ideas fell down beside you
major flowers not knowing
what they are
invading me with their perfumes
I am blue from inside out
drawn til dawn
all things organic accumulate
in strange breaking skies
grumbling my name
Wednesday in those arms myself
Spring tiger germinates
open straying abandon
the wood-road resembles you
long local women drag boulders
and weep and still cannot compare
April 23, 2013
father time
"Henri aeon volcanic sleep
when he shot he
swept the stratosphere"
that being so dozing
I almost interrupted myself
w/ a snort
after seven, the blanket
remains time
to turn on my father's light
and resume, lovingly and appreciatively,
my "studies"
come home and shuffle R
van over curb and swing
van over curb and swing
screen door to
hear mother,
sing
double fan
chorus exhaust,
pouring cooking over yard
and jar of preserved lemons
that fast spawn bacterial colonies
I pour that orange-green Eden
disc down the alley drain
hums my father the night
provides cover but isn't good,
says sister
moon faces us always, this
I attribute to him
154
in brief moment, I
have wrote, before thsi now
eh, leaving errors to their
errors, and having my calloused
middle first knuckle shining
impressive and impressing
many a lackey around the cubes
though th is, howeverit may play
raises cheek edges, go without
lasting praise, and by the next day
all has been lifted unto a new page
O and I would give that god-given
skill to a passing mutt
if not for the sheer size I am
a full man less of Maximus
and without the shins to proof
I do my walking now daily
to space 154, sometimes none of it
and round the crystal buildings
every day I notice how much of adulthood
is dressing in black and brown
and cracking appropriate smiles
I move, instanter, to a new mouth
and stew in my musicks deep
underground, shuffle to a waltz
behind fifty old ladies
and settle for the least fat
man or woman to accompany
saddle saddle
they give the new trains to
those in the main line
usually, otherwise one must spend
a whopping hour or so
to enjoy automated doors
and televised Temple and Villanova ads
blechk
have wrote, before thsi now
eh, leaving errors to their
errors, and having my calloused
middle first knuckle shining
impressive and impressing
many a lackey around the cubes
though th is, howeverit may play
raises cheek edges, go without
lasting praise, and by the next day
all has been lifted unto a new page
O and I would give that god-given
skill to a passing mutt
if not for the sheer size I am
a full man less of Maximus
and without the shins to proof
I do my walking now daily
to space 154, sometimes none of it
and round the crystal buildings
every day I notice how much of adulthood
is dressing in black and brown
and cracking appropriate smiles
I move, instanter, to a new mouth
and stew in my musicks deep
underground, shuffle to a waltz
behind fifty old ladies
and settle for the least fat
man or woman to accompany
saddle saddle
they give the new trains to
those in the main line
usually, otherwise one must spend
a whopping hour or so
to enjoy automated doors
and televised Temple and Villanova ads
blechk
April 22, 2013
Address
after a winter's hiatus, the fingers run light
and soft touches crackle out like teal
and seagreen buds
I bring myself back to my de luxe
and tap away, O where writing much
carries a smell of the oil
on the carriage
I leave Schenectady playing
finding myself employed gainfully
(p) and full and smokefilled,
leaves me languid and bedridden
'cept the times I claw up the mountain
with purplish horizonal hair
and look out across a barn's beam
I step heavily across a swampy
shortcut laden with infant spiders
and though the infants are indistinguishable
from the adults we got the hell out of there
all the same
being a self-identified poet I must write a new
The K to celebrate such a decision,
though whether that is career-wise, I am unable
to confidently say one or another way
somewhere will exist such a timeline
and hopefully it won
5132 el rio ave
los angeles, ca
90041
and soft touches crackle out like teal
and seagreen buds
I bring myself back to my de luxe
and tap away, O where writing much
carries a smell of the oil
on the carriage
I leave Schenectady playing
finding myself employed gainfully
(p) and full and smokefilled,
leaves me languid and bedridden
'cept the times I claw up the mountain
with purplish horizonal hair
and look out across a barn's beam
I step heavily across a swampy
shortcut laden with infant spiders
and though the infants are indistinguishable
from the adults we got the hell out of there
all the same
being a self-identified poet I must write a new
The K to celebrate such a decision,
though whether that is career-wise, I am unable
to confidently say one or another way
somewhere will exist such a timeline
and hopefully it won
5132 el rio ave
los angeles, ca
90041
April 21, 2013
The OK
will try once more a time
and again I will try again once more and a time
holy yolks this giving him the energy-food
which wrests from the ground a slithering word
and chomps and grinds and cuts with incisors
the great jaw of
the massacred worm, this one Spring
I find all of them, w & w alike, dry out of grass
and soil! choke up every inch of the living scape
and find themselves into the fire
that is oxygenated asphalt and truckings here &
there
solves a matter so simply a girl young and dark
outside the steps of the grand school, where I was once
a filly kid, she stoops, grabs one and throws the word
back onto the kempt green others found it
repulsive
but a life!
