ive been writing the poems i want to write.

i don't really

have a point

                      but

if you read this

they might have

some

no anger here

just having what

is abundant

until the real thing

comes along

chupa chups

did he ever get me with the Deems tune
I was in the alcove of the place by Oscar's which sold
shoes and in the door of Bikram Yoga, I grabbed everything
she's idle in the minds of men

I quickened my pace once double-stepped it out
of Oregon and saw the layering of the purplish-grey clouds
knew I was in for quite the sweat
and quite the cold shower

long

living in the manner of care
which is farcical,
I yam dulled by reeding
and righting, am pumped quickly,
deflated over years,
with only humor
as the sole

what ruff skin forms
after a time w/ the English-mades
need that pumice, man,
after all the sweat is wiped
I make my intended mark

settle into my mind
laff all night
long

cave neck

tried rolling

my neck to the left

and then the right

all around really

hearing the crinkles

and low fizzing

popping,

was essentially a noodle at the desk

I had closed out several potential clients

Holden Ransome was one of their names

I didn't close her, no, she was one of the few worth

putting down in Dave's notebook 

( he had categories:

celebrity, prurient, 

first names that were similar to last 

[e.g., Richard Richardson],

and downright silly

don't get to see much of him now in my cave

I have an 'experience the experience' poster board leftover

from a time before I had started,

clipped two of those suckers together

and created a neat little roof for myself,

it's for my eyes

I tell people when they ask

they're very light sensitive

poems - june 25th

big goose has a
     fitting caboose
shakes her
     droplets loose
only to vamoose

.

hey friend w/ a cig
I liked you
when I stood big.
some way in the
past, 9,000 days
when you stand
at the lake --

Some way,
I felt a reluctance
to speak out

and Knowing there
was nothing left to
shout about --

in my own interests --
practice empathy,
yes, why
        yes
it's your virtue
     but not mine.

.

hold a washcloth
over Niedecker's
head,

bump her by the river,
smell the grass
     between her toes,
think  &   ready
  to imagine
    Ryan Eckes as
an infant in her
    arms.

.

Some damn slope
                      crammed.
choke - slump on
the rug.
take a long meditative
shit, give myself a hug.

.

how do you hurt me
by living out the
rest of your awful
                  life?
And w/ that awful
                   man?
And what you call
    a plan?

.

Mirror was her
         grandmother's
   elbow sore from
  poetry  ( believe it )
and the tip of the
 lamp (from U-ARTS
 - lounge, stolen)
  peeks out of
       the bottom.
     Not yet in the
        egg,
floating helplessly
  through spacetime.
  To lose is that.
To win is also that.
  To not play
              the egg
     is to
       further delay
          toes
          from
           waves

.

I propose blood
         brother ritual
having none all
of my life
    and only learning
afterward
                 how to
rally for blood.

where the night is deep
I have a place for you
after I am sapped of strength
you are devout to the color

.

walking over the flower
my mouth reddish at the gate
full and wonderfully articulate
biting for its own pleasure

.

I wasted much time in water
roaring rather than stillness
she smacked the surface
in a moment of boldness

play on play on 36

The dry tones bide, they bide. You book out
to nowhere.
-- E-Z, E-Z, Mr Nimh, the words are on yr side,
companions, too, keep grief.
-- I sent a leaf away, spat in my hair
cuz clever. Wif all them in line (some again)
they've sympathy, at least I can breathe.

-- Shiet. 'Ow you figure me, ey. 'Ows you & I?
A pill for that worrying rasp; do & die.
-- Yeh, don't pick up no cents
even in the interim, then. And if I
rolling & smoking & choking, red eyed,
rummaging for that single token?

-- Some bouts just meant for studs. Yr heart ain't lost.
It's alright, I'm a fool for that.
The boy & his hair
looked at each other. His feet in moss
& wiggled light through his tears, his fat.
Yr favorite poet's where?

(Quyen laying on the ground.)

rough things

she's not a swallow,
but she flies:
 ow I see what was up,
 let all cars return home.

I dance excessively with my wifey
our story was always straight,
no welts or grubs nor did the earth
chuck black clouds at us

if you keep an air conditioner at 72 you're cheatin' it,
when you come home to a damp towel
-- can someone give me a light outside?
I'll meet you anywhere you say
does it have an inside?
do you have an inside?

now, if you'll allow
me, I'm going to
suck out
the remaining
      poison

floral echoes
of an airplane
jet dress

some dude's
    asscrack
as our space
invaded
reminds me of
Denki Groove

was it laughter
or a sneeze
the man did it
after a cough

after a
concern about
 bald head

an older gentleman
w/ a limp and
heavy pack
stopped in

           food supplement
                        program

combed his beard
up to eight
times, then
walked on

---

throw snowball
watch a crow fight
clouds so close
i can almost
pee on em

fresh ass summer poems

Set sun set!
Before long I'll
     forget

unbutton two,
also unhinge

foom! it's the wind
       on the roof
whiskey and ginge

I'm looking into the
     sun and not
     giving a shit
   for a little while

Even after
all these years
the beef ho fun
     at Tasty Place
is still incredible
it has gone up
at least $2
   now $6.

when you close yr
       eyes and look
 you got sunvision

  swivel yr eyeballs
  around and see
         dark spots.

---

cracking my back
   pop pop
         snap!

sometimes nothing
    comes out

what wind blown
helicopter breeze
brings me
          fodder,

for solitude:
4 boiled eggs
sitting halfway
in cold water
the sink drops
gang on 'em
while I sit outside
facing the west
everyone has a
            satellite
                 dish

so hard evenings
     to sink a few,
sit, smoke, and
      grow sick by the
absent pudge
        g-ness how I luv
        green beer glass
            half sunken ass
by the carbonated
            fountain      fizzy
but do not let
  the sky paint
itself

last night, toward
the west,
  one broad
stroke like you
wouldn't believe it.
  I sat and slouched
smiling as never
all the possible
shapes of states
in dry tar
white countries
          to gray and
          us black
mouth of islands
from a rust ring

instant motorcycle
instant alarm
modern church
bell tolls
digital Dodge honks
and a third
alarm!

something like a
whacked-out
      symphony of
south philly
precise V   tool
rosewood to go
seek out
anti-intellectualism

-- and always my color

two

a Celestial & an
Irishman sat
a+   a   +able
in a bar

You hear
        about my little
                        wind
                         fall?
I wasn't busy
killing my wife
                 either --
cut my leg w/ sharp
    corner of bag
I believe it is
     good afternoon

   I suppose you
   came for a
        confession,
chance at togetherness

you're gonna love
what              facts
             we got here.
   
        roughly cost?
                    3,000

anxiety relief
come in the form
          of 1600 dollars

sunday breakfast

draw us in that escape, brother!
if the entire thing fuckin' all of a sudden collapsed, first:
throw remaining joint in mouth,
throw ice coffee through window into bedroom
dive through window into bedroom  or
if too late, brace yrself tight against the iron
for use as rollcage, aim for minivan roof across the street

tanks for saving my liiife

what new finds at the bottom of the sink screen
I was there, without my father, he,
who was chewing on the two
Oscars   I raised, I cleaned
rocks found on the side of the blvd
to set them at a natural angle.
One day in my uncle's, perhaps 75 gal,
I found a young albino
Cichlid, pale pink
laying at the very bottom
on the multicolored gravel
struggle struggled to take water
I plucked him out of the tank
gently pried open his mouth with my nail
and saw a bright orange pebble caught inside

'a' or chinee foo

Yeh I feel like we all trim
that stanza like a bonsai
take out the 'a' and say
while stroking beard
and holding birdcage

a place!

