--Kidding - the train
waits for no one,
yet stops for everyone.
---
There stood old
Pyramid Electric
in the snow
grounded.
---
Some branches hold
on, some hold much,
some wiggle, some
stop just,
some jut and
some joust
---
Every time -- I
think the train is
alive, because it
blinks
with me inside.
It cries too!
---
Most women
look incredible
in the reflection
of a black
window.
---
I sit with the
excuse, waiting
for my gut
to arrive.
---
When the train
turns, I want
to bite its
tail. now
visible
---
When it arrives
(not at my stop)
they scramble
like ants to
the donut station.
---
it kan be dizzying
to figure out how all these
rails connect.
a purple system massive
of heart ways
and cells
---
even though I had
my bag at my feet
now I'm pretty
sure no one
will sit next to me.
---
o! arrival! suburban!
city hall! comcast!
work! to
coffee to coff
to stifle yrself
to walk out on
a train a poem
March 28, 2013
March 16, 2013
native is
his head is human masculine power
concerning that this bowl of a man be a door
to something else back of,
war as main subject,
Spring as subterranean,
titan as character,
When I read Inri, I gasped
and picked a date in my head
to relieve her of it
being over there at Ryan Eckes's that night
made me forget about breaks
really though, take a look at the fat books
and see that they are simply a limitation
of the haphazardness of my hand
and the size of the so-called fat book
Philadelphia is far from unspoiled
and so cannot become my center and circumference
it is, however, my place and so I work that place
"I hate those who take away
and do not have as good to
offer. I hate them. I hate the carelessness."
concerning that this bowl of a man be a door
to something else back of,
war as main subject,
Spring as subterranean,
titan as character,
When I read Inri, I gasped
and picked a date in my head
to relieve her of it
being over there at Ryan Eckes's that night
made me forget about breaks
really though, take a look at the fat books
and see that they are simply a limitation
of the haphazardness of my hand
and the size of the so-called fat book
Philadelphia is far from unspoiled
and so cannot become my center and circumference
it is, however, my place and so I work that place
"I hate those who take away
and do not have as good to
offer. I hate them. I hate the carelessness."
good luck
click clack click clack
ping pong ping pong
ka-chak-ka-chack
dup dup dupdupdupdupdup
(good short serves)
as one deserves another
right in the path of
the monstrous gas heater
now never really
having to show up here
again.
I've been looking for a
new job ever since
my hours were cut.
Ah, yes, well,
what to expect
from a human being
who has to eat
--dust. 14k still in the
holy mole.
Now the grind comes
halting, in early
morning which is it
clouds filtered through
buses and electric
dust that builds
city clouds.
I pick this route --
and load up on musicks
and steady myself
for what comes
that monsoon where a
courier for timecycle
sat out in the blackened
granite alcove to
work on his
crossword.
"samurai soft art"
seven letters.
chuckling and making
sure I wasn't imposing
I squat next to
him and attempt
some of the clues.
Didn't get a word.
checked the time --
asked for it, actually,
slanted my tie,
accepted his parting
gift of luck
and drove it back
w/ me to the NE
the entire time an
18-wheeler white
washing me.
ping pong ping pong
ka-chak-ka-chack
dup dup dupdupdupdupdup
(good short serves)
as one deserves another
right in the path of
the monstrous gas heater
now never really
having to show up here
again.
I've been looking for a
new job ever since
my hours were cut.
Ah, yes, well,
what to expect
from a human being
who has to eat
--dust. 14k still in the
holy mole.
Now the grind comes
halting, in early
morning which is it
clouds filtered through
buses and electric
dust that builds
city clouds.
I pick this route --
and load up on musicks
and steady myself
for what comes
that monsoon where a
courier for timecycle
sat out in the blackened
granite alcove to
work on his
crossword.
"samurai soft art"
seven letters.
chuckling and making
sure I wasn't imposing
I squat next to
him and attempt
some of the clues.
Didn't get a word.
checked the time --
asked for it, actually,
slanted my tie,
accepted his parting
gift of luck
and drove it back
w/ me to the NE
the entire time an
18-wheeler white
washing me.
