poems

30 December 2011

#79: Aus Einem Oktober

after Frank O'Hara

Here, you, stop it up for to recognize the depth of dank cave that is lightless fulfillment, how incendiary. Match burnt in wet hideaway, bats or mice crawling, bleak monument catacomb to our old pleasures. Revived for an eight-hour period as a rung phone gives way to dialtone, doesn’t it feel good not to be anyone there?

The resort collections are ever more wearable, the public can afford to stand them. Us in our wrinkly shows of grumpy hunger, did you want that orange? No. I don’t like doing this cold, let’s get you gone. It’s only because of everybody.

29 December 2011

#78: It’s sure not coming easy

5/20/11

reworked 12/29/11

to think about it until you don’t have to think about it

anymore. Pain is a threshold with no natural opposite:

the sparrows outside ringing the feeder agitated,

their eruptions melodic in coarse sunshine


I was all this time

knowing I would one day, surprisingly, forget to mention it

to myself as I tilled and revised, peeling their proteins

back to reveal themselves

the white hotel robes of worse emotions cloaking


It is then when you think to yourself

‘I so very much need this or that particular’

and it avails itself of your vision,


brilliantine taillights cherryred on Tourmaline Street –

it is one thing not to reconsider from the wounds.

But as with everything there is an extent to which!


Eating breakfast alone in high light gives me rein not

to think of it until at least lunch

#77: Chandler, AZ

The later it gets, the lovelier

I’m lying

But can’t you look at something less than once

and still grab it? You gotta come by

the house, he always says


I get all hot in my heart sometimes


Have I been alone with myself for too long,

or is that just the feeling of this city?


I never think about denial, but I can feel

him thinking about how one of the great

human faculties is the process of elimination

and over and over and over and over


I’m going to bed I owe tomorrow nothing & the dog

still perches in the treehouse out back,

something tart on the invisible breath before it

#76: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3

12/27/11

Tuesday

4:56pm

They were in my way! They deserved it!

Price: “Down the stairs, Frost! Move!”

Gabriel is twelve years old and has yet to Prestige.

He thinks aloud he prefers the G36, just a gun.

Inbound hostiles drop their guns, of course,

once they’re dead you pick them up.

Off the balcony, kind sir. Drop dead, Hobbes.


He hates to break the necks of guard dogs.

The black controller melts in his little hands.

Price: “Frost, hang back! Protect Soap!”

We’re recon to get this guy Yuri, he’s an ex-Spentz-Naz.

He hates Makarov. I just hold down the trigger for this thing.

“We’ll guarantee you a medal, a body bag, or both” –

Delta burns up the screen after Gabriel is shot

by spray-and-praying hostiles, an infantile tactic,

he says, resurrected, but if necessary, fine.


What’s remarkable is you will never get everything, ever.

For each gun there’s tons of levels, and titles, and emblems,

If you’re crazy enough to try it, it’ll still take forever.

That’s just the nature of when you Prestige at level 80.


In his new fleece pajamas from Christmas, fresh out of

the shower after the pool. Pixelated laundry waves on lines

drying in many bright colors above the fray.

Blood leaps from civilians as his enemies blast them.

Frost howls. Loyalist: “Breaching!”

L1 zooms, and R2 fires grenades. Boom-shack-a-lack-a.

What is shooting me? Get out of here!

I love how the second I aim at them they freak out.


It only takes two grenades to sink a chopper.

“The world is a giant tinderbox,” Commander Price types.

Checkpoint reached. Frost (Gabriel) fells a tree.

#75: Wild Horse

12/28/11

Wednesday

3:16p

No one’s a rook today. The hotel served

it stabbed with sugarcane spearing

a strawberry. It felt like chewing chopstick.


It turned into May Swenson translation,

diamond-yellow bamboo staler than a layoff.

The horse (Navajo Joe) bucked a child and was sued


as the Pima were corralled and turquoise-choke-chained,

verifying under oath that they were friendlies. The hotel

dusted with neutral geometrics served poolside liquor.


Today peaks and potters fire the ocean of France,

hunting books de rerum natura: eternal, invisibly

tiny, riveted bodies conveyed to you by impulse.

The garden, neither too wet nor dry, instead steams.

#74: Starbucks (Catching up)

12/27/11

Tuesday

4:24pm

Los Angeles on the way down is still not my town

chats with neck surgery throat cancer radiation

scars cater waiter actors and flakes

of newspaper drown the wide avenues a taco

truck has scattered Tapatio packets

below its engines like pert little

servings of blood-guts (black-flecked)

Runners pant and stop to nestle sweaty hands

against dogs’ skulls cooing before taking up

with the bike lane again swerving my

this coffee is deplorable

23 December 2011

#73: Rehash

September fourth: mine / you.
An all-but-act determinacy.
Coy adults warring, fake rain.

