Tuesday, April 29, 2008

The Current Situation

The Current Situation

In this poem I will hypertextualize
the undercurrent of the ecstatic
cling of the perpetual moment
which is not to say that the philosophical
is undermined by the cosmological
ubiquity and obsequious sequiousness
of the current situation which is currently
occuring concurrently right here right now.
Probably most definitely likely there
is a certainty that is something
we should be unsure of
as the absolute is relative
to the absolute and we are in the age
of crisis, now is the moment
of apocalypse. This is definitely
the end times which is also the beginning
of the middle which should not be forgotten
or if it is deserves a second look and perhaps
should be revived and recovered maybe
but for the time being we must urgently
be patient and not worry about things
so much and it is important to think clearly
and not overanalyze the situation so much
as the situation is harming the social good
which affects the individual and that also
affects the social you dig me? So what we
must do to resolve the current situation is
to not think so clearly about the things
which definitely do not deserve a second
look so we don't overanalyze the absolute
nor the relative in relation to the certainty
of the beginning which is also the end
and currently, is the middle, maybe. Until that
time comes, I will hope for sure
that we coolly, calmly and collectively
consider everything in its proper
or improper context which would certainly
be beneficial for you as well as me
which might definitely mean all of us, perhaps.
Are you with me? and therefore we can come
together or come apart or come alone
or come as we are or come like there’s no
tomorrow because if Jesus is coming
that would mean that the bible is
pornographic which would infer
a paradoxical longing for the
absolute verity of nothingness
metaphorically speaking.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

to that owl

remember when I saw
were a suspicious
furby I wanted
to cuddle
was also eerily afraid
wanted to cup my hands
in a half moon toward lips
slowly say hoot hoot
watch you cock
your nonexistent neck
you did not seem as
wise or scholarly as
I did not want anyone else
to see you
feared they’d taunt
throw rocks
if I could keep you I would
let you perch
on my closet pole I would
move my clothes for you
feed you food you’d like
to eat tell a story
before my slumber
would not dress
you up as humans do dogs
would let you be
alone if you wanted
you’d be mine I’d name you
something distinguished
I would not make you
speak or sit or stay
would let you come
and go
would smile
at your interest of sound
the depth of your archetype
if you wanted to be with trees
I’d let you it would be hard but
I would
tell my future children

Friday, April 25, 2008

herspot run the boulevard
head clocks the bay kiss the fog
elbowing the sea

I mean you
this is the last brush no this is the last tub

but with the Mississippi in the foreground
it makes a nice photograph
the clouds loaf I point
arcs off the lip

herspot fattening everything my
mouth plus Creole kiss the steam
zydeco loud naked
if I want to

I mean you
this is the last way no this is the last wall

it takes a real cowgal they were thinking
but this talks quiet
the plane signs the blue I pace
loosely tanned

I mean you
this is the lastkiss no this is the lastkiss

Sistahs of the Yam by Marjorie Barnes

Somewhere deep
in the belly of a wooden slave ship
where babies suck breast of a new heartache
where entangled arms and legs struggle
in perpendicular thought
where even the stench inside the devil’s mouth
will not mask the beauty of our mother’s tongue
because the sistahs
are plotting.

Some place small
where inebriated family secrets are
not so neatly tucked away
where elongated fingernails
trace the up and down threads
of a white padded room
where even forced latex gloves and long white robes
can not drown the humming of our ceremonial truth
because the sistahs
are plotting.

Somewhere angled
in the corner of a classroom
where the powerless and the powerful meet
and young minds hunger validation
through textbooks and technology
where even the disapproving blue eyes
that pierce over wide rim glasses do
little to threaten our beautiful spirit
because the sistahs
are plotting.

Some place pressed against
a city’s lamp post and curbside
where fortuitous feet slither
towards a promise of a drink, a john, a fix
where money becomes hand over fist
or somewhere kneeling
in a pew or a bedside craddling
a fornicated womb
or a man gone too soon
the sistahs are plotting.

even right here as
we beat back
a plantation summer
in our straw hats
and full-length skirts
our white pearls
and laced shawls,
we piece together a legacy
one sistah at a time
and the salvation of our words
hold us up to the stars
because we know
that the sistahs
are always plotting.

