#29

III. The Book Of Barret

Equalizing a new routine,
a series of upward strokes.
The painting finds verse
in a step
and then in the pauses of atoms.

The iron corrodes and trembles
until articulated by the sound bells
it becomes and force of diametric
pause.

The coda as a kind of fish
which presently
drains the water from partitions.
No sound and fire and bent light
all over our home. Quickly,
this is something.

Quit converting (this) to sense.
Stop looking for a way to bond
the charged particles together.
The document stays pure and essence
drains from our roofs.

Some flinching and technology,
scraping hard and leaves ripped wood.
Glance back at the thought of being
small and changed. Scraping hard, leaving

***

I know better than that.

The red car on black stone.
The habitual gaze of hangers.

Our altitude climbs
The needle folding

Scaffolding shrinks
Doubles back

and is nothing.

#28

Spice XI

A bank note / some rushes
Miles marking off and tight forts
A forest with tired carpet fibers
Globe lanterns hung in Helen's hair
Stammering up / bullet holes
Helen smiles and saves it up
Helen goes in a hole to sleep

#27 Instead Of A Paper

MAN MAN MAN FUCKS GIANT CAR CAR CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! This is a very strong image. Place yourself in it. Crawl in it. Get COMFORTABLE > PUBERTY!~~~~~~ JACK SPICER SENT ME!!!! YOU ONE CRAZY BITCH, BILL > PINEAPPLE. Sometimes I make kissy faces at bums. FOR YOU!! NUMBER TWO IN A BUCKET! SURPRISE ME! YUMMMMMMM> CANDY BEARS. Nice tracksuit. Can you picture it? All the gooey yum yum hello kitty phone? This isn’t your paper anymore, cracker-face! I belong to the anal extension I applied for in the winter? Be my candy man? I’ll buy YOU A VAN. I will SING you YANKEE DOODLE DANDY while fucking four manatees. Nice looking ones at that > pieces of garbage. HOT FUCKING MANATEES ON HOT FUCKING MATRESSES, MAN, MAN, BOAT SHOW… UM KILLER FLANK STEAK….? NOT11111119999933334234JGJD. You are to Janet Jackson as Steak is to syphilitic mine shaft. Bill, Lucky Pierre? Call Jesssssssssss, a pirate. Finger sandwiches have a new definition now. NO BITING.

#25 & #26

I. The Book of Jack
"A song / Which I shall never sing / Has fallen asleep on my lips." - Jack Spicer

I have this blank spot on my skull now
This linger of bad habit compacting on my top in fractures
Some light and a missing tooth, this makes noon hour

Often with my hair crumbling, or with Jack Spicer's new pants
They fit tight and tight and tightly enough
The sound of blank spots hits the crap porch, some sound

Where did the leaves of seeing and making real on the floor
Fits this sound into a picture into recognition into sound
The receptacle to hold the children hits some blank ocean spots

The ugly poet noon hour and a face fracture to tell
a shadow spurt of gray on sought goblet, Creely and Lancelot
Most loved and beloved leaves, take heed and hands and heed and hands.

II. Book Of Robert

Know nothing
Feels tender
Or
If a light
Still changes
Cross & be brief

Feel change like
Lamp oil
Make light, depth
Projection
Real

Some fumbling
Of distinct genitals
A branch,
A stalk, some broken things
unexpected

I try impervious dying
A flight
Out heaven & in silk
Depth like red
All my friends can help
dig
dug
Digging Lazarus up
Or Apollo
Or Donny Osmond
Or all things made real by speaking

#24 "Things do not connect; they correspond."

Spice X

Helen likens to a lion
Or some clandestine boy's haircut
As if the lightning / or moreover flashes
The diagonal bent stalks of sound
Finding thirst & flood over heart
The singular voice / a girl / Helen
How singularly drowns/ed/ing

Apologies (to Mike Young, K. Silem Mohammad, & Jess Rowan) You Pricks

I apologize to anyone who found my misuse's of it's/its.

I am s'orry if this made my poem "unreadable" or "fucking terrible".

In the future I will try to never make a mi'stake.

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

#23

Alvin woke up and did not know
or could not place himself, crumbles

of the glass of water or the terrible
pursuings of the sun. Wombat/s

not to dig extensive burrow systems
with rodent-like front teeth and powerful

claws. Rimbaud could not say/pronounce
his r's, just a clipping lisp of air.