Ready to rock
steady de kane,
home with
arthritis African
Rift the new moon,
she making positive funs
of me, the essay
set forth the technical
                                    principles
that composition by smell of pork
and rhyme schemes

as the modern stave, I haven't
yet purchased the breath
form is ever
from the inside out, returning Onion
to its Pepper

Beauty simply destroy me
in setting, city, lamb,
where the rest of
us could not be seen

awaiting a land lord's reply
pink and sprinkled
with money

to Stir,
with Love

The Schuylkill (The New Pastoral 1871)

The Schuylkill,
Its green banks
Faire Mount
Lifted as
The height
Pours, from
The stream
Here, stranger
Which knew
Here trod

Lenni Lenape Indians
called it 'Ganshewchanna'
meaning 'Noisy Stream'.
They made Penn a small canoe,
a light birchen, quietly
propelling him.

He claimed in a letter
to the Society of Friends
that the river be 'hundred
miles boatable.'

    I flew my silken pennants down the river and found myself often thirsty and at times, bored.
   

Old Vinegar (or Old Vineyard's Folly)

a well for every heart & house
a well for my eye
though my heart is upon
some spirit drive me
more than a cen-
tury

up from Pennsylvania

Ball

Ball from an outgrowth of cricket
some ways of heaven unnecessary
 -- la di da di
I am a man of superior virtue because
I  am not virtuous
-- likes to party
as a passenger, as a landlubber,
being raised from youth to man
from the reputation of this man ( my father
early on with the name, yik, or ten to the eighth

there is a legend that prevails at Lovers' Leap
of an Indian Chief's daughter promised to a warrier
who outran all other participants in a contest.
Yet an elder warrier triumphed through the guile,
and so our lovers leapt to their deaths on the rocks below
from the highest spot on the Wissahickon

To be continuously poor is to be keen
on all instruments, knowing
my limit, my skills
seem awkward
but I got the rhythm.

what are your memories about The Simpsons?

A st., gramps chillin' all afternoon with a friend, the dad

of my childhood friend. he had some sort of  

 what

   disease

affected bone structure, however

which stood him at something around four feet

with an unfortunate humpback appearance

he had smiling dark eyes.

I hesitated too often as a child

I grew taller than him eventually,

a kind man w/ whom I was too

shy to ask

grandpa on the porch,
chillin', smokin', chattin'

a single marble I sneaked

clacked as I rose from my crouch

caught in the act

grandpa smokin',
sayin' somethin'

wrapping
myself in the fuzzy 

comforter

in a cot w/ the AC

never having an answer

to his question

my lease is up in july

put yr herbie hancock down on paper
if you look out front you'll see the houses that
converge on passyunk have interestingly shaped yards
from my window the line of 13th gives it quite the perspective
the windows never meet, think still, euclidian geometry
had plans to drink and smoke and fool around with the I Ching
but was never one for divination, just got sleepy.

news!

super telecom services speeds me audience
from France, China, Ukraine, and Russia (just the one,
now and again) 40 x faster
just the last month I blazed
past all of the previous year
in poems and paychex

floods in Sao Paolo spur advances in absorbent asphalt

haircut quyen

the best part of getting a haircut
is the several hours into that evening
having a cigarette on my stoop
and when the wind hits me
remembering that i got a haircut

giving up spirits

All my fucking loves
trample the grass in my mind
don't talk about my hut
I'll go have a boy night
and give up poetry
They strike me as affable but ah
seems I am a know-nothing mass

riches!

what is a doorbuster
really, my god, dave was so
upset when he lost his mcdonald's
coupons

she got the appointment
grows out, gets thick and square
empties out my home

a hundred percent of those girls
just want to marry a prince
wait til they find out
he's poor!

hobby

My new hobby is to draw products from The Simpsons,
cut them out and paste them around my monitor at work.
So far I have (on my own monitor, excluding ones I made for others):
Krusty's sweatshirt that reads 'I GOT SMASHED AT WIMBLEDON',
box of Grade F Meat (ingredients: mostly circus animals, some filler),
steel drum of Krusty Brand Imitation Gruel,
Disemboweler IV video game cartridge,
and shrunken head w/ tag:
20% Rayon, 80% Shrunken Head.

cities!

no easy way to get the bitch
aced the philadelya riddle man
sharpest pencil in the art class
    I have five plus years of that shit under stretch marks
I mean, just feel the bump!    no one can impersonate who I am
and in the evenings I consider with astrological charts
when would be a good week
end to go up and visit palgals, dodge props,
takin' over this year, you know that's right,
yo hey hey hey, AR
gray sizzling road rain      car & bike wrex
thinking of all that coal     smoke that you must've huffed
to produce such work.      I can't really say if Morality & Language
have reached their purest forms yet,
consider how long dead you are, first

not feelin' it!

alter no chemistry and have no laughs,
mort (if name be necessary) strode past the window
and a higher voice walking along stuttered out
some shrill laughter, somewhat like the sharp intakes of breath
when one can put their cries to a brief halt
wheezing and puffed up and all lookin' absolutely awful
'dbuy that for a dollar

light of day

wit of single intelligence
that's all I'm thinking bout
rappataptap on the walk side
I sense a beginner
or since, people's paces in the station
pay mathematical attentions

what a hairy old man cactus
sticking like a sore thumb
a desert microphone

need not know everything at any moment
all that remains are plans of plans
in my task list
                      no compute  r
                      the occasional stuck key
                      he must've thought
                        forget me all everything
                               leave me to my worries
                      and boy how they are many

pal,
I am left
only assurances
take me along
he makes hearts pitter-patter

Yet I'm not up for that vicious number
He done no wrong, draws down fog in his mind.
I am bored with the horror of brutes and fools.

I should be held together with my poems.
Not in a hell, not fully csarred.
The knight-errant went home at dark and polished his sword.

-- Erm.

The marquee sifted

Wonder i wif the
same nose, line of the
jaw to the neck, will
I find Thumb Tackett
again.
A hideous white cry,
w/o feeling, rip ples thru
the air of the park.
Syncopation of all 4 dog
paws, -- as I said, I'd
be unaware it was her,
due to these sunglasses.
She'd wear them, I'm
certain.
The worst is when --
   it's all winding down
to what I had dreaded.
Still I make treks out
here, to some worn in
bench. Look at a toddler
of Asian descent.
  figure where she runs off
to. figure      a cop
his walkie on, this
walk on. I take a quick 360
glance and do not see the cornetist Jafar.

chu be do

chu be do, chu be do
all my year was just chu be do
on the coaster a brooklyn brew
check the coop (under sink)
that old crow has up and flew
course though
everyone working late
and besides what I wants to taste
is that chu be do.

ramb

'wow, Quyen wrote a lot of poems'
Neil flipped through the bound manuscript
Tape, I used, and red tabbies
It was some Irish sounding bar
with a man singing in the corner.

