The Impermanent Illinois Collaborative Poetry Collective

2011-07-18T22:21:00.001-05:00

E.E. Cummings poem

2009-11-23T18:36:00.000-06:00

I had lunch with an older gentleman that recommended E. E. Cummings. I found one I liked:
since feeling is first... (VII) by E. E. Cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry-
the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other;
then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis

Friends of poetry

2009-06-10T20:58:00.000-05:00

LINDSEY BABCOCK

Word Count Total: 5,240
Word Count Prologue: 910

PROLOGUE
A poet turns to find
another poet shrieking
at his big toe.
Lifting their enormous
jaws and Tyrannosaurus
Rex grin a roarrr and
their battle begins.
Viktor Shklovsky yelps
Art as Technique or
Device, I am and will
forever be right you
doo doo head ignoramus
idiot! The purpose of this
is to make the stone,
stony again and
serrrrriously
look at all of these
stones!"
Walt Whitman growls stomping
his horse feet neighing
"Poo poo on you fool.
Poems are created by a
poet and poets have to
remember a shit load
of features to be
considered great!
They have to be transcendent,
new, indirect, and not
descriptive or epic.
Leaves of Grass, get it?
Me either!"
Watching in the stands
as Schlovsky and Whitman
are about to tag in
the next two poets
yelling blah
blah yipping
pulling hair
chapped lips
rivers were the first
roads
muscox, animals
paint, banana
not routine speech
BUT
David Antin is an
author of "talk
poetry"
maybe it is better
to not know or
answer the
question
having bad thoughts
affects
me, you
you, who
you, me
universe
the spirit as an
antelope affecting
the leaking body
blood, snot, puke, poop
as much as
the mind
Gorilla minds, big
sick minds can make
their big bodies
sick
Tarzan and Jane
speed dial four
signal and noise
the soul knows
a poet knows
the Indian culture
relates the souls of
objects
flowers
toe nails
pimples
with that of people
maybe a hot ass
time travel
Germany
soul in the voice and
language of people
not
objects
flowers
toe nails
pimples
mind travel
Whitman
"I DO NOT BELIEVE OR
USE THE CHRISTIAN
CONCEPTION OF SOUL
but I do not throw it
out either."
Affect style like a
chick flick or song
by Taylor Swift
no fear, jealousy or
envy, love what
is, love the truth
fondness
do not be overly
cautious. Do you hear
Teardrops on my Guitar?
Equanimity, calm
generosity with
moralization.
Praise, faith, helpfulness
be positive, composed and
never discouraged.
Courteney Cox says
to Jennifer Aniston.
connection between I and
you
starts with smelling, burping,
kissing
asks questions and
discusses
now, now
now
like the naked men
across the road in
a bird bath bathing
a woman
watching animals.
Not shying away from
anything.
What behaved well in the
past or behaves well
today
is not such a wonder
The wonder is always and
always how there
can be a
mean man or
infidel.
loose words
loose lips
body electric
we know this
stuff, but need to be reminded.
sum up
read work
shift work
the plumber is here to
fix your sink
you bald head
but first you have to go to sleep
underneath your
swimming pool and
sing a song
to me about
SODA
soda soda
To learn and keep
any information in
your noggin or
junk in the trunk
be kind, warm-
hearted generous
things
our energy will
increase
we will become
smarter and
we might find a few
more people
staring
at our
asses.
"Simmering, simmering,
simmering, and
Emerson brought
me to a boil"
squawked Whitman
TAG
in rolls
Mikhail Bakhtin
"To not be against
official culture is
delightfully dumb!"
Apes are more likely to
talk about the
here and now
Birds have many
styles Lions have
many voices.
With WWF
painted across his
chest he dramatically
tags Whitman back
in.
"No clown will make
assumptions about the
size of my
foot or judge my
bozo buckets until they
get to know my circus.
And I will do the
same of them."
A good clown is
easy to identify by the
expressions
on his face
The way a clown
dresses does
not
reveal the
quality of them.
A nice suit and wig on a
stuck up
clown does not
hide his
rudeness.
A tattered suit and wig on a
good clown does
not cover his
greatness.
By seeing the way the
striped lions
skinny elephants and
talking dogs admire a
clown
it is clear how wonderful
he is without needing to
know him."
The body odor of men and
women often will
please the soul
poe
in
re
make the globe
re
enchant the world
re
newal of the antelope
at my temple
dances a tiny man
speaking in my
ear
making me yell
BOOB
ASS
COCK
A DOODLE DOO.
Logic is a man
knocking on your
door for a date
but wait
...
stay away
from the
GHB
this date rape
drug
will getcha!
And get your
date a little
something
too
Twenty four
hours later
you twist and
shout and
say
