Saturday, October 30, 2010

poem: miss if

drumhum megarapidshare
we are in the fallen times

cherishing fixtures

regaling the puppyloves

sensing the long division

of vigorous anonymity

these were the wheres

when she gathered the rest

of you and by the Hoovers

and catalytics left you begging

for more. quickened, you

lacked plenty, lacked soul,

lacked the multigrain variety

of sensate virility: gather

gloom, you reminded,

seeming treasure,

refinancing yesterday's dreams:

Friday aftertimes,

all your little Dickinsons

tatty natting while

world and brother &

little Suzi all go to hell

why trill the blowzy news

when your banana mantras

hail the returns

I saw you in the midnight

I rang for the rest we'd

left in the wicked mire

I sang the reminders,

the severals

the red severance

down the mountain the rains

the stenographers of

grackle moons, rushing

the lithe, the pre-sorted,

the charisse'd calves

mesmerized by the dashboard

catch that little miss

if you can

if you dare

if you care

to last the rest of your daze:


occipital ziggurats

you know how to

& in the latter days





Saturday, October 23, 2010

Saturday Tunes

Pure goofiness. Kirk Franklin sampling EWF and Patrice Rushen. Will Smith jumps in on the Rushen bandwagon. Playing for kicks.

EWF's original take:

Kirk ramps it up:

Patrice's offering:

Kirk kicks it:

Patrice ain't forgettin':

WS takes it astral:


Friday, October 22, 2010

Your Passion Play

[I saw "pork 'n bean promises." I took it from there. Ms. Stein in the house. Anything else probably ain't worth asking.]

"Had enough of your pork 'n bean promises. I visualize Andy and his hoard of plenty. I never figured you for decimation."

"I forge my way. The simplicities always seem to shipwreck the fallacies. I'm more a pigs in blanket man."

"More film school nonsense. I ride the covers, between ptera- and -dactyl."

"Iambic pentameter's more my style. I buried Berrigan and Notley, both in their shabby cardigans. Pretense and the loveliest of shams. I'm partial to corned beef filibuster, when I ain't livin' off the shells."

"I tend to cruise the beaches when that happens. My noli me tangere glistens under the soldered moons. I hesitate to mention - "

"Then don't. Do yourself the favor. Five clenched his teeth; trucking his bosom friends, tarrying by the water's edge. Hell of an edge it was."

"More simplification, sadhu. You might want to run off left tackle. Holes there Pavarotti could spin through."

"Nessun dorma."

"I never filch. I'm on Downcrust Avenue."

"Savor that."

"All my puddles in Osiris green."

"Veggie man, back from the heydays? He tip off JC on the back from the dead gig? Some kind of Martian flashdance?"

"You weighed your heart yet?"

"No point. Weighs a ton. Ammit would have my ass."

"Always wondered whose feather."

"One mightier than the other? I think not."

"Best to titrate it anyway."



"Truth. Sheeit. Feed that to the crocs, Ray."

"It's a tender spot. Fanta feeds the soul. We regale it. I ain't seen hide nor hair of that action in a long time."

"Thrill me."

"May I present - "

"Bardo fools. Nothing more."

"You sure about the caress?"

"It simplifies things. Amplifies the sugar fields."

"The blackening night, cher. The blackening night."


Saturday, October 16, 2010

poem: swarming belfast

call the lunatics
the immigrants

the ferrymen

the facile dead

littering the streets

called out to meet

the morning's elephant clouds

punctuation of the risen moons

calibrated by viviparous hands

the restless call, the restless sleep

gathering the ladies' vote

facile twists

the lines were drawn

the sands in blue filigree

monsters in the blue-eyed smiles

red the wire that saved

all down the avenues

white castle bliss

Sammy D's eventual disarray

claiming spring in summer in blue

fall respendent

axis reeling

savor the fever

indulge the yellow fields

cast fate, cast memory,

cast vulcan roar

the fires are lit

swarm swarming

Belfast Avenue

the dying die

memory-stained in the withers

casual mention, Isaiah's knuckle-scrape

blistered, the grass in the ribs

never 'scaped never

tangled down the reverent

the itinerant

the bubble-packed

the O housed



Monday, October 11, 2010

poem: macan tutul

(Yesterday's Gospel reading from Luke told of the ten lepers who approached Jesus on his way to Jerusalem. I heard "ten leopards" at first and knew it would have to be used somewhere.)

10 leopards

scything through the towns he'd

sent them to:

algebraic steel bristling

at the day's next

victim, wondering

through which door,

down which throat,

salvation waits.

the river towns were

riotous with their hunger:

a greed no night

could squander,

and he -


till one

might obey -

for whose slaughter

was he asking?

what thighbone

would complete

his sense of One,

the abacus

scratched across a lingering



Saturday, October 09, 2010

poem: parlous

i cure the heights
i call the hearts

i mass the vacancies

the perilous depths

simon in his netherwhere

africa in her silence

you and your shores

you and your calling lies

no one knows

the stage

the voiceless rage

for you i call

crawl so low

the tired silence in

your heart's care

the silence of lies

we show the world.


poem: longing fire

sacrifice the crunchier:
the easier paths

lead home past

the aspidistras of longing

fire withers in the withering

night, life lives its

breezeways, its vagaries,

its anthems of the

gathering womb, i see

the angels of

san angelo, angelicas in their dark

angel hair,

foam on the ships

of plenty, i saw

the passing fanciers,

fancier digs,

the pies in the sky's eye,

the vestal blooms

blooming past fusion,

past fission,

past all the hollow tombs

she might have cried

she might have sung

she might have wrung

from your heart of

hearts, your last



of the castaway night.


poem: robbers singing

riverside mooniacs
the blistering limestone fog

caramelized onions, dipping the

soul sisters of bangladesh

the dairy queens of

lactose intolerance,

intolerant fashion queens

frisky in their spunky tights

robin hood robbers

singing in the church

for four hours, it

was after that i

couldn't sleep, i couldn't

say what i was saying

mardi gras in

the infinite glory of

joan of arc

driving, driving the

polish divas

nouns and hours

in the nunsense

of the riverside,

the dairyside,

the everside