Again I retreat back to my soft gift  (see
                                                               the songs)
of the first weapon, what then I used as armor
I sat upon many a rock surfaced shaped, thinky
you've then some conclusion growing.
   The big toe grows further out
of the sock I wrote and geez, that energy
  came plenty through
get the cash you need, but I think plastic
terms in, in the coming summer:  come    as blue
           hard I am on complete friendship

He thought I hated the world.    Again, after 5pm
I made my silky jangle
transitioned several times
from shakehand to penhold

     After all, whatever it may be, whichever day
                      odd the week
     I chugged it and didn't think two centx of you
     stand often slack-kneed, no dude objects, I slink
     into no win and no engagement
     personally I don't care whose boss
     maybe a philadelphia winter ought change minds
     a bullet of accusation, rooting me out
    freezing my helpless
            I ought
            ah not tempt myself
     being the absolute hedonist
     I am, flag of truce.

somebody still
living loves
                  me.

gina engst

The world is gradually becoming a place
and after that first line it all reads sad.
I heave my troubles on my boy, my lad
  when he, thru the back window
of the house, that backyard space
the rusted mix of condiments, america's favs
dabbled the tool shed
toolshed

I scored a whopping 98
highest in the class, I sold it
at the end of the year showing
to the school librarian for $200
My painting teacher, Ms Kunin
said it was a fair price.

Everyone thought she was a bitch.
She put all my shit together in time for
my interview for university,
and has since retired I heard.

Still, further back, Gina Engst.
Always indebted --
I ate my first Thanksgiving at her house on Ronin
I mean, Rorer St.
I tasted turkey and sparkling
grape for the first time.
Her boyfriend was a heavy-built Latino man.
She had two daughters
one of them snatched her t-square away
when I inquired its shape.

I tried finding her, she left a number to my sister to me which
I had lost and since then couldn't do anything about it.
The ribbon seems to be losing its ink!
What fate! what comedy!
GINA! GINA! GINA! GINA! GINA!
GINA! GINA! GINA! GINA! GINA! GINA!
MS ENGST MS ENGST MS ENGST MS ENGST MS ENGST MS ENGST MS ENGST MS ENGST

coo

Some of the time, or mebbe all
of the time, get tipped and think of lustful feelings with yr
favorite thing of the body
I see votes for belly & nose, maybe some feet
but really what more
In the instant we call it a love feeling of love a love poem
love poem for him for her for my wanting of this dick
                               in you shiet
       wanna make me the scapegoat for the whole damn machine?
sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit
had to. but there isn't some solitary movement (from this minute
    from the island watching the gulls overhead in the honey sky
wht what fishing, nigga I ain't hardly done some fishing it must've
             been some years ago I had the
             long pole it was my father and a buddy of his (he had no name
             but he disappeared from all traces of my brain) I fishee I caught
nothing nothing yummy nothing,
  that's what fishing was, no twhat
                 crabbing and clamming was
      The soft heel skin digging the
micrometer grooves of a clam shell
and with much hesitation the boy dove
under water and grabbed blindly in the kick of
sand the hele

We call it a love poem at times.
I call it a love poem.
All I write are love poems, shit.
You living
life? Unforgiving midday? Well stocked kitchen?
         His toy, his dream, his rest  on fire?
shit we all read it here.
I am a roomful of the briefly stopt. The timed detonations
what disaster only approaches me at the END
what has gone to seed, a pulling of things,
too smooth in my cradled thinking. I love you you
you are not my enemy I explained that Mr Nimh, many a time fucking over
fan what critics striving together
thicken yr mind over violent money
in this suspicious world it marries yr mother
in her young years, the only memory of her
left she struck out as ah a bunny prize
Years roll away
dark brows blonde teeth
burst of street sunshine
I let my fucking dick jangle in the holy city of America
opinions around yr finger
holds no thoughts of mine
good food & rest
visions of welcome beauty
     lovely

rit

What else would these pages be good for --
I w nder, the weather begs for late fires.
In the ____ of the few weeks to
come -- New York again! I'll make the
trip-up. W/ Juliette -- chug down some little
progress on the book. Still I consider a title for
the book, still I nuzzle light beams.
It came all this way for us.
If it didn't hit me in the face it
would have simply transferred its heat
energy to the black floral rug.
         Or a patch of dirt,
p   or my bare ass. (still fantastic)! Some of these photons
would be "wasted", some to spur on the
violets, the basil & mint.
Who writes anymore! Seldom do people
think -- that the act is everyday --
Should be a day-to-day occurence
'doesn't yr hand hurt?' Yes, eventually
      as with any exercise.
Maybe they'll buy my drinks again.
Maybe. Also an exercise.
The bottom of my play list gives a sliver
of the calf to the green air. The mind sings
a narrow song - a leaf scratches by an agreement.
Whichever stroller passes by w/ the
most features wins this poem.
Or whomever has the sense to dress for the
park impending evening
not just conscious
of what room temperature is.

reading / threading

Reading
Joseph Ceravolo made me wanna club
from the couch I had the sauce put on simmer
still swaying almost to where
the old crow has flown
scratch the inside of my ear
as if threading

for Amy

Like growth to seed
I swam in her memory
In her apartment back in New York
I fingerwalked
her bookshelf

I saw she read Cummings
I napped beside her
  we were waiting o the party

that was happening and already
   at the peak of my laziness
I chased the fields of her warmth

   yellow-white slumber
  sunlight scattering my
skin

Later tucked poems
into the crate that held
records, notably, YMO.

reading / writing

What I despair
at making absolutely clear
equally important
and active poets
I ain't that interested
I saw a bit of rain
and went right home
realizing later on the toilet
that I am missing Frank's

qrs

The people are out with their slaves.
 At times

I remember listening to some oldies hit and feeling empty.

Not sure if all information gathered

should become a part of the poem,

                      but thinking better on that.
                      How far can I limit

                      myself. Some instances
                      all it takes is a good body

                      Now with you in mind I come
                         back to society

                                              

Or more simply

study with some constancy

park complex urges or any verbal component

Listen to Todd Terje - Inspector Norse (dance)

poem is pamphleteering

                                        up

my eyes for the arts, for bodies

all projections and faces in the coming year.

Projections.

Remember that

Charles Olson

wrote 'jawn'

much earlier,

just ax him.

Before her
shower
ends.                        

country grind coffee smells like

Old man house

I feel like you

should smell it

witches brew

handwriting

definitely some

zen ass answer

our mind moving

with the

        wind.

anytime he points

to the pad

I write.

it doesn't

make cold air

but it makes

air cold.

Dan is impractical

but gorgeous.

He used to see

clan hoods

  in the
negative space

of a pack of

Marlboros

they're there in the

legs

de la heaven

Was lost in de la heaven
Some architecture rounds out no more
I have met my match

All girls hustled into the capsule hotel
programmed as you've gotta move

   gotta go
      gotta go!
as all my boys raise hell
Our underground thang glows
what causes this effect, I don't know
I step ever forward in relation to

yr                                   dress.
    cosmic body in a sun

You can leave and shoot ten people
by the way you push so hard,
that's why you're not glued to yr seat

I go, 'where did that come from'
you think things are taboo, you won't
even respond to the myriad problems,
   funniest in life, this moment now
   race to my face

I see funny
what C U T
supposed to be

we may
look the same
but our grain
is different

dinah
is there anyone finah
in the state of carolina

what little left
of that ride thru
mountains mountains

but am I content
no I am no cow
I am not content

lint from my collar I pulled it out of my
neck it seems
into the palm of her hand, she blows
it soff, stares at me
drinks her drink
in her white sweats shirt
with the multicoloredships
shit, I,
hear the fridge door close I look
and still cymbals resonate
throughout the room
I think of nothing else
of editing
of her hair its short
and I watch her smile
at me nervously as if
I had some other intention
other than the light
from a brush of an
artist
of of a
painter I
meant
no no
the words are
slipping away
this is no place
conducive
no conclusion
to the plum sadness I've got
in these frail, weakened, faltering
steps of mine
in my heart I felt
lumps of air
got to be
some sputtering of

we'll fatten you up, cor
yeah?
mmhmm

feeding

Ceram teapot nid not
rest on its own coast
er This morning fed
the plants; Mint, Violet,
Basil, Smaug & Aloe.
Imagined their
photosynthetic process.
Breathed in their green
(they in turn breathed me)
Light and sat in its beam.