Where did you
hide it
it is huge lets
open it
I left it here for a
reason
you pull some
handles and
you will win
every time.
Not being able to
do it for so
long
makes you understand
how much
fun
it is.
he is.
she is.
they are.
To knock off all
of your top scores
hogging the
sky
causes problems
when trying to
spit out
chocolate bars
to water the
lilies.
Brownies are
preferred by flowers
and cake by
bushes but
the sky can cause
destruction to those
that are
ungrateful.
So let me start
by introducing myself
the radio
Do you want
me
to show you
my
moves or tell.
I lull
I creep
I purr and
sing.
With me by your
side
you
are
your
own best
company.
People who
do not know what
I mean
have never attempted
to try.
With the claw away
from the screen
if you had to grope
anything
anyone
try a
pineapple.
Put on shiny
lip balm to attract
a fly
to a flame
moaning
gulping
heavy breathing
a wonderful
holiday provided
to you by such a
beautiful insect
unable to deny
the crane of
a color that so
easily can
gather a stain
to a cloth
during a winter
bath.
A lobster was
up sick all
night and
stayed in
its room.
That little bitch
made me cut
it sucking it
paying a price
that no one would
pay even to
see an
orgy.
Stretching during a
lecture made that
damn lobster
realize that
dinosaurs are
never
coming back.
Its crystal
geyser fetish
made it run
across town
to read a menu
about dinosaurs
where it fell
dead.
Go left
Go right
NO
Cover your ears
Cover your head
but
NEVER
look at the machine
hidden under
your bed.
My dog died from
one glace at the
machine
and my dad lost
his speech.
So let me continue that
this machine
is located in
two
different locations
roller skating across
the globe kneads an
obvious hill of
discovery that
this machine is
cute precious
and something
you will never
forget.
Live chat
pink daisies
thrashed upon
a trash can with
the headless
executioner
talking of a potent
smell
eating a can of
refried beans
Funk the headless
executioner
used to be such a
bright young
lad
until the grass
of the Antilles
ate him up
ate him up
ate him up
really it did.
In his town
the flat, dirty,
unnatural, disgusting
area
houses were made of
teeth and bushes were
made of
wire.
Colored bands held this
town together
the radical enemy.
In this town the
dollar taco
wedding dinner
was made by
Farmer Joe.
He had three
nubbins this friendly
fellow did. After the
wedding Farmer
Joe saw a knight
holding up a tightly
dressed
man.
It was so
romantic.
Feeling lonely that
night
I slept with my lamp
in my twin sized
bed.
The next morning
I woke up to one of
Farmer Joe's
nubbin's
who had no toe
nails going round
and round
singing
"Nerner Lezzie
Mo Mo is another
name for homo,
when it comes out
Judy
pitted zits
and cooties.
Beautiful."
It was some
kind of
cute so now
this nubbin stays
with me
in my twin sized
bed
and my
lamp.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Beggar Lad- dies early-
You standing underneath us
Please find your place
Sunrise aches the land
Bumblebees were stinging us
Admittance whines a child
The room grows scarce
For tomorrow we die
It is somewhat in the Cold-
Once we are all inside
We were wearing nothing
Where grass blades are frigid
Shadows falling down on the beach sand
Something approaches the glow
The service can begin
And somewhat in the Trudging feet-
For a moment, if you please
Little and insecure toes travel
And naked, you will see
To weigh the toenail
of an elephant in solitude
And haply, in the World-
That we are all the same
Such a happy human race
Hungry across the cosmos
Why should I feel intrusion?
The Cruel- smiling- bowing World-
A wicked, smirking place to grow
To get out of this place
Why be afraid of what we do not understand?
Cause we are tripping billies
That took its Cambric Way-
A closely knit community to the eye
we are all sitting
but those within exert the bands and ruffs
legs crossed around a fire
Drum beats louder
He heard the timid cry for “Bread”-
But stole Batista road instead
“Sweet Lady- Charity”-
Open up your head
Minds will wonder
leniency to judge
Open up your mouth
so aid the rich and
discharge the poor
It is coming out
among redeemed children
If trudging feet may stand-
Out there, no food or drink
Plodding toes will drag in May
How many days do you think you would last
The Barefoot time forgotten- so-
A capital never conjured
It is coming out
The Sleet- the bitter Wind-
snow and rain
Hunger, till fed, give love instead
The children's hands teased for coins
Lifted adoring- then-
Time elevated
To Him whom never ragged- Coat
Covering who he can
That never ragged- Emblem
of organs shed
Eat, drink and be merry
Did supplicate in vain-
Do not pray in vein
I meant to find Her when I came-
