ABATTOIR (92)
SLAUGHTERHOUSE:
PICTURE THAT, POOR POETS;
When the image, not imagination, 9193
When the warp of the words, not ideas
When the hidden rhyme, not the timed
Impact
Of what is being expressed
And colors, black day, orange mailbox,
Green waiting, salmon resistance,
Try to tell the formula of it,
The soul, seldom done justice, is cheapened
She 94
Disappeared
Like a dot on the
Pagewhite, snowwisped
Mountain peak, scrubbrush
Hiding her like pronouns.
Grief is my (moon) beam, 94
Sucking breeze.
An orange smog carpet of clouds,
Nouner am I, verbing very little 91
After all, isn’t it fortyish to adjectivize?
We William Carlos Williams the wrong heroes
And orange you into poverty
Tame hurricanes, blue lightning,
“no boiling waters”,
Stasis poetry
Oh, Summer night! Night without war, 92
Night without the supremacy of white
Snow, don’t you know we all love peace?
It was the second time 94
We’d met, the very second time
Our eyes brushed against the aura
Tinted air and minutemeasured
Time became second time.
On the ocean, the waves should purify 91
With wasteravenous fauna,
In diamonds and froth
LIGHT PURPLE ANGINA
LIGHTS UP MY HEART
A PRETTY BALLOON ABOUT TO POP
I ride the jambiguity 94
Down the gullets of Ganymede
Dressed in icy froth
Along horsebrown paths
Of panting
Icecream saliva,
Miraclewhipped
To speed the dappled Sugar
Homeward
Machines rust 93
Entropy, entropy
Time is electrons
If geometry is corralled.
My horse loves me
All the time.
My tiller tills
Petroleumleased land.
Small blue thesaurus 94
Sits dioxidizing
Dinosaur creations,
Penned plumage
Of toothless tripescented
Feline, pharaohfollowing,
Ankhishly holding sparrows
Like Teflon pterodactyls
I was awake as never before, black rain on oily breeze
A sneeze at the pepper on the potato soup
My Vichyssoise with floating chives distract me from
The smoke outside.
The condo cries with lonely abandon 91
When they move on once more,
Is soothed by the caress
Of the paintbrush and spackle
Another color, yellow this time,
To cover the waterstains and wrinkles
Scumbled sky 92
Steals the color
From the room I love,
Pasting rainbow reflections
Upon the soaped stains,
Browned against the yellow
I wanted, now darker
Graffiti in a wash
Of orange and purple sunset,
Dimming the yellowbrown
Creation I paid for
OMEGA FLARES
AGAINST
ALPHA BEAT SOUP, (94)
Lobster inspiration 93
Antennae and eyes
In a high pressure, blood,
Redsurfaced world,
Without other lives
To live vicariously
Or other
Wise
The brown on my rusting crack 92
Grows like a puckered wound
To expand into meaning where Papa sat
As Grandpa waits to unroll the paper
Waits outside the door
Waits, wincing, for me to hear him
Porcelain yellows 92
With the thinstreamed truth
After the love juice
My cyan indignation 94
At cyanide coloration
Of craft and capability
RED PAGODA
NO TERMITES TREMBLE
AT RED DYE NUMBER TWO
The road looks like a ladder 92
In median point perspective
The black backward, the deep horizon
Ahead, the painted lines
Take my attention until a truck
Wake washes me in road mist and diesel blast
Death spares nothing 94
Entropy always
Worms live within us
Hope hangs in there
Like red meat
Ancient grave site 93
Angel orange
Granite lilies
Any old sky
We went up with fat orange backpacks 92
Puffing morning mist into thin scrubbrush
Offered quail Familia crumbs
As the treeline faded downward
My life is apropos
And every day is wonder
I listen to the falling snow
And thank God for my blindness
The
Iris is black
When tossed
away.
I saw the bloodsoaked body 92
The stain on the cool carpet
Of the crack house we razed
Then I remembered the green oil
Leaking from my mother’s unfixed car
This toilet 91
Has a stain
I’ll call it
“Brown throne”
Never more
When I notice
The speckles on
The door
AURA (94)
ENTICING ORANGE
Questions about what color gave 92
What to what color
Who wants to blame
White light or blackness
For supplementary conditions of complement?