My output
mad licorice
on the T-Rex
coaster,
BK lagerish
I listen to Joan
of Arc in an empty room
per Dan's instructions to
get a sense of
what's in his blood

Babe what shinings
on this sadness?
This great sadness of mine.

appetite

what    s happening, in the thin street
whatever it may be, he's cleaned up
he's a man now jack, hard and sharpened
but rather what holds him to such ideals
nothing worth, at this time, reflecting on

the awning was yellow, dirty from the long winter
makes me think of her hair, a dirty blonde
in the setting sun she sat facing west
I, east
   the tailbone   pressing the soft leather
      to absorb what could be from the still sleeping
      earth, wet
dirt patched w/ yellow grass, also dirty
what is this if not sneaking
  I stood musing
vulnerable, pouring what jokes I muster
the last time I told someone about FS

if He's really truly dying,
     how can he have such appetite
     to eat chicken wings?

the moon is a bowl this evening
overturned covering a die star
  no one hears the rattling
  nor will they ever be able

I love my small band
of brothers
today it is one of their birthdays
I write Neil a dear note
think about him and his life for a solid
minute or two
a ride again on the 7
the floor of a JC apt
then go back to work

whatever laid in me in yr room
     bit my lip with a mold of yr teeth
   it felt fake, dry, and unsatisfying.

doo hoo

if you keep passing me by, you'll have been to the far enough side.
by virtue, have the courage to go forward
to be unreal at times, to be a deadened pan of dust
she cuts her eyes at me,
           I have no name for it, for her (last ),
           but she was a thick jawn and she had
           at least it appeared some semblance of understanding
           but at last my self could not escape still
           am I perfect?

there are only sounds and roads to nowhere
there is no life if you'd imagine it to be
the energies emerging is profitless
and nobody should be surprised by that
I've read myself a half-dozen times already
and still could not figure out the present illusion
doo hoo hoooooooooo --
                                         it stays still
                                                in the bed
                                                    freezing
                                                               the hard soles
                                                               of a heel of a
                               in to be healed I take it to damn tasks boy
            where were you ever in the field?
            making good observations?
                                                          being a scientific being
                                        without the need for the systematic
    cataloging of rocks not native to this region
of North America? I'm down to the last of my power.

life still exists. I have no hand in it. no faults.
just here to say that the beginning and the ends, to whatever
they may lie, grow long. I'd take them both as one in the same.

but if it ends here
what herbs will grow

take a stroll throu
the cotton crowds today
in the cold center city

had a physical exp. this morn
it is easier
make those sun-lit addresses to me and
      no one else

I watched and became impatient.

hd

having eaten      I am released
having eaten,     I am released
type slower, more forcefully
fucker . . .

forget whatever airs we had
y'know I felt that the interest, to put it plainly, was there
later, after the revelation, it ceased to put out
      that magnificent energy that a woman's gaze
      -- in regards to the bed, shit's rickety and should
        be scrapped for firewood
tell me, how much do you pay and how often do you pay for it?
if you slow down, you'd hear me whisper
the way Kevin did, my childhood friend
he'd say everything twice, once
    he'd say it aloud, to you and I, the second time,    in
        almost deep reflection, to himself.

if there is no hunger here, I'd bid my farewell,
the walks were good, for the legs, and legs are connected,
as you know, through the networks of veins and arteries,
to the heart, which you know, is connected to the
                   brain which mysteriously lays it all out
like a rug slowly creeping under the leg of a couch
my brain too overlaps my heart, what data have you for me today?
     why, it is almost absolutely necessary to tell the truth
I wouldn't know how to describe it otherwise
what frustrated me the most
was that I did not believe I would
ever inhale every bit
of yr room again

least I found the hidden compartment, like a bloodhound
I    left my last memory as a mope
and trotted off, thinking of only writing
and reading it to myself, my own processes
     but I thought to have felt free and robust
     been keen enough all this time to know what is
the inspiration, without the call, the text,
the half laughs,
      what content bounds away from my memory
unable to ever become a ghost on the next page
it appears rather so
  I am a tower of purity
the thing nature made to make pictures of nature
I gather all my scientific training to the top of the
hill, half-raised, half in deep sadness,
in which alone can find most anything worth
dying -- it is connected to
it is a jump in this microscopic marriage of form
and imagination, unencumbered,    gold.

creation

these few, moldering poems, what was once
the planet
                 Earth,
          library of Alexandria
         which had led us into space

but man, that ramen, drank of the broth
like a Pharoah
on his true message
studying the entire cosmos
you are intricately connected to this fat feeling
you are as bright as a star

He told his King a rule
to speech, geometry
the saddle of brains
earth-centered universe
brewing up
     
                      the Last Light of the library
                   after all. she ahems behind me.

I sat in a zoo in sub-Saharan Africa
building up my collection of books.
Ships docking, searching for
contrabooks

books
       from the ships, contained in its ink
 scrolling waves freighted, the papyrus
     is the origin
                      of our word

what happened to all those books? disintegration
   where in the brown room
I rediscovered living    facts about my self
  warm and some sky
  all creations                   the watch-makers of Earth
now only  difficulties      of the Earth Free Inquiry
                                                Now nearly 13 billion
                                                  to the astonishment
                                 to everyone during a rag time new year's collective
some 15 billion, check, 15 billion
The local history of you and I
   each month each year
100,000 seconds w/ you.

five poems

all kings and battles and migrations the fearsome flu
           what a fucking legacy, don't squander it on just
              self-destruction, what is here and now
      I'd get into it, the second episode.

It was the pilot.
It was in the Beginning
find one that works, a drip
         in space sink
         time, ticks
sounds taxing in the corner of the
       ceiling.


---


The Rose of Furniture Cats In a
      Glow of snowballs
      raging for perhaps
         billions of years
        some grave figure fosters
           awaiting exploration.

---


He was as drunk as his legs.
Anyhow she answered.
watch out !
he'll sting you


---


I got a queer hunch about that girl.
Chinese court astronomers executed
    for making inaccurate predictions.


---

in my longing I pretended to find satisfaction
why change, hold two newspapers, suppose
you're also vague
also in disagreement
a riding, writing accident to my twin
how could we have such profoundly different fates
the rising of teeth and alien influence
came a lot closer than I was comfy wif.


               

                                                            the trivial waves of pseudo
                                              science      our planet is
                                  under   the influence

La Casserole

the stars remind me
of a simple

A Celestial
bureaucrat
licking his cloud-like paws
                shaped like clouds, even, smells.
           didn't even have the damned thing in place.

             I should stop for tonight.
         I've had enough.

3 mo poems

this all smacks too much of God
this humanist literature
last what I thought it was. It wasn't!
  some things they've drawn you in with, such as self-help
such as love, such as knives and fingernails
there in the back God appeared, by name, of course himself
leaving me with now a useless copy of lists

how much I depend on them.
I called again the other day, made no progress.