October two: your ten times six.
A couldn't-be after who-me?
I baked the club a cake prayed

no one would partake shaking
hands with newcomers with shiny
hairstyles for the holidays.

Toast flaked with nutritional yeast.
A lost dog cavorting the street.
An aunt broiling the beef.
Jet lag.
A lapse.

21 December 2011

#72: Seabird

Brief complete thought: boiling
tomato stove jam. Women hunting
fresh water. Laundry creaking

in tubs and on lines, the suggestion
of Christmas Sunday in the shore
(wet salted whimbrels, lit trees).

The nest a bare scrape. 3-5 eggs laid.
The call a rippling whistle yanked
into a trill for its song.

The diet crabs, berries, blue butterflies.
You thought this was a joke,
calls not being songs.

18 December 2011

#71: Accents

Like I love him but I hate waiting.
How far did you get?
Only to Puerto Vallarta.
Which was where he bought the necklace?
Mi madre says when you forget what you were gonna say it was a lie.
Do you have your license?
I don't drive.
Me neither.
I'm making my dad teach me over the summer.
Maybe then the people at home will be nice.
For a change.

17 December 2011

#70: Home Poem 1

"I was gonna say I'm just not used to you."

The tree sat dark because CVS only had blue lights
and he didn't want blue lights.
Verbs in a mixed group will agree
with whatever's closest, like people pick subjects

and pick others on their behalf:
black twig apples with their packets of water sugar,
men aside from obvious fictions of consent
("May I take this? May I give you this? Is this this?").

His uncle flew the plane. He didn't know
he knew what he was doing, lit an incense tree,
Persian lights in the firmament.
He can't remember when last he saw frog.

12 December 2011

#68: Celia

She likes thinking
at any second she could lose
this hinging limb damp
dank darker muddy cacao @ 59%

She likes introducing indirects
with 'can you tell me' or
'do you know' or 'whether'
what's subversive
here elsewhere holds water?

In winter she cuts all her
hair off for cancer wigs
and likes to think of it
providing
relief for other girls'
green stubbly skulls.

10 December 2011

#67: Variance

I was thinking of something you can't memorize
of about
/ chance variation in a simple random sample

#66: Morning Movement

A photograph's inherent
Objective captures it real
Horrible, tall and tea pretty a ten
Perfect slim time zones dotted
With the clean poles fingernails
Crescents sharply arched
Ultramarine an icy new science
"All that's left for the rich man owned
The place that burned is to revel
In his hunger"

#65: Art History

I guess the clearer the negative
space is the more in the foreground
it is and then it recedes

Don't people still think
negative space is relative
I just wanna go Santa Cruz
man
I just don't wanna die

Blanks are interesting only up to their points

#64: Timer

Impatience is TICK key to dissolving
what's onerous from what's facilely
wrought. Is it too late to have read
not little enough of he whom I know
now I TICK mime? How too simple it is
about coffee?

How simple is too about waiting.
The worst school is where no former
bids you do anything the TICK best
school is when no former bids you do
anything about it

All idols are alcoholics esp.
masculine ones
learning in a TICK chicken-egg vein
even sexless girls can salsa

TICK
TICK

Duncan, Spicer, Olson, Ferlinghetti, Rexroth

How did I end up in the same eroded icecream scoop SF as these motherfuckers?

#63: Lunar Eclipse

Does everybody see it full?
What time do they see it -
what time is it there when it's
full how can you tell where
the shadow hooks it here
and again the bodies are known
to be and show themselves
up transitively

June 17, 1965: Vancouver lecture #3

Jack Spicer: It's pretty hard to if you're on a different kind of street. I mean, shit, if you're walking down a sandy beach, you obviously aren't going to walk the same way you walk through the Broadway tunnel. There's a different resistance and everything else. That lovely American astronaut that we had playing around in space - he obviously didn't walk the same way he walked down Main Street of his hometown, but at the same time, he was the same person and the same loss of gravity and everything else were possessing him. He had to learn how to walk out in space. But there are different kinds of levels of gravity and Vancouver has a different level than San Francisco does, and it's one I prefer.

DL: It doesn't really matter which.

Jack Spicer: It doesn't matter in the long run. To people who write your biographies it certainly doesn't matter. To these awful English students fifty years from now at UBC or somewhere like that, it won't matter a good goddamn what happened there, but it does matter to the person because the person's a person and not just a poet.

