Breathe into the drum
Open and close
Let go of this and that and this and that
Movement
Tension
Thought
Seizure

Of nerves and muscle feeding back sense to
Exploratory movement to sense and
Here worm through life
Of experience by narrative
By comparison
By judgment
Adjustment
Observation

But to observe
Without being
Instills vertigo
As silence leaves the ears
To do the heavy living
Of a self the mouth supported

What white static tingle
Defines being
From
That space between

a thought on maps of mountains

How lovely to be kept apart by mountains
 rising on their maps like As each
Against  Another
whole countries saying
 Aaah
at opposite peaks
their slow rippling
singing of the iron in the valley
the iron and stone which made them
 long
        Ago
   the iron and stone we take of them
to mark our beginnings

with A

starts and falls

And

separations

All

on one surface

Amazed

a coughing song

                                        Somewhere

                          Always

           Some                                        Poet

                                          Drowns

 In

Soup

And

Phlegm

                     Maybe Blood

Shuffling Words Like A Rock Garden

               As the Last Gasp Comes

Down t he Hall lIke Dickinson's 

      

               

Somewhere a byronic fantasy

           drowns

in the real

mess  of

                                                                                                   pussy ass dick fuck

their own

someone else's

juices

aren't 

ink

But 

Some     Where     Is

         Crowned

   A new King

Or Breached

 A new 

Universe

Coughing

Toward

Bethlehem

                                  Somewhere

                                 Militants

                               Somewhere

                              Pacifists

                             Somewhere

                            The guards are shot

                         Somewhere

                       A rock 

                      A fire

                    

       Those solar tools of liberation

            Taken up

          In small

When god is gone

Like insects spinning nests 

from web

when the spider

                               

Somewhere                                       Somewhere

A poet drowns                              A poet drowns

in wine                                                     in wine

                              is drowned

                              was born to end

                          aspirating 

                               red vomit

                         raise a glass

                          and wait

                        your turn

                                          

ISEEYOU

And you see me
We watch each other
quizzically

Can words be windows
                                                                           washerwomen, waisted high
wastes                                                                          les laveuses
of                                                                            bust and ruddy faces
                                                                        aimed at the viewer
                                                                     the buyer
                                                                   they see you
                                                                       too
                                                                                                                        (Those Painters we trap
 breath                                                                                                            in museums
                                                                                                                    to domesticate their feral arts
                                                                                                        they trapped their subjects'   
wastes                                                                                                  as                 
                                                                                                                kings                    (')=(of ) 
of                                                                                                                      do                 hearts                                                                                                                  for                                a glass o'f'arts
space                                                                                                  beer they turned women into oily
                                                                                                                 things to be bought

                                                                                                              to be for
                                                                                                                           ever
                                                                                                                                  seen
                                                                                                                                    un
                                                                                                                          deux
                                                                                                           trois
                                                                       cat
                                        sank


Your whole life has come to this
Your whole life has come. To this.
Your whole life.
To this.
To. This?

This is your moment.

My moment is past

but These words

     arrest me                                                                       All Words Are Bastards
here
where I have been
for you I am                     I have died for your seeins
                                       Like Christ on a Cracker
here you are
reading
poems
  like
tarot decks. like recipes for soup. like assignments.
But tomorrow
you will carry me
a day closer
to your waiting grave





And who will write on that page

After they have lied

about your life

to all who come to hear

crying that they have lost you
                                                                                                could they see your light
even as you never gave them                                          which of you was dead
your heart                                                                             a billion years ago
that truest self                                                              and which of you was a new world
which I see
before me

which I invite
like a vampire                                                                     
to suck my
 meaning

which I hold
gentle
into your good
nicht

nicht







keine




























wait































don't turn around


but






you too are seen



even now
even then
before
tomorrow

your words are making you

small

sharp

things

even shouted
they diminish you

is there a secret key
a hallelujah anyway
to open
                                                                                your eyes will defenestrate your corazon
                                                                    your legs are the window to your 'shole
                                                           your mind/never smelled like teen spirits
                                                               but your breath did. that time. you can never undo that.
you

will
                                                                                            never
be

free

lone and level

That one
who raised their head, lion like
to the wind
and after a stillness, bent again
drank the last draught with slurping lips
eyes full of reflection
belly parched

the wind of the night would carry them away
soul and still,
water and were,
two, the last syllables of wreck or din
leaving the glass and steel towers to reflect themselves

until the billion billion movements of time,
unrecorded time,
turned those, too, to a cloud, dry as dryness itself

dry as the sun, who never took our name

Singularity (edit: Gods of simplicity)

The bomb is like a string

Unstruck

It is

Still

Moving

  Two

        One

We see             one another

      Through time

Itinerary (edit of Oct 20 2014)

