summer 2014 notebook

Some bird wings bellyward

street carrion sopping the humidity

to dissolve into

informal venues – who to call

an internal decision

made inside lunch

well-balanced, but lean & tilt

in coordinates quite out of fashion

which amplify your inner thoughts

until I, but only I, can hear them

– shoes off the couch –

the designer is dead

inside your head, just like an aquarium

-

motivated by an element of reality

calcifying the utopia

– brush your teeth –

& shed as superstition

conflict abstracted from suffering

by God & other formalisms

-

with our supervisory supervenience

no convenience store escapes

the worm is gentler than the bomb

he is jumping, shouting, “this was my brother”

tell us another

crotchliketty spit

not creative enough to yearn

the right to live in a poor debater’s pocket

trumpery

in the poolside jungle

garrison the celebrities

in hovels in the hills, some dirtkicker with a scope

planting mustard against defilement of the barrel

-

to be all to some

and then a fat old man

frank, blunt

gravitational – why

did we come to this

mellified land? Gone brittle

all options now fables

under the bridge table

where a knee knocks

& a wet digit creeps

tentative among enemies

no, after you

into the algal bloom

the windowless room

-

stand in the wind, tragic and tall

turn at the gusts, cars with no drivers

artiface inside & out

after the big move, it’s all general dynamics

guardrails inclement

as you ease you on your way

-

intermediary agents plant the evidence

& it grows into sin

lashed to your guilt

& the divine tongue’s

40 licks & sniffs

trained to bite at the light-years-away

barbecue whiff

in several flavours

you may apply at will

before the house vanishes

an absence you invited

through your missing will

-

The rolling pin is in its drawer

there’s flour on the floor

& what’s uprising

If we could predict them

they wouldn’t happen

behind the night vision

a teargas-breathing dragon

in the eastern sky

attested in synopsis

by the robot eyes, tweets

and wire services

-

breastmilk

sours in the bottle

even after organizing

the 7-minute workout

they swing, terrorists, the cool

water from the dam

still ripples through the spine

elevator from rectum to windhover

from each to each other

becomes rubble on the child

for the national struggle

there are no virgins, anywhere, & no revenge, ever

all words veins in stone

all battles always lost

—

atrocities cure depression

to each his vocation

scrimshaw on the martyrs skull

fatalism in the historical comparison

red rover swallowing the sun

bouncing down a supply run

eyes on the pickup ahead

then cratered

finding the range a quaint imprecision

lying unexploded in a ditch

my thyroid itch incumbent upon

neither are respecters of persons

-

popping in to take your temperature

& steal your heat

leaking out of the account

for midnight roadwork

a convoy loitered across the border

measuring interference of militia and plague

this is not your home

made as destroyed

by pushing beyond uncertainty clouds

mister sun and his gold

a means necessary and irresistible

curing the willfull, the remainder

duality umbrella

born prematurely; one of each sex

lazed on splendid buttocks, as the beach warmed

-

focusing between the eyes

not a lost continent - just curve of the parchment - under a glacier's weight

we learn when not to cry about it

growing tall from the bone meal

simply nature, aided by art

and flatter without the interference

of interpretation, flattery of the word

one little word

where there's always room for a shakedown

cranes leaning in