#62

I had
not even
real
-ized I
was be
-ing looked
at

09 December 2011

#61: Countdown

If I weren't here I'd be downing
cinnamon liquor with flakes of gritty
gold swimming past exes at

holiday parties (how I will
be in two weeks after all
my assessments are over)

Putting everything off so I could focus,
I found "Spanish boots of Spanish
leather" useful, a kiss and roar-off

I'm late again still immer /
ut semper / "literally every time"
I set out for a place

05 December 2011

#60: Bowditch

Dry cold white sun morning, cold sun morning white dry.

Sweetheart would you help this old
Vietnam vet buy a cup of coffee?

I'm sorry Sir I got no money.

(Angrily) Well me either!

04 December 2011

#59: Margie's Aunt

She was expected it presented
in a flute and didn't start
the wine for that reason

her nine silver bracelets clanked.
On her phone her participles

"I'm drinking a chablis
having taken a five-minute break
having bought the stationary for Margaret..."

#58: Patio

A runner in a green shirt stops the police
car with his hand and fills the window
with his shoulders. Across the street couldn't
hear their conversation. Old ladies in quilted

yellow smocks set up their weekends
at a window piled rainbow with macaroons,
which doesn't matter either.
Waiter brings lunch to a metal table

and a couple negotiates for space. Her favorite
Lucy episode is undoubtedly when she
and Ethel are making chocolates and
they set the conveyer too quickly.

#57: Kid Couple

Vowing aperte, as an aperture, timidity aligns
against itself for openness, having yet to see inside.
A practically-kid couple standing in a kitchen
at midnight lit candles, the birthday girl spinning in a green dress.

Answering the upstairs door let more in.
Kid couple yawns and departs to an early bed
and hostess pulls foil-wrapped peppermint bark from the fridge,
guests falling upon it.

03 December 2011

#56: Footage

Dark before dinner in North House livingroom
D (male) and T (female)
watch clips of cute animals on the Internet on a phone.

They giggle their hearts out. D: Is this not the cutest
fucking thing you've seen in your whole life?
T (after elated gasps): Sometimes I Youtube
"babies laughing" when I'm by myself and watch them.
It might be my favorite thing to do. They're so - !
D: Human babies?
T: Yeah. Something just happens inside me when I watch.

D (male) Googles laughing babies, and T snuggles.
They go to the first link and a man's voice says "Boo!"
and infant twins release a host of tiny laughters.
T goes ballistic, making squeaky throaty sounds.
The black room hangs. It's a Friday. D
coughs: I like animals more.
T: That people taped this is the best thing in the world.

02 December 2011

#55: Visit

Julie cannot tell if it is out of
her wrist being skinnier, her bracelet
fitting weirder lately is one of
those open circlets,
silver stamped with suns,
itself a sort of beat-flat crescent.

To put on, dig one square end into
the flesh of wrist between veins
and spin around until forwardfacing -
did not used to slink up her
forearm (does now
as she raises her hand)
or get turned around. Does now
as whenever she reaches for anything.

01 December 2011

#54: Call & Response

You learn French after being asked to act as correspondent
as a "young person" with a fresh head in the old game
which though it might strike
counterintuitive (equidem - verily; post autem) not

These are the keys to my house
which itself does not stand
I can hear him talking three floors
up because of his somewhat flat

hard cadence I hated and now esteem -
all in response to the events still going on -
contemporaneous without
the compulsion of simultaneity

But I am sitting in a bad place at the mouth of the stairs
and people turn hard, trip, and are ashamed while I watch
their faces red and cold, my perch a trellis, everybody
trip-climbing towards the made thing of the voice

#53: Deficit

My frenzied need to make things up
would be mitigated by my not
indulging the impulse to ignore ugly.
But nobody, not even my mother,
was born with such foresight.
The develop-atrophy line,
a heart-rate monitor,
elasticity of "no, now,
that never happened. I can
not confirm it." Anyways I
owe it one.

#52: Stop Signs [that shouldn't be couplets but I'm tickled by how they worked out evenly]

My father could run for miles without stopping.
You know that reflex-apology

with people you've known for too
much? STOP. Wish I knew how to

help you. STOP.
Just say, just say what,

just say your what.
STOP.

Cicada killers are the hill
of my backyard too.

I for one think it's
sweet we're both from the suburbs.

We learned from get-go
how to California roll.

