She
Disappeared
Like a dot on the
Pagewhite, snowwisped
Mountain peak, scrubbrush
Hiding her like pronouns.
I was a fat tub
Standing on squat legs
Young and begging
To be entered
But you gave me a diamond scrub
Descended upon me from above
And, in bubblebath crystals,
You brought me lilacs.
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
———————————————————————————————————————
SWATTING ASTEROIDS,
AERIAL
FLIES FLY
IN THE FACE OF REALITY.
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
————————————————————————————————
He has no bouquets, in pretty positions
To sweeten the smell of putrefying thoughts
Poverty has taken his indignation,
He savages himself into submission
Keeps fertilizing his dreams with manure
To, maybe, grow a flower
To place on her grave.
—————————————————————————————-
Inside the camera,
We watch the shutter,
Safe for emotion,
Film touched by light,
Briefly,
But destroyed if drenched
By the subject’s tears
—————————————————————————————
The condo cries with lonely abandon
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
——————————————————————————–
OMEGA FLARES
AGAINST
ALPHA BEAT SOUP
————————————————————————————
Porcelain yellows
With the thinstreamed truth
After the love juice
——————————————————————————————–
Hitting my flufilled head with the heel of my palm
Moving my jaw to massage an itchy throat
Trying to clear my ears to hear the sucking sounds
Of Sucrets
IN
Speedy swallows
Sneezing projectiles like darts in an ocean
Of Rhinovirus
I try to skew time
To cure a radish nose
Cher(ig)noble care
In waves
Radiates from you
—————————————————————-
hitchhiker
Waves beauty in the wake of trucks
Pieces of poetry scatter
Like a storm cloud, billowing
Backward into the past
—————————————————————————————————-
Br(rrr)
Bra (burn)
Bran (buns)
Brand (X)
Brandish (eek!)
——————————————————————————————————-
Under mossy rocks
Under (water) pressure
In the muck miasma
Under the big toe of poverty
The sponge
Dreams starfish darknesses
And separation
—————————————————————————————–
You drive your car
Naked
But not without
A seat belt
—————————————————————————————————–
Centered, the silly line soothes and sates.
We went for a walk.
Usedtobe hillside
Houses
An ecological niche
Death spares nothing
Entropy always
Worms live within us
Hope hangs in there
Like red meat
(Unless we make a god of death, forgetting any religion
and any reason for life)
Cold, cold, soothing peace
(Full enough? Full enough)
WORN PATH
APPALACHIA
WILD TRAIL
WITH TOILETS
————————————————————————————————
Mirror morning lake
Ripples with a loon’s light
Frolic, escaping under
To leave only laughing echoes
————————————————————————————————-
Posthumous accolades
Are better than being forgotten,
Rotten, swamp succor
In the everglades of the immediate
Handicapped vocal cords
Scrape against hot breath.
If I thought you wouldn’t be bored
I’d just say “I love you” until my death
———————————————————————————–
I remember waking up
With a bad poem in my headache
Coughing up cupie dolls
——————————————————————————————
How to think in modernity
Make existence a greedy glut
Of lowdollar barrels, rolling
Out to sea. We don’t all get
Bombed but all need energy
The
Iris is black
When tossed
away.
A REGULAR STORM IN A REALLY FUN EXOTIC PLACE
———————————————————————————————————————
In tandem, maybe in toto
We all bicycled through depravity
And veiled virginity within lines
Of reasonable length (for no food)
And fought back at their hunger
By seeing the paint chips on withered walls
By hearing the hum of antique motors
By naming the smells as filth,
Not rot, and noting the weather for
Our crisp, clean, debutante diaries
If you come
And be nice
To your brother
I’ll bake a cake.
One single diverseness
Sit on your arse
And cherish an appetite
For looking at the solemn, the foolish,
Looking for the dark spots on the sun,
Retinafrying
——————————————————————————–
Hamhock, sirloin,
Filet, shoulder,
Butt and Chuck
He separates his lovers
Into parts
———————————————————————————————
We were taking a tour of the farm
Until, suddenly I screamed with alarm
Just seventeen goats and a bunny
So I thought it rather unfunny
To feel a goose on my bountiful charms
————————————————————————————-
Picking contagion,
Cleaning like slaves,
Born to janitorial joy
Without mops or Spic and Span
Without really loving man
The maggot makes its living
On a quest of germ destruction
——————————————————————————————
If Superman, writing memoirs about his deeds
While trolling for pickerel in the reeds
Slipped and fell upon his big red initial
And swam with supper, would his words be superfishal?