Isn’t it enough to be
In the musical singing,
Even the blues?
Winter watercolors 92
The grey and white and brown
Are all God’s colors, too,
So stop always putting them down.
Poetry isn’t just a flashback 91
Some sixties sops
Who sold serotonin
Substitutes, try to
Do the same with
“Imagery” and poetry
Pictures without silver 92
For sombrero tourists
In china town moods
When being freaky
Isn’t enough of a freak
To be, (freak being
Only a suffix for “Jesus”
Or a prefix of “for crack”)
Need less words than dis
Ambiguity
Big balls bounce 91
Red and brown, down
The slopes of San Francisco
In pairs, past flower shops
Past the bakery, and into
The traffic below
The pretty names, 91
Like colors
And amethyststudded rings,
Are less in their abundance
Picture made, 92
My head crashes
Against the poet’s
Philosophy
The potassium storage 92
Sodium and serotonine
In cytoplasm surrounded
By a science of emotion
And photo albums of words
I can not color in your eyes 91
The oil on that old canvas,
Unfinished, dry, in cream
Skincolor sits. The studio,
Empty, I study your thighs;
I don’t think they’re right,
Either.
BLACK AMERICAN (93)
BLACK APPLE (92)
BLACK BEAR (94)
Clapping its intestine 93
Name the news event 91
Blame the blood
Versify variations
Of Voltaire’s What Frenchman
Was it? maggots
Growing out of a cat’s
Vagina; telling the whore
“That soon will be you”
And hit the stomach
The groin, the heart
The brain, with one
Tiny, little, rosecolored stain.
BLACK BOOKS (94)
BLACK THOUGHTS
BACKSTABBED BY BAD IMPRESSIONS
BLACK BOUGH (94)
BLACK BUZZARD (94)
Impression of other art 92
To make art
A telling of effect
Not just direct color
Configurations and
Sailboats on stormy seas
CONSECRATED, THE BLIND MAN BEGINS TO LOVE
COLOR POETRY, LISTENS TO THE
BLACK FLY (94)
BLACK HORSE (91)
BLACK MOUNTAIN (94)
BLACK RIVER
RUNNING FROM MY TWAT
(WHAT A THOUGHT)
BLACK SCHOLAR (94)
BLACK SPARROW (94)
BLACK TAPE (92)
BLACK TIE (94)
BLACK WARRIOR (94)
BLUE LIPS STUCK TO
BLUE BUILDINGS (91)
BLUE GUITAR (92)
Player with blue fingers 92
Plucks pensively, painted
For effect, he watches t.v.
Frets about t.b., drips
Blood from his fingertips,
Examines his sperm, his life,
His worth during daytime.
BLUE LIGHT (94)
Houston has its Blue Light Cemetery 94
With silky ghosts and Spanish Moss
Mythology, appearing in weak moments,
Every so often, blue vapor phosphorescence
Explained away as swamp gas
BLUE LIGHT, RED LIGHT (91)
BLUE LIGHT (93)
STROBING
BLUE RYDER (94)
HUMMING ALONG
LIKE A
EUNUCH
BLUE UNICORN (94)
WITH BLUE BALLS
SUGARED AND BUTTERED
I’ll bet there’s a poet 93
Today
Living on the docks
WRITING
THE CHEWED
BLUELINE (94)
CUDBALLS YELLOW
THICK, GUMMY MUCUS GREEN
LIKE BUBBLECUD BROWN
THE NAMED
COLORS
SQUEEZE LIKE A
BOA (94)
You keep falling deeper 94
Into suicidal bliss,
Imagining how pretty
All the red will be
Against this season’s fashions
Sleep tight 91
Blanket’s big enough
To ward off
Fitful images
WELL
DONE WITH THOSE BLACK AND BLUELINED EYES
DONE WITH
BOUILLABAISSE (94)
CACHE (91)
CASHED GREEN
Cash crop 91
Confused
Corn
A
Cop(e)
Ia
Why try 93
To do
Oil toil
To fake paint to make faint
Untrue blue
Ink links?