30 November 2011

#51: Thoughts on Remedial Work

i know you have grown
used to the thought of nothing
ever coming your way and i
know how it feels like
you have nothing and how much
less that is than the others you
know you must know that you
are not the only one
to feel empty-handed

shook out or left

27 November 2011

#50: Cocktails

I guessed that Liz would get drunk pretty easy
and fast. Two guys meanwhile outside split wood
for the fire inside and Gabe pissed gasoline
to tease it higher. Somebody's skinny double-fisting

roommate made British martinis in silver rockets.
Later the French guy with the eyes put in
way too much Triple Sec and fat raspberries.
Somebody kept asking to drink half of mine

at a volume invisible above the frothy music like
if I hadn't seen his mouth I wouldn't have known.
Somebody rediscovered my preference

for solitude on the smoking porch looking
over the city lit up but knew not to leave
me to it. Back downstairs to where people are.

What are you doing?

Back in the day our parents
used to get away with this no problem.

#49: Southwest Sonnet

All flights into the bay show up delayed.
Queen of wands by way of page of pentacles
all areas except where designated smoke-free
whereas it's the opposite where we are

in terminal man expresses desire to stretch his legs.
Midsize sun filters down to the freeway
crossing eight lanes.
The apartments across the bridge catch fire

and (the mouth of) the woman in 8B twitches
and (the hair of) 7C is dyed chestnut and curled
and (the ring finger of) 6A swells with cabin pressures

Noon takeoff: pilot lands somewhere unscheduled.
12A and B take arms, his lie more delicate
they fall asleep as though yet empty-handed

26 November 2011

#48: Found Language (source: GameBoy)

Should I feed my starving dirty dogs?

Rocks will slow you down so avoid them.


It’s easy to get lost in a crowd.

Find the one who disappeared and touch him.

There he is.


(And one from CNN.com:)

Man: Kidnapped wife found in Cairo suburb.

25 November 2011

#47: Bitterness

The best friends
are all reference
no creation only
know the chorus
by citation

24 November 2011

#46: Carolinan August

Consider even one attempt on the stranger's naval life:
such characters, stocks, scenes are for blowing off
as Camels, shisha Code-flavored, his father's
new wife's cigars. Bleeding knees from the summer
spent riding horses. The sand like cocaine
and sweeter on the mounds of Outer Banks
giving Matthew leave to weep in my lap at the
mouth of the spiraling black stairs at the
heft of his future and Christ's distances'
seams split ever more violently,
slippery necklace of chains in the loft room
glinting, brute brunt of our small derision, none of us
kids smoking yet . The parents' margaritas
and the mute bulging terror sleeping
in her web strung up over the Jacuzzi -

Before even he could sprout stubble
or I meringue-miniscule breasts,
my eyes were burning. It had become high time
I slept alone and let a natural noise wake me.

#45: Loneliness

Are you lonely in your relationship with God?
I did not think I would ever have asked that you -
"sailing-ship when I knew in her days of
perfection was a sensible creature" -

Conrad. I think when I think of Conrad of
a Dane I once went with up to white his
naked room, bedsheets lined like graphs.
With an accent and myriad misintentions.

Inevitably whites gray. We left before
midday when they were to yellow and after-
noon when violeted like a wet bruise apologizing
a lot of the silenter moments not knowing

how or whether to kill the buzz. Would we have
been more sincere that way ? -
I was scared for my image in the spotted glass
and scared for our virginities, his
especially gleaming through his bright bed
enlivening in wide neon strips flaying
the loaves of his legs and broad-bottle arms;
all his blazon of me produce, fruit, walnuts,

"candentibus iuglandium putaminibus" (Cicero,
Tyrant and Scholar) white-hot and sought-after

21 November 2011

#44: Raleigh's

Friday after protests arrests and a dead student:
Fire of four alarms sideswipes street's
best restaurant. Fighters flood
it and adjacent bar.
Drunk graduate students slop over onto Telegraph
calling their girlfriends and parents to worry
ends closer than before it's obvious
how time blazes its everyone-disease.
From where they sit across the street smoking.

20 November 2011

#43: Raining

Every single day is the same. The reflection
of the underside of the lamp in the pool
of coffee, a light bulb never otherwise visible.
Steam boiling up from its image, edges wavering.

The stove gets fixed and the skylight leaks.
As the drop fills light from outside
refracts through the bulb yellow on the ceiling.
World cannot wait to leave this place.

The worst idea would be to take a nap.

19 November 2011

Qua pulcherrime -

I could have and wanted to stay forever in that cold apartment. Its green couch. The coffee she made us. The French cookies learned by the host mom the other she baked us. The classical language translation for an exam. That funny vibration when we realized we're sharing purpose. Making grades that way. At turns getting fussy, hot-collared, short-tempered with each other and the grammar. Forgetting in the time it takes to let off a firework that we were all working commonly. Res gestae. Amphoras teeming with serpents. Their lurid green. Rain starts up not until we're back safe in our own houses even though I know I had said I wanted to stay forever in hers. There was a stillness in the building's dilapidation. It portended sweetly. WCW would agree. It distended the slow work of afternoon.

