Saturday, June 30, 2007

"Ghost Rider" Is Perhaps the Finest Film I Have Seen All Year

At the end of the film my wife told me I couldn't go off to be a "dark spirit of vengeance" because I have two little kids.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Bonnet. Horror. Betrothal.

Introductions: before we bury the bridge,

Here the plume of overbite, rehearsing the break,

Meet the fair-weather concrete in the dam.

You’re both so high and mighty.

Still, free from the stick, this Rough shapes

The new broken bones.

On the down-hunt, we meet caverns, tomb-ly,

Roach havens who burn their headless

Corpses at both ends.

Meticulous informant. Superfluous detergent,

Blood stains reign mightily

Upon the tunnel entrance, the wedge of dark

Buried under the overpass & heading

To the parking lot beside the river. Each river,

Each parking lot a proving ground to youth.

Squeamish drill, the great chain of credit

Admonishes us to heave, broken teeth to

Rotting livers, mind the grates, the wretched

Fingers slick out, slick out. To nervous jiggling.

Scourge wrapped tinkle, breach the deviant till

The children ask amnesty to this That, literally:

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I'm On Yr Internets

Stabbin' U with My Zulu spear & Lookin' @ U with mah Eyez

The Arnold Gargle

Jab with the elbow spear in the gladiator’s den.

Look down yon purple heart, the snake eats its way

into the governor’s seat. Ha Ha, your little tie amuses me.

There were script problems from the start.

Dousing the snake women with their master’s blood.

Maria, I’ll be in the car.

Here is the Q-tip used to kill Ross Perot. Yes, the serpent’s

minion is a puny man. Hammer of rock legends,

Hammer of Iron Maiden’s youthful penny, hammer

of Folk metal pining against glam.

Conan Vs. Vince Neil. The stars will shatter into

tax relief. Witness X, the mother-core, on the run

from the wolf pack. What is the secret of steel?

Drive big ones, smoke big ones. remember when I said

I’d eat you laugh. Last, Latvian Hammer of

through-chest. Gods of pretty men, we salute you.

Conan’s gargle. Heave the gigantic pot of your argument,

the arms, the limbs of it, upon the gathered wretched.

Conan's Lament For Valeria

Chained to the Wheel of Pain for an adolescence,
Raised by Huns, teaches one anguish, twenty years of it.
Are we also to assume it stitches slabs of muscle on one
Like a heavy wool coat on a hanger?

Before I became Governor, but after I stole away the Princess
James Earl Jones killed my ultimate metal girlfriend
By straightening a snake and firing it with a bow
Deep into her chest. I drew the length of it out of her.
Her corpse exploded into fireworks on the pyre.

I remember her jagged, black and white,
Camouflaged in her Anvil of Crom warpaint,
Patting her scimitar in her open palm,
Just before she cut down ten strong men.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Q: What is Best in Life?

Sven Ole Thorsen

Hold Still

While I Smash You With My Giant Hammer

For my snake-father, James Earl Jones,
Requires your flesh for the massive crock pot
In which boils the turgid green stew that fuels the orgy pit
In his secret inner-most snake chamber.


Wearin' Mah Helmetz

Hearin' Teh Lamentations of YR Wimmins



Saturday, June 23, 2007

Tennessee Two-step

There are tall-ships passing over mountains,
Scuttled on peaks and listing, great rents torn
Like smoke is torn. Sides stove in from cannon-fire.

Smoke-feathered up the ridge, passing,
There are ships passing that you have not seen.
Their music of pines and limestone, lush and hoary.
There is nothing else to be missed in Tennessee.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

The Gorilla Dentist Found This Diamond In My Mouth

I put it in my truck cause the smelly hippy made it run dirty.

(oh by the way this is our 900th post) (!)


Last Thursday I took off on my motorcycle to ride the Parkway.

Here are some pictures.

On Sunday I rode back from my aunts' place in the Smokies. I got on the Parkway at Cherokee, North Carolina, and rode it approximately four hundred miles to Roanoke in about thirteen hours. I can almost feel my ass today.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Tune in to hear Jay Snodgrass read poems
On Weds June 20th at 9pm
on WV89 FSU's radio Station with Forrest Anderson and Jane Springer
Here is the link WVFS V89 89.7FM
Weds June 20th (this weds @ nine pee emm).

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Friday, June 15, 2007


Scene: Through an upper window

the swollen ground is mucousy with rain.

Clear sky, an ointment. Fade to sky.


