I'm beginning to become
One of those pathetic poets
Don't I just know it

Bleak unique critique

I disgust

Obsequious can get you out of almost any jam
But wouldn't you do better to put down some butter first?

Punny cheeky Watson

What do you love
Besides the task of recording
Cognizing isn't good enough

I've got one of those things in my neck (seriously)
It hurts when you move it

I challenged the scientist and his very methods. I believe that when you talk about the full extent of a man it is hard not

You have not yet learned
All there is to know
About seeing
Don't you think?

Emily

The formative important eyes
Found nothing in the fog - of the physician's patch -




This mind is stark solemnity
To dwell upon a couch
But growing is not possible
Without Oscar the grouch




I whispered to a ventilator - Naked
as the sun-----
Hovers-----in moonlight

Who Say Nothing

Pose
Until
Umm
You
Are
Comfortable

What do I want?
What does she want?
The question

the answer could not possibly be secretary of state, could it?

How personal is your personal?

I forgive you
Open blissfully fragrant quill
Penmanship is dead
Interior monologue until pose reposes
formality takes another bow
and gunmanship
explodes

Justice and freedom have new billowships
Integral to my survival

And hardly open to suggestion
Grapenuts with yogurt or milk
The answer is obvious!

Hooray for us!

Art will swallow restraint like jello swallows coins

Too simple may berries stick
Fingers lick and slobber because

otherwise it just doesn't work

Have you gotten anywhere?
still where are the boys
Leaning heads down alleyways

Not true. Somebody.
Maintain why it is
That you took a step round on a bit of poetry you thought was finished?

Art is never finished
I was not the person who said that

He said the artist is never finished
He threw darts. He painted. I saw a painting of his that I liked.
The crucible -
What is the art of never touching a work again?
Self-restraint
There cannot be an art in such a thing as restraint
Can there?

The Slaves of Cats

Fumble more I love you
Feed straight your imperfection
Prepare my affection
Idiotic


Oh I will one day ask for perfection
Scratch and sniff
Catch a scent
Purring


Outside a hurried man takes a different road to class. He greatly appreciated the change. It was right before the anniversary of his marriage to Erica Potsen. Love travels up and down in elevators. It only distracts you from the stairs. Posterchild for the posterchildless, a posterchild for posterchildren, the man keeps right on walking and reminds himself of where he's going.

John Robertson, bird imaginer, stepping into a puddle. He thought that was funny. He, of course, was imagining birds and stepping into puddles. It would not have been funny to anybody else would it. no. Good fortune to Elizabeth, he thought as he looked at a picture of an English coin.

He kept walking down the street, mumbling little bits of songs he learned when he was in college. But he was thinking. Running over why he was singing, never answering it so much as to keep just right on singing. Louder at bits of road without any people. Never happens in New York? I sing down West End Avenue. Put a Beer in me. Never with other people. Then you get lots of people singing and it's a nuisance you've created on a residential block. Nobody ever told me to shut up, but one time a man did yell and curse at John Robertson. John stopped in his tracks. He wondered if he ever did that to anybody. He could not remember that ever happening.

You are so in me
That the me I see
Can only be this
Beautiful question

Hey

Hey Mama

Are you gonna walk like

That very much

Longer


Do you rock and roll all the time

When nobodys

Watchin You

Have you seen

My favorite bone?

Thank You Dear
For Saving Me
The boredom of
Pornography

Your sit
I like that you sit

Found

What am I to you
What can I be.

I want so badly to
be all of it.

Demand of me that
I may better know

how to be an instrument
of your dreams

You frighten me in your
constant satisfaction

Because I know myself
to be lower, perhaps, Than
What you know

Found II

Of your pleasure

I want none

I give it all to you

You are afraid of my
anger, which is nothing.

A trifle and temp

Next to all the love

I bare in faith for

you. As wings yearn for
the ground, so I to you
cannot stand this separation
You are the dream which causes me to wake

Found III

So much loathing I have
For the metallic revolution
Which brings us to be
seasonally ripped. Longsome loathing
and cursed despair in the
face of my very own
laughter. I cannot but
feign amusement in the love
that I find for anything _
But you – my love is
the keeper of my heart
Misplaced
and maintained.