So somewhere,
anywhere you find
these runaway slaves
these revolutionary petunias
these sanctified mothers of song
these daughters of the dust
these warriors of the dance
these sistahs of the yam,
this pendulum of blackness
is ready and willing
at any moment
to reach down into the wilderness
take back our ancestry
spit fire at uncertainty
and say to the world:
I dare you.

Blues Tanka

Blues Tanka

by Marjorie Barnes

This is so you know
my love is like shattered glass

on barefoot kitchen

floors late at night so mind how

you step and look for the light.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

The life posterior

The Life Posterior

This is the good shit
the kind that gets you
so up fucked even
your syntax starts
to suck ass
this makes the previous
pussy seem cock
eyed and screwy
like a holy chain
saw obliterating
the shit out of some
dumb ass birch
you have to put
your mother
fucker in
its proper context
it would be impolite
not to but hear
this o lord
my gonads
will deliver us
to the next eon
so make me
and fuck
me gently
like a lovely
lily making honeydew
out of starlight.

Friday, April 18, 2008

I Want to Start a Revolution with Neil from my American Literature Class

He says a fascist dictator has control of the land
our moms and dads and poodles
and now I believe him

he tells me “babe, let’s take this to the next level”
then won’t trim his nails
he tells me, “babe, I see you”
then hides behind his John Lennon frames

if he had an AK he would not shoot it
but it could get violent

Neil won’t care I’m a lesbian
and don’t find him attractive at all
I won’t care he calls his boner
a member of the ruling class
and refuses to use it

well Neil I appreciate it

We’ll hold meetings in his dorm
Me, naked, hammer and sickle
Him, naked, trimming his Fu Manchu

Thursday, April 17, 2008

The Gooder Life

Andy Hall
The Gooder life

in bed
rubbing my cat
gotta pee
gotta write

Did you know that
jesus is lord
and he will

gotta pee
should shave
maybe take a dump
could use a cup of coffee
have a paper to write
should go to work

but the world is going to end
and all your labors will be useless

that's okay
I mean... ya gotta do something
some times you just make due
and going to the can
can be a peak experience
especially if regular

Do you really have to write about your bodily functions?
You have something against that? I suppose you don't poop or pee

No, I am your inner voice, your higher self, your truly divine spirit, I do not defecate nor urinate.
You are so full of shit.

Not as shitty as your poetry
That was unnecessary

You started it
Oh come now, I've been published in Fecal Matter, American Standard Review, Outhouse and Chamber Pot
What have you accomplished?

Keeping your ass in college with my brilliant mind
You are cruel

Some call it cruel, I prefer confidence
So what now?

You do as I say
and what does that get me?

Another poem written
Great, I will publish it in Shitstorm.


I detect sarcasm

You detect correctly

Little do you know but we are all made of shit… and to shit we shall return…. Don’t deny it

I try to

One day we shall fertilize this planet… make everything brown and green

I can’t wait

You just don’t appreciate your putrid origins

I’m just trying to mutate

I think I am getting bored now

It’s about time you caught up with reality

I love you

You don’t make sense

That’s because I’m you
I gotta go use the litter box now

Friday, April 11, 2008


in celebration of wood


when you are ten
vacation in California
red woods echo beauty
we can sit in oak now
write a thank you note
to wood on paper over coke


one time for Halloween
I wore um a blue dress and a tulip apron
a kerchief on my head
and I had yellow wooden shoes
with a windmill carved in them
they were hard to walk in
I took them off

over the fireplace
at my grandparent’s living room
an ornament of driftwood
is the focal point
I’m not sure where it came from
but it’s always been there
they might have found it
on a beach

me and my sister
we used to call eachother
sticks and dirt
I was sticks

you know what
here’s something about wood
when I was like very young
I would go to my grandparent’s
house when I would sit on the toilet
in the bathroom, it looked like a face
in the wood
you know in the grain of wood


we want cardboard to be wood
we look for it

real wood
it knows its alive
loves without holes
understands it
as big
a house in an elm
made of wood
from a different tree
they might be friends
in former lives

the nina the pinta
the santa maria
bridged this ocean
carved by Spanish fingers

if forests are blank
clarinets miss their reeds
totems without poles
no sawdust mulch and picnic tables
rollercoasters crates & barrels
think about shade
no newspaper hats
where would those beehives hang
termites couldn’t feed their kids
fires cannot catch
we probably would
have balloons
but they’d be breathless
I’m unsure if there’d be twine
or bowling pins


I broke my arm falling out of a tree
well I’ve gotten a few splinters
we forgive you wood

Thursday, April 10, 2008

I start writing her name on bathroom stalls in a neutral pen, the wood on recycled plastic. At the tip of urination I get bored and think of her. Others have told her times more often than not “you’re beautiful” or “so beautiful.” The bic stresses her affricate; my bladder falls away.