but which comes this way another word,
and the logic that forces syntax open
aw haw, how gullible I have been
all these two days perhaps more
that I may suffice to write
five lines at the end of the day have
I the energy left?
if breath wasn't so scarce
it happens and happens to
the line, where I trace my heart
resists the temptation to peer up
and act as a metronome to my very being,
that which is a man and a scholar and a boy and a weasel
and a worker and standing, N there,
A the edge of the cliffs
back when no two pennyloafers, or three, or more
would do, this
would do, this is P, huddled against the mass
of an oak nearby girls floundered
and like words, gasps
and again I will try again once more and a time
holy yolks this giving him the energy-food
which wrests from the ground a slithering word
and chomps and grinds and cuts with incisors
the great jaw of
the massacred worm, this one Spring
I find all of them, w & w alike, dry out of grass
and soil! choke up every inch of the living scape
and find themselves into the fire
that is oxygenated asphalt and truckings here &
there
solves a matter so simply a girl young and dark
outside the steps of the grand school, where I was once
a filly kid, she stoops, grabs one and throws the word
back onto the kempt green others found it
repulsive
but a life!
but which comes this way another word,
and the logic that forces syntax open
aw haw, how gullible I have been
all these two days perhaps more
that I may suffice to write
five lines at the end of the day have
I the energy left?
if breath wasn't so scarce
it happens and happens to
the line, where I trace my heart
resists the temptation to peer up
and act as a metronome to my very being,
that which is a man and a scholar and a boy and a weasel
and a worker and standing, N there,
A the edge of the cliffs
back when no two pennyloafers, or three, or more
would do, this
would do, this is P, huddled against the mass
of an oak nearby girls floundered
and like words, gasps
April 11, 2013
seaweed hair
can't stop eating
my seaweed hair
comes in wasabi
and sesame too
coo coo coo
let it melt betwee-
-n the roof of
my mouf and ton-
gue
my seaweed hair
comes in wasabi
and sesame too
coo coo coo
let it melt betwee-
-n the roof of
my mouf and ton-
gue
April 9, 2013
trenton poems [cont. 2]
home being
anterior picks
up the numbness
the imagination
guesses
at the heat
which
makes up moving
the skin
which is felt
which is higher
a complete light
and lock
of standing
imagination
time, money,
love even,
a feast of goodnights
to swallow
engulfs home
home, the
artist has
his sympathies
she is my every
eye
from which I
find the origin of
this love,
where we are
where we sing,
a gifted catalogue
of people of
all kinds.
a vacation from
the love of
animals --
til death
til it is more
than the mass of
blank release
we go hey!
in the night
when at home
thrusts of feet
dark socks weep
fastens the soul
of waves
of electricity
---
where is this
eternity coming
from and thru
1, 2, 3,
on a spool of stars
a swirling digital
vibration
that finds us
living in another
transparent
car
a beautiful
lover, where
you find days
lets days go
by, into the
overtopping coral
where is my cutting
this is the
moral of growing
underground,
sounds like blue
and sounds like
the same
untamed
across a lot
elsewhere, maybe,
or even,
some fair to
touch, to brush
back,
dissolves at the bottom
with sleep and
lamplight
into the soundscape
it
---
under the stare
the peace is
unnerving, at
the same life-
-time --
a beautiful
house
a long dark road,
a paycheck at
the end of
it -- where the
water goes --
goes green
bald dreams
culminating
into rocks and
ferns, like
dinosaurs of
ancient --
---
to what is the same,
man, keep
moving on,
it is the same
here as
is there
every moment we sit
and die
death! isn't after
us --
I used to drown
and still haven't
learned to tread
water --
I am supple
this way
skin and joints
and flowery
head
it crashes!!
---
house, darkness, house
light, trail, rail,
comes in a spade
is efflorescent
here we go w/ the
smallest sacrifice,
it doesn't
worry much
about control --
volcanic feelings
take us for a ride,
and is
untranslatable
for the most
closeness through
my heart
no men is like
or right--
w/ nothing better
and it will --
oh yes --
the machines come
full circle
w/ senses that
"frees" over --
I cannot hear the
startling looks,
why? what do
I need?
what do I take?
that isn't the
stuff of
life?
because I try
I try to be
"like" life
as WCW
---
he hoards, almost,
the soil,
the girlfriends,
as we
grow waiting old
and
"stop making
sense"
nothing is better
than trying
upon exp.
a work of art
which I draw from
I draw from a do-zen
times and cannot
die--
cannot be crazy
and loose,
man, gimme
the hook
succumbing to the
products of
America--
That's when
Tacony
arrives.
