Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Here is the screen name you mustn’t touch,
But you may feel the delay coming upon the box
Of being you writhe in. Also, the lord cometh:
No Me Tokes. Hear the heralds grind-core,
The Styrofoam goat’s head and black robes,
The gilded corners of the pentagram, a blank
Screen, then tile backgrounds of Satans upon
If you recall how vinyl captured these
Band logos in hexagonal blood letters, then
Your shape is a waxy cloth breeze-torn
Across a chain link fence. You are the band
Member wannabe in forlorn leathers beyond
The backstage doors. What I mean of course
Is that it is me. So my website is a rubbing
On wax, porno disclaimers and keep-hiddens
Behind the screen names. Bloody, bloody sticks.
So Christ, fresh back from the concert
Says don’t touch my merchandise, fried foods
Of the mind Cholesteroling the soul, merchandise
Eyes. And you do not know why I put a cheesy
Studded wrist band to the air? It is a denial
In pure form of my stumpy mentality, an
Un-resurrect-able personality vaingloriously
Endowed with a perverted self denial.
Troll, the hog brain in underwear roaming
Bayou and beer-hall Fen hoping for the chance
To show off my computer boner, the throng
Of god hammer that must never be touched,
But that might be found in mood, in the mood,
In the mood. And still, the lord manages to
To come up for air and go back down, back down
In to the spiritual sixty nine, times nine,
The six and the six and the inverted vertebrate
The filthy, filthy screen name you must never touch.
Monday, October 22, 2007
I got to go riding on the Blue Ridge Parkway this weekend and took some pictures of the trip. Probably the most enjoyable aspect were the blissed-out old-timers grinning it up all over the place. I spent a lot time inside my helmet wondering if it was still possible to "Commune with Nature" by traveling through it at a rate of fifty miles per hour.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Nearby they are driving piles
For the new parking garage.
A red tailed hawk glides
above its shadow
Onto a roof, so strange
to the sky
I have to sit down on a bench
and watch it
Until it flies away.
It is for me like
When people woke up
on September 11th
And didn’t believe
what they saw on TV
Because it was too much
like a movie.
This bird, so large and actual.
But even there I
have to stop because
Somehow I don’t believe
How could it,
Be so beautiful, so shrug
To the constant clanging
Beat back from the facades
in an echo
how could such a thing,
Be made of pictures
from a child’s book?
The hawk perches on a cornice
And the people walk on
Beneath its eyes. They are
beaten by the sound
Of metal, the distant apparatus
Of the pile driver
pressing claw after
Claw into bedrock.
But what is a thing
And after the world is covered
And, become a presentation
Of poor Plato’s dream,
After everything is part
of the left over stage set
The hawk will look up
into the yellow light
And not be sick of it.
He will fly off and I will be
left to undertake the moment,
Dress her in burial gowns
and send her down
to read her lines before
The firing squad.
I still can’t believe t
The vastness of birds.
The great wings
and the weather,
The bending away
from the grounds,
What I know, the familiar
To the ground.
Friday, October 12, 2007
In the house next to the house you want to buy
Lives the world’s ugliest transvestite.
Seeing him undone you’ve barked, in passing,
The truck precisely navigating the gentle
Bend the road takes into vastly less cool
Neighborhoods. Imagine a beard patching
Its way through creased cakes of base makeup,
Large legs darkly nubbed in here and there
Splaying nylons, a street corner marking
The boundaries of what is at premium
Most desirabe, the house, and wrong, the man
Be-penised and thus malformed to this world,
Imagine how he would be glad to watch the kids
So you could scuttle up some afternoon coitus.
Wait. I’ve already gone too far haven’t I?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
I fang. Does the tiny shoe fest? Duh.
Who let the dogs out? I’m good as
Superman’s boating accident whereby
The nun’s super strength contorted
Us through black hole’s dinner guest.
You fang. No joke. It’s a contusion
Likely to fish as dam this time I caught
A hyperbaric bonfire: the palates, THE
PALATES poured gas on the memory
Of all our mothers, she collecting
To light her fumes but it was a third
Degree memory, one fang in, one out.
We fang more efficiently crossing
Cooling the dogs with a saucy squelch.
Zanna excellent Zanna
The very small shoe plus fest? Duh.
Who they have the dogs left?
I am well as an incident of canottaggio
of super man for which the excellent
capacitance of contorted nun our I
the host of breakfast of the black
breach oversteek. You zanna.
None scherts I. He is a contusion
probable poiche the dam fish
these me aims have intervened
fé hyperbarique of to: the palates,
the PALATES have paid the gas
on the memory of already our mothers,
they that he for lu brings together
a steam explain but she was a third
memory of degree, zanna in, outside.
We zanna which more effectively
cross by cooling down
saucy the dogs with squelch.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Svenska, the Swedish Cockroach
I’m telling you not everything is as Swedish
As the corner stone’s rough accent. Enmeshed
With a barbiturate of coal, the knife wielder
Sheds barley into political leaflets and then,
And then the children pull a harder oar, digit
All string lines in and out of Scand-O frontal
Lobes like lovers stacking bricks on strings
Of high nosed tones, those hairs, I’m telling
You of stacking and pronouncement so you
Can not say you were not there, excusing
Bails and crosshairs from that rich design
Much admired in your coffee maker’s lux
Uriant position overseeing the cabinetry
And the inferior end tables who bow mock
Supplications to this throw pillow’s clack
Beading hairstyle. Listen well, subvert
A stony presence, there a roach imitates
The renter’s pose, there a mouse judges with
A turd and every carpet fiber reels beneath
The weight of century’s worth of mites
Upon mites generating political organizations
Out of the residue of your skin, foliate
To follicle to the bonnet dream light’s neon.