Saturday, 11/19/2011, at Blake and Ellsworth.

18 November 2011

#42: Micro

What's funny about this death is nobody knowing what's going on
on the scene at the time after, the weak transmission. Still hear trains
"of course you're still thinking about it, it's still happening" -
considero, the Latin "to sit with" and so solve a thing.

Pear orange persimmon hard plum, a dream of virginity.
Three will not satisfy though it had four years before, your black car,
real boutiques of imagined consignment customers.
The suspect raised the gun there was a gun?

and was shot by the officer there must have been a gun then.
"To the one who has nothing I'll give him something" -

#41: Skip Again

More like my
predecessors
did this to
me I who
can and
should address these
rain tolls like
hell he's gonna give you
something new
didn't ask for it back
this was not a yogurt container
emptied at first

16 November 2011

#40: Psychoanalysis: An Elegy

for Jack Spicer

What are you thinking about?

I am thinking about the free poster I was handed today
by a man who liked the poem I shouted on Sproul;
I'm thinking about the thirty dollars I spent and
used to have in my pocket, dropping it
on high-end groceries, Twentynine
Palms and Mesquite Lake (dry),
Tecopa hot springs west of Nevada,
downy chicks struggling there.

What are you thinking?

I am thinking of the absurdity of flowering things
in cold Novembers and the sleeping protestors,
what's unfair about Huntington Beach,
sea sharks and new arrests,
caramelized carrots and leeks from yesterday
glittering, doused, limp and chewy,
formal retractions, private
apologies for misbehavior gone unnoticed.

What are you thinking now?

More same: beaten silver the side
of the road in Arizona, the city Johnnie
barbed and shriveled in shit winter,
a Marlboro fueling lust, embitterment,
and wine you pour me into our smooth flute,
bright strings sucked from persimmons
pulp and perfectly in season.

15 November 2011

#39: Earl Grey Cookies

I used an online recipe and not her Christmas one.
I overpowered the extract, depressed Julian
when I showed him they weren't vegan. Elliot moaned
when he ate his, so that's good.

We stir-fried tempeh while the dough logs chilled
and "Tell Me What," The Raw and the Cooked, came on.
We learned of conflicting parties and mulled over those
while scraping the pulverized butter and tea leaves from our hands.

I stole a few persimmons and a palmello
but don't know how to tell how ripe it is.
I am 548 miles away from home,
or eleven days. This weekend was too long.

For twelve minutes we steeped peppermint tea while they baked
then evacuated the sheets from their chamber and piled them up.
They did not come out how my mother's do.
The smell was good and people sang along.

14 November 2011

#38: Professor I Have a Question

But we always lost track I guess because we were children

counting the “I know”s in Ain't No Sunshine

only thing in Gila Bend's a Dairy Queen

Your movement for man changes where you stand with God

you become a symbol of what is important to me; I kiss you;

you won't be last but for now you're latest

of people who have lived terms out as symbols.

It's cold now that it's late so I am leaving.

#37: At Judith's on Arch and Virginia

Knowing about you now I watch take off

your coat another man performing third

arm folded listening / I let my fingers

droop behind my chair darker than soft

his dark face (self-titled dark) ruptures and coughs.

He speaks too fast and stomachs lines like birds

you furrow and hold your jacket how you learned

to. “My belly a dead river” Daniel whirrs

/

O your reader drunk exhales meaning rocks

back and forth like slicing an apple / You stand perfect

with closed eyes / It’s heavy which Bob can tell

so he drinks white from New Zealand, pinker fix.

Chelsea says in fifteen years I’ll look like Scarlet

who has a nice look / I say I hope so well.

#36: General Strike

I made my mother watch the videos from home and she told me

to keep well away from the plaza. My aunt called

to say she could cross the bridge to come pick me up

and that I could “wait it out” with her in San Francisco.

Mono Lake wasn’t dry at the time of the printing

of the map of California on my wall.

Mulholland did that.

I don’t know much about this occupation except Love

Thy Neighbor and a friend of mine arrested

and an old prof stunned high on Vicodin for his ribs.

This could well be the end of Birgenau.

I just wanna learn as much as I can,

same as always. And teach people things

and cook them dinner, maybe kiss them or sing songs.

Unsurprising request-demands, officer, I know.

I wish I had more to offer than these handfuls.

11 November 2011

#35: Veterans'

My love my love my love my love my love

is long on reason. We are much in sync

as begging ravaged faces to get clean

or orange growers when they plumb old groves.

I like to wait. It teaches me be tough.

I eat or don’t eat and regret my thinking

either preferable, black street-rain sunk.

