Thursday, March 22, 2007

Not the Funeral at the War of Hello Kitty

In general. She IS the motor of everything against.
She faces, is the face of raw desire.

Plastic touch, graphic balance, scent of raw mint
tiny hands make tiny deals

She is the balance of malice,
Shiny, shiny girl friend.

Hello Kitty, She is the frame upon which it all hangs
Gall & Ground & Motor.

Solid, firm & round, the basic motor of power,
Blossom of the constant life: reaching for your eyes.

Significant bouquet, Hello, control-blossom.
Hello Only, Hello Crown.

Hello feeble, resistant secretion. Such charming mutability
That enormous head. Hello Against.


Tuesday, March 20, 2007

In The Grim Future Of Hello Kitty There Is Only War

Stalwarts & All


Jump in to tolerate this, is the link.

Slump to hollow gringo hooves,

Trump links to sallow drains, by which we

End, eviscerate the Jello-s seas.

Nevertheless, I inherit the squid, the temper

And nuances trumpeted, bleatingly,

From the forlorn movie palace, jigglypuffs,

Or stinking photographs

Spray-painting glossy goats on tombstones

Your genealogy (other weathers)

Other withered stumps of grime—

Continental breakfasts, clover (clotted breads)

Removals of the triumphs – her

Garroted maneuvers, kneels to the twirler,

Her inebriated witherings, moose-asks:

Can we have these things removed?


Sunday, March 11, 2007

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Tuesday, March 06, 2007


Such a street like twigs

Or hatches to frenzy

The four pointed wig so heavily
Given straight time

By the bridge watchers.
No here. No there. No translocation

Or personality, please.

It’s been lingering so long

One side out of the sludge

In the fenced-in mud puddle

The storm drain leaves

For mosquito populations

The tug of light and the slipping

Shadow, ridges of the knot languish

In the shadows on the wall inside

My mind. Noose breezes, I call them.

The rain in her

elephant heat, sticking

And smell, internal combustion

Sneaking out of my heart

To stain my shirt and all

The surrounding landscape.

Night like cataracts blooming

On my iris. I can’t see the twitching

Anymore, I write to you this

Broken bone, this pointless light switch

I keep flipping up and down