Fat fuck

             Got fat,

             Doesn’t fuck.

       TIED TO THE VIVID

       EXPLOSION

       LIGHT PURPLE ANGINA

       LIGHTS UP MY HEART

       A PRETTY BALLOON ABOUT TO POP

         Hand above eyes,

         Squinting, I search the ecliptic

         For words in precession, wobbling

         Along the Van Allan Belts

         Like a toboggan ride down the dark dandruff

         Of a permanent wave (the kind you go back to get redone)

       SWATTING ASTEROIDS,

AERIAL

       FLIES FLY

       IN THE FACE OF REALITY.

       OKAY, JUST

             Statisticate to be unlike meaninglessness

           The young complexity

           That never was me

           Jams my strawberry

           Memories

         I ride the jambiguity

         Down the gullets of Ganymede

         Dressed in icy froth

         Along horsebrown paths

         Of panting

         Icecream saliva,

         Miraclewhipped

         To speed the dappled Sugar

         Homeward

         Small blue thesaurus

         Sits dioxidizing

         Dinosaur creations,

         Penned plumage

         Of toothless tripescented

         Feline, pharaohfollowing,

         Ankhishly holding sparrows

         Like Teflon pterodactyls

             Mr. Potatohead in the drawer

             Growing eyes in the dark

             Waits for the dust to settle

             So he can see some place

             To root, suspended and stabbed

       OMEGA FLARES

       AGAINST

ALPHA BEAT SOUP,

ALPHABOX

       RICE KRISPY PUGILISM

ALTA NAPA

       NAPPY

         sHIT in THE BUCKet

         TOTo

   ALURA

       IN THE AZURE DUST

       HOT SUN

AMBIT

       GAMBIT

       SUICIDE GAMBLERS

       BUNDLING FARDEL BURDENS

             Cher(ig)noble care

             In waves

             Radiates from you

       RED PAGODA

       NO TERMITES TREMBLE

       AT RED DYE NUMBER TWO

             The road looks like a ladder

             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

         Jung in slant rhymes

         An archetypal “din”

         Not to get lost in

                         hitchhiker

               Waves beauty in the wake of trucks

               Pieces of poetry scatter

               Like a storm cloud, billowing

               Backward into the past

             Tolkien’s poetry

             Schooooooooshes in aluminum

             Like the poptop

             Of a soda can

AMERICAN WRITING

       FIZZLES

       IN THE SODA CAN

         Br(rrr)

         Bra (burn)

         Bran (buns)

         Brand (X)

         Brandish (eek!)

         You drive your car

         Naked

         But not without

         A seat belt

             Centered, the silly line soothes and sates.

                         We went for a walk.

ANIMAL TALES.

       FLOUNDERING

       FOUNDRY

       FOUNDER

       FOUND HER

ANJOU?

       DOES FISH SUIT YOU?

ANSUDA

       THE

ANT FARM

       BUSTLES ENCASE

       YOUR GLUTES

       HIDING HARRIED PRE

       OCCUPATIONS

       OOPS!

       BUSTLE FENCE FALLS

       BOUNDARY BROKEN

       BUT THE LAND INSIDE IT

       IS STILL OURS

       FOR NOW

ANTAEUS, ECCO

       FOR NOW

         Cold, cold, soothing peace

         (Full enough? Full enough)

ANTHOLOGY

       OF NAMES  BIG NAMES

           Ancient grave site

           Angel orange

           Granite lilies

           Any old sky

             Chimoney chimera

             The bagpipe babbles

             Clubfoot sandwich

             Summer sun

             Bakes the broadside

             In cannon fodder

AQUARIUS

       DAWNED TO DIM

       INTO DROWSINESS

ARARAT

       A RAT TAT TAT

       THE MOUNTAIN MISSILE

ARC

       DID NOT MISS

   ARCHAE.

               Mirror morning lake

               Ripples with a loon’s light

               Frolic, escaping under

               To leave only laughing echoes

         I remember waking up

         With a bad poem in my headache

         Coughing up cupie dolls

               Yet raw, washed longer still,

               Deaths reason no unstill wrinkled

               Ripples on dark sheets nor small

               Lingerscented light or lightly with night

       INDELIBLE

ASCENT

       EYES’ ASSENT

       WATER BRAIDS

       DESCENT

           The

           Iris is black

           When tossed

                                                                 away.

         Carfish

         For the Westheimer Arts Festival Parade

         But not the inky underside

         Of pedidal squid phrases,

         Rustproofing guaranteed

       A REGULAR STORM IN A REALLY FUN EXOTIC PLACE

           Base emotions

           Acid love

ATHENA INCOGNITO

         Arrow out

         Strikes

         Narrow

         Summerlapped

         Vulture heron

         Of heronbrambled

         Herongap swims

         Up that

               If you come

               And be nice

               To your brother

               I’ll bake a cake.

BABY SUE

   BABYFISH (LOST ITS MOMMA)

       IN A CHICKEN/EGG

       QUANDARY

         …… And what you do to friends is shatter the illusion

       RUIN AND OUR LEDGE

       OVER AN EPINEPHRINE CLIFF

       HIS LEFT

BALL  SIDE O’ FRIES

               Big balls bounce

               Red and brown, down

               The slopes of San Francisco

               In pairs, past flower shops

               Past the bakery, and into

               The traffic below

         coiled distance

         snapped felt

         felt wings

         of shape flood???????????wha\////????

         …. whirled…

         …… snapped…

         .. wheeled….

         ….. rush…..

         … wheeled?

         Hamhock, sirloin,

         Filet, shoulder,

         Butt and Chuck

         He separates his lovers

         Into parts

     BELLADONNA

       BRICKLAYER

       FALLS TO GROUND

BELLFLOWER

       DING DONG

       STAMEN AND PISTOL

       CLAPPER AND CLAP

       CUT THE GREEN WIRE

       ALL BREEDS OF IGNORANCE

           Fig yesterday

           Cicada cast

           Long legs lured

           My baited breath

           Worm cast

           Plaster cast

           The whole noisy

           Play of figeating,

           Loud, insect actors

           With broken spirits

           And brittlemarrowed souls.

               The lost snail

               Slugging along the bricks

               Slime sister on concrete

       ALL MOVIE STARS ARE RELATED

       SO I BOUGHT A BANANARAMA BANDANA

       TO REMEMBER MYSELF BY

               It has been a long time going

               But after postmodern man

               The word will try for wisdom

               Again, not just “Bauhaus” concrete

               But organic concrete

               And shape won’t matter so much

               As long as there are some shoes,

               Then, to fit those funny, flat feet.

               I can not color in your eyes

               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.

               The grass is the cousin

               Of my ass

               She is the motorized hum

               Of a lawnmower

               She is the growing

               Prunedoctor

               She is the weedeater

               And sodlayer

               She is the trimmer

               Fingernails pulling at me

               Love fell in splinters

               From our French

               Provincial furniture

       EUNUCH

BLUE UNICORN

       WITH BLUE BALLS

       SUGARED AND BUTTERED

         She thought New York

         Was a state

         Of mind

             Room, bed, body, poems

             Repeat:

             I own this rectangle

         Lines

         In

         Columns

         A Waitress Visiting Chicago Yells

         “Na na na poo poo

         Owwwwwher

         Jazz

         Is better than

         Yoooooouuur

         Jazz!”

         And I call it finderskeepers poetry

         But you do see the deep meaning, don’t you?

         Before the Phones Came

         ….Sometimes we sat

         A train might pass…..

         Before the Trains Came

         ….sometimes we sat

         Before the Carpenters Came

         …sometimes we….

       Showup toeup

       SPARKING

BOREALIS

       AURORA NIPPLES

         Often, awake, I see

         Mice and rabbits

         Running across the page,

         Knowing that your poetry

         Understands

         The seen better than the dream

               My poetry

               Makes

               You nuts

               Falling from a

               Poet tree

         You keep falling deeper

         Into suicidal bliss,

         Imagining how pretty

         All the red will be

         Against this season’s fashions

               Sleep tight

               Blanket’s big enough

               To ward off

               Fitful images

         Promenading

         Names

         Tappanzee

         Spanning soggy lines

         To bridge the watery gaps

         Between the highanddry truth

         Promenading

         Names

         Tappanzee

         (wasn’t that all I needed all along?)