Floating in the lower nine
All the way to the end of the world
eating alligator pie
Yet intention burrowed to question
my being as a ferret
Not falling but rising like rolling around
Death-had the same design-
A heart rings dry
my love
a long body, brown ears, pink nose
Without a trace we'll be gone
But the Success- was His- it seems-
to grow in his pride filled home
that tied me tight up again
And the Surrender- Mine-
bare boned and crazy
Where the old men used to be
A sale of character
buying most liquor, but never gin
tied up and twisted
I destined to exhibit how I longed
to say something to say
The color I would like to be
Of this watch and of the time
Waring so well
But death had told him that the medal
She had past, was with Him-
And it passed with the
glide of a shark in a river
So to wander now is my plan
the slimy desert, poking jungle
To stop would be
A privilege of Hurricane
And the mémoire of me
A South Wind- has a pathos
to grant pity on a struggling clover
Of individual Voice-
to those who do not listen but a
crowd serenades the steady passenger
As One detect on Landings
to eat you up
Disembarking an event to be
to make death shine
An Emigrant’s address of direction
A scent of toilets and villages
much not understood because
I do not mean much but
shake me like a monkey in
the fairer for so far
as the foreign hood.
Slow as a rabbit and
quick as a turtle
I will confront this jumpsuit
To identify by black white or orange
And find my own way out
A prisoner is a
lion in a zoo
Man behind bars
bird with clipped wings
the mind dreams and reveals
liberty
as the difficulty coming here trying
to keep with the excitement
of a gift bag
But the ghosts come back
only this far
tapping the conga, waltzing a design
splashing dreams and tears
telling me to stay.
We could have said
wanted to joke
ached to praise
whined to sing
giggled to burp
but instead got crushed
being right side up but feeling
upside down
We drove until morning
sitting and smoking
realizing
reeling does not only happen
when using a fishing pole and
bait is not only used to catch fish
A monkey in a suit and tie
reeled in the curiosity of me the banana
by the bait of the wind to impose
Isaiah the man of an eagle
and made things feel so right, he said
i won't spill a drop, no,
i promise you
i will treat you sweetly and turned me
upside down always.
What’s in The Times- (182)
stiff as if a stork (99)
twenty-seven varieties (183)
between the ayes (79)
from the usual stamp and pound (284)
and the extravagant (80)
earth-evolved (206)
probabilities (298)
raw wind, rain, (81)
in the middle of Edinburgh. (207)
The marshal of France made quite a clatter: (118)
Troubles to win (85)
You ask what kind of boats in my country (153)
Thru birdstart (238)
Advance, attack, retire. (166)
Before my own death is certified, (158)
just throw it out the window (119)
No bread and cheese and strawberries (86)
Their natural resource: turn (94)
high, lovely, light? (131)
Understand me, dead is nothing (138)
To wit, the lover said (79)
So winter’s tea-kettle on the high wood stove (110)
She bore a child (213)
And after tea vodka- (130)
Near abandoned (212)
Could be more, could be warmer, could be more (106)
If matches had been my work (287)
By night and next day offered (162)
disowns. (247)
In summer silence moves (138)
Not burned we sweat- (247)
in the foothills (286)
There was a bridge once that said I’m going (87)
Half past endive, quarter to beets, (111)
I’ll find this kind of thing (224)
through reeds and fronds (271)
on the following sands, (88)
to the department of song (127)
for all intentions. (80)
See it explained- (239)
Dived to concrete (257)
Entered new waters (294)
algae, equisetum, willows, (170)
could dance like that (274)
Buzz and burn (147)
Frail limbs are proportionately low (81)
a leg brought back (102)
in the flood (193)
We said good-bye (241)
Life is natural (247)
separated by stars (110)
Moon on rippled (229)
branch (174)
love the night, love the night (127)
swam the river, struck a stone (125)
o let's glee glow as we go (85)
-in the sun's fame (289)
rode the sea (283)
Do you see?- (182)
Truth (218)
among conflicting parties (279)
illuminations (294)
gone to hell (256)
white (184)
shows one element (125)
Enemy (282)
turned front to back (152)
You (81)
wrong or right (90)
Bereaved of all, I went abroad- (382)
And forgot the color of the Day- (383)
Permission to forget- (474)
Henceforth to remember (537)
In rags mysterious as these (55)
The Table is not laid without (538)
By Death's bold Exhibition (410)
Like a dotted Dot- (304)
They thwarted Us with Guns- (228)
Besides the Autumn poets sing (61)
'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy! (80)
If this is "dying" (56)