---

I've since written to you
last night I dreamt I wrote
a breathtaking letter
in which I elaborated on my actions   the meanings
    and then articulating, in Olsonesque fashion
        clearly my thoughts of you and
    I ran the words through my  lobes
   a few times for good measure, thought, Yes.
          will certainly draft this in the
                        morning, pronto!
       This poem is what became of it.
         and the reluctance on my part
       to see you a third time
           settled in

---

I hear the two doors opening and closing,
outside it is snowing again, can you believe it
but of course you could, lousy smarch 23rd ---- 25th
no man can understand the lousy nature of his emotions
   could, then again, just I
 I smell worn wool, insides of leather boots
aluminum beer
ten dollar bills

inflation

using standard copy paper
on a typewriter, especially with how hard
and deliberate I type
creates ghosts of poems on blank
pages -- ghosts of ghosts hard to decipher

I'm holding a lot of money in my hand, smell my socks
look at the cow chew toy, and think of whether or not Juliette
decided to push making the copies by Thursday because
       she thought it was a, cold, b, time to get drunk in her bathtub
   or c, had to use the toilet after the somewhat spicy meal we had
salt-baked squid, scallops with peppers
seafood hotpot, also spicy
I told her I wasn't Korean when she handed me the spoon for my rice
picked up my bowl, and proceeded to paw food into my maw

as last, spring is here, and like you thought, sir
men's hopes have returned!

wonder what background is present in her blood
today I cut an article out of the science and technology section
of a ny times that I stole from wawa
regarding the gravitational waves that the Bicep2 had
discovered. the image was like a pock-marked lasagna
artificially colored of course for sake of understanding
the contours of an invisible force, now
       not so very invisible
       pondered about it, after reading
       but for most people who do not doubt
that the existence of the universe came,
       erupted, the Big Bang
       rang, man, whatsitall about?
       this is just in theory
    and provides clues as to how inflation may have
    really occurred, that we were birthed out of a speck
   which is too large a term, even, for it
        I propose tacking it up on my wall of my desk
take a look at the black lines that are placed
to illustrate the fluidity and movement
of that ancient residue
shit was beatmania

gimme

Even in the fast lane
a car must pull away
and to do
plastic contained
     lunch, it forces you
into the heat of
all day.
Smoking and
turning your head
away.
saving fire bone
technique
don't sweat it
I fan myself w/ a
pack then inject
it.
Three Logan Squares
a popular and
accessible place for
lunch, lookalikes
pounce
stones and fountain
shoot always up
while wind nudges
them in every
direction.
Erastosthenes, what
a genius!
        to have roughly determined the circumference
of the Earth w/ the
help of someone --
strong legs he must've had --
to walk from Alexandria to Cairo
w/ only an obelisk
to rely on? and
the size of his sandals.
I'd walk in this heat
and couldn't determine anything.
pull out my phone and google it
                                                   perhaps.
Oh and how to write poems tomorrow?
w/ Avi for lunch?
at a place of my choosing, he says,
       yr call.
I'd have it all, man
if you're buying.

'Revelation'
Have yrs now
says ad.

No skateboards or pets
says sign.

I hate that little fucker,
says cunt.

What a joke, how
stylized.
       how library spoke
   read those once and
           still reflect on the high line girl.
               drinking a tall
               beer by the tracks
               there.

And snapping the
neck of her shirt back.
   so brazen I was,
    still am,

shouldn't be saying too
much at the end of
the day --
             remember
              we're doing this to help people! help
                    people!

funny enough --
this man across from me
looks like Frank
                O'Hara.

3 poems from journal

Never had a
chimney
would have nothing
to do w/
black chimney
on which hangs
a photo of
my grandfather
that doesn't exist
he's gone away
that was ages.
I've pages.

---

Tip Brother Duck
for another swell cut
and two ladies
who wash,
scratching massage
two bucks

Cantonese banter
Chinese drama
on the screen
another wounded
official and his
concubines
w/ none at ease
    ouch!
    wash wash
colder water on my knees,

a girl further on in
a red cap
I write of her
does she of me?

---

her music
keeps her rockin.
her demeanor
mild. little
halo of internet
powders her cheeks
       on gliding
       chair I
purchased for 17 dollars
sidewalk sale --
    benedict that day,
I'm sure.
coffee
rare how it seems even
                to get coffee
how bout that
days rock to

big game

as much as anyone else
big game for a
        box
      fucking
         jump

Holes...
in my ribs
that's all right

what blessings in bounces
         fill ankles
flare up.

              We never bothered
              We ate out of
               thin steel pots/pans

soups --
      hair in chlorine
in water
in Puerto Rican sun
in a car fire shower
in yellow boxed dirt
where cried rivers of
urine
all those first years
of
    Quyen motion
        chuh.

four days in
so soon    I lounge fisted
wagging my shell of
ahead,
cuttlefish brains
                practical
and sorry to hear
all each day the fish
               to struggle back

pal!
       toes fist
I breathe in deep
a barrel breath
licking my hand,

the man so handsome
got to feed and shelter
all these jarred luvs
                 pickles,
horseradish capers
each year operating for
some made friends, natives
back to Philadelphia present
what was my friend's story?

bronze snow I heard.
Shorty died right there in
the shape of a ball
Actors! all game

that there
      is
what tradition is that
being on a laptop
being on a sofa
animals catching everyone's
        including her
                             attention
which is priced
blubbering fatty in
shameless exposing of

bright pink garlic
hot mouth over
                 clover

superstitches
small snow
fattest faucet
no drop as
         sweet
at least she
sits in the house
these days
         I don't want
         to remember.

contact

I long for the company of my friends
O fuck how I long!
I take on
characteristics of you
and in a shuffling gait
stare at the tips of my boots
crunch a stick that wouldn't lay flat
perfectly flat on the ground.
Lay flat, I thought, twisting my toe into it
watching it splinter with joy.

Lamplight is warm,
halogen? Not sure, is it white or yellow?
Funny to see the separate companies that Siemans
   used to be comprised of. This was the age of
       electrodynamics
or radios and generators (batteries were being dumped in favor
       of the generator in terms in profitability

        it did not spread like wildfire
        but then again, it's all the same.
        If I held a mirror up to my face,
        rode that wave of light
        I'd expect, as anyone, to see my reflection
        as any regular ol' day, and be unaware
        that I am moving
        until I look outside,
                    outside see
                 the couple hand in hand as the man,
                     griped about how she made him miserable.
                  They gripped each other.

new hat

Got my writing hat on!
bronze blood rust type a color
knitted by dunebuggy, what a lovey dovey
love my sis, and love this hat!

Kept me warm today during my walk home.
I went to Down Dog for the first time and got coffee,
slightly sour.
As was I, of course, usually am I
seems like the past few weeks have been particularly awful to me.
I didn't get the raise I deserved, I felt, they
threw management phrases at me, to boost my confidence
and gave me homework. I didn't want to do it, I said
give me the papers I'll sign them, sure.
I signed my name in triplicate
and sealed myself for another year.
Like having a king's scepter, didn't feel the need
to ask for anything else.

Today I gave her my contact and was done with it all.
I don't think I have the emotional energy to do it all again.

Today I re-read Bill Williams, as Pound's wife called him
at the office, sprung out during lunch to a bench at One Logan
(or is it Three Logan) to jot down some poems. I ate
                  beets
      it stained my shit and piss
      reminded me

Sean, how you doin?
Hope all is well.
Shoes break
even while walking
a month or two
return policy at Zappo's
might not hold up.