       FIBROUS AUTOMOTIVE UNIT,

       A HEALTHIER HOTROD,

       WITH A REGULAR MUFFLER

             Famous people

             Pop into my

             Poetry

             So some fool reader

             Might hope to find

             Their secrets

             Madonnapenned

             Or Prince Charles

             Endowed

           Past the travelogue

           Rome’s ruins

           Take more space

           In the guidebook

           Than on land

   BRISTOL HOUSE

       TIT MOUSE

       READS A

   BROADSHEET

       ON

BROKEN STREETS

BRUNSWICK

       BECOMES ASH

       WHEN THE LOVEWAX

       WANES

BRUSSELS SPROUT

               Poem waits for words

               Looking looking

               Like a page

             Stones sit

             Giving the brook

             A choice

         Moon and willow

         Evening shade

         Over cool grass

           Wind in my hair

           Turning the weather vane

           Spinning gnarly

               Cash crop

               Confused

               Corn

               A

               Cop(e)

               Ia

             How far underground?

             Under the underground?

             Even the underground

             Is dug today.  Dig it?

           Dooda

           Poetry defiles

           Dada

               Horniness is to handguns

               As

               Shopping is to babies

               no….

               Horniness is to handguns

               As

               Sun is to pudding

               no….

               Horniness is to handguns

               As

               Poetry is to propaganda

               (the big lie kind, not like good bullshit,

               not tainted by only truth and omission)

         Oh!

         Freak me fucking out!

         A poem about a woman with grey eyes

         Reacting to that very same poem!

         How deep!

         Ink pink links

         Improvise blues

CAPERS AWEIGH

       MY BUDS

       SALAD ALL DAY

             Names

             Below

             Moody title

           Dropping bombs

           Into

           Crosshaired poetry

         The boy is eating breakfast

         In a place to be called

         “The house of cracked eggs”

         Chicken Little

         Pops out

         When the sky falls

         Almost

         Central

         Stationed

           Sign on door

           “Gone here”

         A pacman eclipse

             Colonialism

             Gifts of ideas

             For smog

             Perversions

             For

             Plantations

           Explode into soy sauce

           Oh, my porkfried soul

           Explode into bowel movement,

           Into vomit, to exorcise

           Those nasty sin balls

           How to

           Crowd

           A childhood

         My leather briefcase spoke

          No!

         My coffee cup spoke to me

         Saying everything, all at once

             Paranoia

             Is the modern

             Classic

CLIMBING

             Bootprints

             Up the

             Face

               Clothespin fever

                     spin fever

                       in fever

                       in  ever

                       in  Eve

                       I’   ve

                      “I”

         All I see is the ugly,

         Pretending so hard to be pretty.

         I am pretty.  I am.

COLLAGES AND BRICOLAGES

       OF EXISTENTIAL

       SERVITUDE

         From a seething pool

         Of industrial pollutants

         Grow pretty, little flower mutants

         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.

             not only

             unclear

             thoughts trees

             with no connecting

             roots but

             also rhythm

             made leafy

             by line breaks

             and shortstanza

             branches

           Certain times

           Newborn certain time

           In timeless now

           Times within the now

           Oh, yeah, and love moving universes

           Celestial music and

           “Calm” fucking “the storm”

         I will seal some strawberries

         In the hubcap of my orneryness

         And throw them in the pamplemousse pudding,

         Like fate with a twist of lemon,

         For your mother to eat

               Dr. Pain’s a pane of squeaky glass

               Poor or guilty

               Sure trashes

               The sixlane

             Cirrhosis

             Seeps in

           Salt lick suckers

           Froglike toads

           Weather or not

           We wear our thick skin

         I’m going to say

         Some really nice

         Sensitive things

         And then say,

         “Hey! Trust me.”

               Grey skies

               Give me

               Great joy

         Your fertilizer falls

         Unto other people’s lawns

         On the lip of your KT boundary

         I count 26 million years

         With my fingers

             Shocked by blue sky?

         Senses tuned to wild life

         She was never alone

             Pruned to the Absolute

             Absolute

           Who

           Hoo

           Hoot

           Owl

         Nahnana poo poo

         My God is better than your God

         “Nothing thoughtless”

         We are the beached flurry

       BLOOD BOOGIE

DANCE CONNECTION

       JUNKIE

DANDELION

       STEM PLUNGES THROUGH

       TIN FLOWERS

       OVER THOSE POCKETS

         There still are pockets

         For the jingling change

         Of your dreams and desires

           A poet who pulls words

           From her alphabet soup

           To make noodle art,

           To make it a job

           Crashes to spill

           More than crackers

               Epileptic

               Take off

               Into the mind’s

               Miasma

           First Eight PenPricked

           PenPicked Words From a Dictionary

           Enlist

           Bemuse implode

           Claim beautician

           At fault communism

         Give me a poetry I don’t understand,

         A boy who walks like capital letters

         And runs like a semicolon.

           Every asshole

           Has an edge

               Drawing angels

               On every spare surface

             Acid paper

             Infects the rain

DICKEY

         Turtleneck

         Power

         Of the questionable

         Meaning

               The elite,

               Bored

             You

             Twist the words

             Like mountains,

             To fit a faceless

             Sky

             Donuts

             With words

             Slipping through

             The holes

             Soaking the edges,

             Brown, like coffee

           ….And we are all different

DOC(K)S

         Wharfs

         Where podiatrists

         Becalm, walking

         Adults stick their noses

         Into the sweet smells

         Of child’s play

             Looking for parallel playthings

         Comma typo sometimes confuses

         Last line joins, “them”, floating muses

DRUID

       STONES SITTING

       OVER MEMORY

         Murdered Moments

         Unfolding face

         Drinking the “rivulets

         Between my breasts”,

         But then he had to go

         And chant and pop out

         Into “night”, “earth”, “time”.

           Skull (In Place)

           Skulks

           Cemetery

           Silence

               Eating seeds

               Silent

               Falling eggs cushioned

               By crunchy snow

               Maiden form

               Frescos

               Water Poems

               Next line

               Falls frozen

         Poxy “Proxies”

         Give up your virgin

         Land

         Or we will pull out our

         Germs

               Your calamari living

               Your scungilli life

               Your pasta vasule

               Your clam character

               Your fettuchini sex

               Your egg foo young legs

               And your mayo shark mentality

               Splat

               Against those same damp

               Dining room walls

         Mony, mony

         Baloney is bad

         Cus you have to chew it

         With those squishing sounds

           How did I fail to let you know what I was talking about?

         Jazz Intonations in Intercourse, PA.

         Your P.A. was a public address

         Improvising on a latex fruit

         The squishing sounds of evaporating consonance

         Lubricated by light tinkles on the tin roof

         And a romantic motif, barely remembered

         Your lips lost in smudges of strawberry stain

         Summer

         Too full

         To stay cool

         Too painful to be a lie

         I puff and wail at your bellyup swollen boredom

         Try to find a chuckle on your earlobe

         Painters paint clouds

         On billboards.  Poets

         Think then of rain

         Nice names for poetry:

         Organic concrete

               Cats are immune to the hairy greens

               Of okra poetry

           Listening to lizards

               LSD poetry

               Flashbacks

               Cheap thrills

       FLASHES BACK TO

             Cabbage vacationers

             And a long stairway

             Of mayonnaise, coleslawing

             Upward

         Once,

         Was so soon ago

   EXIT ZERO

             Smoky death

             Ghost mingles

             Incense

             In sense

             Incensed

             In sent

             Incentive

               The

               Invalid

               Is not

               Invalid

EXPEDITION

             To the tennis courts

             Daring the safari sun

         ExPeRiMeNt WiTh WoRdS?

         wOrD wOrLdS wOw!

EXPLORATIONS

               Sometimes worth the money

               You paid

             T.S.

             T.M.

             What’s the difference

             Between them?