You are not breaking at the sound of
his news. Nine, seven, five, a little

counting to convince the letters are baked
with molars. Mixed hands with glass and blood,

David with his powerful jaw structure. Circling
the kill to let its name speak. Our names

tumble dry and loose leaves, all things

leave. Clumped fur, ripped cushion, tired
haircut, brackish water, a lamp, a light,

an odometer. Fitted family hugged porcelain in a
frame. And the dogs spoke, "I'm gonna lick you

up bitch."

#22 (for Jess)

Spice IX

Like seaworld / on a friday
That upsetting crash of fin
Helen slides her hand along a flat black
Insecting park / like the tinniest flutter
A spurt of yellow god smiles
Drunk midday / hell feet pounding
Big ears around our family / unhappy

#21

HERE

100th Post!! BIG GREEN BOAT

listen to my Muxtape!

listen to Bryan's Muxtape!

listen to Kasey's Muxtape!

#20 (fox fur nebula)

This place
not home
but maybe something transforming over
and out bulging
triple syllables a void
of air and sound
the thunder place
we know of
crotches or
smoke burns
the song
they keep with
the song
undoubting lost
maybe now home
is blue
Idaho is burning
even in space

#19

Spice VIII

Helen is Lancelot's fork drawer
Even a water balloon bursting / knows
If language could tell of Rome burning
/ The catalog where we found lungs
Itching smoke under our eyelids
Death getting bored on the subway / chess
We see / know / our vision slurs

(transmission liquefied)

#18

Spice VII

Monster / you love / the soil
As if burnt frog skins could sing
We listen for the sound
Helen dropping off the world
Or the sink like water / but no
The bridge spanning the kernel
A language of falling only

(transmission reconstructed)

#17

Spice VI

Helen thinks of the solar system
She cries, walking / breathing
Originally take two rainbows back
And the minute of forgot
Now we take Polaroids / Helen Poised
Our first / last drink of water
The Siamese trick of being sold

(transmission de-constructed)

What it is and How it is Done

----------------------------------------
|Crispin Glover For President of World?|
----------------------------------------




Genius, pure goddamn genius.

#16

Spice V

The hominid of nuclear fission
Unnecessarily shaken out of brambles
O Helen / jumps out and up
The roof beats in / lingers
She is a ceremony or longing spot / now
Burnt cigarette trails / some burnt tracks
Black silk now / black silk

(transmission in-flames)

#15

Spice IV

This ankle or Lady Macbeth's hand,
Or / Helen in / Falling Bomb Foreign
And we had seven hours of numb rest
Leafy glue it's little icicles rubbed
this places get colder / hair gets
finer with more money than sheiks blood
apply paste to the underside and relax

(transmission inflamed)

#14

The thunder finds
murder under freshly
ground snow. We had
a sandwich under
crumpled blankets.
The head lights
crawled up the hill.
I love (under) you. You know
hammers. Thumping,
the foundation cracked
under our head. It's
fine. We will go where
the weather is better.
In time.

#13 (late)

Spice III

Helen my love
My pastel trap door
A place your lungs rest
Near an apartment / by fire
A whole hamstring of loveingness
You tried to make a shape of me
Now I whistle / but little else

(transmission spangled)

#12 (late)

Spice II

Helen as a directory / of mutant muscles
Our driveway / suspicious laundry
Holster for Lancelot's cheeks
Helen driving Roman chariots
This unnerving principal of black dog on chain
Helen still dead /or Esperanto we speak
Humming, a pitchfork in our back / little flecks of blood

(transmission redacted)

#11 (late)

Spice I

Balance beam / over tight room endingly
Some kinds trumpets
a trademark of buffalo mumps
Hair us cut / broken green
a spire of youth forgetfully attending
pictures of Helen as a Monk
Helen as water / falling

(transmission broken)

half-ish-time

taking a break.

was in the country.

will be back soon.

things that are good:
woods
sunlight
guns
dogs
veggie burgers
beer

#10

i wish i took a shower

no water now

i spit at a red bird
too many shows
too many trees

it's the noise out and in
holes in our walls

we can hear Waltzing Matilda
when we put our heels on one wall
and our ears on the other

everything is soaked
and clunking back regularly

everything in piles
disgustingly regular

this place hangs off it's own walls
green and scabbed

smells like copper
and robs tenants of their looks
and puts a little space below their eyes

i feel childish and dumb
outside is a disappointment

everyone i know ran home
now i'm starting to wonder

#9 (Late)