Charles Olson reads 'Maximus to Gloucester, Letter 27 [withheld]' (Mar 1966)
"I was so stung my
first memory is of a
spent casing to fill
mobsters."
first memory is of a
spent casing to fill
mobsters."
3/9/13
fire the sine qua non
of coming out here.
now in dry morning
having to go to the can
observing and picking
up the charred pieces
of wood from last
night
dressed down
trees dress
splayed mesh of wood
and carbon
Skyla, the sheepdog,
sits and ponders
I watch her
be a dog.
of coming out here.
now in dry morning
having to go to the can
observing and picking
up the charred pieces
of wood from last
night
dressed down
trees dress
splayed mesh of wood
and carbon
Skyla, the sheepdog,
sits and ponders
I watch her
be a dog.
My Personal Build
much later, hasn't
happened yet!
but I can surmise
that it very well might.
buds
Missing my up there,
and over there, and
down there.
Everyone is somewhere,
judging numbers
in some ways, mistakenly
this is happiness, in whatever
even naivety
has some pro
I miss him though
distances are crippling
at times
& at times productive and
conducive to my art.
Clutter is what it is in
its spiritual double
sits and steams. . .
silent fathers.
One a father of a so-so
table tennis prodigy looks
at me in the most
alienating manner while
moving his car elsewhere
in the lot.
Comes in and waves out
of habit.
---
it is not so bothersome
that I cannot even
read my own writing
-- handwriting,
it is just so pleasurable
to use up a pen
on an empty notebook
'specially the little fat ones.
---
She said let's be friends
in her usually sarcasti-
-cute manner
and by those photos I
see of her I
assume she is having
no more of those
doubts of Kansas
she once had --
when she did
we talked on the
phone somewhat often.
Not any longer --
physical friends
musical laughs
are better replacements
than any one
memory but the
given time
O how life
rushes! how these
strings slowly
unravel in the
winds of miles
of snow and
rocky hills --
flatland - endland
beast out even
the electric beating
of my heart and
brows.
and as these once
reserved pages run
down to their last few
lines -- I think
of her still
sometimes, not
my personal build, but,
a -- ?
I sobbed into flowers
into bushes shaped
ornately and through
low snow I ponder
what came of
that gift I sent
that was stolen, yet,
still arrived as
an empty envelope to
her in the
mail
one morning.
happened yet!
but I can surmise
that it very well might.
buds
Missing my up there,
and over there, and
down there.
Everyone is somewhere,
judging numbers
in some ways, mistakenly
this is happiness, in whatever
even naivety
has some pro
I miss him though
distances are crippling
at times
& at times productive and
conducive to my art.
Clutter is what it is in
its spiritual double
sits and steams. . .
silent fathers.
One a father of a so-so
table tennis prodigy looks
at me in the most
alienating manner while
moving his car elsewhere
in the lot.
Comes in and waves out
of habit.
---
it is not so bothersome
that I cannot even
read my own writing
-- handwriting,
it is just so pleasurable
to use up a pen
on an empty notebook
'specially the little fat ones.
---
She said let's be friends
in her usually sarcasti-
-cute manner
and by those photos I
see of her I
assume she is having
no more of those
doubts of Kansas
she once had --
when she did
we talked on the
phone somewhat often.
Not any longer --
physical friends
musical laughs
are better replacements
than any one
memory but the
given time
O how life
rushes! how these
strings slowly
unravel in the
winds of miles
of snow and
rocky hills --
flatland - endland
beast out even
the electric beating
of my heart and
brows.
and as these once
reserved pages run
down to their last few
lines -- I think
of her still
sometimes, not
my personal build, but,
a -- ?
I sobbed into flowers
into bushes shaped
ornately and through
low snow I ponder
what came of
that gift I sent
that was stolen, yet,
still arrived as
an empty envelope to
her in the
one morning.