         I’ve never heard such jive,

         Musical mayhem made plain,

         Made talk into singing,

         Here in the fucking butcher shop

         Sparky

         Hallucinating rodeo spirits

         Bucking through life

         Broken, spurred

         Bridled to some light angel

         Is also the most precious,

         Digestsized, photocopied

       WITH NO FACIAL

EXPRESSIONS

       BUT STILL GROWING HAIR LIKE AN

EXQUISITE CORPSE

           Farmer’s

           Family found

           Foreclosed

         Bahloons

         Six pense

         Wadeyed

         The perky nymphettes

         Stir and snatch their Spring

         Drools, while I, boss, task it out,

         You play, you work, you get laid, you

         Collect cucumbers from the garden,

         You shear the weeds and Bobbits

             Pushings and pullings of pores,

             Evacuations of follicles

         A pretty line to punctuate the purposelessness

         Of reading on

               Birch peels into canoe

               Familiar floating glides

               Into the horizon blue sky

             Vatican III

             Through bad poetry?

               Needletracks

               Porcupine pricks

               Nose running

             Ring around the square butts?

           Slice of fiction poetry pies

FIDDLEHEAD

       SQUEAKING

         We are here

         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.

         Prop

         A

         Gand(er)Ganda

         In

         Columns

         (But not stacked)

FIGURES

             Bulbous blather about figurines

             Figures to be bought

             Finally saying,

             “Stars are stars and amazing enough”

             NO!

             Stars are the explosions in my head!

         The Organic Chemistry of an Idea

         Stabbed in the gut with an icicle

         Melting and mixing with tomato effects

         Strangely vacuous, thinking is an event

         Thinking that thinking is an event is an event

         Funny way to drink ice water

         Oh, I healed and heeled

         But that’s not the end of all these events

         Couch potato events and versifying events

         And then one needs imagery to justify

         And it is a necessary event

         Unlike the event of writing that thinking is events

         So, here’s a picture, too

         An avalanche of rings removed from divorced fingers

         Rolling down and lighting up the lake bottom

         With sparkling knives of memory….. events

         Dripping cold under my dress, over pantyhose

         Shock flashes, stars of pain, icicle memory,

         Spanking me, yanking the nipples of an idea.

         Blah, breaking up is hard to undo

         Blah

         Baa baa baa

         Baa baa

             Baby’s a UPS package at the door?

             Not the way the cookie crumbles do I go.

             The soppy side

             Of a sloppy ride

         Skinny dipping with an Angel

             CLOWNS Welcome!!!

             Dream

             Horror, here!

             Nightmare gifts

               English wit

               Can talk to

               Itself

           Her breath was heavy like death

           Smelled, as well.

         Your big fucking words

         That enfold mistaken meaning

         The detritus of premature ejaculation

             “Can’t come up with any new subjects

             ‘Cus I’ve written so fuckin’ B.Z. many poems”

           Door hinge blowing in the wind

           Where a door was

           Before the bad poet, in a vandal mood

           Forgot to put it into the picture

           Of that impossible wind

         Rhyming Hyphens

         I celebrate a free lunch,

         Okra grown in suntoil

         And gumbo soil, veggies

         With wellwater

         The WellTailored Pseudo of Cashmere Blame

         Kvatch!

         Blame your lover if he knew

         Blame analogies for things kept secret

         Blame authority

         Blame lies

         Blame me, for all the good it does.

         There’s as much blame as there is

         Virus

         Life without life

         Death

         From pseudolife

         Pseudolove

         Pseudoblame

         Pseudosuits of armor

         With cashmere cloaks and ribbed edges

               Dragon (the line)

               A real reptile

               Or an ethereal tuna?

             Slip knot unthreads

             But does not slip

             From the waveswept wharf

       EVERY LINE MAKES A CIRCLE

       OUTSIDE OF GEOMETRY,

       SO THE STRAIGHT

       AND NARROW,

       THE RIGHT PATH

       IS A PRETTY LIE,

       A SELFFULFILLING GHOUL,

       TRUTH CONCURRED

               Home soon

               You harness your hatred

               In bald critiques

             The wash woman

             Folding, unfolding

             Laundered bills

         Then her

          Mallard

           Dyke

            Uses that bread as stuffing

             To stuff them

              And dresses their legs

               In paperlace doilies

          FlatEarth society

           Sees one sailboat

            In a regatta

             Drop off the edge,

              Ignores

               The fleet

                That is swallowed

                 By clouds

             Head in hands

             Whose head?

             Whose hands?

             Doesn’t matter

             Does it?

         Heavy legs

         The cold warble

         The isinglass tide

         Of dulled parents

         Caught willing

         Not quite conceptual

         Prisoners slicing me

         In shadows

         Of arms and window parents

         And all longing and

         And in my and

         The at waves of and

             People are the candy

             Sold in city buildings

           Shot

           Swarming Scold

             Walk the stream bed

             On bouncing Spring legs

             The floodexposed roots

               Gas

               Wheezes

               Armpit poops

               And raspberries

         ?Lacitnedi…?

         Death’s a nextdoor

         Gingko

         Roses against a log cabin wall

         Roses anywhere

         Roses and fragrance

         In Montana, too.

         Someone plays

         Tennis in the folds

         Of my brain, cleats

         Sticking sometimes

         Drawing blood, ball

         Bouncing across

         The corpus colossum

         Curved walls

         In wasted space

             Letting oranges sit crinkling

             For history’s dry potpourri

         I’ve got to say something about asking for what you want

         in a way that people can understand

             Over ambiguity?

             I’ll never get over ambiguity

             Or underpants

         Starving circle

         Shares me

         With its disconnected innards

         Life is a thousand minuscule mindaltering

         Amazements every fucking day!

             Always the myth of genetic studdom!

             CAN’T get away from stereotypes!

             (CerwinVega, Pioneer, Crown, Nacamitchi, Sansui)

         And now, years before, to precall dry dirt,

         the skinny, solid, darkness that stuck,

         that separated around she and me(I?)

         Evenings (She and I evenings?) old times, overripe,

         sinking to the whore, neither being the last Eve,

         found or lost not to forget, to spit bitter bile, sperm

         Out of the hard void

             Upriver

             Float on sandpaper,

             Naked

         The soft edge of acid

         The warm glow of delusion

           My best friend keeps saying

           She doesn’t want to live

           But means she wants to be spoiled

               Funny how the smog makes

               Such beautiful sunsets

             What the fuck does a Yucca look like?

         The air is full of birdshit

         He tries to widen her certainties

         ……. We comply

             One line alone?

         Random words

         Random, random

         99 luftballoons

         And Red Rover falling

         Into the quagmire of a question

         Does the pause (do the paws?)

         Of dot, dot, dot, (…) count as a syllable?

             Into the music

             After the concert

             The whistler

             Brown ants on sidewalk chocolate

             Melted fudge stick and

             Arachnid babies squiggling out of a squished

             Spider in daylight dazzle

         Mail art

         To strangers!!!!!!!!!

             In the middle of a word

             In the muddle of a word

             In the meddle of absurd

                    modal

                 constructs

         All these words

         All these unnecessary words

         About wishing for great poetry

         (And all I really want to say is that I love you

         and have you believe it)

           Pearlhandled revolver turns

               I now write

               A perfect line

               A perfect line

         Gloss(t)

         Nost

         Lost

         No one told them

         That July Seventh

         Would not be a Tuesday

         No!

         No one told them

         That the fairy

         Had a tail

         No!

         No one told them

         That no one told them

             Artichoke

             I never saw a rainstorm of children

             Or an art

             Choke

             At the throttle of fad

             So, wash the walls with moonlight

           Sewing poetry like mismatched socks

           I leave buttons off

           I wear away the bottoms of long pants

           Until they fit

               Etc.

               Of words for the sound

               Of a floating whip, etc.

               Before the stinging

             I see her bend to smell

             Crinkled nose

             A clipped Rain Lily

               Queen bee

               Lies about the honey

         An eyezigmadmos

         Has fingers not like chimpanzee’s fingers

         Has a philosophy not unlike Catholicism

         And is not far away

         Even if you can’t know any of that

               Spiraling anchor cord

               No anchor shape nor weight

               At one end, no attachment

               To the other, floating yellow

               Nylon in a greygreen sea

         Silence would have filled the space

         The music came from

         Wounded by Winter

               Your dreams stuck to you

               No matter how tattered

               Tails on a box kite

             Licking words like loins

             Pushing nose closed

             Developing a brussels sprouts taste

             For the bitter side of the finger

             In a trash can not

             The Culinart

             Holistic health

             Holding on

             With no insurance

               The ice is chaste

               Floated upon

               By cutting skates

           Pigeon

           Poetry

           Pecking

           The pavement

         Syllables

         4 more of them

         4 more of them

         Would call it by another

         Name if it were 5 of them

               Rhino

               Gross misconceptions

               Of tusk poaching

               Poets

             The city at night

             Hides the hazy pace

             Of a prisoner released

             Fat People

             Floating like ballerinas,

             On tiptoes, toward friendship

         In France,

         You demand

         An answer, in English,

         Say “There are no Frenchmen”

         When they just look at you.