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.
We were talking philosophy
Aunt Grace said “family”
I said “Thanksgiving together?”
She said, “Not anymore”
I said, “Grandma?”
She said, “Both of them, two weeks apart”
“Just us now?”
“Just us now.” she replied
Neither of us said “Why?”
NO, no
I said “Grandpa too?”
She said “Uh huh.”
I said “Why?”
She said nothing
No, no
She said, “Do you want their car?”
I said, “I told them I wanted the Luger”
She said, “They threw it into the lake.”
I said, “I do need a car.”
NO, no
She said “Are you coming to the funeral?”
I talked about how poor I am and, now, I don’t even know
the address of the graveyard.
Name the news event
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.
Somehow, the maggots
And oatmeal
Connect
But my scorn
Tries to put a hierarchy
Upon the food chain
Tries to separate the superficial
From a shotgun facial
—————————————————————————-
on joy
oh, joy!
enjoy on joy. enjoy joy.
enjoy joy on joy.
on joy, enjoy joy.
—————————————————————————————–
That’s the way
Baking
Delicate delights
No noise in the kitchen
Ingredients and temperature
Just right, perfect texture
On the cooling tray
And someone with a sledge hammer
Comes in to smash
The table and counter
The cookies and sink
I’ve got a chair and a stray dog
That comes by for food. I’ve got trees diing,
Invaded by insects. They belong to the city,
Both larvae and leaves, and the air
Comes in stinky from Pasadena;
It rains white ash flakes,
Late at night when no one is supposed to notice
When the smell is only registered upon aloevera dreams.
—————————————————————————————————–
over the constipation
boy, you are sure
a pure
asshole
fusing modal patterns of solids and gas
musical notes and all (analyzed)
your tritone farts are melifluid
your dissonance is divine
(and a bit of a chuckle, too, mess pas?)
I cranked up the Grand Prix
For his girlfriend from Australia
While we were awaiting her plane
Said, “let’s go for a ride”
Told her, in secret, “I’m a storm
Buster. See that thunderhead?
We’re going into it.” We did.
At about a hundred, hydroplaning,
We rode the length of the storm and then
Turned around and rode the storm backwards.
She said her fear of airplanes had been cured.
(please note, it wasn’t written like
Turned around and rode the storm backward
doggiestyle,
Daisychaining with the other wild women, rough riders.
She said her fear of flying had been cured.
Now was it?)
——————————————————————————————————
Love fell in splinters
From our French
Provincial furniture
BLUE GUITAR
Player with blue fingers
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.
—————————————————————————————————
The swan flew faster than ever
For fearfrozen fish,
Dived and then
BAM!!!!
Headfirst it glided through clear ice,
Outside the Pyrex factory;
A feather landed in the snow
———————————————————————————————————–
Room, bed, body, poems
Repeat:
I own this rectangle
You give yourself too much credit
To think the bank
Will keep your records and give you a history
After all your debts are paid.
I bounced off of men
Like the drunk I was
To the player piano rhythm
Of dentists socializing
Feeling the spikes of their approval
Like pollenmasked migrant workers
On the side of the highway
Kerchiefs flapping against the napes of their necks
Garbage bag dragged in one gloved hand while the other
Speared the litter on the edges
Of my vagina.
Often, awake, I see
Mice and rabbits
Running across the page,
Knowing that your poetry
Understands
The seen better than the dream
Shot
Swarming Scold
Death’s a nextdoor
Gingko
Someone plays
Tennis in the folds
Of my brain, cleats
Sticking sometimes
Drawing blood, ball
Bouncing across
The corpus colossum
————————————————————————————————————-
GOING GAGA
Over ambiguity?
I’ll never get over ambiguity
Or underpants
Life is a thousand minuscule mindaltering
Amazements every fucking day!