Hugging her elbows like a corpse expecting a shove.

“This summer was my summer to feel nothing:”

Zahide has not yet been bailed out.

A cogent cinches silk in at her gut.

What I put up with is less world-shouldering

than Zahide or orangers with no power,

the ranchers their protectors – or everything but.

#34: Pilsner

Drunks in my kitchen but they shared with me

and taught me: don't bite too hard. Slice up the lime

but careful – coat the apple, twist twirl gleam.

The caramel slips wetly by degrees

alternately licked and heated. From young trees

drop deader fruits than we have ways to climb

for them, they drop and sour. And sister’s shame

melts brother to his debt – there’s acted beauty.

All one can take is one’s self: sister cuts hair

while brother drips grains of sugar into furrows

of dough to bake for a party. They will buy beer

stark, cheaper, darker than found in Del Mar.

Candied apples stuck to foil sag and show

a weariness beneath their mallowed spheres.

09 November 2011

#33: Ishi

What is at stake for me today: legs in a hallway,
their feet arching their toes. Dead hands blossoming
on a table. A corpse's gold hairy head. A number
of courtyard crows.

08 November 2011

#32: Goldman

I know what's sweet. How diagram a thing?
Why parse? My daughter said maybe
we'll die. Why is it that when I hear "Lorca"
I see green birds? Not a morning bather
bathes this morning out of all the others.
"Cellar door" could well happen events-ually.
I in my erroring the real language of man.
Goldman, what of the semantic,
where is your province? Wie viel kostet
deine Corona?

Your crown. Tell me how much it was.
There's maybe nothing finer
than knowing it's been had - Mama's
gonna make a lil shortnen bread.
How much was it, really?

07 November 2011

#31: Bildungsroman

Relationships began to be conducted on the front steps of the house
after school or after parties or practice, same or opposite sex
idling the parents' car, or powering it totally down to sit
pensively there, intent on not missing their chance.
High school was easy because no one expected him to be done yet;
once he ascended the circle, his parents put at ease,
his coaches and teachers quelled, his friends and girl esteeming,
a boy felt ready. Ascendence seemingly from nowhere. Then ceased
the test-driving with the other boys (to resurface in college)
and then erupted the alcohol abuse, at the same time as his mother
badgered about the girl's gray-area wealth. Yeah, cause she's in
the mob, Christ, Mom, get over it. No more family Sundays together.
Are you going to stay mad at me? Christ, I'm not mad at anything.
High school was easy because he was so powerful. He broke
his bedroom door at the handle, cinched it clean away night
after a bad practice, his body kiln-hot tiles of frustration.
Ignored all incoming calls and lay facedown, sweat yellowed
rampaging. Wanted to get out of there. Christ, but the idling.

06 November 2011

#30: Piedmont Historic Landmark

It's hard to see what you want to do,
rolling those legendary cycles.
You did some great things with sound just then,
you know that? There's a well-tempered tongue.

There's a dark wood bungalow freshly snaked,
freshly restored. If the weather holds, it should.
Boiling over with references to stuff the old house
knew it was being fed sacrifice and trembled.

Stopped the train because of an earthquake - 3.9.
Are you wearing Chloe? No, but you were close
enough to me. After six minutes we moved again.

Lend me a knife from your kitchen, and a plate.
It won't matter what's playing at the funeral so long
as the chants don't change much, just as they hold true.

#29: What I Do Remember

about aphasia: oily roots, hi Mom it definitely
happened again and they kept telling me not
to apologize but here I am. He liked the neon polish

and availability. The clutch chain hung lame
under the dovetailing desk. Das geht nicht.
Repeat utterances like Broca's had:

ton ton, ton ton, ton ton, ton ton, ton ton,
but people's names. Constant Comment and toast
with butter, strawberry preserves. Keeping

trying to fix but it is more likely just needing
to be felt, not fixed but felt, she rubs my back better.
The name of hers was the name of mine, which blazed

all of it through with what was funny about Friday,
too, the game played in other languages and forfeited
to go dance instead. Upon waking, pounding.

Hair like a god. Hearing blindly her telling him
goodbye and no she won't want to know how
it went. Anyways nobody knows how it went.

02 November 2011

#28: Nine hours of library

Yes but fatigue does not make art

01 November 2011

#27: Translation Again

Perhaps will I not frequent the table this week,
it is late and my languages ring good already.

Perhaps will you not walk your anachronisms
or be early to class or beside your interchangeables.

Perhaps I have filed down and replaced the weak
and peeling layers with unripe persimmons, cottony.

Perhaps you have fired the wrong kiln, purposefully;
or (such that I might cringe) had you misspoken.