         From a French brothel

         You stomp away

         When she refuses

         Your demand to

         “Show your tits in English”

         Who’s a Hecht?

         That’s okay

         Any memoriam of yours

         Is a memoriam of mine

       GANGBANGERS GOING WILD,

       WITHOUT SUFFIXES

               Icy hole cut

               For frozen fish

         Clothespin freedom

         The wind pulls and pushes

         The trapped clothing of bodies

         That are sailing over the ocean

         On Sunfish I can barely see,

         Bobbing against the horizon

               Dreams

               Dust to dust

               Days

               Paying for Rebocks

               Rather than a good school

               Book

         Your husband made such a fuss about your diary

         And you, of course, sent it to me

           River

           Runs

           Refuse

         I grow green, deprived of midnight

         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.

               Living like there is no outer space

               Hovering around a landfill flowerpot

               Hummingbird gone

         These lines did not need to be written

         Actors and birds slamming against an invisible wall

         Poet

         Visualizes

         Visions

         Visualizing

         Poet

             Up

             The light

             Public

             Streets

             Of my history

             nah

             Up the light

             Public streets

             Of my hosiery

           Odorless

           Blind

           Deaf

           Feelingless

           Tasteless

           People

         Nooo!!

         Mmmmhh!

         Hhaaaaaa!

         Hhooooo!

         Same old Sunday morning

         Latex in satin sheets

         Cages of squealing cockatiels

         Teal highcut gown, cut and ripped

         Until it was lowcut and then lost

         And tomorrow will be another same old

         Monday, going shopping for formal wear

         Age Pop

         For an

         Aging pop

         Culture

             The old home place

             Is a real disgrace

             Moonbeams or no

         Glorify weakness to feel fresh?

               Pins don’t capture it

               Chaos is not a butterfly

         Great grit

         Echoes of swollen

         Footsteps

             Grandma was a Santa Claus to the mind

             Sang lullabies to babies

             As gifts

         Hssssssssssss

         Hear it?

           The equator

           Ate her

         Canned ants

         Dipped in chocolate

         Canned aunts

         Served with sour cream

         Fanned “Can’t”s

         Brighten flames of alien

         Edibles

         Tighten my gullet

         Around a chirping

         Swallow

         Systems succumb

         To the hauntings

         Of hunger

         You go round

         In triangles,

         Bearcub,

         Slapped back and forth

         Between food for thought

         And thievery

             Beauty

             Motivates

             What?

             What else?

             What else

             Motivates?

             Beauty

             Does what else?

           We would create “beauty”

           In a box

           A dark box

           A cold dark box

           A closed dark box

           If it were all we had,

           We would create beauty in a box

         All the goods are mean

               To immigrant

               Elitism

               I say, “Unpile

               Your cartons

               They’re wet on the bottom”

               Betrayed by clear vision

               But not enough information

               You beat hollow trees

               With rhythmic messages

         Heplophobes

         Try to outlaw

         My feminine mystique

           Grandma turned toward her favorite tune

         Vienna eunuch

         Altered

         Intercession

         From some crunchy balls

         Clanging in perfect pitch

         Chewed, after frying

         In perfect rhythm

         With Gregorian chants

         And Gothic screams

       THE TRUCKERS

       GATHER IN PACKS

       THAT’S WHAT MAKES THEM

       FEAR

       LESS

             Yes, I recognize

             The soft touch of your slipstream

             As we waft past each other

         Pizza is great American food

         Spaghetti comes from China

         China comes from Wedgewood

         Wedge wood works better if metal

         Heavy metal is radioactive music

         Musical cacophony  but still

         Art is NOT ambiguity (still in the box)

             “perverse citrus”

               And planets explode

               In her hungry mouth

           Night is a buffet

               Shock the monkey

             Train

             Foul wince

             Daunting stitches

             Follow exactly

         Lank,

         For a second,

         I thought I had spoken

         For the third time

         With an inch between my legs

         Indelibly wounded

         Abstract expressionism

         No!  No!  No!

         House symbols

         More cracks

         To lick with love’s

         Psychodrama

         Painted with spittle

         Sinking into the soft foundation

         Of mortality

         The center sagging

         In a wide gaping smile

         Imagine

         The way Münch

         Would have painted

         Judi

           That sappy pine

           Is pining for a comb

         Cinderella, shoes

         In hand, ready to trade

             Random thoughts

             On a really lazy Sunday

         Lick my oil painting?

           Had to get Limas

           Between someone’s knees

         I’m underpaid

         Under wear

         Poetry to capture

         Smells

         And dribbles

         So street clothes

         Can stay clean

             Lobsters still claw

             Bluff backwards

             Under rocks

             Before they are red,

             Embarrassed on ice,

             Under glass

         Farming words

         Can’t seem to break

         The weed cycle

           This is not

           A form

           Ula

               Winter, Winter, Winter

               You are so insulted

               But I understand

               You purify the bulbous land

             Keeping alligators

             Out

             Of our living rooms

             We poison the pond

         Freelancer

         Is a doctor

         Who doesn’t charge to break boils

         Read

         Between

         The lines

               Unions

               Make work

               A dirty word

           Juxta

           Sup

           Hose

         He devoted his life

         To

         Two thousand words maximum

       CRACKS OPEN

KUMQUAT MERINGUE PENUMBRA

       CONUNDRUM QUESTIONS

       BANG BOOM ROLL

       AROUND THE FOUR SKINS

           Rain

           Washes

           Sand

           Washed

           By sea

           Filled by

           Rain

         Last saltlizard

         A sex lick

         Slick sex

         On the slippery slope

         Of the passion levee

         Filled with the power

         Of the hard swat of waves

         Along the warm, lapping

         Of the ocean’s edge

             Walking home in a blizzard

             Tears got stuck in my eyes

         Kid’s Playyard (Two Whys Together)

         Poems are buoys and anchors

         And boats and combustion sails

         And waves and fire extinguishers

         And that darn Coast Guard which

         Stops you, dead in the water

             The cute one,

             The third pig

             From the left

             Is the suckling

             One we want

             To impale

             Upon a spit

             And roast

         Tunnel dug

         Into no light

         Ending

         Chainsawme

         Oils the tree

         To cut deeper

         Into its heart

             There were times

             When these lines

             Would not have been enough

             River runs

             Into hydroelectric puns

             Drowning versal valleys

         Walking along the shore

         …….That’s all.

               Umbilical Amniocentesis

               So much poetry is from the belly

               Stuck, broken, on a halfsawed limb

         Well, well, well

         The water’s no good anymore

         Sewer, sewer, sewer

             Going to war

             They gloat about glory

             Because a bluff is better

             Than a cliff edge

             Fins

             Fish image

             Fin (French)

             Lah lah lah

             Lah lah lah

             You do put down

             Your own thoughts

             Putdown pudding

             Lah lah lah

             Tapioca

             Philosophy

             With runny eyes

             Lah lah lah

             You swallow

             Anyway

             Some days deserve

             A good spanking

         Snow waters

         Grief

         Both melt

         At their own speed

         Loneliness

         Is a dry marker

         And fear

         A broken ball

         No!

         Loneliness is

         Peat moss

         And fear

         A plate of beans

         No!

         Loneliness is….

             I have a message

             And it is,

             “I have a message”

           Crenulated

           Grain

           Granulated

           Creme cheese

           Scalloped

           Wall

           Walled

           Scallop

         The rainbow hit the concrete

         With a splat of fractured color

         And all that ever was was washed away

         In the warmth of summer rain

           It was any morning

           I woke up with….

