Sunday, August 31, 2008

Tentative Outline

Well, now that I have a new name I feel that I need to do something to show it off. [The Pressure is on!] Here is a list of my progressive poem topics, top to bottom, respectively [of course]:

Butch McWhiskers
Foreign (non-American) authors
National identity
Nathan, vengeance, & The Cask of Amontillado
Buddha & Jesus
The sea - colors, smells
White - "todum sum"
Unknown/impossible histories
Christians & women [lots of shenanigans here]
Eyes <--> Completion
Sun_altering religions
Soul Slavery
Verbal (action) highs [like drug highs]
"The music club-a nox"
Tantric - Kama Sudra

Thursday, August 28, 2008

something to think about

This is a link to my other blog. In trying to hash out some thoughts on the question "why are we here?" I composed a sort of short response that has my ideas that may help people look at this question from a different perspective. I suppose if you don't read it you'd probably be just as well off, but who knows? I don't.

peace and much love

The Tongs of Black and the Captin

Why do I have this guilty urge for you like a little kid who wants to play with the plastic ball in the grocery store. You're coming off anyway. It's just a matter of time and that time is usually assembly like quick. You cover the promise land of all men... ok not all men, but the straight line ruler guys. Does the zennith covering matter? Not usually, but adds to the visual pleasure.

Team captin, who is always in charge, loves to think for the whole crew no matter the time or place. He likes the Work it, but the Work it remix is the funnest. The trap door catches some captins, but not this guy. The captin will try to be interested but sometimes poisons can slay the dragon for the night.

of news

folded wor/d/eck
bases lift
that the sound of pulling heaven down
spic/ed hell
spundrift days
ma or ct
fall of atlantic
purple pulled tendrils
tiny distance of optimistic toes
first thinking
pedal adripped
slung low clouds
that the sounded distance

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Plane Rides with Daddy

Is there a plane utensil
that lifts plane pretzels?
Plastic plane forks don't
really cut it.

Rotting sap or sticky honey.
Sweet honey plane pretzels
Oxy-or Contin or Stewardess

Daddy, you

Why Tiger?

Why Tiger?

Could someone please explain
my tiger dreams?
It's a she -
a she who prowls
right infront of everyone
she singles me out
then chases
she wants her claws
in me
her jaws
in me
and she comes back
every night looking for more
me at
the apartments
I frequently find
myself caged in

When I find what the tiger of
my dreams has been indicating
I'll be prepared
with muscles in mind
to fight it off
I hope those whitedagger
teeth don't go eating
the very best of me
but until life matches
dreams, I'll keep falling
with fists clenched
and body tight
ready for battle
with a beast who
rules me

fragments of something that will be constantly growing

because billions upon billions of years ago

something crawled from the sea

but it wasn’t yet a sea

so we’ll call it a pre-sea

and in a sense that is where we started

unless you want to go into the pre-sea

but then we must re-learn to breath underwater

and go back further in time

we have gone far enough

we were fungus

and our life blood was

whatever we happened to have sprung from

the sea, the earth, the first separation,

our lifeblood.

and from the start we went in the wrong directions

because we strayed too far form our roots

the water

constantly moving to replace it

with more of itself.

any given spot in a stream

or a creek

or a river

is never the same water

but is all composed of hydrogen and oxygen.

though some spots are colder

and others are warmer

and some are cleaner than others

it is all the river and it is all one

because streams

become creeks

become rivers

and we have left them all behind

and it is for this reason we have fallen behind.

running water is infinite and one

we are here because

we put our faith in just one

and we have no reference point

since we left the river’s trusted trail.

A Firefly's

Growling around the tire treads in the dead
cold mist shrivels up my fingers and
their tips but this secret
splayed and spliced moment can't stop itself

It howls like wind
water werewolves in cotton sweaters
poly-cotton blended and just
as scared as you or me
when they take a look at
the stars that don't pepper the sky
under clouds
the dead cold clouds of mist
threaten the moment's agency in
a most urgent pass
a wishful thought
a wishful thinking

I've noticed gerund
more than I've meant to
although I don't necessarily know the definition
of a night without stars or a day without clouds
The two meet on strapless holidays
showing up with honey-baked hams or
candied yams
to ring the doorbell
holding hands
with forced smiles and language
spoken through shifting
eyes as unloved relative opens
the door cutting a hole in the home
The smell of the unmoved leaks and the stairs
creak when Uncle Drunk trips down
wisdom loaded into his father's favorite pistol
He aims high into the sky and shoots down the stars with a whiskey smile sewn to his face
Lightningbug lungs shutter frantic laughter before
giving up to die.