Ink pink links 94
Improvise blues
Calculus doesn’t count 92
What’s important
By the coloring of curves
Melonmush 94
Is the honeydew
Green or orange?
Is the daughter seed
White inside?
A CAROLINA? (91)
Or does she see 91
Colors as tripping
Tools over poetry
Stumps
And taboo humps
ON THE
CAROUSEL (94)
BOTHERING THE
CARPENTER (93)
WHO CARRIES FOUR
CARREFOUR (94)
SHOTGUNS WRENATTRACTING WHISTLES
RED AND GREEN AND YELLOW SHELLS
HONEYINTENDED AIM OF THE ALLEGORY LIKE
CARRIONFLOWER (92)
Smells of syntax 92
The browncolored images
Floating logs of imagined journeys
The shiver and sweat, sometimes,
When reading, the tingling
Of fallenasleep thighs,
The flush after rejection
The fertilized mind, somewhere,
Down the (sewer) line
Down by the Colon by Cyan
Here: Punks turn punctual
In DADFAD tuning, slam dancing, loose teeth,
Eye shadow dried, conceiving new hairstyles,
Studs, safety pins, earwax, spit.
On Washington Square 92
Bug carpet leaves
Sail on the wind
Multiple visions
Of a greybrown
Day, insect eyes
That don’t see
“The Bottom Line”
A white pillar of blanks 92
Rises like a paper feather
From my angry hand
Grey skies 91
Give me
Great joy
“The language of objects” 94
Is just another excuse
For deniable ambiguity
(the kind that doesn’t plan in all the
possible meanings before printing it )
We all know that green is jealous
Or is it new life?
Or is it the complement of red?
Or is it “not the favorite color of car”?
Or is it pukey?
Or some liver bile?
Or brackish water?
Or a stuck stone?
Or menthol?
Or cool?
Or Oxygen breeding?
Or go ahead go?
Or Light/primary, pigment/secondary?
Or ghastly on the Caucasian skin?
“The language of objects”
Is just another excuse
For deniable ambiguity
Like so many poems
That poets think mean a certain
Thing. They strain against frustration
Veins against fore(head) skin
When their poems, like strippers
And movie stars, are loved
For “all the wrong reasons”
In a Cadilac world 94
Nymphs attend
Another painting
Shocked by blue sky? 92
EXPERIENCES
CRYSTAL RAINBOW (93)
WAKEUP CALLS
CUMBERLAND (94)
FARMS
Bubbling udder juice 94
Yellow, like me
The red pen’s not the best 92
Tool
If you want to draw
Blood
Water wells 92
Dream folds
Light washes
This squashes
Offense, pretense,
Any sense the poem
Dies in the colors
Of sunset and song
Wells up to take its place
Paint a picture with your best colors 91
If black oil be on your brush
And a black spot in the heart
Of your canvas, why paste minced words?
EXTRAPOLATION
ESCHEWS BLUES
LIKE
DEVIANCE (92)
About other senses 91
For the blind poets
The flowers have different meaning
Donuts 92
With words
Slipping through
The holes
Soaking the edges,
Brown, like coffee
Walk on a paisley pattern 91
Run to exercise the dragon
Invent flame alchemy
So the smoke falls like snow
Under dragonbreath rain
Invent a city maze to amaze
Yourself, wish spatial variety
Travel the tenuous borders
Kissing children, crying rainbow
Colors, filled with all
Like an unpoppable balloon
Casting no shadow on the earth
If poetry is painting 93
Why not paint?
Painters paint clouds 94
On billboards. Poets
Think then of rain
LSD poetry 91
Flashbacks
Cheap thrills
We are here 94
Well,
You are there
But I am here
This is my picture painted
With words for you to look at.
Do you see it? Do you feel it,
At least? It, the mood you know?
There is something here…
Well, not here. I’m here.
