Tuesday, February 28, 2012
ME -----> YOU
where is global at where? where dig duck down pond lips lasting
past Springtime Jesters! Listen cordially, numbers filling up my sieve, fruitless,
knee ----carpet,
glass, please. Just interview me! ALREADY
when I have 1 bean HUSH-HUSH?
leprechaun chandelier rapping at my hem, scratchy, bereaved. Cacophony
like cancer: holy O's, discount cereal marked up because I DING hostess bell over over over
over & she's in front of me. ELECTRICAL BILL? Just give me the real reason I'm not welcome
anymore. Lazy on a NET of FREE: handsome buckaroos
clambering towards a gold (but
probably lead- PLUMBLUM) rocking
chair unafraid of the creaking heard over
my pivoting sex,
currently unimagined
yet so present. I ache with mouth closed, fingers tensed.
Dry Season
bridge to nowhere
lousy git gone square
said he'd motel hunt then whiskey his neck
sideways with me. We don't kiss.
We don't kiss unless I'm more gone than when I care.
We change our names. Wear feather boas,
imagine cue ball suicides & fashion suspension bridges
in our heads that'd take 10-15 years tops to
ribbon cutting ceremony. But Wallace skipped town on me.
He found a new juice & speaks less desperately. Roots and all now.
Making his own 'hood now.
conglomerate
we forget about the money.
I’d rather have you turned on by a picture of me
and jump my bones in response
instead of decay in a desk chair.
it’s the sentiment that’s sweet
but the self that is dissolved in the sacrifice.
but what else do we have tongues for?
every day it’s a bridge, sugar.
whether word or limb.
whether word or limb,
every day it's a bridge, sugar.
but what else do we have tongues for?
but the self that is dissolved in the sacrifice -
it's the sentiment that's sweet,
instead of decay in a desk chair.
and jump my bones in response!
I'd rather have you turned on by a picture of me.
we forget about the money.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
About No one
marry me, Sticker Pants, where I was I miss Mary.
He might fall down he waits for something to smooth him then
he loses his keys no more states, no more gives a shits birth control
wait no more silent night
never stop dig any where. Over here. Don't stay don't stay
always corrugating meaningless phrases
control lips opposite then obsolete happens
careful your diction, you're sweet
your sweet aberration
dig: aware of body, now.
Monday, February 20, 2012
It can wait, can't it?
it ought to be, a click.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
if poets were hot celebrites
O MY GOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDD your deviant sonnets make me wet!
and when you right justified that one poem in your first book
I nearly CRIED I was so impressed
your. extended. metaphors. extend. my. throbbing. womanhood.
those line breaks were practically a wet dream but when I woke up
I was in a small art gallery with people around me and my cries
made it SO AWKWARD – I didn’t care though I had your new
collection nestled in my shirt cuddling my breasts your showing not telling
made my nipples hard O MY GOODDDDDDDDDDDD those eye rhymes made me whine
and moan and those caesuras?! FUCK ME they were surely
the greatest textual silences ever created. will you sign
your name on my cleavage with a simile
of my smile and its k if you cant I just want your word play
playing on my body the hand of a prosody god!
I wake up and flip through your pages,
im moving to Iowa, maybe I can find out where you live!