For Sherman

for Beckett and Nauman

what i mean to say is i mean no,

that’s not what i mean to say

is i mean to say something “some-

thing, anything” the silence

is torture, i mean. what i mean

to say nothing at all, even something

said, i mean, can mean nothing

but what i mean to say, something

i meant to say, i mean, before

i was so rudely interrupted, i

mean to say what i mean to say

regardless of who is speaking.

i will interject, being derelict,

what i mean into this laborious

discourse, i mean i will labor

to say what i mean to say and i

will, i mean to say, say what

i mean until each ear hears what

i say i mean. what i mean to say

is i mean to say i love what i

mean, so to say, i love what i

mean to say, for instance, say

i mean to say what i mean to

say then once what i mean to

say is said only then can i say

what i mean by what i mean to say,

that is to say, i will say what

i mean about what i mean to say

when i say what i mean to say,

and then also when i say what

i mean about what i mean to say

and then say what that means.

i mean, i see a man or woman,

and i say, “say, that man or woman

may mean to say what i mean to say,”

but i’ve not yet heard that man

or woman express what they mean

to say to see whether it is similar

to or the same (in principle) as what

i mean to say and i say if we

are in agreement why not say what

we mean to say to one another. i mean

to say, who does not love to revel

in the agreement of saying and meaning

and saying, furthermore, what one means

to say. yet, if this very same man

or woman means to say something askance

of what i mean to say i mean, this

is another matter entirely. what i mean

to say is i will say what i mean

to say i mean until the man or woman

understands not only what i mean

to say but also adopts what i mean

and says what i mean to say before

i say what i mean myself, or failing

that, says what i mean to say simultaneously

with the thought of what i mean to say

unclouding itself cognitively because

what i mean to say is why spend time

saying what one means if another means

to say something dangerously contradictory

to what i mean to say. i mean, if what

i mean harbors any kind of value at all,

then certainly this value presents

a kind of universal and i will find

that what i mean to say connects me

with other mans or womans by the shared

principles of what we mean and say,

i mean it is not possible and possibly

not even conceivable that what i mean

to say is not what i mean because

if i mean to say it, it must mean

it is what i mean and what i mean

to say ought to be said in such a way

that what i mean to say is recognized

as saying what i mean to say in the doing

of the saying. say any man or woman

happens to hear the act of me saying

what i mean to say, i mean, this man

or woman should know what i mean

by and/or through the act of saying

what i mean to say and if the man

or woman do not know, it is perhaps

because they have never imagined,

i mean to say, something other

than what i mean to say. that is to say,

i have completed the extent of what

i mean to say to the fullest superscript

of my powers for saying what i mean

to say i mean. i have made the act

of saying what i mean to say so

incontrovertible from and interconnected

with the true meaning of what i mean

to say that any man's or woman's version

of what i mean to say that differs

from the true version of what i mean

to say or mean will most surely

be the fault of the man or woman who

has superimposed what he or she means

to say or means or says over, above,

beyond or through what i mean, what

i mean to say or say i mean. i mean

these mans and womans that don’t

mean to say i say what i mean to say

have tipped the communicative playing

field in favor of his and her

ego, in favor of believing i mean

to say something other than what i

mean to say. what i mean to say i mean,

i mean, i mean i think, or what i mean

to say is i think the acting out

of saying what i mean to say is a

perfect act. i think and what i mean

to say is what i mean to say appears

like a ghost voice on a recording

device as if from out of nowhere.