           Whomever

         Poetic porn

         Focus that camera

         I want to see her wrinkles

         Three horses galloping free

         Two had socks on

         One had me

             Mayflies do not despair

             Over the comparison of moment

             To moment, make snowy

             Piles on asphalt anyway

         My boy isn’t born

         Death will not steal him today

               Living

               But not laughing

               I secede

               From my drawl

             The musk on Fire Island

             Is as thick as chicken hawks

             On the fly

             Loom

             Over

             A carpet of lies

         A Brief History

         Got `em

         Wore `em

         Ripped `em with my teeth

         (Used `em to polish my shoes)

             Pooperscooper

             Carried for fun

             Calling for a “spot”

             That doesn’t exist

             Rain lilies

             Cut

             By the lawnmower

         They wrote bad poetry

         Taking me completely by surprise

         Each fucking time

               Yesterday

               Is a highway

               Strewn

               With exploded toll gates

             I will never fear Summer

             Nor falling faint in humidity

             Your A/C love keeps me chilly

         Liverwurster

         Glycerine glyphcyst

         Assists extra words

         

         Quasiplings

         Neck springs

         Economy of manifest wavy collapse

         Fragment anything

         Midlength lakeside

             Night flight

             From some

             Live evil

         I love you like a modem

         Our love burns like a modem

         The orange and prune juice taste like a modem

         The sky and water are a modem

         The page sits like a modem

         The like phrase is like a modem

         Liking the like phrase is like liking a modem

         Like is like

         Is like

         Like is modem

         Like is to like as like is to modem is like a modem

         A modem is like a cherry

         The cartoon was like a cherry

         Wanting you was like wanting a cherry

         The shore line burns like a cherry

         The cherry pie burns like a teacup

         The cherry is like a burn

         One burn is just like the other

         In the fiction game

         I could go on

               William

               Carlos

               Williams

               Carlots

               You should

               Be selling

               Used cars

               From

           A cherry teacup is the embers of Christmas

           Like a New Year’s toddy, like a Thanksgiving

           Turkey is a panda poet

             Freestyle

             Swimmers, lean,

             Dive

             Into the same lane

             Music, tongue

             Aftertaste,

             Brandy dream

             Sticky dress,

             Silky

             Hot piano

             Alright, now, who put the spinet in the garden?

         Rakes

         Trees

         Arms

         Waiting

         A leaf falls

               Relative silence  grandparents gone

             I mention

             Shakespeare

             To get you to read

             These lines

         Pretend emotion

         With a pseudo name

         “And away go troubles down the drain”

         If you need to, use a pickup truck

         To move the poem

         Into the present

             I hear the skin of the Governor of Texas wrinkling

           The single beat drummer

           Pounds once

           The heartbeat

           Of an instant

           Houses squat upon radon

           Calling themselves Uranus

           Uranium

               Throwing a simple line

               Baited for poetry fish

             I’m a saddlestapled

             Matte card

             Cover girl

             Fuzzy but fun

               The Earth may stop turning for lack of

               Revolution

         Doodoo

         Dropped in the crack

         Between poetry and concrete

       SITTING IN THE FREEZER

       CAN BITE AT THE TOES

         Concrete poetry

         Limestone, pebbles, sand

         Excited

         He says,

         “I went to this

         Wonderful, almost inaccessible

         Place

         Isn’t that great?!

         With my foreign accent

         I ascended the description”

             Consider the cat

             Run over

           Softly squeezing out colors

           The gentle beast strangles

           For purpleblueyellowgreen

           Face effects

         The flame of Maple and Oak

         In Autumn

         Not as fertile as Summer wildfire

         Blackening the green slopes

         Becomes Rum Winter

         Antihistamine Spring

         With smoldering heart

         Burning

         Giddy, you open

         Your yap.

         Yup, giddy.

         Heehee

             I’m a tin snip

             Tearing malleability

             To shreds

         Red shift blues

         Rods and cones

         Cooling filament

         So indescribably beautiful

         That I try to describe it

         As beyond my description

         Turnback treachery

         With a minor downbeat

               A quilt of solemnity

               Patches that break patterns

         The limb’s secret passion for bats

         Pipe bombs to blow away metaphor

         About memory

         And nose undercurrents

           entitled

           The Cat/Gas Engine/My Soul/ The Laser Printer/

           The Baby/ The Dog/ The Spider/ The Line/

           The Coke Machine/ The Riot/ The Garbage Disposal/ The Head/

           The Air Mailer/ The C.O.2 Tree/

           What it wanted

           Was to be fed.

         The cosmic dust

         Was

         A chocolate float

         His mind moves serene

         But not into the silence

         Like a whole bunch of things that sound really good

         It’s what follows that counts on a menu

         The price tag that exposes the lie

         Aliens crawling up the toilet bowl

         And into your ….

         Poetry

             Peggy’s peonies in warming bathwater

               Grit bass, a submarine capitalist

               Naturally drawn to the hook

             Jazz cat lapping mama’s milk

         Flakey Blake’s treed angle, meowing music

         After eating fish subways

               Bass, widemouthed or small

               Are more pure than elevators

               Now, escalators might be a different story

             The sky should not leak watercolors

         You are my palm

         At the edge of the bay

         Salty, with only leaf

         Clappings to say

             Babel Babble

             In the fight for reality realized, words

             Are the fudge over a chocolate sundae

         You can’t copyright pictures you create

         In other peoples’ heads

           Who put the teapot on

           The flowers?

             Wrong moon, right moon, it’s still the moon

             We fell in love under

             Ants in our underwear

           Field fencerow thickets brush close

           Fingers reach grapevines, fists pull treetops

           Of, in on this, like, and, into

             Achtung, erzats!

           Cathedral conundrum  the nub

   NIGHT MOUNTAINS

             Pagan bonfires waging war on nightstalkers

NIGHT ROSES IN MOONSTONE BLUE

         I stared at the old photo.

         It had faded away.

           The magazine is dull and dead

           But the idea of the magazine lives on

             The slick woods are not a slut

             To the chainsaw

           The starved children of Somalia are all dead

           But the idea of starved childrenhood lingers on

NIGHT SONGS

         Insubstantial

         Seas more than remnants

         Of spires waving emaciate

         Cityship grass

         Wraith

         Sailing transitory

         A no phantom

       SHADOWS

       AVOID THE

     NIGHT TREE

       IN TOTAL DARKNESS

               Tell me the truth about laughter, old man

       WHERE NO

NIGHTSUN

       CAN REACH

         War ship

         Worship

NIHILISTIC PESSIMISM

           Charles Bukowski, eh?

           I just ask, have I made it to the millennium yet?

           There may be flies on some guys and vultures eating

           Your udder disgust but there is/There has/Belong to there?

           But there are VYGERS on me. Not visual?  Not of the working

           Man?  But there are assholes sucking be back into them.

NIMROD

       NONSENSE

             Plexiglass pontifications

         Wordjumble wasteland and not the good kind either

         The day it is yours

         Carp and catfish

         Lines dropped into mud

         Stairs stares sinking in

         Ah, what the fuck  looking up my dress

             The Bible Belt is twisted between loops

         Snicker sneaker!

               Earth in October dusk

               Fights

               Does not call it

               A night

             Title Poetry

             Almost as bad as verse

             That isn’t explained

             Until the last line

               Marooned, spare words

           Subway art  graffiti and graft

               Funny pop machine

               Popping hilarious caps

               Into my head

         Night drops the drapes

         Lights out

         Engines humming in the sky

         The shriek of falling secanols

         Flashing teeth

         And dental shields

         Open

         But not unprotected

             The birthday boy on a Sopwith Camel

             (add blood somewhere)

         Opalescent iron blank miles from above

         Blank brittle ice sea white surface beneath light

         Encircled deeper with suffused trees

         And the as extends though by the then heavy

         And and hard for the

ORE

         Eh lah lah woo woo

       IN THE FINE STATE OF

OREGON

       OR ALL ORE GONE

               My ear calls

               Oh!  Ooooops  should

               Be a big name;

               Osiris, my ear,

               Calls my mouth

               To be silent

           Darkness sparks

           Fire flies

           Wing ding

           In car headlights

         Niagara Agoraphobia

         Doubt in a box

         Plunging vaccinations

         Against the roar of

         Virginity

             Evil playgrounds waiting

             Niagara calling

             Wave crochets the wind

             Earth blushing, frost crawling

             And I sit writing, frightened,

             Inundated, undated, dated, ate D Ted Ed D

         He dances like a plop of mashed potatoes

         Sometimes does a twostep dollop of cranberry sauce or

         The turkeywithahandupit assist

         As inspired by (my mother’s breath) by the guy

         With the parakeet on his violin bow

         During the “Flight of the Bumble Bee”

             Tieing up your poetry with sausage links

               Eggs on chair

               I sit

               Discover them

         L  Lightened (light)

         M  Lightened (might)

         N  Lightened (night)

OYEZ

           Oh, yes!