No matter how love pushes away the knife,

it is always translucent, like a fish.

Like the memory of a fish we look for

trying to make out the hook from

the other gleamings, color deeming

outright. Fade to sky. Repeat:

The act of memory bounded.

I wash the carrots and put them in Tupperware

with enough water to keep them from drowning.

Utility is like pine shade in the yard.

I am ready for breakfast, for lunch, to reach

back through sunlight on linoleum

to push my hand away from the stove,

from the broken glass, from the yawning

oven of despair, wet like an open mouth.

The director may be subtracted from hell.

Utility is an authentic voice.

The princely export in a gleam disguise

These dark angles wherein comfort lies.

With the shades drawn the window is an impenetrable

slate. Unmessage: Hear the tree amusing herself,

the roots disgorging this ground, the clutch

of a curious customer no longer interested in this

or that stump ability, clump of marbled mass.

Mossy bereavement the ground exhales in chunky


Scene: This tree, generational pine left out to suburban

monument lays down her toil; goes in search

inside. Wants back into the darkness of the day.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

At the Oysterpan Coffee Parking Lot

Do you mark asphalt, sibilant Oil-pan?

It begins in the twin. Wet black skin of seal,

Refracted halo and slick thinness of plate.


The caress down gutter, not quite cruel. The men

At the outdoor tables whittle women from


Wormwood. The marks strike sparks

In the Everclear vapors of heat & road,


Ephemera factory. The knife breaths into

Coolness. See it? Then it ends. The women


In shawls. Four trays of weary light above

The yawning bus-your-own table bin.


To keep it here, the car is moving. Away.

This is wrong. Jump up the steep


Aggression of currency. Time & fat. Crucible

Of slick, rainbow curve & asphalt. Engine


Engine of Nowhere song. Cascadent effervescent

Monday, June 11, 2007

Please check The Horse Less Review for Jay's latest poems.

This is the cover of my latest handmade book. If you are interested in getting your own copy of this book leave a comment or visit the publisher's website here

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Friday, June 08, 2007

The Drought at Goose Pond Trail

& on this stump the rude broken

Rude like a dream of the crippling

Cross bound traffic. The strict

Decline of star power, radiated night.

I tell you I cant remember which dipper

You use to find the North Star

& I can’t see how they make a bear

Although a swan, sure, except the swan

Becomes a rock and every year

The cross wears its hankie to wipe

Away the snot you get with spring time.

I’m hobbled, I tell you. Just mine-swept

By the empty lake & her geese who,

Since the water S-shaped and evaporated

Just flew away, & now there’s only

The one carcass run over over by the Ruby

Teusday, that day before the Lent

When we gorge to celebrate want & loss.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Emily Dickinson Comes Back From the Dead to Eat the Brains of Billy Collins

He cowers in the room at the top of the stairs

to the left of the bathroom, the only one

left with a lock.

He can hear her in the hall, her & the heroines

also murdered by E.A. Poe. Those

ladies suited to the subject of poetry.

Such lines are the easily masticated leftovers

of the Marquis of poetry. Billy, she mumbles

her voice a shuffle on the carpet –

I know you’re in there, Billy, I can smell

your – He bought the runner because its paisleys

marched in tune with a thought he had

while looking down from his window

when the leaves parted in an afternoon breeze

and he could see how much better he was

than everybody else. Also, the paisleys look

like brains, sweet, sweet brains. She’s at the lock

now. Billy hears a fly because she’s dead

& walking, her two-step century shoes.

Billy is about to be revised into an abstract.

Before he goes, though, let me say

that inside that room, the lights off & the end,

Billy, the comfort of space is its closing. There,

the abstract like an opening mouth, the room

closing in.


Sunday, June 03, 2007

Friday, June 01, 2007

The Descending Crown

Vita Ordinariurm. The pond is a philandering bowtie.

The gorse is in tails, luminous as drought,

our drought, ever after the dust rising.

& through perennial elongations like an elephant’s

family tree, the destitute pond turtle

turns to asphalt marching out across

the television. While also Bees, lost to target,

stretch their missiles, here the text is central

because of the cellular waves that hatch

miscues to the bumbles & hornets, reruns

of Edens, where the Holy Billing Statement (HBS)

shuns man & and his ungainly flightless

carnivores. Now what the thunder says

is sailing down into rebroadcast.

As the tires wheel round, the pond is dry,

the turtle levies his flipper in prayerful

plea. The Holy-Holy comes down on him.

He is ordained in a shatter of retread.