Spend a year attending to the taste of things

sunsets on a cold morning or the red of a policeman's gun

waiting with one's hands empty

At the end of the year

ask how tastes an apple

sharp or blue or like a number

develop sensitivity to sour bliss and smooth hopeful
                                                                desire
                                                 simple things
                                             like gravel
underfoot
at the beginning of the road from home

gnosis

what a rush
just after putting down a poem
saying "done"
there's been this tension
now release
and a new confusion
where once was peace
having participated in the great undoing
of all
into the chaos of structure
"it's got a shape"
"I made it"
run away from the place of writing
shove cold chocolate banana into my mouth
a sweet dick pacifier
reword reward
blake equated
writing to shiting                                           of course I tell my friends to read it
a celestial shart                                                             spread it around
wet slapped on the world                                           intellectual dysntry
a filthy high five                                                           smell my finger
with god

taste

Eager, over the kitchen sink I pry apart pawpaw fruit, lay the seeds one by one on the counter
which has been a garish yellow longer than I've been alive
Never alone, in the next room a podcast plays: the paris review
Before podcasts there was the radio: voices from afar, voices filling in for the ancestors,
filling in for the community who might have lived nearby, might have but never has
might have, in another time or way of being
I've been frantic to rescue the pawpaws from the city
who are like death, but malevolent, like death but ugly, like death but a force from without
like death but not of it
like death in that they are destroyers, like death in that they may arrive without warning
but unlike death in that they may be resisted
or so I like to play
for while I turn soil and tend trees, build hills and drainage ditches, prepare the land for a time when I and all the neighborhood ar egone, dead, too afraid to squat here any longer, disinterested at last with preventing this place from breathing
for that time
prepare the land here
to remember itself

Eager I pry apart pawpaw fruit, small, firm, fallen, found beneath the trunks unripe and spotted
I cut into it
                       
            for the first time
        a thing which has been an idea
becomes small
between my hands and my knife

       when all the fruit is dismantled
 all the seeds but one laid on the peeling laminate
         that one seed sliced through
   in one stroke
 by  the hand of a child with a man's arm
    too strong, too clumsy
little wrecking balls
   
little worms

I regard the carnage
three fruits in bits
lean down
bring tenderly a segment to my lips smell it bite it with my front teeth a little piece

I
have
never
had  this in my mouth before
                                                         devourer
                                                         discoverer
                                                       
we really don't know anything
but those things we put in our mouth
move there
feel there
taste, smell, press in and out

bit of unripe fruit and I
have had our moment

in the afterglow I stand at the door
a metal screen pretending to separate one world from another
weave of maya
I see in the miasma of browns and greens a moving orange black
make it a butterfly                                                                  someone is speaking
make the butterfly my brother                                               wallace shawn
also new                                                                                or sadie stein
clumsy                                                                                  a clip of kerouac
wandering among moments and new things
testing them
with its mouth

A lick

A fire
Is a ghost that burns
It is
What it was
And will be
Undeniable

Call to prayer

In summer
When the fireflies have dwindled
And before the crickets sing
One cricket sings alone

free at last - multiple voices

We have abolished the zoo
and all animals are released
as of today
rejoice                                          hooray!
but                                                   glory
beware                                                yes
the tiger can't help itself
and there's no place for that kind of                                                             anymore
behaviour                                                                                            let's all be safe together           
meanwhile the peacocks                                   
who always felt they owned the place
won't leave                                                                   in solidarity
we'll need to remove them by force                I have clipped my own wings
I spoke for a while with a gibbon                                      too
concerned that the places to swing
aren't as common as they remembered
and when they tried a street sign
a passersby shouted for help                                     you'll
They'll stop you! He shouted                                    swing     
and the gibbon asked                                                where
where will they take me                                            we say
the zoo
is not
there

free at last

We have abolished the zoo
and all animals are released
as of today
rejoice
but
beware
the tiger can't help itself
and there's no place for that kind of
behaviour
meanwhile the peacocks
who always felt they owned the place
won't leave
we'll need to remove them by force
I spoke for a while with a gibbon
concerned that the places to swing
aren't as common as they remembered
and when they tried a street sign
a passersby shouted for help
They'll stop you! He shouted
and the gibbon asked
where will they take me
the zoo
is not
there

What
Is a body
Is this body
There are teeth of it
Elsewhere
And the blood it managed
Is buzzing
 in mosquito nature
  We are of one
Vain vein vain
Circulating

Where is my memory
Of that first heart
Adam
Mouse
Fish

Or the aged beef
I hungrily gnawed

Mine? Or I?

I never remembered myself
When I was that
Cow
Why should I remember myself
Now

What is a body
Breathing near me
Or which has breathed intimately
With my breath
Now far
So far

That blood in my mouth
I have sucked it so hungrily

Where are my other limbs

Those wings which buzz with my juices

Why can I not fly

on the resiliency of death

not the fragility of life
which is a boundless function of order : chaos
but of death and its persistence
cells self terminating
organisms devouring one another                         ideas too
injuries small and large making change                         
which is to cease and not to cease
 it is death which struggles under renewal
silence which is stifled by time
hopeless against all odds
it persists