           Oh no!

           Yoko

           Oh, yes

           REMAINS

       ACCIDENTS AND…. AND WHAT?

           I fear I’m lost in your “Son’s Sonnet”

           Beyond the cosmic quasi’s grid

           And the forsaking.

           In a Hitchhiker’sGuidelike answering way

           Was it 42 or 41?  Or 27?

           Any truth or myth’s okay

           In this poetry vacuum

           Under an instant sun.

               A mosquito dance

               Praying for light

               During the night

             Epilepsy curse

             Dropsy lines

             Drowned witmouse

             Floating on torpid lines

         Gibbous Giblets

         Waxing ears

         Gibbous carillon

         Waning pond whooshes

         Whining

         When baby puts her foot down

         “No corncolors tonight!”

PANCAKE

             I won’t keep a single one

             Flat and burned

             Twisted

             Uncooked bubbles

             With liquid insides

             Escher “rivers

             Falling through the sky”

             Of perspective

         Blue eyes surround me

         Interior rain

         Fills my cold brown

         Foothills

             Ineluctable Joyce

             Crawls on the grass

             Like a cherry blossom

             Pyromaniac

             Match

             Fiery

             Sex

             Nymphomaniac

         Dune cradles

         Sand cracks

         Under inverted

         Sky, dripping

         Foam

             Mobius

             Stripped

             For his pleasure

           Stuck saying those same damn lines

           Over and over, operatic, it

           Is immortality

           Of costumes and scenery more

             Bare feet

             Inserted into the maiden

             Sea

             Journal poetry

             Immortalizing a moment

             And your eyes again

         Dickweed

         Peckerwood

         No line to remember

         Just another list

         Of picture words,

         With “I”s like hers

         Tight voice

         Luminous

         Drippings of dew

         Off leaves

         Dawn

         Drenched in muted

         Cockadoodles

         Third Line Horizon

         Third line

         The picture line

         Skywheel  Sunlight spokes spinning

         To turn an image

         For halffigured philosophy

         The same essential stillness

         A brassiere cutting off circulation

               Naaaaannncy!

               How many times do I have to tell you

               You don’t have to leave open the bathroom door

               To swim through it?

             Pet

             Pit

             Bit

             Bet

               Hey, you with the scabbed nose,

               I gotta Daddy too

               And polyester daffodils

           16 tons

           And I filla

           My gut.

           Yeah,

           Like a lepton flowerburst

           It’s Lot in a car lot

           Of clavicles (semantic z’s and x’s)

           To Withstand

           Sliding dew

           Darkest stars touch

           Mooneyed crescent hill

           An endless girl

           On couldnot nights

           Of a gentle hand

             Touch my sad

             Forsythia

               N Dear

               Older,

               I endear them to me,

               Me to them, with

               Cuddles and massage

         Alcoved All

         Dragonfly heart

         Behind

         Peering sunrise

         Awaiting more universe

         One shore

         One one one one

               Fine, but

               Up what stream

               Can we hide

               Kansas?

           Stone lamps in small rooms

           Dim song

         Dim song

         Schewan Goose

         In sweet and sour

         Tones of lonely

         Oneplate dinners

               Sip slag

               If

               Slip sliding away

             Dim song

             Ended at an arbitrary point

             Called a period.

         Whose waves crush?

          Hose waves crush

          Hose  aves  rush

            S   ave  r us

            S   ave    us

             Some Machine, Any Machine That Works

             It worked for me, too

             Then clang! Wheeze, wheeze.

         Mold to fill

          Old to ill

            D  o  ll

            D  o

           Art as dogmoosefly

         Species: Poet

         His lines are arachnid

         Ararat on a rat’s ass

         Like antelopes loping

         Over a cliffedge

         If edited to the swansong

         Of an Anatidae

               Tick tock

               Life is lingering

             Softening the blow, tones, touch

             Of yielding to impending sin

             No,

             Of yielding to an offending son

             No,

             Of yielding to my display of spinning pasties

             No,

             Of yielding to the waiter’s tray of pastries

             I Put The Woman and The Fireplace Into The Title

             of a Poem, Felt Free, For Once, And Did Not Need To Go

             Further

               My, my, my

               There are seven syllables

               In the line above (here, too!)

           Early October in Intercourse

           MidMay in Maggie’s Nipple

           Breaking wind in Barcelona

           Did you go there for the foottar?

           How sweet is a Pennsylvania memory?

           It is

           Monday in Montauk

           And why did I come here?

         Actions are something else

         The arrow is so much that is not poem

         Paper on concrete instead of concrete on paper

         Designing instead of finding words

           Tonight the moon is a bird

           Tonight the moon is a flower

           Tonight the moon is a puppy

           Tonight the moon is an aardvark’s hum

             Stereos and steroids

             We buy, buy, buy.

               Dawn pushes down;

               Darkness drops into the West

             Warm dark

             Worm dark

             Warm dirk

             Worm dirt

             Wart worm

             Dark work

               Duck pucky

               Eyes are stuck shut

               Waking up from deep dreams

             Poetic Prejudice

             Sleep, wake, dawn

             That’s the poetic time

           Mud stygma, moss sygmata

           Mystic sty in the eye

           Astigmatism of sunshine

           Water

             Ice and Crystal

             Break

             Trying to bond

         …..Or Other Titles, Heads Without Bodies

         (But Not Without Tales)

           This poem has the quality of Sears aluminum siding

           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

         PerNew

         SpecDif

             Few  rest

             Actual  pour

             Compassion  blood

             Then  quiet

             Silenced  words

           Eeeek!  ezrat nicknii

           Mockla ma meeze tani

           Zala forzoon love chinna

           Zepflund poofff oooh ah

               Rumors of the Ball

               Bounce off of her

               Champagnestained gown.

               A drunken nose sniffs her cleavage

               During a short waltz

               Arms and shouts all around

               2 seconds to go.  1 point down

               And Akheem throws to Samson….

               Shit!  Missed alleyoop(s).

         Big/little disPLACEment

             Butt on

             Button

             Not tub,

             But ton

             On Butt.

             Butt on

             Button

         Let’s go, you and I

         Like a yoyo and a dodo

         To the brink of our love

         Or maybe to the Stop and Go

         Skeleton of Poetry

         Sel e ton of poetry

             Hidden, peace

             Is innundated

             By surrounding words

             They do not dare you to pick them,

             They dare you to name them

           Dueling scars

           Are no longer

           In fashion

           Nor shorter

           Naked

           (And new knitted flesh

           Doesn’t put up much

           Of a fight anyway)

         Pine tree

         Pinefore

         Pine for

         Perfectly

         Penned

         Pretend pig

         Porcupine

         Pilots

         Porous pockmarked

         Potato

         Perversion???

       TIME CHANGING

         Perverse pine

         With pens poking it

         Into permanence

         A pen porcupine

         Of piggy poets

         That pine over yew.

           Peppering Snowblower is the Wrong Title for This Poem

           Cheap fashion coat

           To last only one Winter

           Of no particular season

           (ing)

         The second month plus one second

         Of separation

               Had to Give This Title of “Poem”, So You’d Know

               A

               Few words

               In

               A column

         Train of Thought

         Train, train,

         On track,

         Stops

         At the station

             I called your name.

             It was an answer

             So beautiful

             It had no question

         Last line

         Red herring

         This is about the first line of this

         Memory

         Casting a draft

         Raisins swallow me

         Dipping wet crackers in the Brie

         I’m a jacket that’s worn wrinkled

         The Lawrence Welk of halfberries

         Your ears bend to listen to Lee

         Clinging to fistsful of rocky road ice cream

         Widow’s walk tongue slides

         Walk tongue!

         Don’t get caught in the plosives

             Potable Poetry

             By Wilbur in the woods by a stream

         Zapper bulldogs

         A mucuswet sky

         Won’t release the harvest moon

             No Traction In Mud

             Tractor

             Tract

             Detractor

         How About Sirius Poetry?