30 October 2011

#26: Primus Inter Pares

What stands to be had is a title and an arrangement
to meet a friend's friend and lend him a book.

It is signed by the author and has a painting on the cover.

Alcohol barred any dreams on the pull-out couch,
and sucked our mouths' moisture. Cotton tongue
and turquoise fingers made from ceramic dot
the windowsills of neighbors drying lace on chairs.

Who have been meaning to post letters since September.

29 October 2011

#25: Phone Call

Their real names are Margaret
and Lily and you can call them Neon
and Thud. Because Neon wore neon track shorts
to practice all the time and whenever Thud pancakes
for a disc she makes a real loud THUD.
They're driving from LA and are gonna be
in IV by 7:30, would you be interested in that?
Maybe tell them a good place to get ice cream.
What's your costume again this year - a princess? An elf?
If they needed a time-killer
and if you were free - that's what I said.
I don't know where they're staying but I wanted
to make sure if you were free and you were up
to it or into it, you'll know the best place to go.

#24: Strange Fruit

Strawberries drooping from trellises on Benvenue.
Morning is dry and nice out and my jewels from last night -
gold hoop earrings dangling rubies,
turquoise nuggets set into silver cuffs -
glint-litter the workdesk and white table where I drink.

Mesmerized by my pearls, a friend observed
them carefully and announced his love
for me and them in another language.

The beergarden did not ask my age
and dinner baked apples into the pizza.

28 October 2011

#23: Decompression

I know what my beloved is: a stranger's house
into where only the sacred enter,
and that stealthily
without the stranger's neighbors' knowing

hookahs babble their smoke up
for the sky to suck in

26 October 2011

#22: Qui Boni?

There are more ways
to be indirect
than are communications
themselves.
Wires strung clutching
an instrument's neck.
Blood drops
in their clot.
Many novels by the same Czech author.

25 October 2011

#21: Fourth Hymn to Apollo

The longer you stay at the wheel, the worse it gets.
You'll find doom as we cover more theory, there's only
one way not to lose which is do what Aristotle
Onassis did and buy the casino.

I once read that 100 factorial (100!) is equal to
more than the number of particles in our ever-
expanding universe. But isn't the coin
supposed to be fair?

Summum Bonum, or, the Good Life,
Cicero. The gift of advice.
Tomorrow, the new moon.
Verdrängung, repression.

The Lutheran church in Prague across from the youth hostel
surges in attendance when study-abroads are cheap.
The sun grinds in through the stained glass six to one.

24 October 2011

#0: (This Doesn't Count)

Reduplication occurring in the perfect tense
does not double up the past as implication,
side effect, nor identifying as strongly as
assumed with constructions of my told tribe.

Already the alphabet is irreducible.

#20: Third Hymn to Apollo

The transition out does not arise upon waking.
Frank spoke through a wire like any other man
filling the doorframe with his shoulders suspending
a cigarette with his good hand in skinny contrapposto.

As yet too soon to confirm the heat snap break
this morning - neighbors alive but no one out -
from beneath the two quilts a muscular knee
and thigh jut and twitch prettily in sleep.

Rilke bids us wish nothing greater than transform ourselves.
Still sore from imagined exertion, Frank can only read
biting down on cinnamon-vanilla almonds as a starved man

approaches the corpse of a moth eye to fleshy eye, salivating.
She's stretched further, still asleep, her whole leg flashes
its burnished sculpture, hope is it will never transform

23 October 2011

#19: Second Hymn to Apollo

Hey that's it / baby I quit / I'm movin' on,
Sam Cooke sings. He breathes handsome and sweats
agave nectar and shits lumps of sugar.
We belt him out while stir-frying tofu and chard.

We debated the sun, heat relationship and decided
one was the other's brother, but that they'd had sex.
I get all of a tired real sudden and clear my plate
retching a little. Dripping sesame oil in the sink.

On the walk back I pick up laundry from the mat,
strangers therein lamenting their arid weekend a waste.
Kerouac's technique and belief are nice to hear,

but inherent bullshit. We dissect what is good;
piece forges together, meld what think themselves disparate,
rear back from the flames as we toss the clean vegetables in.

#18: First Hymn to Apollo

I learned much this morning about nonexistence of the self.
I drank last night, and didn't like it, and felt rubbed off.
I was asked by an acquaintance if I loved him.
I was told by an intimate to take a silent hike.

Ice hisses, buckles, cracks loudly in water.
Today I cleaned a communal kitchen, blasting
Marvin Gaye. Strangers were there and sang along
mostly to Distant Lover, Trouble Man, and his covers

of Aretha and Percy Sledge. Who even wrote what, first?
Berkeley bakes an autumnal hot snap, Telegraph emptied
and sauna-dry. The impoverished creatures' angry weeping.