Hoplophobia 94
Streetsweeper words
Chickenpecked imagery
Alphabetical hallucinations
Multisyllabic semiautomatic
2 down one to go
Pressed religion brown dandelions in yellow books
The militia of the new monarchy wait a second
Amend or become outlaw
Register or read
What can still be painted
Tax words tax bullets
Driveby media law
Tram 94
(“In whose”, so as to avoid in whiches)
Called The Future with dreamers riding
Driver’s unseen and all
And nothing but lists of dreams
Of topographic differences
Of images made readily
Of specifics like fish and chips
In wax paper
After a soldout stadium night
The elbow pressing
Against the blue lady
In Red’s frock where her breasts
Tighten the fabric
The holes in the soles
Of the sleeping workman
Whose “whose” is really his
What is bad? 94
What is badly?
What is badly written
If this is not?
This is the panting oxen
Of blue cheer
Tullied and sullied
And caught by the balls
Must photos of sunsets and relatives 91
And pictures painted with colored
Words and the names of certain
Fauna or flora enter every poem?
Have we so tightly defined what is
And is not the beauty of existence?
Is it Tiger Lily time
Or the grey goose down?
Piss poetry 92
Effluence
Yellow journalism
Funny how the smog makes 91
Such beautiful sunsets
“Fuck You!” (Jim Morrison) 94
The notes float
The note floats
The word pictures
Picture words
Trying to be playboy pictures 92
Without paying models
Poetry pictures 94
Because they censor t.v.
Secret sex is a thrill 91
If you like dishonesty
Picture poetry paints
Pretty lies of sunset sex
Sometimes, soothes
An exchange of allusions 94
In tattered photographs
Of old friends
I grow green, deprived of midnight 94
Milky skin with rainbow wings.
The trucks scream cranberry, bounce
Pebbles backwards. Neon blurs my sodium
Yellow lenses. The wind pushes us
Like a drunkard. Leaves, paper, plastic slaps
Against our faces. A twenty dollar bill
Gets stuck to your shoes.
Money was never the problem.
BLUE RED YELLOW
BLUE RED GREEN
INKY BLUE (94)
SEETHROUGH
Colors for a blind man? 91
Poetry for the emotionally barren?
Feel the photo? Find the flower
In a reference book?
The rainbow hit the concrete 94
With a splat of fractured color
And all that ever was was washed away
In the warmth of summer rain
Paint me a picture of a perfectly normal place 94
Then throw up on it
Yellow Journalism
Piss professor
Calls himself “Urologist”
Says, “According to my analysis
Urinalysis is yellow”
A cherry teacup is the embers of Christmas 93
Like a New Year’s toddy, like a Thanksgiving
Turkey is a panda poet
But as long as men drink their lives away 91
They’re not a threat to my picnicpink day
Softly squeezing out colors 93
The gentle beast strangles
For purpleblueyellowgreen
Face effects
Color makes the poem versal 92
But not universal to the blind
Red shift blues 94
Rods and cones
Cooling filament
So indescribably beautiful
That I try to describe it
As beyond my description
Turnback treachery
With a minor downbeat
Any cartoon picture that comes to mind 93
Any drawn image,
Any knowledge is not all knowledge, is it?
You can’t copyright pictures you create 94
In other peoples’ heads
So what, to your artsyfartsy abstraction? 91
Three naked girls used to dance
In the bouncing geometric refraction
When the four o’clock sun hit all the cut crystal
Every afternoon, in the windows of Rainbow Time,
Running colors colliding on sweet young flesh
Third Line Horizon 94
Third line
The picture line
Skywheel Sunlight spokes spinning
To turn an image
For halffigured philosophy
You pass your eyes
Over that poem
And wish it were
A sketch.
This poem has the quality of Sears aluminum siding 93
Of colorsafe detergent for dangerous Spandex
Hiding the hormone depletion
We are licking the oilspot on the cement driveway
Of the service area, touching the skin
Of an orange
That only reflects green
Vibrations of the ozone
In an awful uncola
Reebok Relationship
Color and flowerbased 92
Poetry is not racism
But is something like it
Last line 94
Red herring
This is about the first line of this
Picture pick picture 94
Mood mood mood move mood mood mood
Theme in six syllables
Pointilism poetry 94
Without the ineluctable
Point
When advertisements 92
And Hallmark
And the war effort
Take the pretty and heroic poetry (for effect)
Then poetry must be
About something other than (just) flowers
And sunsets
If cut flowers and the sunset
Of life, the inevitable death
Are okay (for adverts, Hallmark and propaganda)
Then poetry must
“Rage, rage against” it.(them)
Verbal directions 94
Like a director talking
About the scenery and lights
Blueprints in words for (/an invisible canvas in the
minds (of artists who are tired of/ painting by numbers,/
These are not all that poetry is.