         Nova magenta

         Sweet cracker nut

         Black holes

         Gamma raise

         Constellations of praise

         Picture pick picture

         Mood mood mood move mood mood mood

         Theme in six syllables

         Say Fou!

         For form or our four

         Or four for u four

         Or for our form

         Or four for form (Brava, Eleanor)

         Bubble

          ubble

         Bub

          bub

           ub

           Life

           Is a missed

           Tree

             Angels’ echoes

             Angels, angels

             Flock of seagulls

             Descending angels

             Down to the depths

             Of my crazy, little, manic

             Up/down ma, man, manic, maniac, maniacal,

             “N””U””T” spells “Nuts”,

             Poetic heart.

           Hey, Masochist!  I’ll give you a sharp kiss

         Apocalyptic Entrails

         Cryptic conclusions

         Trypticfolded illusions

         Chipped dick delusions

         Endtrail conclusions

               This poem!

               It actually sucks

               But not in (all) the right places

           Over grass meadow,

           Mirrored birds,

           Breathless,

           She went

           Barefoot to the Buffet

             All writers are

             Great

             Graded

             Grated

              rated

             But not all

              rate

             And not all

               ate

               at

             The celebrity plate

         Vulture

         Hidden

         In the raven’s shadow

         TITLE

         Sometimes

         The whole meaning

         Is in there

         Come share my yearning

         For… well, not hurricanes nor watermelon

         Tomorrow, dreams begin

         No

         Today, dreams begin

         No

         Yesterday, dreams began

         No

         Yesterday, dreams had been beginning

         No

         Daybeforeyesterday, dreams had begun

             Dissappointed tears

             Should have talked to the receptionist

             To make an appointment

           Knee Legacy

           Spiked shoes on astroturf

             Love is a poet unidentified

             In the right setting

             Odds 7:5 (demographically)

         “Myyyy Grandma was

         Stupider than

         Youuuuur Grandma!”

           I would like to say

           This poetry

           “Shimmers like a July rainbow”

           But this is not true

         Rowing into Summer darkness

         In only briefs,

         He calls himself, “Poet”

             I put a flower on the bottom

             Of these lines so that someone

             Will think they might be poetry

             Iris

         Perhaps, it’s a ball game

         The sun is out

         He scratches balls, rolls bat in fingers

             A sound!

             A sound from the faucet

             Flowing into the sewer, the bayou

             Then the ship channel

             Then the bay and ocean

             A sound, a pattering of rain.

         Zindi jahh janily rindow

         Iddle ahroock tanzilly love

         Rashandunah guberick dewerdin

         Eddmindoon finnelle galuzin dranook

         Skull skull skull skull skull

         I think I’ll call this

         RiverRhythm Poetry

         (With analogous oars)

         Buttefirst

         Echoes

             Writing

             Lines in car

             Auto accident

           Tonight, I will not talk

           About death at all

           Oops!  Already did it.

         Christmas cowboy

         Stuck by his spurs

         In the chimney

           The barn

           Swallows

           Wind

         Singing the greens

         Because 8 percent of males

         Are colorimpaired

           Charity begins

           ….Who cares where?

               Saffron

               In rice

               Clumps

               To clamor over

         Hubbybubby

         You’re a froggie!

         Happy anniversary

             Snowblind,

             I need shadows

             To see

             What there was of daybreak

             Dribbled

             Over skyscrapers

           Waking up with “blue sight”

           Your blue flowers

           And blue sky

           Would look

           Either black or white

         Hey, poet, hey hey

         Help me make it through

         The day

               Honey, let’s get rid of the python, okay?

             Lookingatapainting

             Thatyoucan’tsee

             ButIdon’tgiveafuck

             BecauseIcanpoetry

             Barney’s, New York

             That’s where daddy

             Got his suits.

             So, what?

             So, they were good suits

         The Altar

         I found the title

         And expect you

         To do the rest

         Of the work of

         Knowing what

         This poem is

           Loaded pistol

           That’s all

           It just sits there

         My poetry has

         A footprint fetish

           Silver million brain drip

           Moons so wave spatter sanity

           Melting goodbye down lunar sky

           Madness becomes a voyaging eye

           High and up in the Earthbound moonship

           A your, your, YOUR

             Poetry For No Cause

             From an immortal Autumn

             And select songs of scarlet

             Procession, in perfumed evangel passion

             Of tumbling crystal and windflight,

             Swift moon, slipping into ardent freefall

             Become elements and, with their velvet vessels,

             Press to swiftly multiply

               Such landscape

               Such sun

               Such an open door

               But, where’s the

               “Girl in the white wetsuit?”

               The sharks ate the mermaids

               Now, you can fear the sharks

         She ladys her headlights into me like

         Bumper car cushions, her electrical switch expertise,

         The way she fingers it should convince me

         She’s got a man

         Wants the switch deep inside

         Guided only by Chilton’s

         Her book of turnons and turnoffs

               There IS immediate danger

               Retort, retort, retort

             Words For A Poet’s Funeral

             “That elegy really sucked”

               Toe pick

               Tooth pick

               Ice pick

               Pick your pick

         We, welfare mothers

         Can not live on minimum wage

         Turn the page, turn the page

             When the poem ends,

             The world begins

               Blood rains and tears rain

               And coffee rains down drains

               And love juice rains

               And we dance in the rain

         Wildlife Loving

         Scamper Camper

         I fire the woods

         To make sure

         The animals

         Are not dead

           Ram stall

           Butt out

         Bitter scrabble

         Letters that

         Won’t cooperate

             I’m going to do it again.

             Hope you get fooled this time:

             Irises

               Dawn

               Arrived

               Like a smile

           I crawl into the horn of her trumpet

           To reach the stars

               Gotta care

               To crack

               That earth

               One more time

         Let me blow my hot air

         Over your

         Conifers

               Candles crack

               Perfect darkness

               Gasses shine

               In the surround

         Earth

         Earth

         Earth

         Poet slips in

         A spirit

             I don’t even see

             Yesterday

             Though these tears

         Amazing

         How the architect of your house

         Assumes

         That you are not butter

               The magic snowflake of art

               Melts when the drummer

               Stops sweeping his jazzbrushes

               Across the roof

         Poetry Calm

         Moonwillow words lain out over the shadowy swan,

         Perfect pitches of serenity

         To avoid  ANY

         Fuckin asshole coming in and upsetting the fuckin balance

         Allright?!

         …….Okay,

         Swan fluffs its wings into midnight silence

           Seeds sown in our slippers

           We throw out old laundry

           Check the pockets of our jeans

           For loose grandmothers

         When is poetry ever like this

         As dull and as commonplace

         As zaz?

             In my cataract world

             All highlights

             Are freshfallen snow

             Hey, honey,

             Your eyes are deviled eggs

             You ought to see a doctor

               When I see the pear,

               Passed over the counter,

               I see…..

               Ah, shit, I can’t lie

               I see a pear passed over the counter

           I need an image, a new image

           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

       Iguana on a pile of planks

       Oops!

       No,

       It’s just a shadow

             Peace

             Is the Pong

             Of the diplomatic

         I write these lines to tell

         You I had a bad year,

         Feel like a paintbynumber

         Cardboard clown

         With the colors mixed up

             Made me simile

             Made me smile

             Made me like simile

             Made me like simile

             Made me smile like simile

             Made me like smiling like simile

             Made simile like a smile

         Sloppy Joe

         In my fingers

         Makes me hungry

         For the past

             The Mountains See It Before We Do

             But we keep the day

             And feed it celery.

               Colors,

               Fruit

               And what they do

               (mostly during the weekend

               and on vacation)

             Moliere’s Favorite Software

             Moliere (short list)

         Trying to expose the unique

         And the __(fill_in_your_choice_here)__

         In the ordinary

         We make the __(repeat_choice)____

         More mundane than it ever was on its own

               You know how to waste lines of verse

               And the trash can colludes

         Star

         Car

         Bar

         Car

         Far

         Tar

         Car

         Mar

         Char

         Car

         Char

         Star

               “When Insanity Comes Knocking,

               Throw Away the Door” by D.C. Berry

               Was Such a Good Title, I Decided

               To Use It In My Title Too

               Doesn’t much matter

               What comes after

               A title like that

         Shut (those damn noisy

         Birds) Up!