The Amtrak bays from its steaming rails, my spine spits
its little noises when I crack it. Eat the pasta made last night.
Cover for a sister out at a party. Answer all calls.

22 October 2011

#17: Shallowness

When you fail
to show it's as
though I got
pretty for nothing.

Revision: when you
succeed in not
showing it's as though
I got pretty
for others and for
the breathing-space
caught intra-atoms,
the not-things so
greater
than their solid doppels.

Give me your
alliteratively-stitched
long lines, Viking,
convince the age how
to get pretty
for something.
Most encounters
end after having been convincing.

20 October 2011

/

I find I am rarely compelled to write letters but here or now it seems important that I do so. Innocent enough, right? I would like to know how it is for you in Colorado. I am sure it must be snowing. I listen to your music a lot when I go walking. It's a Thursday and after nine and there are drunk people out in my street, and occasional cars. I've got a bit of a cramp I think from eating dinner so fast. Are you doing anything fun this weekend?

#16: Big Sonic Chill

Balancing southern music in my northern head
is a habit of arterial California.
Cataloguing is one way: ska, reggae, grunge, punk, lo-fi,
alternative, garage rock, math rock, Big Sonic Chill on 94.9.

That streams weeknights 9pm to 2am,
perfect driving-back-from-his-place zone-out tunes.
People have fallen asleep at the wheel listening
while they spin all the good stuff.

Not that radiomen spin anymore.
People have taken the coast over the 5
because it's slower and scenic even in the dark.
The moon does that thing over the black water it does.

The harder drivers blink to stay up,
the seemingly-longer the route home extends.
Nothing in the car emits: running shoes in the back,
Febreeze for weed, binder from work, bonfire blankets.

No sound deigns to alter or succeed any other in this song;
each accepts itself as a layer. The brakelights hum
and send the street red, and there's a song switch.

19 October 2011

#15: Confirmed Assault

I have four minutes.
I was once blonde like you
and ate crayons and playdoh
while my parents worked.

I made tea for my friend from before
and summoned others to soothe her.
Luckily, crying, she ran into another
on the street on her way here,
luckily. Poor fortune that any
of this should have occurred in
this season in the first place how it did.

She was once blackhaired like a punk
and wore sheet metal bracelets,
edges staggered like shark teeth.
She brought up her brother and
cradled her cats while her parents worked.

#14: Lee

The Chinese surname means plum
or plum tree, fruit or bearer.
Gloria met a crazy woman in Berkeley
once told her she'd grow old and bend
over like an old plum tree,
and that that was October spirit.
Gloria thought October spirit was ghosts
and gin costume parties. Es spukt!
The lady must have been insane
to roll her head down the street and up
throwing it at Gloria's feet.
Taking an awkward glance around found
Gloria a nobody while the plum tree
lady writhed, a lit magnesium strip.
Hunching, asking permission.

18 October 2011

#13: Larger Concerns

Yes, but what
is the province
of it this time?

#12: Simultaneous Calls

Where should I be?
This for Wednesday in preparation
for this Friday, I should
think it. Why are you crying?
Or rather, why would you
come to me with this
or that? How soon will you get here?
Do I need to ask my sister
for permission to hold you until you're
well again?

17 October 2011

#11: Draft

It's hard to see what you want to do.
It's hard to imagine what it sounds like
to others, even if you go in blind,
even if you tie your hands.

Still though, why illustrate outside?
Or inside, or his or her insides,
or the guts of other continents,
their shocks of people.

To end on an artificial upswing,
that would be a shame.
Or to modify too much.

#10: Upon waking this had no music

Friday 7 AM dreamt

dark houses big hallways

parties happening downstairs


slap shots slap

cup fuck ‘er shit are good

games to play to get


back to dreamt:

before I was chased

and things came slower


in to focus? Closed

off as string of litotes

not less not none not


fewer some even

number of inversions

downplaying one’s gain

#9: Before a Run

But first I must await what will catch my eye,
savoring that. I am barking alone in the city
where I have transgressed my lover's invitation.

Das lohnt sich, a familiar phrase among Germans:
A reflexive pat on one's own back. It is worth it.
It pays for itself. Liken this to the reward of children.
How old grow the birds of October?
What will kill them?

16 October 2011

#8: Pills

It is one thing to sit on the outside of pain
unencumbered by it, safe in your breathing,
where your appetite prospers and water
doesn't hurt to drink.
Other nights it is worse.
Sometimes it happens in the morning
when you sleep too long and have no money
or hold off on coffee thinking today,
I'm going to kick this habit.