March 12, 2013
Song J (for all)
Here is the incoming disorder,
brace discriminate, those who lived
and left when various fathers moved on --
those (the various one or two)
that culled the best cricks
and trees (w/ undergrowth,
that is, further east of Wissahickon,
be they a class of their own
such where I slunk
from my rough stoop
there, where mother cried
her eyes out for the whole
neighborhood to see from
behind dirty blinds
now ask me what keeps me here
I was so young my first memory
was of fingering
a crack of white sand
in the corner of a garage door
few blocks down where S,
now a doctoral student of sorts,
lived, in both his houses, one
his grandmother's,
where aloe grew
now ask me what keeps him here
I was so young my first
memory was of K
running through shaded Ellis
to the rec and tripped and split
open his knee on a pothole
(later his new bike stolen)
from Ba Le, I caught him with the ring
already on the finger of a forgettable
girl who was too busy on her phone
to properly greet, well, then,
I thought, I've better
places to be in the spring
Polis, once again,
is bliss which is base
I bubble violently when dropped
in and ceased when I came
to realize, (mid-scrub) O
how that territorial flag
you've stabbed into yrself,
looks goddamned silly
brace discriminate, those who lived
and left when various fathers moved on --
those (the various one or two)
that culled the best cricks
and trees (w/ undergrowth,
that is, further east of Wissahickon,
be they a class of their own
such where I slunk
from my rough stoop
there, where mother cried
her eyes out for the whole
neighborhood to see from
behind dirty blinds
now ask me what keeps me here
I was so young my first memory
was of fingering
a crack of white sand
in the corner of a garage door
few blocks down where S,
now a doctoral student of sorts,
lived, in both his houses, one
his grandmother's,
where aloe grew
now ask me what keeps him here
I was so young my first
memory was of K
running through shaded Ellis
to the rec and tripped and split
open his knee on a pothole
(later his new bike stolen)
from Ba Le, I caught him with the ring
already on the finger of a forgettable
girl who was too busy on her phone
to properly greet, well, then,
I thought, I've better
places to be in the spring
Polis, once again,
is bliss which is base
I bubble violently when dropped
in and ceased when I came
to realize, (mid-scrub) O
how that territorial flag
you've stabbed into yrself,
looks goddamned silly
March 6, 2013
uptempo
"molt" she played
fever my home
you gotta be
smart --
open this
cell phone back
plate for me.
-- that one's a double.
reaching across a
mother and her child
at Bean Xchange
who were figuring
out homework
and the two old
men at their crossword
Bebop? Speedup?
fever my home
you gotta be
smart --
open this
cell phone back
plate for me.
-- that one's a double.
reaching across a
mother and her child
at Bean Xchange
who were figuring
out homework
and the two old
men at their crossword
Bebop? Speedup?
Visionary Magicks
trust no day a bunch
birds systematize a
branch and their wings
ordered such as,
"till ten",
'firm and moving",
"forever one home",
birds systematize a
branch and their wings
ordered such as,
"till ten",
'firm and moving",
"forever one home",
9th and Brains Bridge
Hooks left on the
ceiling look like stars,
a neglected constellation
water mold crumbling
galaxy
tasteful mobile as
planetary systems --
I was at the back
telling her that
I had come back
to the states for only
two days
didn't believe me or
didn't care
Read poetry today
until I became sick
of poetry
7:09 Saturday loud
crunch of toast
February 23rd
Excuse me lady
behind pull up a
chair
chair squawk
crunch politeness
stomp mannerisms
rock white man
shut cash register
sing harmonies
stank butter
stick strings in
after shore door
horn tap to play
screams steam
muster gusto --
not now broken
any plane crunches again
northeastern wild
sun, cloud petal
devoured by chopper
near Tiffany's diner
cigarette parking lot
meant for both
cars and cigarettes,
for pie, homemade,
crunch rust, flying
newspaper sounds
Damn -- he's fast!
coffee house
throw me some tomatoes
for the salad you want
me to write -- right
now these are just
vegetables.
In the coffee house,
drink coffee.
Overhear professor --
scholarly men
talk about . . .
responsible things.