Local poet nuzzles light beam
through the rectangular window of the door
at Cherry St. Tavern.

I can smell oyster mush-

rooms and onions in the other room

I should perhaps stop writing, eat something.

didn't write much of anything this evening
had an old-fashioned case of the giggle
prefer the word yall because it ain't
gender specific   wondering more
than the manufactured taste of Doritos
branched out atop a copy of MGS

    (the scholar unknowingly wears
     a haphazard beard of ink, nibbling & playing
     with the hairs

     of his
     brush
     dreaming.

no sense to argue

I laid on my back

played my favorite film

on my then hand-held

w/ you w/ the lights out

in the late afternoon, I'd have her stuff the door we used
a rag a bit of old curtain with the pale blue marbling,
and the warbling of the evening star as it approached just coughs
it sustains the high, I have my neighbor Bernie in mind.

As it pings the incense tip licks light patterns, they are shaped as waves
they too warble silently.
 I inhale all of that space, that air even
the absence of it

grateful for all
of my coconuts
in the basket
when I climb down
I do so slowly

Playing Baseball in FDR Park

I stretch and feel the sinews of
my muscles pop.
I caught hardly any
fly balls on Saturday,
     
                 the Wind
               carried scents
               of my friends.

3.16.x

My gums blistered many times over, ordered
the dac biet, which I hadn't finished, she
had to remind me to eat, at the very least, the meat.
I had written about the fact that my place was disappearing

as a romance develops, others, like the moon of last
night, like my body, here, that which I tell myself is lasting.
Moreover, I seldom get the answers I need to hear.
This afternoon I got the mail and wondered if it was

personal. What two tails that came after me then would expect
something from me now? I did not finish my plate, did not
ask to bag it up, hadn't the stomach for fish roll.
I sulked, all the nutrients from a cigarette, I called

 
             him,
             for whom
             I

             had many words,
             wheezed,
             accepted
             it.

             What
             knowledge will lead
             you to bear some
             final fruit

             of joy?
       

3.12.a

our vet thinks two to three kilos
can sit inside mariah's uterus, okay?
so don't fuck around.
And now? One's available without one.
Discover light & fit Greece
in the cup of Dannon.
This is your party.
Party City ad came on,
didn't you used to work there baby?
Oh, no, that was Party Stop,
like a small town version
of Party City. You used to draw snowmen
on the windows during the winter.
How math thematic.
It isn't likely that Nelly has
never had cereal before,
nor has ever seen a honey wand.
-- easy, that's a quick release, champ.


   it's alright, they're here about mariah
Was she stolen for cash? Poor city horse.
How many other people in this world right now
are waiting on test results?
How do I feel about mariah?
Who else from your firm did you see that night?

Those you've just met, now leaving?
like the life of that horse?
she was a stable buddy's buddy.
they used her body
to smuggle drugs.

3.12.d

the massive T-Rex at the
greater philadelphia expo center
unlimited dino-rides
live in OAKS
discover the dinosaurs.com

3.12.e

it is 7:23 pm,
just watch out.

3.12.f

both pens misrepresented, I had read the old poems
long in the chance, ha, of smelty! you mean!
           as in the red hot pit it goes
            yet who had liked it, Candy, yes,
            ( she hid behind a
             sheet of Beijing Tuttle II, I remember
              now, she had purchased it for me
              through a friend
              who was to take a trip to China

             only now I have learned that Marco Polo brought back shit
              cardamom in his pocket perhaps,
              you look up and six pearls roll onto the floor
              followed by a trail of bright-red blood, bluh! shudder

the damned thing ain't ready to be drained
it sits red on my face,
the sink reads time for bed
am go now, am nap
like droning
it's dripping, in fact and is
  driving me a car
 up the wall

tell yr doctor
yr medical history
for a body in motion
take fucking celebrex

novae

I'm no historian

but these are fence markings!

They came from Plymouth

Truck of the Sea

in it this sick spiraling bellow

dolphin jet supernovae

observe a gamma ray burst

(from afar as afar as afar)

that is not CG
known to have been,
 be
  aware of that 'have',
the brightest event known to occur
in the universe as I sit
belly rubbing away the metal
of a belt buckle
itself a glimmer

hot compress

hello there.
just a hot compress
here on my face
thinking of other things
does a caterpillar have corners
can it crawl like time
and all else demanding to be taken
seriously

dunebug

"T.M.I., Mr Ledin, T.M.I.
 You know what that means?"
my sister said, she was stuck a little late
after work on a call
and I sat on a little file cabinet
on wheels to listen,
also while picking up PRISM
(vers. Mint), which the Maryland team
would soon be using, in fact
what everybody will be using.

(The man wound up eligible for both
LIHEAP and PACEnet. )   We got the hell outta there.
On the train I sat at a right angle to her,
 being on her left.
 I watched her pinch her nose
  gently a few times
   as if forming a little hill
            of springy clay
the blood returned with the color
they are the same,

The distance between Ellsworth-Federal
to Tasker-Morris is noticeably shorter
than the distance from Lombard-South
to Ellsworth-Federal

I nudge her
goodbye

Easiest person to fool is yrself,

again, please do not think that I am suggesting

any parallels, lucky enough to get the position I've got.

When I arrived in 

Philadelphia, brilliant.

He,
     an engine

what levels in him

what certain energy

which wasn't right

to alter the stone.  

           

           Forever jealous, for now he had my equation

at Feltonville Horn there were a graffiti of galaxies

for a scruffy pair in the back.

I'd rather

 lean on him.

For every

 particle in nature

there is a particle 

that has an opposite charge

same mass.

All your posts show up as " <3 <3 <3 "
when drunk do not post on fb
instead write a poemss
yeah, not yes, but yeh  yeh  (American way)
older British generations couldn't get used to it
couldn't find fascination in the beatles
me neither, said Me Neither,
going along with going against opinion
so what do you like about Paul McCartney?
well, I wrote about him in a poem of mine.

Jymie Merritt on (b),
Art Blakey on (d),
Wakey wakey, (q),
(w) expects you to come.

solo

Wanna step back while I take my solo?
Okay well I'll step back a bit
can you jump how can you jump
with no heart in the knees
you know, blood?  give  it  to  me  now
ever since my fall from the h.o.r.s.e.
my gaeng feeling the same, ahem!
This man came in with the watts,
the stacks, the cats, cat-tins, crunches
junior envelope stuffer bugs out
he got drunk, went the fuck in there
and got the hugs out
indeed, misrepresented overall

  beach
for shore

that's a fishing.
Or was it the giant men in town?
You can't dance
away with the answer
I'm in grass.

