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
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.