A Day After

A frozen not yet suspension
of objects - their objects
some objects of their things
their things in merge
between practice - the public
pantomime ultra habitual
of their lives
in their own words
coupled with observations
undercycling a continuum
of events, theoretic social
metabolism and the history
both symbolic and non -
enormous tracts of people
organized by color, size
effort, delinquency, car
offspring and times
to data base per week -
these are the items of
the universe - the shape
a redemption manifesto
in Divine Love
as part of forever.
Here is where taken apart
it is all examined
for a nation of gimmicks
in quota and realm,
here the clock
fixes and ticks.

So the War is a Collectible

What a strange surprise
it all was, ending up
here I still remember
scrimshaw.
Not useful but somehow
handmade, detailed,
and executed
with extraordinary skill
by human beings.
We had a neighbor
with technical abilities
predictive in nature,
the way he brought
the right things home
each time - the rumors
to the working girls.
What were they that year?
How many times had we spoken
and of course, he was right.
With robotic self-centers
entitled to myths,
scrimshanders around
the world were
obscuring - cutting
then obscuring again,
we were running,
crouching defending
and cramming. While
the rest was up-ending
we were soul searching
and blame-laying, observing
from the roof
at regular intervals, checking
for patterns in the muse.
On the balcony jets left
with threats and promise.

So the War is a Collectible

What a strange surprise
it all was, ending up
here I still remember
scrimshaw.
Not forthcoming but somehow
handmade, ornate,
plainly executed
with extraordinary skill.
We had a neighbor
with technical skills
predictive in nature,
the way he brought
the right things home
each time - the goat meat
to the working girls.
Where were these that year?
How many times had we spoken?
With robotic self-centers
entitled to myths,
while poets around
the world were
obscuring - rewriting
then obscuring again,
we were running,
crouching defending
and cramming. While
the rest was up-ending
we were soul searching
and blame-laying, observing
from the roof
at regular intervals, checking
for patterns in the muse.
On the balcony jets left
with threats and promise.

Poems Written by Poets

who have not heard
the uspsurge of a fighter jet,
not stood in line
with the lights out,
a basket full of rice,
beans, candles and soap,
the actual essentials of life

who have not packed up
or pleaded or hedged
about staying
to see just a little more
of the firepower of mankind,
to hear a few more
incoming whistles and whirs

who have not listened
to the radio and coralled
the family pets onto a balcony
to decide who to let go,
the hamsters or the cats?

Who read this and wonder,
why so angry?

The Bling and Shiny

Not sure why promises are made,
they are the good waiting
for details and staff sargeants,
with the new senator,
his flirty waltz with heresy
is a complex plastic
of exquisite pitchiness,
the organic stripes of fire
price and he is also
an employee in every museum,
chairman of vote market
as spic as it is span,
terrible in the flashy
way vocabularies are robbed
to stock the franchise
of new poetry for better
wars, a clutch of yin-yang
buzz words for bang.

United Christmas of America

I've opened up this part of winter,
fact-checked the Currier and Ives
but this is a country of uniforms
and equipment, warehoused
and waiting in the con-temporary
beast-wizened through handbooks
and workshops that produce.
Not a shred of evidence
indicates otherwise.

Homunculus Of Oaks

At dawn where
hangs, the way we slip away
while monitoring the way
a pulpit stands or a voice
interupts the politics of sleep,
in every direction
an aversion to certain words:

ambidextrous, skin bag

"anent" (usage by Follett)
black, slang of thieves
on mash and bead,
quick aged on oak chips
bulldogged encyclopedias
where some take the waters,
others, palms and bitters
its - elf dependent
immediately on invention
beyond that
several baptisms

mean nothing.

The true and puritan
executioner got paid
yesterday in camp gear -
her knuckles promised
more gas chamber
monkey business-

arbitrary analogy of the unfit
borrowed time but who knows it!

mothers at the library
look for rides home
a pleading in their eyes
tells everyone, help me

there is no end to capability
-canonical cancer sweeps
the awards shows

no surprises in the excess
of hair cuts: misery, activism
and the look of several
off-campus apartments
to set up for a memoir
and rescue stray puppies
in army surplus dungarees.

FACT: war equals money
and 'other things'.
Why not just say it?

This Sunday belongs to no one,
the leaves it scatters testify
to vagrancy, lack of effort.