A family of foxes
trying to say
behind, under, without

the fire cast down
across the porch
bows of heat

foxes
laying by the shed
trembled tooth
meaning in fresh blood

a man looking
into black paint
he pisses
the foxes hear

the fire spreads
fingers in the shed

the foxes see the man
the man sees the foxes

in the paint
they see each other

they do not recognize
fire from the smoke
seeing from looking

a fox
from a blade of grass

#8

my day
spent sweating
knots

the husk
of a walrus'
dick
on the tv

the clouds clip
my hair
rain and slap

children

they don't breathe

under water
like they used to
the sun sets
on a ship sinking

mountains and mountains and mountains of snow

the word
and
doesn't matter

just the snow
of phrases
sounding particular
skin itches
and sleeping
is breath

i ain't no
architect
trash man

fishing hook
caught
against
my skin

#6 (late)

This lateral cut of quiet to the knee
our digits fingering the lapel
buttoning the top parts of absence

is this the science of falling apart?

the corners absorbing what eyes
strain for, sigh back a little
making room for our needy hearts

-------------------

a concrete horse goes along for a while

the ceramic begins to crack & splinter

sees a Visigoth looking sad and wonders how he got there

a bridge of toothpicks
a paper plane
a hat shaped like a boat

------------------

the rain put holes in the roof
alternately switching from love
to sigh to shudder

candle light strained
the window and pillows
whispered silhouettes

the tired dialing of a telephone
a broken line
a face made dark and crummy
an ax through the mailbox
getting smaller
our friends getting smaller still more
and leaving us sleep hopefully

please asleep
combustible
Greek clock
tired heart

is this the science of falling apart?

rules for NaPoWriMo (and to live by)

from Kenneth Koch's The Art Of Poetry





Just how good a poem should be

Before one releases it, either into one’s own work or then into the purview of others,

May be decided by applying the following rules: ask 1) Is it astonishing?

Am I pleased each time I read it? Does it say something I was unaware of

Before I sat down to write it? and 2) Do I stand up from it a better man

Or a wiser one, or both? or can the two be separated? 3) Is it really by me

Or have I stolen it from somewhere else? (This sometimes happens,

Though it is comparatively rare.) 4) Does it reveal something about me

I never want anyone to know? 5) Is it sufficiently “modern”?

(More about this a little later) 6) Is it in my own “voice”?

Along with, of course, the more obvious questions, such as

7) Is there any unwanted awkwardness, cheap effects, asking illegitimately for attention,

Show-offiness, cuteness, pseudo-profundity, old hat checks,

Unassimilated dream fragments, or other “literary,” “kiss-me-I’m poetical” junk?

Is my poem free of this? 8) Does it move smoothly and swiftly

From excitement to dream and then come flooding reason

With purity and soundness and joy? 9) Is this the kind of poem

I would envy in another if he could write? 10)

Would I be happy to go to Heaven with this pinned on to my

Angelic jacket as entrance show? Oh, would I? And if you can answer to all these Yes

Except for the 4th one, to which the answer should be No,

Then you can release it, at least for the time being.

I would look at it again, though, perhaps in two hours, then after one or two weeks,

And then a month later, at which time you can probably be sure.

#5 (late)

i am ok i am fucked i am ok i am fucked: the jess rowan story

sikkk babes innit BLOOD
eurrrrg
LOL!
rate my poo

(when i say this lol i actually meen
bear cos we have bear huiugs
lol hahah funny times)
we hav sucha larf

We breed, show, race, lease,
and do like everything withour horses.
we hav sucha larf
WE also board my favourite movies
of all time!! garfield!!

name a song n ill tell u if i think its gd or not!
none of that crap stuff, i like 50 cent etc
&
i can b a bit random at times lol.
They’ve been looking around,
they’re like searching for you
big ass dogs.fuck
i cant lie
lil dogs 2

rate my poo

erm hate proper stuck up ppl,
n ppl hu think ther hard
but r just all tlk!

If anyone needs an example
of success breeding success
Tonight I plan to have shaggy time
wiv jason da lad. hotti 4 lyf. best gels innit !
Jess Rowan is breeding
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxluff
yooh babi

breed-Quarter horse
In Which Jess Ventures
Into The Limited View
of The Women's Room
personality-Firey and hard to handle.
likes to test you
and is always throwing curve balls
picture Person: Name-Jessica

Jess Rowan did spectacular jobs
reportedly launched an unprovoked attack on snapper
and it gave Josh light indoor

rate her poo

Suzie is my daughter along with jess rowan.
i can never abandon them

While there is a lot of doomy depictions
of people
shaking their heads
over dwindling numbers of breeding pairs
& the loss of habitats
there are surprises
jellyfish will not stop breeding and blooming

breed harder. Ahhhh!

