Monday, April 5, 2010

potato in a bowl of water

potato in a bowl of water
i love you
i love your sprouts
they remind me of brussel sprouts
and i love your fine white ligaments of roots sucking
and sucking
it's so cool my mom put you in a bowl of water
in the sunlight by the window so
you can grow grow grow
i replace your water and give you my blessings

Monday, March 8, 2010

past participle

Do not choose but wade ceaselessly. Grab a dolphin's
fin. Do you know of its intelligence? Its
wit and how it fucks for fun? The crumbled castles in
paintings have always impressed me. I could imagine
the crags and dimples of the ruins, familiar as
molars. Sometime later I realized the legacy of those
amorphous masses that hold us tight to their buxom
qualities and the feelings of consistency
and reassurance granted from touching their groove.
Of course now I know that each time it is touched
it is changed, the parts shifted, rearranged,
gumballs departing joyously from their crowded world.
Now I know much better, you can rest assured.
The only thing I want to do now is apologize
and go back to bed. I dream of a light,
not unlike that of the sun reflected off a
dolphin's neutral gray skin. I hear tales of trips
away to bright and yellow lands, their pleasantly
frothing oceans, their dirt cheap drinks. I felt
the draft was excessive. It chilled me and made
me forget what I had come here to do.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

swaying powers

The swaying powers outside of us are not to
be underestimated. Questions of authenticity, of integrity?
Always we have looked and seen that same old
armchair rotting in the alley. One day
the garbage men must've taken it, or some teenagers, maybe.
Remember you woke up one night, mouthing 'spores',
and how that informerical for a blender that
could blend a lightbulb to a cutting dust,
how much it terrified us?
When the man emptied it
and said 'Don't breath'?

Monday, March 1, 2010

stupid comforts

think of the stupid comforts
the relief of sound after reinstalling an audio driver,
the sickening clicks of a speaker
waking after a night of wrest and striven silence.
listen to what's new, thirsty for it like
a bird for grub, pecking mindless
under sheaths of bark and moss,
ignoring the dangled spider above her,
a consequent of hubris,
a word much in vogue these days.
does a cello really work here,
a mellowness finely grained
as a canoe in the mind,
slicing through cess,
the acuteness of pine needles
and stars trailing above.
tell me why you're freckled,
did you go somewhere?
my hip clicks when i walk,
will you diagnose it?

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

begging the question

there is no use to thinking about anything.
i want to stomp a canadian goose on its neck
and eat it. their shit is everywhere,
mottling the speckled departing snow.
drink some coffee black and heave until you
almost throw up. steal a book about
the presocratics, or at least think about it.
once i have something i dont want it
anymore. become slightly more robotic.

i want to see in molecular time.
all things are valid, always. bring me a cake,
mammoth and mint, mostly keratin. sharpen
your tact and watch the texts roll in,
intact like avian toe prints,
diffuse like pebbles or pixels.
you can rely on me asshole.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

dandelion

a woman mowing her lawn
a huge tract
my insomnia pisses a lot of people off
i can't help it i want to say
i'm naturally shy...

a white cloud with an ominous appendage...
the dandelions now ghostly seeds
at work a woman dropped a bottle of
captain morgan and it shattered and j├ęsus
had to clean it up

lauren said she had one of those yellow flowers
that weed behind her ear.
and i said a dandelion
and she said no its a weed
and i said im pretty sure thats a dandelion
and she said oh

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

what you know

what you know is what you live.
you try to calculate the best way for smoke
to leave the body.
you must think of the wind, where it goes,
and the street lights, their intense orange glow.
the stupid talking of children and a muffled
voice of a warning, a reminder of vigilance.
your side started to hurt and you massaged it
while the boss counted your money.
it felt like loose cartilage or change.
it must be from how you sit, curled
as though confined by a shell.
you sigh and straighten up, but it feels
too late, right?