Artists to paint in their minds
Are not all that poetry is.
Puce Debussy 94
Cyberspace waves
Pusillanimous tones
The terror of error
New symbols to transpose into
Art/artisan/work translations
And the mother (La Mère) of all C: drives,
Pookie, pecks at her puce computer;
Pucilagenous cellulose keeps time until five
She keeps typing away, drifting in an electron ocean
Into the symphony of a creamgrey day
The 92
Blind
Can
Describe
The fan on the IBM XT 93
Winding down after the circuit’s cut
That’s an eighties metaphor for death
During a blackout
Frigid dark 91
Frigid dark
Frigid dark
COLORS AND FLOWERS AND DEATH
AND GOSSAMER
VEILED SEX
EROTICA, BUT NO PORNOGRAPHY
REVERSE DISCRIMINATION
REVERSE HYPOPARISTALSIS
REGULAR OLD LIFE
HEIGHTENED TO THE HEAVENS
OF UNREALITY
BOREDOM AND GRIEF
CHEWED LIKE DELICACIES
IS THIS ALL THERE IS FOR POETRY?
NO MORE SPINE TINGLES?
NO MORE LIFE MADE FRESH?
MEMORIES, MEMORIES
OF OLD IMAGES, IN CREATIVE COMBINATIONS
BUT NOT A NEW VISION
Images in the flashing light 91
To avoid what things mean to me.
Is it enough? Is it enough
To let the heart know it means… something?
Isn’t that something like a moon without a sun?
Like an asteroid in a black hole?
I would like to say 93
This poetry
“Shimmers like a July rainbow”
But this is not true
Singing the greens 94
Because 8 percent of males
Are colorimpaired
Snowblind, 92
I need shadows
To see
Waking up with “blue sight” 93
Your blue flowers
And blue sky
Would look
Either black or white
Lookingatapainting 92
Thatyoucan’tsee
ButIdon’tgiveafuck
BecauseIcanpoetry
Such landscape 91
Such sun
Such an open door
But, where’s the
“Girl in the white wetsuit?”
Black dreams 91
Talent eyes
Taloned eyes
“Got no sight” poetry
Paint pretty pictures in my brain 94
And then snap small bones
In the “snowy field of foxtracks”
Dripping blood fluids, all about
The black dog of my guilt 92
Eats your white cat
Nah, just kidding
Blood rains and tears rain 91
And coffee rains down drains
And love juice rains
And we dance in the rain
Sky, sky, sky 91
If I could paint 94
I wouldn’t waste all my fuckin’ time with poetry
I’ll describe a scene 93
To trigger visions
So that you’ll listen,
Like the puppy licking my chocolate breasts,
To the last line, which I will
Throw in as a statement.
Live free or die.
Beach in Soggy Sand at Low Tide 92
When I want you to focus on that solitary footprint
I have to compromise and stain it with mint
I need an image, a new image 93
I need imagery, NOW,
Or I’ll go all prosey
Uh, uh
Petunia in a pancake
Uh, uh
Six galloping julien fries
Uh, uh
The moon, sandwiched between lettuce and bacon
Uh, uh
Ice cream dripping onto my sweating cleavage,
Strawberry bosom, scooped by tender tendrils of butterfly
Shrimp
Oh! ….
Uh, nevermind.
Maybe all I needed was lunch
Once there was no imagery worth naming, 92
We had to resort to video
It is easier to pen silver lines 92
When you’re born with a spoon in your mouth
I really don’t need to read the poem 94
Fuck, I saw the movie
I write these lines to tell 94
You I had a bad year,
Feel like a paintbynumber
Cardboard clown
With the colors mixed up
Tragicly pretty 91
Cyan starburst
Burning out before
It reaches 7 billion
GET OFF IT!!