Homonculus Of Oaks

At dawn where the pecan
hangs, the way we slip away
while monitoring the way
a pulpit stands or a voice
interupts the politics of sleep,
in every direction
an aversion to certain words:

ambidextrous, skin bag

"anent" (usage by Follett)
black, slang of thieves
on mash and bead,
quick aged on oak chips
bulldogged encyclopedias
where some take the waters,
others, palms and bitters
its - elf dependent
immediately on invention
beyond that
several baptisms

mean nothing.

The true and puritan
executioner got paid
yesterday in camp gear -
her knuckles promised
more gas chamber
monkey business-

arbitrary analogy of the unfit
borrowed time but who knows it!

mothers at the library
look for rides home
a pleading in their eyes
tells everyone, help me

there is no end to capability
-canonical cancer sweeps
the awards shows

no surprises in the excess
of hair cuts: misery, activism
and the look of several
off-campus apartments
to set up for a memoir
and rescue stray puppies
in army surplus dungarees.

FACT: war equals money
and 'other things'.
Why not just say it?

This Sunday belongs to no one,
the leaves it scatters testify
to vagrancy, lack of effort.

Deep Politics and Borderlands

Deep Politics

There are no more uses
for the Sumerian isotopes
such wicked Barbarians
that restrict themselves
to themselves, the study of
bloodthirst and blacklist
in a collection of signals,
the lighthouse of men
and ammendments made
as the earth is showered
with the heavenly gloss,
the enchantment of the hearings
to export the shine
as a handshake.

If this has a name
it wants to know what you
are doing not where
you are heading -
that it knows already,
the call is definitely yours.

Then when the skirt
is pushed aside,
the pope identified
as the faces emerge
from the loins of a woman -

-her breath stalls on the page,
a moment of clarity
pressed into paper, swells
with life or death,
a serious bloating of wills
slammed together.



Borderlands

I'm not so sure about these
new templates, the mountain
I climb from four to six each
day is still there at night, it is
warming up to me, showing
new secrets each time. Today
a rabbit, last week an immigrant's
pack and razor, tomorrow who knows.
I'm hopeful that stars keep
just as busy as planets.

Call to Duty

Do we have to come
to your wheelchair?
Am I to support your blind?
Carry a torch
for your addiction?
Which IED are you?


Image

We forget and keep
forgetting
to take the film in -
to wait for it, examine it,
glory or mourn for it -
just the mere miracle
that it is still there
defeats our small efforts,
the transportation
and storage of it
require our time and some
of this most precious space,
an amount of planning
but less than the investment
we make in expecting of it,
remembering it and finding it
in the first place, our own.

Lady Stanhope's Resurrection

As I wait for Stanhope
to arrive from the shores
of her immense madness
and congregate destinies,
that soft position of observation
known as a safe distance

the anti athiest hard core of me

I remember my old teeth
with a dream-like reverence
and hoping, a sin-cere hoping.
My theory is what you think
it is if you know me,
if you've watched me move
through a bookstore
tearing out the pages
of certain defamatory books,
sampling the Brach's.

Yes, I have a sincere hoping
for all my future teeth
then the children who
take drugs in order to be kind,
the kids with dimples
and notebooks.

The mind is a monopoly,
a theocracy and a bulb,
it turns on and off
and it flickers at night.
So the body twitches
until it finally goes out
forever, arms and legs follow
suit. No emporer left
to muster for - kowtow to.

United Christmas of AmericaI've opened up this part of winter,fact-checked the Currier and Ivesbut this is a country of uniformsand equipment, warehousedand waiting in the con-temporarybeast-wizened through handbooks.Not a shred of evidenceindicates otherwise.


United Christmas of America

I've opened up this part of winter,
fact-checked the Currier and Ives
but this is a country of uniforms
and equipment, warehoused
and waiting in the con-temporary
beast-wizened through handbooks.
Not a shred of evidence
indicates otherwise.

A Design

Who created despair as if
from salt and iron, fixed
and hardened the true tension
and so-called weight
of the eyes, although such eyes
resemble eyes and turned
down they
are only blood to gel
attached to cables
above
the puppet
people
call
the heart.

Iron to Iron

Even rocks know
of alchemy, the habits
of copper must accept
the force of foolishness
as the sun and moon do,
as they flirt with time
and sleep without warning
in a large scale
porous conglomerate,
the same iron
moves all the mechanisms
from subtle to tremendous.