Upriver
Float on sandpaper,
Naked
More like a roar against silence
And a whisper replied, “I don’t love you”
Sometimes underwater,
Plato’s cave echoes
With loose theorems
And skipped steps
Escaping from the cave
—————————————————————————————————
Even night is light
Opening into air
As you adjust your vision
Getting out of there
Into the music
After the concert
The whistler
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
————————————————————————————
They let go of their mother
Before she was dead
Lost her when the doctor
Said, “Two years left”
———————————————————————————————-
Spiraling anchor cord
No anchor shape nor weight
At one end, no attachment
To the other, floating yellow
Nylon in a greygreen sea
—————————————————————————————
Your dreams stuck to you
No matter how tattered
Tails on a box kite
The last thing a restaurant ever was
Was a food factory
The last thing marriage was
Was silence.
The city at night
Hides the hazy pace
Of a prisoner released
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.
Up
The light
Public
Streets
Of my history
nah
Up the light
Public streets
Of my hosiery
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
Pins don’t capture it
Chaos is not a butterfly
Great grit
Echoes of swollen
Footsteps
Yeah,
I can’t tell
You what these
Lines are really about
Talking
Like an insurance adjuster
Asking questions
After an incident
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
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
Heplophobes
Try to outlaw
My feminine mystique
————————————————————————————-
THE TRUCKERS
GATHER IN PACKS
THAT’S WHAT MAKES THEM
FEAR
LESS
World War Two hero
Drives his old green car
When the children leave school
Screams maniacal
Hurls insults at them
Through closed windows
KALLIOPE
I heard the steam music
From the bankrupt resort
Haunting the lake with
Whist and melody
For one last time
To turn us around
Farming words
Can’t seem to break
The weed cycle
Set the night before
The plates remain
Where my grandparents
Used to breakfast
Soul Sister Q.Z.
I don’t understand why the women who do so
So hate me for nothing. I was first in line
For equality, still speak out against double standard
Juxta
Sup
Hose
He devoted his life
To
Two thousand words maximum
Rain
Washes
Sand
Washed
By sea
Filled by
Rain
River runs
Into hydroelectric puns
Drowning versal valleys
Walking along the shore
…….That’s all.
Umbilical Amniocentesis
So much poetry is from the belly
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
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
————————————————————————————————
I have a message
And it is,
“I have a message”
——————————————————————————————-
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
Three horses galloping free
Two had socks on
One had me
A Brief History
Got `em
Wore `em
Ripped `em with my teeth
(Used `em to polish my shoes)
They wrote bad poetry
Taking me completely by surprise
Each fucking time
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
Freestyle
Swimmers, lean,
Dive
Into the same lane
Music, tongue
Aftertaste,
Brandy dream
Sticky dress,
Silky
Hot piano
——————————————————————————————
I mention
Shakespeare
To get you to read
These lines
If you need to, use a pickup truck
To move the poem
Into the present
Tell the history
Of our society
In social security numbers,
Credit card records,
Passports and obituaries
———————————————————————————–
Relish the death of those that annoy you?
Must hard actions be matched by hard thoughts?
Catsup, will ya?!!!
Peggy’s peonies in warming bathwater
He rubbed me with atomic balm
I blew up and hit the ceiling
————————————————————————————————-
Night drops the drapes
Lights out
Engines humming in the sky
The shriek of falling secanols
—————————————————————————————————–
Blue eyes surround me
Interior rain
Fills my cold brown
Foothills
Ineluctable Joyce
Crawls on the grass
Like a cherry blossom
Mobius
Stripped
For his pleasure
You search for yourself
Without seeing your father,
Mortar and brick hands,
Squish, squish, stroke,
Tweek, nibble; he did
Have other rhythm
Practiced laying more than bricks,
With kisses and butterfly fingers
All over your mother’s breasts,
Squeek, squish, circle around.
Licking, sand sometimes,
Memories and houses
Were not all he built,
All he left,
His only healing art.
Bare feet
Inserted into the maiden
Sea
————————————————————————————————–
Third Line Horizon
Third line
The picture line
Skywheel Sunlight spokes spinning
To turn an image
For halffigured philosophy
————————————————————————————————–
A Vision of Cal
Clothier
Zipping up
My miniskirt
Blanched
Eyes
Jerking
His breathing
Gratitude
Shrubbery verity
“Ni!”