               My eyes are fruit

               My eyes are eggs

               My eyes are whitewall tires

               My eyes are two toiletrolls on the floor

               My eyes are portholes into my eyes (in the mirror)

         She put an elephant in his coffee

         Donuts on the side

         Called it “madlib” poetry

         And left by the window

               Lucky Visions of a Lady

               First edition

               Parole replacement

             Magical Music

             Melody

             Whispers

             Promises

             Brace yourself!

             Here’s an image

             My cousin’s braces.

             Heehee

           Nothing delicate

           About the

           Spring

           In my couch

         Joy

         Is a timerelease capsule

         And grief is a bad cold

         No!  Wait!

         Grief is a timerelease capsule

         And joy is a bad cold

           I wish I talked

           Ching, thump, whir

           Clank, phizzzzz.

           Then I could talk

           To my car

         Beware of 1st and Main!

         That’s where I saw a vision

         Which inspired another poem (not this one)

             Village maples

             Burn for tourists

             Tramp tree

             Out of mythology

             Pulls up its roots

             And leaves

         Poetry Titles

         “1989, A Pivot Year”

         “1990, A Pivot Year”

         “1991, A Pivot Year”

         “1992, A Pivot Year”

         “1993, A Pivot Year”

         “1994, A Pivot Year”

         Interplanetary Geophysicist Poetry

         Plural/ singular

         Agreement

         Mars the reading

         Of lines about mines

         And yourses

               Plant Trees, Not Three Plants

               Go lots, go!

               Go lots(in kulots)

               Go lots go!

               Golots and Helots and Shelots and Welots

               And bigots and whatnots in factory car lots;

               Now, that’s what I call a lot of diversity.

             FragPixleMonsterStretched Skulls

             In The Highlights

             I see,

             Through the painted eye,

             I see

         Feeling His Eye

         Then lumpy

         Oatmeal warmed

         His insides

         There was fire

         In the furnace

         Astigmatism

         Of crosseyed

         References

         Poking fun at

         A sty and stigma

         Attached

         To infection

         Inflection

         Flecks of dust

               Shake the

               An idea

               Live in

               Infinite unities

               (Unless it’s a uni

               Tie that you have to buy.

               Then just a few will usually do

               [are usually enough])

             I saw a heron

             Spread its wings

             Over the entire horizon

             But now loons are in vogue

             Spreading wings across the cover

             In the very latest fashions

             fall down

             walnut

             pudding maker

             Psychic turndown

             Psychic turnsdown

             (Psychic turndowns )

             Psychic turns down

             A twoway street

             A westward highway

             With lost hyphens

             Under a highway

             With lots of hyphens.

               Squishy earth

               Eats my wheels

               In selfdefense

           The hot house of my Winter

           Was a guard shack

           And fantasy

           Was the delicacy of my womb

         Wildflowers

         Blossom

         Toward the sun

         Wildflowers

         Blossom that way

         Toward the sun

         Here I am in a seashore scene

         Riding the waves of words

         Seeking the shadowy shoreline

             Never forget……

             Shit!

             ….. I forgot what.

           I once called the state of Texas

           “Zickwickniknik”

             Eyes open

             Black

             (Venetian)

             Blind

             Everything

             Becomes you

             Except the white dress

             (I want it)

             Core

             Meltdown

             Ore

             Feltdown

             Re

             Dealtdown

             Bummer!

             The algebra

             Of a soggy

             Greening brassiere

             Dropping children like

             Simile

             Like smiles

         It’s synodic in the western bay

         And the stars

         Are so close

         I can imagine the

         World is flat

         Foxy

         Caught in a trap

         She forgot

         All about the chickens

             Skeleton Bank

             RTC horrorshow

           A Fear of Displacement

           I misplaced it

             Poems are acts of acts

             So fax me

             Axe simile

             So I can cut down

             Your poet

             Tree

             Listening to the pitterpatter

             Of tiny

             Eggs going to ground

         My pen is not a speedboat

           Trim leg with blond highlights

           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

         The poem neighed in the saddle of lines

         Ellipsis was the horse’s name

         Cantering over a field

         Of barley in the wind….

         No,

         Maybe it was a field of rye

             October juniper, fleshed civil,

             Fused to the present

             In shrill fidelities,

             Deciduous divisions

             Wreathe the woodbine.

             Cool chatter remembers

             Merciless intervals

             Separate growth,

             Into itself.

         3 lines forsaken

         For the “good idea”

         Of the following 6 lines

         (Which I won’t include here)

             A snifter of Summer

             (But only one

             At a time)

         Grey sky floats by

         Some days are blankets

           Discolored Discovery Discourse

           My gosh!

           There’s life outside of our fireplace!

         Clearer Than

         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

           It is October

           Everything is

           Cool, smells of wholes,

           Concrete blisters,

           Ice to fill them

           Soon.

           (And then, of course, it’s going to twist and turn them,

           make them swell out of shape and break through their

           boundaries and have holey babies so that soon there’ll be

           more holes to fill and then leaves will leave, it will

           leave and be a different season)

         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

             Rhomboid

             “Just like the one who ran

             What do you do when you’re” RHOMBOID

             “`Cus you know you’re” no man?

           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

             The monster den

             With monster men

             We keep putting them down

             They get up again

           The

           Invalid

           Is not

           Invalid

             You saw bearded Blake

             In airborne paradise pedantry

             I saw a vision of Dryden

             No, He wasn’t hibernating

             He just didn’t want to be forced

             To smell the unwaxed fur

             Of soggy bears

               Factor contractor

               F/contr actor

               F or contr act

             Cynic

             Cyborgpicnic

             Boring pick

             Ring or pie

             Go cynic go

             Snicker to your candy

             Bar none you’re undone

             Belt one down

             And die in pieces

             Replaced easily

               octopusinkwriterreacharms

               snailslimelinesteachfeet

                   Imagery

         Rose               Blood

         Wilting            Yellow crud

         Green              Bile

         Part strong        Some sperm

         Some roots         In fresh feces

         Survive            In plastic

                Gay Green Piece

           I lose

           Letters

           Along

           Th

           Way

           B t

            m

           Ok  .

               Pyromaniac Poetry

               I

               Never realized

               How brightly

               Your lines would shine

               Until

               I heard them crackle

               And saw them

               Ablaze

               In my midnight

               Campfire

               Tribal Words

               Dancing together

               On the outskirts

               Of costumed frills

               Hemming and hawing

               About the proximity

               Of petticoats

               Beauty heaped upon beauty

               Pinkly profligate

               Mulch pile with carrot peels, broccoli and beets

             Hooves Speed Tail

             In streaming thunder

             Turf of scuffed hair

             Chestnut thudding black

             Girl’s brushed like

             A young race horse

           Here I Sit, All BrokenHearted

           The editor

           Wants

           Only

           “Garde”

           or

           “ApresGarde”

           Poetry

           In a sort

           Of

           Right

           Guard

           Anti

           Perspirent

           Mode

           Theme

            he

           t(tee)he

            hem

           He me

           Them

           The me

           Theme

           Today

           Is a blank day

           Blank blank blank

           Blank blank

           Blank blank

         OBEY!

         Nibbles that tremble

         OBEY!

         Friends and loved ones

         OBEY!

         Toast me

         Tea me

         Cup me in your calloused heartstrings

         In C# Minor

               Brazen temple

               Garden twin

               Flameflesh sky chalice

               Golden, silver, emerald

               Turquoise, indigo

               Violet ruby blood umbar

               (Of the moon, of the sea

               Of the Earth sun)

         Thrall pulleys

         Plucking ultimatum

         Reenter (poetic words)

         River bed remembers

         Discovery

         But but but but

         But but

         Volkswagon bugs reissued

         Don’t sound the same

             Why do the wee old men hide?

             Is it something inside

             They don’t want the children to see?

               Oh! Injury!

               What could mollusks

               Mean to me?

               Oh! Injury!

               Insects are swatted

               By the sea

               Oh!  Injury!

               Fish taken breathless

               Uneaten, rotting

               Oh!  Injury!

               How terribly trite

               Compared to the way you treated me

               Oh!  Injury!

               Heroin poets on the roof

               Describing what’s around them

               Because they can not move.

           It’s a big world of art, now

           Commemorate your ass off!