A ST

Holy holy is the place,
that had risen
 that the space
I had smelled under yr breath
which, when expelled, held
the line my words trace

only then to hate it again
in time,  due, undue,
    deep expense
I'd ruin it over for her or him
In any event,
was a rough worker

in the streets
young black Bryan
(finding out years later
that he was gay)
traded me coach cards

Because I wanted them
because, that     hardly a

                     fight a scruffle
                      of leaves in fall,   in grey
                      tussled with some kid
                       on the opposite team

Kasmir Zysk exclaimed
that I had heart, I had heart!
it lasted a whole two minutes
yardage gained: zero

The coaches shake the sky
    ( I had really no need for such a thing as football cards
     they were fun to trade and collect) until
until

white internet
that space, again, where I found him
light dribbled driveway it was somewhere
where? Elkins Park?
I   like a fool

In everlasting clarity
Bryan and Khong appearing
on the porch of the house in Feltonville
4802 A St, asking
can Quyen play?

yeh, let's go buy cigarettes
sunday is a funday
see the senator
biz caz and shit
on munday

dark ass guacamole
i'm watching her chop
tomatoes like holy moly
stop stop safety first

can't help but interfere
otherwise be on the couch
writing to my dear
friend

there is writing

then there's a pizza 

being made

go journal that

go on and squish that pie

drum taps of a knife

hee-hee-heeing

me you no no no

did not even notice the drink

placed down in front of me

and as i watch

check her phone

green flowers in dirt

the blemishes,

Hosono la la las

la la las

paperback scrawls gives
 me many resources to draw from
the man without a jacket,    in this cold?
and a second man, coming  to bum a cig,
    two bums in a row
   a Sean in a seat,  a Nicky at the disco-barn
all of their   malfunctioning spaces   lay

discovered a hair
 line crack in my cast
  iron skillet

thought of Amy's travels


     (the gentler
       asian elephant
        on the off
          white sack
           held together
            w/ red twine)


thought of Fran stocking drinks for John C Reilly
(guy likes juice, her own efforts, fiery)

thought of Tim's dog-beating sauteeing
 
      (I haven't dreamt of the man
       brother we all have faces to put out
       & sides to play
       You've made extra fish!
          extra fish!

thought of Sean's sadness
     (the great quiet
       I shared with you)

thought of Nicky's nuisances
(contra pasta
 she's 18
she's 19)

Paul's posture
chest bared against
the sunset  (all else classified)

Thinking of Neil
in a Chinatown,
any Chinatown.

sucked in air at the edge of that high
school his death running through my
mind,

good actions,
what else would a hero drip
i haven't read anything
i haven't read anything

close to you, close to you!
all proper grammar for you!
mebbe somewhat, those eminent musicians
wail on w/ giggles

wonder how she feels in her skin
if it ain't lovely
you're fuckin' around
let him take what he wants

what I worry about is what I've got
last evening
                     (after work I came home
                      took a shot of granddad, smoked,
                      listened to Harry Hosono & Tin Pan Alley)
I saw you.

I am in
constant fear
of losing
my friend,
                    (would you
                      have all this?)

a man who does not flicker
an encampment near the river,
I am lost in the familiar!
Let's get going now
before the sun softens

must there
be love
in this
stir
I stir
w/ the
wood spoon

the crisp apple pear
slice in my mouth
slowly pressing
rivers

tinged
w/ garlic

it's just the fan
she held out her hand
not really hot

have i
wronged
you?


she stuffed
the poems
in a folder
between
the records


do you
think of
me?

Unscared, still I take precautions
there are no dead men here
with my love for him I was so compelled
to keep the image of his hands
tightening the knot of his shinto attire

afterall, am damn frightened
we treat each other's destructive behavior

but tonight
of all nights why this
                      why flashing when nothing
                       is there , want to do
                     

writing is pain, man
got this papercut on
the tip of my index


put the foam tape up
blocks the
wind alright, alright


yomch yomch
how ya doin bebe? add
oil!


hope you like fried
chicken baby
lul!

yo yall writin' so strong
great face, good bod
but it's what excites me
that irks me, hur hurr
take a deep breath
listen to World Standard II
under the helm of the great
Haruomi Hosono

Tin pan tempeh,
you could be hurt by Temple
which gave me no life but words
I was sitting on the --

(I tried googling temple campus maps/overhead
but fuck you'd think they'd have a hi-res pdf

she was an Indian
I wore my Eagles sweatshirt
her eyes were so bright!

I get so entranced by the draft I
         forget to keep writing what's the book for
         what silent broad
          casts,

I will write to her
         in some time slice
         she embodies all that,
     
I grew up w/ the presence of divination
in Chinese society, so
I'll hit below 30 pages
as I calculate my fate

how odd

song to Sean & Nicky

I stayed up listening to Thousand Knives of Ryuichi Sakamoto
as I wrote my back arched like a scorpion tail
Hi-C Mode, I called it, 'specially in bed
as most thoughtless tales that came from my head
I thought of my buds
in far away places,
in tight city spaces
in sawdust, kabobs, smog, cocaine
tinged with metal
tinged with absence of conversation,

      how your feet ached
      at the entrance of your subway
      split goodbyes in that second

I'd say

yet withdraw from this lousy Smarch weather
I drew a signal to them in the window of a car
a Quyen head in snow
used to tag them around Temple

in an instant (a bowl of pears a mug of hot water  )

On a milky night,
Sean Taras & Nicholas Castellucci
were poring over a manuscript
of a late friend.
'It's midnight. He's not showing up.'
Sean rolled his eyes.
he writes well
at the very least
Sean smashes
a red candle
onto the lip of the letter
aaaah shit
it burns so good
they wrote four hours

goodbye

hello hello
what do you like about
Paul McCartney?
well, he did voice
an episode (perhaps more
of The Simpsons
furry miss,
whom Dan mistakenly called
Lauren
But you know
Ringo Starr was also on it
he was returning all the fan letters
he received, each one
starting with,
"Forgive the lateness of my reply"

Paul is drunk in Greece right now
getting at strip clubs
Romanian girls
with three eye balls
magic pussies
I asked him, 'is it magical, Paul'
He said, 'Yea' 'Fantastic'
way to show us how to live life
wish you were here though
'U too'
'I get a hando every day I'm here'

there's a bug in blogger
that allows Sean, and possibly Others
to read unpublished posts
like Seansworld

this as a following ups
of that place,
a new bird leader
I nominate Sean
all in favor, say aye

Should I fear he's right?

sean so heavy

with imagery
so light 

w/ cream

Pet sesame seed bun
poor furry baby echo baby
dicey

a stranger just fired you
the day after a big party
I read an old bit of poetry
of Henri's,

tho roughly
enjoyed myself
tho!

full, a sleepy, round,
cruel piece of garbage
I didn't say stop
but I was sad

(cock & balls poem)

accept love as a
city with an
entangled highway
in her hair
    I hear symbals
    in the morning
    I feel szleepy
    in the evenings
    a tad guilty
but, not kidding,
I sang praises to her
two ducks somehow
in the Ocean,
In Fantasy land,
where some poets are,
cocks like up ta here
balls down to molten earth
unmanageable mounds
forgive me butt,
who will get there?

im nutter

even after the read
you can count a lot

on his aimmagination

and then to watch the roots

of him, in the local, whatever

more terrible or 

whatever yours 

 is,

in the call 

   I must answer

he is my teacher

and knowing we dropped rubbish

at the foot of the roots

hands in pockets, 

   biting

'whoa! you'd better catch me!'

'whoa!                    catch me!'

no solitary lovers out

on the corner, what a circle of birds

                                                    smoking

The biggest one I went after

'Where is Jack Krick?' I shouted

apparently the mayor was present

My breathlessness defines life.

Remember to take down (every day)

one cock & balls poem

for Jackie

locked out

the weather is
getting better
let's have lunch
w/ avi w/
his sick beard
w/ ryan w/
his Newman's Own
is twelve ravioli
enough?
I watch him slow
down by the 11th
as for Carlos
what a great hugger
I told your story to
five coworkers
who don't
know shit about you
as it should
when I released him
I knew
our friendship
came too late

o o

when yr cheeks puff out
mouthful of water
or yr own favorite drink

holding onto something
extending pleasure (or pain    or both!
writing my name

w/ my nostrils o  o

mr

LSA in Fishtown Beach
unofficially named
there after pizza
unofficial food of us
under the overpass,
Matt Richardson stored a bag
of cement mix.
Going to build a little
ramp to skate on.
And so, believing it to be,
not necessarily a safe spot,
but hidden enough,
we left it.