And humming bird farts
For a whiff of the arts
“Ni!”
Amherst is buried under snow
But the pantyhose still come out
To aim a dart
In broccoli directions.
Asparagus takes years
To root and settle
While Carol contrives herself
As a hummingbird feeder
“Ni!”
Between two of them
Grateful
Cheese
Licking up dew
Sentences.
Verbs have or do
Dart up
Dart up!
Down boy.
Climb a tree.
To Withstand
Sliding dew
——————————————————————————————-
Darkest stars touch
Mooneyed crescent hill
An endless girl
On couldnot nights
Of a gentle hand
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
I Put The Woman and The Fireplace Into The Title
of a Poem, Felt Free, For Once, And Did Not Need To Go
Further
——————————————————————————-
I’m uncertain about the expenditure
Of all this time taken to make up
Smooth and rhythmic internal rhyme without
Enjambment, cliché, or sentiment,
About all this time spent, words worked at hard
To appear simply worked out, having, as I do,
So little, of substance, to talk about
And, feigning distress, no one to address.
Oh me, oh my! It’s time now to say goodbye,
But let me take this opportunity to end on a sour note
And not the kind I make, sucking lemons.
Sun,
Roots growing into eclipsing
Airsoup haze
Today you are more fiery
Than friend
An arachnid mandible
Chewing away at
Our butterfly cocoon
That’s democracy now
Don’t shoot them,
Silence them
Make other people
Deaf to their words
If you don’t like
Their poetry
Make paper and postage
Expensive
—————————————————————————————-
PerNew
SpecDif
——————————————————————————————
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
——————————————————————————————————
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
—————————————————————————————————-
Screen
Door
To technocracy
————————————————————————————–
Between
Skin
Razor’s edge
Skin
———————————————————————————————————-
Potable Poetry
By Wilbur in the woods by a stream
——————————————————————————————–
Never Say Never
“Nothing is right”
This Spring, but you don’t write (or do you?) that
“Nothing is left”
————————————————————————————-
Picture pick picture
Mood mood mood move mood mood mood
—————————————————————————————-
Theme in five syllables
Life
Is a missed
Tree
—————————————————————————————
We Two
We, too, went through
The blazing maze
Of our mayonnaise craze.
Butter became passé
Margarine words spread quicker
But left infinite indigestion.
Now,
We are fatfree polyunsaturated
Over grass meadow,
Mirrored birds,
Breathless,
She went
Barefoot to the Buffet
———————————————————————————–
So heavy
So heavy, you hope
It’s all fat in there
—————————————————————————————
Lens Occlusion
Hunter with scope
Thinks he’s bigger
—————————————————————————————————–
They dump their waste on us
Saying, “you want the good life?”
Hide maps of contaminated areas
Like they hide their combination safes
Inland revenue (for the children)
Pay tax
To play clean
They dump their waste on us
Saying, “The reason it smells funny, like that,
Is because it’s art”
———————————————————————————
Skull skull skull skull skull
I think I’ll call this
RiverRhythm Poetry
(With analogous oars)
Sometimes, I pass
Words
In thick chunks
———————————————————————–
Death is not the poet’s
Only job.
My favorite poets use it
Like a garnish
——————————————————————————————-
Lookingatapainting
Thatyoucan’tsee
ButIdon’tgiveafuck
BecauseIcanpoetry
——————————————————————————————
Barney’s, New York
That’s where daddy
Got his suits.
So, what?
So, they were good suits
—————————————————————————————————-
Loaded pistol
That’s all
It just sits there
———————————————————————————-
Words For A Poet’s Funeral
“That elegy really sucked”
——————————————————————————————
All boundaries are lies
And the bullet is a lie
And its whistling is a lie
And the pain is a lie
And falling down
Inside some boundary is a lie
————————————————————————————
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
————————————————————————————-
Roses, Rues, and Ruses
Bouquet in arms in crinkly paper
We wind our way down French boulevards
With names like Sacre CWWWWWWHIC!
………… Cwwwwwwwwwwwhic! ….
CWWWWWWWHHHIC!!!! (Sorry hairballs)
When is poetry ever like this
As dull and as commonplace
As zaz?
