Thursday, April 17, 2014

New Poems (Part 1)

Easter wrought

She’s not a fucking star
Too close for bottled snuff
Trans Norse, did she?...
Was she?...
Who said she couldn’t fall

I love you.
I’m in love with you.
Nothing like it
U should try it
The hobgoblin sets the target up
And more, absolute
More abounding
I’m in love with you.
I was at last that

Ducts of consciousness plowed open
Rites of horn, Plenty Of Plenty
Ditched away
I am not in love with you, tragic flask
And if you
See one enthroned of two
You’ll stop
It drove you through the night
Nothing happened, except blindness
Scourge of 1,000 cellars
Wake up chained
You’re a website now

I’m in love with you.
Awe is the catch of the day.
Tunnels to the cellar
Gross contusions
An everyness of pale tinctures
Orbsnout, gallows
Each cellar is an eyeball on the cusp of J.
I don’t know what to do
I think there’s something in the thing
I think there’s thinging in the some
Let it go

I’m in love with you.
Drop eyes cellars pink with despoiled tusk
Aryan nazi death blood pink
I am underground, but wouldn’t it be nice?
You woman, you website
Splash me
Nothing comma nothing comma nothing comma nothing  

We’re engaged!
Loop the tape
I am air
Boulder, three knots
I like that word, Ramshackle
I need to get you a wedding gift
How about spies for your womb?
Run and jump
Loop the tape
It’s Porno Pete
Satisfied, your breadth in cum

U kept a secret
Files claiming my words as
Stolen plastic
Onslaught and pine
She isn’t working there anymore
I’m in love with you.
Like a thing thinging ahead
Things thinking comma relics of horn

This should not
Bracing the crossed
Till they met
Scores of pine
I am
I’m in
I am
I’m on
I am not
I am
Glass of options
A mistake of tonal anthropology
Like a…thing
Thing much?

The everything devastates
Sickly ripples hiving for dance


Across the static a warmth was forged.
Two people in sink.
Bunnies and August roosted and stayed
Despite never dueling forms they twice decided.

Something that works is fragile.
Never trampled the magic is gem-like, severe in accepted glowing.
Can words be wielded?
Can the video compensate for one day maybe being that lost brightness too?

Shows them in others, the words their imperfections
Write it down and watch the bodies gouged.
Prisms of identity, connection seeping through
Smile strobe-like, lob it back and create   

Privacy undone and humor noctilucent.
Photos beamed and lives unduly fondled.
Boredom thrashed and cages opened with no key.
A universe bending upon the magus of a chance.

That naked star humming unknown music
That transmission like home
That voice smeared with electric protein

Saying words
Saving time
Saying grace
Saying, “Thanks.”   



Nude girl in a cage
Color of the moon’s knuckle
A push and she’ll swing
Hanging by a farmhouse in the marsh desert
Bound and wrought by his industrial heart

They met online. She responded
To an ad he placed looking for girls.
It was professional disrobing. She
Would get paid for herself.

Faux sadism elevates nudity to a standard
Of ignored mystery about one’s own body,
Air licking skin, don’t guess anymore.
Let her hang.


My friend AJ saw the photograph
And posted it on her Tumblr.
There are pictures there of naked women
Kissing and there are pictures from horror
Movies and violent pornography.

There is one GIF of a woman's cum-seared face
And she's saying "I don't know what's left of me
But you can fuck it if you want."

I promised her I would write a poem
About the woman in the cage hoisted up
Beside the barn. I would grant her
A name, past, walk backwards with her
Through fate. Now I’m writing that
Poem and I’ve failed because I’m not
Writing about the girl in the swing but
About AJ's Tumblr which turns
Me on sometimes.   

For “K.”

Shape-shifting hair
Are you beautiful?
Drenched in something
That called me
Groping in word
Towards furnace Blue
And this Crimson beyond knowledge 
And not knowing was my undoing,
Until it was too late
And now when I see you I see vertigo 

Did you lie?
Or could our never being together actually not be.
I witness you in pictures and wonder how
I could have denied wanting you
For as long as I did.
A splash of face in night’s vehicle
Was my straw
The motto of that school should be:
“Preening people who will never become yours!”

I want to read to you until you fall asleep.
My words are your placenta, he self-pariodically said.
Would being intimate with you be broken buttons or heaven?

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