---
I was so young I
distinctly
remember
the effect of
a nude woman
dressed in ink.
I was so pure effect
and for reason I
succumbed to poetry,
it was not a
difficult condition,
nor choice,
nor a mass of
lecture data,
a shape of a
casual animal
I was so distinctly
young I came
back to
write my experience
I was so upset, then,
the imagination
was the pure force
in fact, lost,
and
grow, itself a comet.
There is a [undecipherable]
in life that
is so sharp,
a knife, almost!
that outs as
tragedy, a hole
in us,
mind it,
a pleasant
stance
anterior picks
up the numbness
the imagination
guesses
at the heat
which
makes up moving
the skin
which is felt
which is higher
a complete light
and lock
of standing
imagination
time, money,
love even,
a feast of goodnights
to swallow
engulfs home
home, the
artist has
his sympathies
she is my every
eye
from which I
find the origin of
this love,
where we are
where we sing,
a gifted catalogue
of people of
all kinds.
a vacation from
the love of
animals --
til death
til it is more
than the mass of
blank release
we go hey!
in the night
when at home
thrusts of feet
dark socks weep
fastens the soul
of waves
of electricity
---
where is this
eternity coming
from and thru
1, 2, 3,
on a spool of stars
a swirling digital
vibration
that finds us
living in another
transparent
car
a beautiful
lover, where
you find days
lets days go
by, into the
overtopping coral
where is my cutting
this is the
moral of growing
underground,
sounds like blue
and sounds like
the same
untamed
across a lot
elsewhere, maybe,
or even,
some fair to
touch, to brush
back,
dissolves at the bottom
with sleep and
lamplight
into the soundscape
it
---
under the stare
the peace is
unnerving, at
the same life-
-time --
a beautiful
house
a long dark road,
a paycheck at
the end of
it -- where the
water goes --
goes green
bald dreams
culminating
into rocks and
ferns, like
dinosaurs of
ancient --
---
to what is the same,
man, keep
moving on,
it is the same
here as
is there
every moment we sit
and die
death! isn't after
us --
I used to drown
and still haven't
learned to tread
water --
I am supple
this way
skin and joints
and flowery
head
it crashes!!
---
house, darkness, house
light, trail, rail,
comes in a spade
is efflorescent
here we go w/ the
smallest sacrifice,
it doesn't
worry much
about control --
volcanic feelings
take us for a ride,
and is
untranslatable
for the most
closeness through
my heart
no men is like
or right--
w/ nothing better
and it will --
oh yes --
the machines come
full circle
w/ senses that
"frees" over --
I cannot hear the
startling looks,
why? what do
I need?
what do I take?
that isn't the
stuff of
life?
because I try
I try to be
"like" life
as WCW
---
he hoards, almost,
the soil,
the girlfriends,
as we
grow waiting old
and
"stop making
sense"
nothing is better
than trying
upon exp.
a work of art
which I draw from
I draw from a do-zen
times and cannot
die--
cannot be crazy
and loose,
man, gimme
the hook
succumbing to the
products of
America--
That's when
Tacony
arrives.
---
I was so young I
distinctly
remember
the effect of
a nude woman
dressed in ink.
I was so pure effect
and for reason I
succumbed to poetry,
it was not a
difficult condition,
nor choice,
nor a mass of
lecture data,
a shape of a
casual animal
I was so distinctly
young I came
back to
write my experience
I was so upset, then,
the imagination
was the pure force
in fact, lost,
and
grow, itself a comet.
There is a [undecipherable]
in life that
is so sharp,
a knife, almost!
that outs as
tragedy, a hole
in us,
mind it,
a pleasant
stance
April 4, 2013
trenton poems [cont.]
Temple --
where opportunities
are made. I
saw the photo,
somewhat opaque,
of him in some
study
---
Boy or girl they
couldn't say
michael or mikayla
but thought that's okay,
and named her so
now she sits
w/ a gaggle of ladies
talking daughters and snow.
there are no new jobs,
so where does he go?
a sitter, he needs
school, structure, and glow.
My in-laws got off by the
little one.
She's used to sleeping in,
spent two weeks being
sick
throwing up into the bin.
They did such a sloppy
job, she started
w/ a coff.
Cleared sky, no
bruising -- she chops,
she chances, soft.
---
old man snaps back
on his Navy hat
walks w/ cane
down lit up lane.
---
Trenton train quacks
twice where the
step is at.
---
Winter weather tip
Please don't slip.
--
Fucking cold
but I've got a cig
and work is pushed
off.--
"Q!" shouted out.
I go
"Hay girls! Hay!
Howya doin'?!"
and laugh
---
new page!
aw I write in
you. Be it like
some brief
romance, then
I'm off to #2
---
Blue boots!
aw how I
walk in youse.
Be it like
a commitment
one step into two.