what i mean to say gets enacted

and emerges in what i say i mean about

what i mean to say and what i mean

to say is these mans or womans cannot

possibly think, what i mean to say

is, cannot possibly think what i mean

to say is something other than what

i mean to say or of what i mean

to say as expressed in word or deed

ought to mean. what i mean to say

and not, i mean, what some mans

or womans means to say i mean. i mean

what gives that he or she the right

to say that what i mean to say is anything

other than what i mean to say i mean.

i mean, considering a discrepancy

between what i mean to say and mean

and what some man or woman thinks

or interprets about what i mean to say i

mean makes me so angry and frustrated,

which is unwholesome, i mean, my anger

prevents me from acting out what i

mean to say. i mean i want to rid

the world of the potential mans

and womans who say what i mean to say

i mean differs from what i truly mean

to say i mean because, i mean, in this

way it is possible to once and for all

mean what i mean to say in emergent

thought and word and deed, finally.

what i mean to say is i will then not

hesitate or waiver to say what i mean

to say for fear because then when

i say what i mean to say it will be said

in such a way that what i say i mean

to say will really, truly be what i

mean to say and mean without hesitation,

counterpoint, misinterpretation or dispute

until what i mean to say differs

from what i mean and say, at which point

i will have to refute what i said

i meant to say by what i mean to say

about what i meant to say and said

and meant, which will become gospelized,

eliminating of course, those mans

and womans who say that what i mean

to say about what i meant to say

and said differs from what they mean,

what they say and what they mean

to say about what i have said

and meant, or say and mean, and then

what i mean to say and mean about

the changes to what i have meant

to say, meant and said, will become gospelized,

overflowing, i mean, with the absolute

truth of what i mean to say that is until

No Air

It is over 90°F;
I refuse to turn
the air conditioner on.
I open the windows,
and a hot breath of a breeze
bisects the room.

I remember
my Mom and Aunt Joann’s room,
where I stretch across their bed
and watch the same breeze
flutter dawn-bleached voile curtains
against window sashes.

I daydream local history over wheat and soybeans
framed by peonies, lilacs, green baking apple trees,
the old outhouse propped up
with a rusting cast iron headboard,
and the pair of cottonwoods
that mark the center of the section.

Grandma is downstairs cooking roast beef,
sweet corn, and small red potatoes
Grandpa dug up this morning
when it was cool;
supper smells mix with grace
and heat-aroused mustiness
of ancestral photographs
in the steamer trunk at my feet.

I was walking down the street

I was walking down the street
I was walking down the street
you were walking down the street
we was walking down the...
when I happened upon a box
what's in the box?
You tell I
It's a fucking box, lets we fuck it
but it's her box
ask it
you ask it
I ask it
we ask it
it says yes and all of a sudden here you am
you is
you are
now the question becomes why
tell me in a story structured by the structure of having no structure
tell you in a way that explains me
if I am not an explanation then neither are you
or it
which is still inside the box
what happens when we open the box and realize there's nothing in it?
nothing is everything and everything is nothing
when you am nothing and I are everything
so then how do you do
a response comes that tells you me do what comes naturally
coming naturally
naturally I come
and don't I see by now that the only walking is down the street


I need to know where you end
Where did you get this immaculate strength?
I watch you push and pull
A beautiful machine
sweet subtle rushing movement straight from your core
I stand before you, silenced
No interruption to your harmonies

I hate you for your simplicity, complexity, neverending mystery
We're watching you
Your peaceful tide just inches away from reality
You reach for us but always pull away
Do you tire of sharing your beauty?

Are you lonely?
Do you miss the wind?
I see the way you two collide
Natures forces forcing nature

Are you overwhelmed with responsibility?
Constantly tending to the creatures in your depths
I think I understand
the world you hold beneath your surface needs you

You are the soul, heart, mind, spirit
of all that's in your sight
Your waves shed tears for us
I know you hear us
I need to know where you end.

The Quiet

It's quiet now, here in my room
I can only hear the hum of the air conditioning(which really isn't working well)
the creaking memory of my laptop
and occasionally, yes, occasionally the
subtle beating of my heart

This red, fleshy, mass has kept me alive all
these years, but sometimes I do wonder
is my heart a ticking time bomb?
Will it explode one day? Or, just stop entirely?
I'm probably a little strange thinking things like that. But,
I can't help it.