—————————————————————————————————
No man
Has had his hands up my dress
And down into the elastic of my pantyhose
For years and years,
Since one, (that one, that time),
Who was folding my clean laundry for me
Asked, stretching those plastic containers of legair,
“Why do you wear these stupid things?”
No good answer came and until one does,
I won’t.
———————————————————————————————
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
———————————————————————————————
When the blackberry moon rises 94
When the grapefruit moon rises
When the aspirin moon rises
When the crescent moon rises
When the dixiecup moon rises
When the donut moon rises
When the pastry moon rises
The pepsi moon
The bloodshot moon
The beandip moon
The umlaut moon
The incandescent moon
The silkstockinged moon
The sugarcane moon
When the mayonnaise moon rises
When the starkissed moon
The bumblebee moon
The tunafish moon
The albacore moon
The dolphin moon
The blowfish moon
The whaler’s moon
When the wornout moon
When the pizza moon
When the pockmarked moon
The chocolate moon
The coldcoffee moon
The constant moon
When the dental floss moon
When the breakdown moon
The morning moon
When the toilet paper moon rises
When the moon rises
I’ll be there
Waiting for your reflection
Still pulled, like the water
By a tide of memory.
—————————————————————————————-
I write these lines to tell
You I had a bad year,
Feel like a paintbynumber
Cardboard clown
With the colors mixed up
—————————————————————————————-
Interlocking Illusions of Imagery
Elephant, Flowers, grass, night, needle,
Trumpets, pebble, Raging, serious,
Breaststroke (They always just have to
Bring sex into it, don’t they?
Now I’m supposed to remember the touch
Of the first man on my nipples,
The RUSH of my first woman
And how it was a homecoming
And how we both were the homecoming
Queen and the texture of various fingers,
The indecent roughness, the calloused
Strength, the tender prodding before lips
And tongue and teeth and the anticipation of …
Well, suffice it to say, there’s just too much
Sex in the body of our poetry today
And way too much of it is just attached, superfluously,
Like a penis.)
————————————————————————————————-
Beware of 1st and Main!
That’s where I saw a vision
Which inspired another poem (not this one)
———————————————————————————————————-
Nah,
He ripped open the “I”
That never again was shut
And turned his lover,
Poetry,
Into an aging slut
———————————————————————————————-
Interplanetary Geophysicist Poetry
Plural/ singular
Agreement
Mars the reading
Of lines about mines
And yourses
————————————————————————————
You think the spilling of blood
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
————————————————————————————————–
VIETNAM GENERATION
Dishonorable discharge
Because my brother didn’t keep
A good
Black book of names and situations
A list of embarrassments
A list of bare ass minutes
With the lieutenant who lied,
Took the brunt of the frag,
“For the guys”, and my brother’s
Dishonorable discharge.
—————————————————————————————–
VISION SEEKERS
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.
———————————————————————————
Poems are acts of acts
So fax me
Axe simile
So I can cut down
Your poet
Tree
————————————————————————————–
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
——————————————————————————————-
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)
——————————————————————————————
Rainier Marie
Still wrong, MarieCarol Becker
The songs, the sonnets, the elegies,
The prose don’t translate, it’s true,
But, more still, the mood can’t be left to you,
Sitting in the Swiss Alps, breathing old air,
Breaking in hiking boots, deaf to cowbells.
Do you have Rodin, chipping away every day,
At the granite of your head, removing every part
That is not art; In circular motions with his hands
Smoothing your bust, the bust of inspiration?
Do you have a wealthy mistress, who takes you in
Like the stormcat? Do you sit with The Panther,
Shaking your head, stuffing another line in the dresser?
Well, even if you do, I can’t leave the mood to you,
Outside of The Castle’s grandeur,
In the fair weather of the now,
Because it was storming cats and dogs of unrememberance
Then Yes, back then, it was rainier, Marie.
————————————————————————————
I lose
Letters
Along
Th
Way
B t
m
———————————————————————-
Ok .
Today
Is a blank day
Blank blank blank
Blank blank
Blank blank
But but but but
But but
———————————————————————————————
Volkswagon bugs reissued
Don’t sound the same
——————————————————————————————–
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!
——————————————————————————————————