---
did I see
four birds on the wire
or three?
---
Spikes clustered
on iron beams
yellow with buttons
and rust it seems
---
Lately the phones
on the hook, there
being no physical arm
after each smoking
break
I am back to hear
harm
done--to the five kids
this woman went on
and her mate (who
had time for working)
is somewhere of
little use.
---
w/ freshly written poems,
my left palm does
double that--
a carbon copy
w/ no trouble I sat
again on the exp.
toward Trenton
some vague shape
of a man sits
at the edge -- and if
he looks ugly enough
we'll both keep
our luxurious seats.
---
clicka-clicka-clicka
is the hole puncher's
only sound in the car
and --shh!--
none of that in the
front of the train.
"tickets please!"
says conductor --
can I call him
that?
I've got my own and
other's systems down
pat. Some
like to place their
pass in the slit of
the chair
and some like to
leave it tucked
somewhere
like the gap between
the rubber siding
and the window or
hold it up in one
hand -- head down
reading or being
on their smart devices.
Me? I have my own
vices,
I do my crosswords
and sometimes, I
read poems.
I've got Creeley
and recently,
Niedecker in my
bag.
There's fun
there's fun to be had!
---
Seldom I look out
over grey philadelphia
and smile
the overgrowth,
rowhouses, graffiti
stretches
miles and miles.
---
I'm wearing a lot of
tan today, yes.
When I go to work,
I try and look my
best.
---
At one point
(exp) Trenton
runs under the El
and thankfully
I'm not on
that hell.
---
The railway is speckled
grey and scarred.
Outside
Bridesburg sits
only half a car.
---
Slim chance to none
for a meet and greet,
as the line of black coats
march out toward
Tacony St.
---
after a few stops
have been called
I thought "hey!" this
ain't an express at all!
---
Holmesburg Junction
looks like shit.
where opportunities
are made. I
saw the photo,
somewhat opaque,
of him in some
study
---
Boy or girl they
couldn't say
michael or mikayla
but thought that's okay,
and named her so
now she sits
w/ a gaggle of ladies
talking daughters and snow.
there are no new jobs,
so where does he go?
a sitter, he needs
school, structure, and glow.
My in-laws got off by the
little one.
She's used to sleeping in,
spent two weeks being
sick
throwing up into the bin.
They did such a sloppy
job, she started
w/ a coff.
Cleared sky, no
bruising -- she chops,
she chances, soft.
---
old man snaps back
on his Navy hat
walks w/ cane
down lit up lane.
---
Trenton train quacks
twice where the
step is at.
---
Winter weather tip
Please don't slip.
--
Fucking cold
but I've got a cig
and work is pushed
off.--
"Q!" shouted out.
I go
"Hay girls! Hay!
Howya doin'?!"
and laugh
---
new page!
aw I write in
you. Be it like
some brief
romance, then
I'm off to #2
---
Blue boots!
aw how I
walk in youse.
Be it like
a commitment
one step into two.
---
did I see
four birds on the wire
or three?
---
Spikes clustered
on iron beams
yellow with buttons
and rust it seems
---
Lately the phones
on the hook, there
being no physical arm
after each smoking
break
I am back to hear
harm
done--to the five kids
this woman went on
and her mate (who
had time for working)
is somewhere of
little use.
---
w/ freshly written poems,
my left palm does
double that--
a carbon copy
w/ no trouble I sat
again on the exp.
toward Trenton
some vague shape
of a man sits
at the edge -- and if
he looks ugly enough
we'll both keep
our luxurious seats.
---
clicka-clicka-clicka
is the hole puncher's
only sound in the car
and --shh!--
none of that in the
front of the train.
"tickets please!"
says conductor --
can I call him
that?
I've got my own and
other's systems down
pat. Some
like to place their
pass in the slit of
the chair
and some like to
leave it tucked
somewhere
like the gap between
the rubber siding
and the window or
hold it up in one
hand -- head down
reading or being
on their smart devices.
Me? I have my own
vices,
I do my crosswords
and sometimes, I
read poems.
I've got Creeley
and recently,
Niedecker in my
bag.
There's fun
there's fun to be had!
---
Seldom I look out
over grey philadelphia
and smile
the overgrowth,
rowhouses, graffiti
stretches
miles and miles.
---
I'm wearing a lot of
tan today, yes.
When I go to work,
I try and look my
best.
---
At one point
(exp) Trenton
runs under the El
and thankfully
I'm not on
that hell.
---
The railway is speckled
grey and scarred.
Outside
Bridesburg sits
only half a car.
---
Slim chance to none
for a meet and greet,
as the line of black coats
march out toward
Tacony St.
---
after a few stops
have been called
I thought "hey!" this
ain't an express at all!
---
Holmesburg Junction
looks like shit.
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