The beating of my fleshy mass rocks me to
sleep at night. Like a sweet metronome,
with a soul of its own. I listen to the hum-rum
until exhaustion kicks in, and, then at that point
I can no longer hear or see much of anything.

I float then, somewhere else
Where thoughts trickle down my cheeks like rain
and form puddles of dreams
Maybe, that's what death is like?
A neverending dream

Butch McWhiskers makes friends

The stallion cat. He was the biggest and bravest cat of them all. All the other cats on the farm wanted to be just like him. His name was Butch McWhiskers. He had travelled to Italy where he made a brief cameo in The Bloody Chamber (a highly under/over rated piece of British literature that is essentially the repackaging of and retelling of classic British folklore. What is this a fucking literary expose?) Anyway, McWhiskers was a real _______ [something]. After his European excursion he came back to America where he explored uncharted caves for lost mice. He liked mice. Like a man to deer, he liked hunting animals for sport. Animals with families and minds for things other than merely being sporting endeavors. He would hunt the mice and kill them. Sink his claws into their fur and dig in. If he hit a nerve the mice would yelp louder and twitch. On the occasion that he was able to keep his play on the nerve he would actually send the mice into violent seizures (if it was the right nerve) and cause them to break their own backs. McWhiskers knew that when the mice broke their backs they wouldn't die. Well, not immediately at least. In fact, whenever he hunted mice he would make sure not to kill them at first. Instead he would incapacitate them so they would know what it was like to die. To be eaten. Generally, McWhiskers would start eating their legs. Their genitals were put aside or fed to the ruffians who deserved no more. The broken backs and necks meant that the mice would not feel themselves being consumed. McWhiskers would move patiently but steadily in those cases, which were so very often, making sure to overdramatize the sound, sight, and action of eating the mice's bodies. Then if they didn't die of coronary embolism or from bleeding out, they would have the lovely and sweet chance to die of shock. Shocked from seeing their own small bodies being consumed from the bottom up. As a rare treat McWhiskers would sometimes tap out a little ditty on the tail bones of his transmortal friends, using the leg bones he had removed. That way the mice would be able to feel the vibration through their bodies, right up to their skulls.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008


i cant even begin to pretend to be
ill be here all night
dont come home
i am the supersplendid
fly free get drunk get laid
so go out stay out
go ahead ladycool
im free because it rained
and i was tired
i dont care
but caring far too much
trying to pretend
im lying
i dont give a damn
how late your key
chimes in the lock
im cool
absolutely vast
my one and only man
how late
in the bed
as it turns
in my ear
dear danielle steel

i hope u dont think im mocking you
u have a sweetface
u sold over a million hundred books
everybody reads you

the nashville banner says

ms steel excells at pacing her narrative
which races forward mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled
here men and women swept up in bewildering change
seeking solutions to problems never before faced

harold bloom says

u reached new plateaus of emotionality
capturing the angst of class despair

ive never read your books
the klone and i, the long road home, the ghost, special delivery, the ranch hour, honor made,
river dystopic, paris lightning, wings the gift accident vanquished, mixed blessings, jewels no greater than love, heart beat from nam, daddy star zoya, kaleidoscopic fire, things wander, lost secrets, family album fuck circle, choking thurston house, crossings once in a lifetime a perfect stranger remembers, palomino, love in pain, the king loving to love again. summer's end, season of passion, the promise now and forever, passion's promise, going home.
now I have.

I promise to one day visit your website at
I know you're going with dell, but one day I will publish you and you dedicate
yr poems to john with all your love. I want your love ds.
I dedicate this to humanity.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Is That a 3 or an 8?

one simple picture of black and white
the dad been looked up to since little guy toddler
drummer was ... drummer is
great guy ... good guy
family man ...someday
desperately wants to make people have euphoria ... tries and tries
youngest amoung the trees, but most knowledgeable ... middle trunk and one owl is higher
numbre favorito ocho ... tambiƩn
wrap em' up in chains ... throw away the key
cardinals ... secretly
classic over of hair comb ... lightyear of buzzed and blonde
newspaper, orange juice, and work uniform ... one day I'll be the man