Wash yr face w/
dry soap/ stay in bed,
stay parked
in a blot of ink
blacked university
promises.
more rain outside
more reflections of rain
I sit here, purple and
puffy -- unafraid
and jittery, very
clean now -- not oily.
scratch an ear
the last part of a
scuffling laugh that's
wet. Door closes w/
sound. Crash of
a symbol - screeching
geetar.
Ruffle of bags of
man leaving -
--Bristly chin, also?
--Who gets the bill?
blow on the pages
randomly - again
the ink being chased
by police.
what kind of
carnival
smacks -- Yes! --
into a ch(??)en?
that kept running
through the hall,
out of someone's
gourd -- till the cops
arrive.
Hits an island,
forces up tryn the
passenger compartment
back door survival
front-yard wrestling
This poem is an
intro song
I strut and gaze
w/ arms outstretched
roaring like a rocket
ready to collect
DATA!
-Know when to end a
poem.
-Here's to learning how to
begin.
2.
A monsoon of intelligent
white men write
walk confidently into
coffee house
tip waitress/cashier
a buck reminding me
of Club Risque
last night
w/ the boys.
More or less a mountain
ridges of Philadelphian
newness, find
frank friends
what kind of
wear surprise canadian
geese wapwaping
being big blunt in
the country blind
come and go as he says
watery(?) Sean Taras
writing his articles
good eye - note - for
parking - wetness -
city mulch of
dependents us
all - drinking coffee
until it hurts -
there is no culture
to a drink to an act
felonies three or four
blocks -- how people
school themselves
a book bangs against
the wind --
trees are keeping me
awake in the
distance making
noise of cows.
craving my steamy
week to feel the
breeze on my skin.
Wet steel not
suppose to be.
Caramel laughter
in soft lighting.
mural cows not
stepping, art art
bad next to bath-
-room
-------------
Walking back to my
spear, there is a red
and large one
------------
I am a cow afraid
of its reflection in
a coffee house window
that I've created.
------------
I am young and
the world is not.
------------
I'll be gone when
the world goes.
for the salad you want
me to write -- right
now these are just
vegetables.
In the coffee house,
drink coffee.
Overhear professor --
scholarly men
talk about . . .
responsible things.
Wash yr face w/
dry soap/ stay in bed,
stay parked
in a blot of ink
blacked university
promises.
more rain outside
more reflections of rain
I sit here, purple and
puffy -- unafraid
and jittery, very
clean now -- not oily.
scratch an ear
the last part of a
scuffling laugh that's
wet. Door closes w/
sound. Crash of
a symbol - screeching
geetar.
Ruffle of bags of
man leaving -
--Bristly chin, also?
--Who gets the bill?
blow on the pages
randomly - again
the ink being chased
by police.
what kind of
carnival
smacks -- Yes! --
into a ch(??)en?
that kept running
through the hall,
out of someone's
gourd -- till the cops
arrive.
Hits an island,
forces up tryn the
passenger compartment
back door survival
front-yard wrestling
This poem is an
intro song
I strut and gaze
w/ arms outstretched
roaring like a rocket
ready to collect
DATA!
-Know when to end a
poem.
-Here's to learning how to
begin.
2.
A monsoon of intelligent
white men write
walk confidently into
coffee house
tip waitress/cashier
a buck reminding me
of Club Risque
last night
w/ the boys.
More or less a mountain
ridges of Philadelphian
newness, find
frank friends
what kind of
wear surprise canadian
geese wapwaping
being big blunt in
the country blind
come and go as he says
watery(?) Sean Taras
writing his articles
good eye - note - for
parking - wetness -
city mulch of
dependents us
all - drinking coffee
until it hurts -
there is no culture
to a drink to an act
felonies three or four
blocks -- how people
school themselves
a book bangs against
the wind --
trees are keeping me
awake in the
distance making
noise of cows.
craving my steamy
week to feel the
breeze on my skin.
Wet steel not
suppose to be.
Caramel laughter
in soft lighting.
mural cows not
stepping, art art
bad next to bath-
-room
-------------
Walking back to my
spear, there is a red
and large one
------------
I am a cow afraid
of its reflection in
a coffee house window
that I've created.
------------
I am young and
the world is not.
------------
I'll be gone when
the world goes.
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