For your information there’s an inflammation in my tear gland

COME INTO MY ORAL ARMS

Turns out eutrophication makes them rate my poo

They’ve been looking for you,
even though I told them not to.

#4 (late)

Table of Contents
1. Shakespeare 2. Tenny 3. Bos Nova
4. Sneakers 3. Hurricanes 5. Left Hands 6. Triplets


my grandfather
likes to sit under waves
 in a steam house
__________________________________________________________________

the house
n. a steam boat made for not petty tipping
 or that sore spot on your neck
 the little bit of lichen on our tongues
  tastes like shit
   and you know it
__________________________________________________________________

The fixed microwave door
like everyone doesn’t know
 or expect
  some kind of impending wave
  like choking leftover new snow
  or socks the cat shit on

#3

Helpy Helperson (not helpy helperton)
For KSM

i am not here
to make you feel good

(the awful sting)(little worries)

the crumpled note
a paragraph of commas

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

i stack all these things on my eyes
the roof of my mouth
the scaffolding

(lord let us be)

we are still so drinking
holes in our shoes and tigers on our slacks

we drown to say anything
we fill drums with verbs and medicine

to speak chimneys and volume
such tiny threading

,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,

Helpy, do you know
why field-trippers were trampled,
scabbed back and treaded upon
up at the zoo that one day?

The spangled tripling of notes
jumping on table limping about the shudders

i thought you all were listening,

to the beat of wings
or cloud parting

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,

a trip to the Catskills

unwind and release
built upon pressures

i.e. divorce, breakup, separation

All the winners must pay
for transportation and lodging
Deer tears, ghost fogged lenses,
a map of great lakes, and the lines that follow

(,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,)

The flooded gutters
and the misshaped bee hive strokes of forgetting
A third party (healthy) has no power

dissecting the family
4 become 2
2 become 1

a house
just that
here
remains
just
alone
wind &
sand

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,............
,,,

to break children (up)
into the pieces of sand and rubber
to clean house with it

not to be in this country for 15 years

#2

This bore a(cross)
some shred of remembering
boring in
or maybe turning

the purple mercury of couple making it
in the backyard grass
a brick alley an arrow a fleck of skin

or a trap folding in and back out
plumbing without an attitude
for attitudes sake

------------------

some calipers and a bottle of water
french dinner things

the swift trickling of heat
a crack
in the
door

the note of leaving
and the charm of circumferences

tricking him is the best way

the architect is in love with you
so stop fiddling with the shingles

or spell-checking clouds
they don't listen
get heavy & think with spice rings

------------------

I'm still sitting
with my finger
a gun
but not my gun

i don't buy again drinking problems
or that fly-gate
the clumping mold and
the dead field mice

where did they come from

------------------

i possess hills looking damaged and boring
and that gun
it's my hand now still

an arrow a fleck of skin

dividing timid eyes from breathe

------------------

the workers hands
bear drills and holes
a match or two

luckily we hear bells

------------------

and the guns a home under seasoned

my voice calm for a second
consider not rolling your r's
all night

we are trying to get some sleep out here

so as to not be a cheater (cough, cough) #1

j--- has an Atari pad for a brain
for Jess Rowan

or that triangle where burnt out Doritos
and the color orange go to have a holiday

you know, the old color (cool ranch)
like Dante's lugubrious ham sandwich

or the dryer sheets tucked way back
so our arms distress and bend

distress and bend

the twisted
metal,
like a hug
around the pole

or that triangle where holy teeth touch holy pals
and the mother superior caught in LAX for hours

this is a little dance number
hummed through the cracked lips of an old singer

or chirped birds, hot lips, lipstick mayhem

and took that tree to the beach for its peace of mind
the breeze touched its roots and went home

i am home in the rain or some complicated dance numbers

NaPoWriMo

Shit. It has begun. I'm still hoping to make a PDF chapbook of all my NaPoWriMo efforts. The title will be Alternate You Is A Horse. Like it? I do.

here's the first bit:



Some exchange in dust value occured
or a twisting of movement in place
of something

a tree, some fog, a pillar of rust

This a tide like our buckling knees
but I wrote this trip once before

on paper, or skin, lamp-light shadows

The Ocean
foam gave
us power
in black sand
sleet


We keep talking about "sexo" like it's
a trick overheard in parking lots of
bowling alleys

by dudes, or flan, costly snake skin