When it was brought up to Tony Blair on Comedy Central that Al Qaeda moved into Iraq after Saddam was removed, he pined that just because democracy is introduced does not mean that Al Qaeda coming in was inevitable. First off, nobody said that it was. Second, Inevitability is hardly the issue. It fucking happened! Talk about something that can't be avoided. We removed a dictator, and created a battleground for terrorists that previously did not exist and who previously could not occupy that territory. As for Blair "liking" Bush, I just think that is too cute for words. Blair respects disagreement. Thank you, Tony. You're grrrrrrrrrreat.

Stones

Rock, the poet
Come pound
Crack the deep
Not even careful to keep the self intact
Forth, the stride

Hurl
Whiz
Dock, the pebble bounces
Off the glass pane
Breaking nothing
Till the fist comes through

Immasculate

Wench and woman
Stench and staunch
Will give us life
God help us all

Reform

Fifth forefather
Drunken Dan
Idle worth
Twenty
Spoke but once
Heart and soul
From brother
to sister
And back
He spent a speech
A speech
Of candor
And honesty
And elimination
There was absolutely nothing
Not to believe

Loving Marilyn from the Academy

In sweet repose
with cherried prose
My heart distracted airs itself
pulled out from underneath your suffocating hips
A burning deep
to cavernous soldiers known
Resumes whenever and when not
that glorious form, lying prone
Begins turning
out of sleep
Briefly to squirm, revolve
once or twice
We are forbid it
but not a single eyelid
Shuts you out
Your blonded hairs and shaded lips of gray

I wait to wonder
if when we meet
In sacrifice across the sea
You'll blow a kiss without a price

For Zhang Hongtu

Grasp well beyond clutches of red
Your child escapes
With a sunset in the rear-view mirror

The watchman at the propaganda show
Has belched lightly and excused himself
As will I

Paintings from China opened my eyes
To an inescapable champion
The subject

Mao dominated
The more pathetic hands
With what is called his thought

Shi Lu and those pines
Ink of revolution
You stinking blind corpse

Reeducated, the artist
Faces faces upon faces

The person passion
Painted persons (artisans)
Thank you thank you, Hongtu, thank you

Grasp well beyond clutches of red
One child escaped
With a sunset in the rear-view mirror

V

I can't really type without trying to find
Phoenetic coherence in single letters
From a to l and up and over and across and back again
I have to think in clear words, in order not to confusing myself with the fact that if I randomly hit one of these keys it'll start something
And then my mouth will get to work on crapping out the beginnings of poetry


VI

Check the Sopranos boxes stacked
And next to it is Dante
Dante bears a holy cross
And sits on top
Of Game Informer

My mouse crawls around on top of Nixon and Presley
I think the Soprano box misses its first half
And silently wonder what that could mean
Part one before the mother died (she died)
Two could be the Ralphie years up to Whitecaps
And three is everything after that
The slow crawl to the sudden stop


VII

No fowl rude burping allowed
I did burp
I'll have you know
It pleases me nothing to do so
Anything other than underneath
My breath


VIII

The boards are in another home
And now the carpet where I roam conceals only what makes it damp
And what to do about the rose
I'll be my own
And when my petals all have flown
I will wave my stem

I will probably wonder about apologizing
I don't know
What do I have to hide?

The Media Fills Our Heads with talk of Battleground States

Essentially stupid
Assuming that Poe knew anything about beauty besides its name would be a grave error. He dwells in names and metaphors, metaphoras, thucydites and pericles, meliflous, philolitry, meomitry and more. In addition to Lenore. Four-Score and Thirty Years ago today.
As Nation's Set back and listening found a riot on their hands, they did not know what to do.
The less it was untrue, that time travel could be made by birds.
Columbia Columbia
My heart cries for my alma mater and Poe's
On the hudson shores
Carefully protected with massive stone walls
Because holy crap it is beautiful
And people are learning how to live
You must not forsake the beauty of the land