how!
all that shit in the world
gathered together w/o (r/l/d)
respite (heehee)

I was love swung
at breakfast zapped
waiting at the water
for company

it sd nothing about
flipping thru stouts
which bittered my tongue throughout

in the middle of it all
my uncle calls
to interrupt

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

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

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

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

haven't written!
in this flea-bitten place
my mind, baugh
flooded with

truly is there a man in a tide,
jung heart, jung sum,
keeps me engaged in otherwise
fleeting endeavors
smiles me

she's not talking heart
she's talking gold
and taking

just spilled tea on my
keyboard fuggg

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

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

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.

trenton poems

--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

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."

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.

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."

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.

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.

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

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?

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",

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.

Ritz Theatres

1.

Film Seen: Song M
Date & Time: 4 the movies
Comments:
           Bloated!
            w/ pop
               corn
and one helluva spicy
one, too
Suggestions w/ a
   tiger,
          beb clutching
black tea and now as
the crowds spill over
we wait , behinds
black rope
w/ a suggestion


2.

Film Seen:
Date & Time:
Comments:

because I'm writing
these, I'm keeping up,
not in the slit of the
theatre, by the river,
by my identity --
     well no one knows


3.

Film Seen:
Date & Time:
Comments:

yeh! heeheehee,
poems as suggestion,
as my solo
brushy indigestion,
ugh, oh, smoking
in on a map
w/ Pine St upside
down, atop it Spruce
by a black tree
by a curious
tourist


4.

I'm by my side, I'm by my side
no lie, no lie,
feeling like a bad kid,
sitting in the back w/ my feet
up. Sure to stir it up.
Life of Pi, Life of Pi
fat cat, drunk, high
w/ a black cup.
Writing on a seat banister
beige light intrudes me
slick millipede street car
perched on a ghostly bridge
I've walked to the bridge
w/ her


5.

as a flash
gddamn I'm
dreading its
lick
dry mouth from
black tea
not seeing a
scratch of a
word

potential blurbs/titles for book(s), also task list

"You're gonna have a fuckin' ball reading this."

Jerkin' Off to Camfrog

My Dick and My Dad

8 1/2 Pounds of Urine

"Only reason it didn't rupture was because his abs were so strong."

Yr Boyfriend is a Tool

"Julia, I don't find this funny at all."

Get Ryan a kettle.

First Loves That Destroyed Me

"Better than Chicago & Dave Attell combined."

The Band? The City?

"I want you to meet some friends of mine tonight."
"Yeh, I don't know. I've really got to get home.
Gotta buy a pretzel and ride a train and then a bus."

"I forgot you smoke."

$200 Couch My Ex-Wife and I Bought

Jack Krick's Sweatshirt

Jack Krick's Snoring

"Do you mind if I lay here with you?"

"If I were to go back in time and fuck any poet..."

Fartin' And Hung Over

New York: City Full of Dicks

Song I [for myself]

I'd like you to step in and smile
partially alive this morning, I thought
laying on my good side, that I miss myself

then springing out, I play Ready for the World
and attempt judo push ups
back during that sweaty weekend

gently rubbing the tight flesh of my shoulder
running my fingers along the length of its
stretch marks, never finding bone

or my remaining youth, really
I strike away on the side of a box of matches
watch breath and smoke commingling

as a helicopter approaches
I sip my half hazelnut half regular coffee
pull my jacket tighter round my neck

Song H [for carelessness]

it was a bell whistle that started
appropriate on yr side
or maybe yr eyes?

settle down w/ the bones of a fish
everything I describe I can put in a napkin
and everything I write I can throw away