifthly the man with a hat who now had the knife was now rather abruptly stuck to the ground.  Simultaneously, the man with a hat noticed both of these things too.  Sixthly, the man with a hat screamed, and seventhly he hit the ground rather abruptly too.  The woman with a stroller noticed all of this.  Simultaneously, the woman with a stroller hit the ground rather abruptly and toppled the stroller rather abruptly too.  Then the baby hit the ground rather abruptly too.  I noticed sixthly I was able to move, and noticed nothing seventhly.  Then I awoke surrounded by medical staff.  I did not notice if the baby had screamed.

Next, in Part Two: "Surrounded by Medical Staff"

Thursday, January 17, 2013

You're Not Real, Girl

There was pain, my friend,
unable to look up as you,
unable to see her, almost
too perfect, you thought,
You're not real, girl, and
we confessed it was true.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Party Hangover

I've invented a bed for breaking bodies,
and it is taking a toll on my work life:

it separates joints by hardening muscles,
and then you find lovers you ought to have forgotten
telling you in fevered dreams that things will be alright

I've invented a bed of cruel humor, apparently,
a thing that snickers as my turning is frustrated
beneath its quilts that I can no longer air out

it has not yet done its work enough to spit me out
and nightly I attend the party that will one day do me in.

Monday, January 14, 2013

I just write poems about gifs now, this is completely tru.

I couldn
t find the
correct g
if for this
tho booo.

Lena Dunham Deserves All the Poems

This weekend is too long
it's been going on for days,
like, basically all weekend,
and now it's the week, what the fuck.

No one asked me, but I told them, I said,
"Yo, you know why I write poems for Lena Dunham?"
And then I showed 'em, and to be perfectly honest,
I have no earthly idea what this poem is supposed to be about, but

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Hold Up

I just met you and this is crazy but
I think I'll keep dancing on my own.

It Was His Crustacean Period

What I saw was okay, and followed by lounge jazz,
a man with an Arby's sack full of I'd wager
more than just a bucket of Horsey Sauce (mmm)
upset about the death of my friend's dinner (hmm)
and a bit of sea spray from Earl, it was controversial
by local standards probably you could take a joke
and eat it: what I didn't know didn't hurt me, probably.


In-Game Commentary

I made up my mind before
I made up my face and now
I do what I like I like to barter
I trade pumpkin bread for reiki
I barely know how to bake but
I know how to love another now
I made up my mind before and
I will make it up again before
I step out to feel you tell the world
I am so beautiful in your eyes and lucky.