A pink gesture 92
A purple gallop
An orange indigestion
A green rope
A magenta avalanche
A puce torrent
A sepia sorrow
Fucia forensics
A violet wrong
Colors, 91
Fruit
And what they do
(mostly during the weekend
and on vacation)
Brace yourself! 92
Here’s an image
My cousin’s braces.
Heehee
Imageryscrambled eyes 94
Blanched by clouds
In the shadow of mountains
Gravity is skewed
But is not so much mystery
As is the meaning of “crickets”
Beware of 1st and Main! 94
That’s where I saw a vision
Which inspired another poem (not this one)
Flight Path: A Villanelle 92
Ah, Well, What the Hell?
Flight Path: Free Verse
Dark light
Images images
Moon vector
Cloud blur
Rimjets
(With little rusttrails
In suggested spirals)
Dark light
I still can’t seem to get it
Right
I’m twisted from a colorspot game 92
Of trying to touch tits with the reverence
Of the word “breasts” and Twister that I am,
I smell mostly plastic
You think the spilling of blood 94
Will make you remembered
When anyone anywhere
Can spill more than your match
See what I mean?
Blood, blood, blood
Blood and it’s the fourth
Blood you’ll always remember?
Blood , blood
Horror is a hiding place
From
Mortality
FragPixleMonsterStretched Skulls 92
In The Highlights
I see,
Through the painted eye,
I see
He lived with 92
A purple tie
In the closet,
That the moths
Fell in love with
Immediately
Stopped! 94
Colorblinded
What does cobaltblue look like?
WEST BLUESTONE (93)
R,_W,_&_B 91
My words
Are blue
Varicose veins
Of patriotic
Coloration
Caucasian
With high high
Blood pressure
Trim leg with blond highlights 93
Long thigh, just out of the covers
Leg draped over the side of a bed
Disembodied
Attached to a “she”
That I will never see
BLACK
AND
WHITE, CROW ABOUT A CIRCLE OF REFLECTIONS (94)
Horror is conservative 94
Gothic churches
Dripped blood for the party
Line
Cheap nature pictures 91
Without film
Described as poetry 94
In black veils before dancing
Lesbians in a banana
(bandana?)
Dusty, Gated,
Donkey,
shuttered wave,
Dog and children
Land
on the runway
of foreign inflections ?
Grey sky floats by
Some days are blankets
My passion is warm like the color 92
Don’t give us any more time 91
To excuse our selfimposed blindness
That’s why images are poetry
We don’t see for ourselves
Clearer Than 94
The moon roamed even these landscapes
Of flying haystacks
And the pond’s hot buttresses, thunder colors,
Mysterious wind of scummed peonies,
And magenta poplars.
Bleeding blossoms bloomed
Like there were clouds
And won’t stop
Even the toilet’s scrubbed and foreign.
Someone made the water blue
Domino effect with falling towels
In Lightning colors of hauberked nakedness
Like stiff cotten
And there were flying mistresses of furballs
Against the wall by the spiget
There once was a man who said nothing
And he was not there
As a shadow
But painted dots
Where his shadow should have been
mixed metaphors can be excused 91
in the jumble of picture painting
Clarity turns to watercolor mud
And that’s the purpose
To hide the fact that
The poet really wants to expose
His beastiality
How he likes to be licked
By the family doberman
Likes the tooth danger
Mistakes avid attention
For saltlick love
All dogs are bisexual
Mallard makes green you bow? 94
What would a loon make brown you do?
Brazen temple 91
Garden twin
Flameflesh sky chalice
Golden, silver, emerald
Turquoise, indigo
Violet ruby blood umbar
(Of the moon, of the sea
Of the Earth sun)
Green World! 94
Floral revolution
Under the floral leadership
Of ruling vegetables
Make humans stupid and weak enough 93
And they’ll not fight for love,
Nor land, nor freedom, nor food,
Nor comfort, nor ideals, nor self,
Nor soul
Propagate 94
Late
Realization
Of helplessness
When I remind
Water pump pumpers
That it was always
Water you kept
To prime the dry walls
Creating a vacuum
Water you kept inside
That made water flow
Dry tunnels?
What’s next?
Images “in your face”
To be licked and sucked
By a universal mouth?
Prime the pump
It’s a big world of art, now 93
Commemorate your ass off!