I ignore her intelligent spots. Wander by the baby how it came out in knots then beat her underwear into the sink, its hysterical troll face.

She wears gold pans, a situation for her earrings how does she keep them, tinned, stacked, hung? Some at odds. The stalls for her, nothing, the dishwasher rings the fridge eggs. At every knee, hip, ear, I draft her name gangly; the materials beg me. Her hand directs light wherever I paw.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008


Welcome to the asshouse
As your assident, I must remind you my fellow assiduaries
that we are assessing our situation constantly concurrently
to the tee for every i we dot, and all that etc. etc. etc.
you might say we are just being anal
but we are just trying to assure
you that your assets are safe with us
and as your assistants to your
aspirations, we will as surely aspire
to make sure we are astounding you
in every way humanly possible
including bending over backwards
which we do with a workingman’s smile
and song of ascot emitting from our orifaces
so we assent to this here assay
We understand that some feel that our
acts of correction have been overly assertive
and we understand their asinine concerns
and wish to console them of their
delusions. We understand that
there are those who disagree with
our agenda and thus choose
not to see things with an open
mind, but know we are doing this
not to eschew you.
We know that dissent is fundamental, and it is diarrheal
as it splatters forth into consciousness
and often accidental
in a astringently acidic society so that people
will know who the wrong people
are and who the right ones are
and we wish to give them all the information
that we can in order to help them ascertain
their decision, all politics, economics, and exorcisms aside
So in closing, I ask all of you
to pray genuflect, move your bowels with assonance ( make it so!)
and astronomically project
so that we may accelerate
this ascendance for all citizens, today, tomorrow, yesterday,
and all spaces inbetween .
Middle part needs a few more ass and butt references

Any suggestions?

Sunday, April 6, 2008

I have a peacock feather

of bird genus pavo
crest optical interference
brag reflection feathers
allopatric tail quail
peafowl pleasant
roost in trees
green really monogamous
the wild mating season
emit loud high very pitched
omnivores amphibians
presents can be disturbing
Indian dancing pea
cock old testament wealth
proud as a
nest vulnerable
flower petals peahen
Burma east to Java
this is all science
tell them
why you like them
great gramma
in a vase
a single feather pattern
in the corner
next to the secretary
of the green house
she died
the day before
i kept it

Thursday, April 3, 2008

exchange curled
under a poster in the city
tricked like a phone
you diamond

think on this poem      you dander
count your face      you have an appetite
at the sill      you spot a cob
have toes      you love me in the morning
I write more      you tell me write more

bed           the dust grooves
but seriously you are not real



we brandish this escarpment plunging
into lopescant crustal cholla flourishing
over pricklybarrel creosotic dances
sunshowering the yucca i lick your blackbrush
& subsist in abundance we wallow through
gambel's oak bombast & i armadillo you
proudly yon cottonwood songs meandering
manzania cliffrose blossoms inhabiting
antelope yea subsequent shales candied
gypsum oxides amongst dunefield debris
crossbedded hues there petroglyph i am
carbonate magnanimous nomadic
tallgrass ah the turnkey sighlisp whistle we to unknowingness

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

another poem about my childhood... it's kind of happy... honest!

CoDependence, USA
they came home from Iraq to play checkers in the asylum suckingthe wall because no fire allowed. I was in there for fun, eskimo pies & because George HW Bush talked directly to me. my roommate BR who shot himself on duty while cleaning his rifle on liquid L he scored from his DEA bud; the bearded woman ?? who weighed 500 lbswho made pus come out of her feet the juveniles had to walk single file, ha haas we popped valiums, dreamed of K Kesey watching Air J beat Magic J as the wind howl-ed outside all this because Dugout and I got high listening to ordinary average guy going 90 down I-15 to LA so I could see the Buttholes live while he fifth-stepped his AA sponsor KD to take him back. Now we are on the other ends of clipboardsbut his progeny follows in his footsteps