I age.

 memories
like half-sunken logs
in the mouth

the bank curved along
over our right shoulders
we step gingerly

walking away

'if ten is happiness'
again, in the din
of the kitchen piled
w/ paper, pizza.

namoon

oh namoon
what weeds
they should raise
a monument
my arrogance
was swearing
at this dumb bird
trod on slaves
burnished bone
of a fish
in America
we celebrate
all senses
this destroyed
what little
magazines
remember
always to eat
what men eat

beyond the muscle

what small desires
wind up in a volley
in the city I took tests
to end the matter,
or in simpler terms -- there isn't !
there was my discreetness
there was Mr Cohen in a room with me
there was crumpled newspaper and a vase
he told me, 'you are to draw this', this still life
an elaborate and intuitive scrawl
and shading and cross-hatching
drew -- ha!
me from Feltonville
where lawns only held the illusion
of an stretched plain
where I launched waves
of suction cup arrows
at the approaching

where I am no good, I write
'I don't operate often,
when I do, companions take note'.
How dare so-and-so not be impressed
with Love and Fame?
Madam, I feel the same.

about
you
I only
love
forms
from a
private
man's
deficits
a town
like this
people
like this
words
like his

anh anh anh
anh anh
anh anh

tasty place
is his heart
food place

tim tim tim
tim tim
my treat

cosmolog y

you're older and i'm younger
let's do that then
in the membrane of the moon
a blanket and several snoozing bodies
(as to why so many bodies!
she and i were early space
during that period chaos
                          chaos!

chaos! cho!
i was in lips
and i spy
a sneaky spy
on planet x
engulfing
my blushes
my blushing
pushing pushing

there was a water cooler
by a bench in the dark kitchen
sucking is no word
and neither is glug to
describe the rising of bubbles
in one massive expansion

cosmolog 2

we live in a galaxy that's about
100,000 ly across and is slowly rotating
so tonight I'll drink my fill
we've come a long way since Aristotle
on my way into work I hand him
some coins, I couldn't help but peek
into his bag,

there, I found yellow
orange, foods.
every day night cycle
is a fucking grind

I say, this really ain't so much
with the wind being the
way
 it is
there is no
     smoke from a cigarette

the gazer looked at me
teeth like suns
through water
 and already it was as if though
 I couldn't see the old man's
                     
        size or
          shape

cosmolog

you're a poet you're a locomotive
out of fashion like fig. 1
a poet is a locomotive is a galaxy
one that looks like ours to someone living
in another galaxy
now the radiance of yourself you call it nothing
perhaps maybe call it the dinner you made
of which you were so proud,
call it luminosity, which is one factor.
the other being how distant you are from me.
A poet'll work out the luminosity and the distance
to figure out exactly how bright you are.
conversely, if you knew the luminosity of other poets
in the galaxy (to keep it simple     )
you can work out their distance from you
by measuring their apparent brightness

blurb

all these poets
are too well-read
I look at my own
collection and some of these
are Captain Underpants
I got the Lazy Sunday Book
and a few others from Watterson
it's how I learned to draw trees
and rocks -- the best things to draw
because no one should tell you
that this tree or this rock
looks way off
man I've seen some
way off rocks

feynman said something

like,
science is knowing
how much
we don't know.
that we're always
at the frontier of
our ignorance
and that it should
be what excites
us. something
that doesn't fit
into the current
model is
what we
should explore.
in regards to this
debate,
the notion of god
excites ken ham.
it gives him a massive boner,
and it gives a lot
of americans boners
as well.
can't blame them,
as much as i want to.

cramp

i'll take your painting in my arms
and tell you that it speaks to me

i'll come out in the cold and wind
in and out and tell you i support the arts

i'll fall ill
i'll scrunch my nose in telling you 'nah'
where there is noise and color
and bicycles and black hair

if you walked up Frankford
we'd be imagining two streets

in one, a young white American boy
and a friend of his, both no older than 15
cracks a lightning paw
into my pocket
and withdraws his lead
(this is how Bruce Lee instructed on using the 'lead')
just as sudden

'what?'

his still open
mouth his eyes

his pitter patter as he thundered
down a sidestreet
that are cursed
as unplowed

but nevertheless i stood there electrified, feet
tired, lonesome banter, in my hair
mix of sweat and septa,
continued walking the hour home
until finally, before Pennypack,
where I found myself nursing
with a patch of grass
my charlie horse

I catch the next 66
and become mistaken
for someone who killed
someone else's grandpa
in WWII

degree

briefly,
the great city of Philadelphia
steadied

the kids in time before shovel
the dogs are out walking on ice
eat in sweats
think of it all

makes arms snap out
like buzz lightyear wings

light dances til tomorrow
simple to follow
it's 12 but feels like 1
degree

dragon crane

How cold can man
  strut,
   can spit harden,
     can acts must,
god a thing he can't do
or is it me, what,
what have I to say
in tips stasis under happy her
he wrote,

'who no longer can be at ease'

the muse (the jailed Musa
pulling me by the collar
we fought)

to stay as the brother here
being frozen where
the feet grows grass
this
pointing by emoting
                                 this
prayer seldom I
               can allow myself
be seen
the making of a core
over arch no longer
moving wide some dragging crane

he is to be put to good use

should we bone the universe?
should we see doctor,
very hurry?

see what i manipulate
by lifting this little
glass of whiskey
to my mouth
trillions

sum

till now i have felt comfortable
i read my very own accounts
of all idealism and primes
boys to be most decisive

'i did not know', a real character
in which i saw a good deal more

stretch my spine out like an acrobat reader
pit   myself
against   the    obstacle
what better incentive     ?
what most curious

like a painter or a poet
beauty is the first test / permanent
in apology from association
i have lost all interest

tended like wounded
i write a letter to his mother / war
is going is waged
in a country like this affected

escape from the static of snow
in the actual world
like a small number, like
4

large pig

i enjoy the idea
of animals that continue
growing in size
even after a sort of physical peak
much like the ones we as humans
experience, some say
like mum, that boys stop growing
between the age range of 20-25    or so

unlike pigs
pigs keep growing i hear
the idea of a very large pig
brings me to smile

this poem               if you run a long time
will vary as          
---------------
i vary x

source

reflecting on some past poems

that were so abstract in the sense

that they are far removed from experience

i will try and describe it

such a time

but what an utterly vain

endeavor

i can safely say that nobody

understands one or two of those

poems, that's the way i try and look at them

not to try and understand

how could it be like that

nobody has yet escaped

nobody can know how

it can be like that

like describing the behavior

of electrons

remember the poem 

about the two women?

it's the same thing

start with the same general design

same source of the poem

discovery

only through a small section i get through
only through the refined measurements i get a wider visions
of an unexpected detour
cindy showed me a more direct route
to the southbound train
and this was a set of stairs i've seen
every day both to and from work
and yet have never taken this path
instead i'd walk straight to the northbound side
and up the stairs and cross over to the southbound
often times i'd miss my train by just a few seconds
what a glowing discovery
what can i call it
other than cindy