In a Coffee Cup, (101)
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil- (77)
There is a morn by men unseen- (17)
It puzzled me to know- (97)
To some fashionable Lady (34)
From off his chamber door- (48)
The flags of nations swing. (24)
It is easy to work when the soul is at play- (111)
Just finding out- what puzzled us- (112)
Stop just a minute- let me think! (113)
Late- when I take my place in summer- (114)
I'm used to that- (115)
How many times it ache for me- today- Confess- (116)
That once- on me- those Jasper Gates (117)
Took Rainbows, as the common way, (118)
How many times they- bore the faithful witness- (119)
The lonesome for they know not What- (120)
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, (710)
Or Bees- that thought the Summer's name (251)
On my volcano grows the Grass (685)
My homely gift and hindered Words (651)
Like Gnomes- (140)
As 'twere a Spur- upon the Soul- (377)
Filaments of Bloom, Pontius Pilate sowed- (258)
The Lilac is an ancient shrub (545)
The saddest noise, the sweetest noise, (713)
Be rendered by the bee. (409)
Entombed by whom, for what offence (417)
Alarms its walls away- (610)
There is a flower that Bees prefer- (181)
How many be (269)
That Cooler Host (333)
Grace of Wealth, and Grace of Station (451)
Misery, how fair (521)
To fetch Her Grace- and Hue- (333)
Like Petals from a rose- (194)
That person that I was- (195)
I- never wed- (105)
Yet upon His Purple Programme (405)
On his babbling- Berry- lips- (104)
The Orchard sparkled like a Jew- (143)
The Height I recollect- (384)
The Hills erect their Purple Heads (689)
Sweet, to have had them lost (426)
Upon a Lilac Sea (579)
Other force- may be presumed to move- (380)
Across my Mouth- it blurs it- (226)
Till Hair- and Eyes- and timid Head- (108)
Banish Air from Air- (409)
Thunder- the Cricket (332)
And spill the Scarlet Rain (326)
And most profound experiment (399)
A Hoary Boy, I’ve known to drop (461)
Should a shrewd betray me (11)
Just how long cheated eyes will turn- (96)
My Heart to subdivide- (326)
Who may be Purple if He can (473)
I almost strove to clasp his Hand (260)
Until it blocked my eyes (195)
Another summer’s Day! (58)
The Angels must have spied, (71)
The thought beneath so slight a film- (97)
And so, I thought the other way, (214)
The Thought is quiet as a Flake- (656)
“Heaven” has different Signs- to me- (280)
Some say goodnight- at night- (705)
How many be (269)
How Death’s Gifts may compare (182)
How short it takes to make a Bride- (222)
When We stop to Die- (351)
There is strength in proving that it can be borne (501)
Exhilarate the Bee, (638)
A Peace, as Hemispheres at Home (498)
Love the dull lad- best- (122)
Deal with the soul (123)
The absent- mystic- creature- (117)
Where for the night (54)
Forever- is composed of Now- (307)
Death is like the insect (697)
A Bee his burnished Carriage (579)
The Spider holds a Silver Ball (297)
A Bee I personally knew (581)
The Cricket drops a sable line (671)
Bees- to their Loaves of Honey (517)
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown (546)
A prompt- executive Bird is the Jay- (523)
The Eagle of his Nest (183)
Hound cannot overtake the Hare (68)
With Hat in Hand, polite and new (498)
But nature and mankind must pause (690)
The transformation of associating an
object
a thing
a person
in explanation instead of telling the
this inside
that between
those that are
here in the
now and not
then
create ideas that do not need justification.
Judgments of sentiment
and taste with the way the
world
is seen and perceived
through the wandering eye of a child
the hungry eye of an eagle
gossipy information of a teen
the chatter of a parrot
a heartache of someone who has passed
the angst of a turtle dove
are more than a temporal state
eternity.
Once seen as one but now
apart as two
creating slimy reference
specific hatred
evocative noise with no use of
re-enchantment or purpose
going out or
coming in.
To lug an other to a some thing explains
an image to a symbol
to decipher a quest
of the left or the right
A wise man once said
“Life is what happens to
you while
you are making other plans”
And a great man once said
“There is no remedy for
love but to
love more”
Yet a punning man once said
“It is not that the man did not know
how to juggle, he just did not have the
balls
to do it.”
The relentless
snot on a friend
squirt milk outta your nose with
serious pain in your abdomen
tears gushing out of your eyes
with rosy red cheeks and
breaking out in a bit of a sweat
laughter
does not come from a punning man.
The lingo
understanding the 4-1-1
of technical terminology
creates a sitting duck with
brown hair
blue eyes
and an imagined anvil
overhead.
in the crane of a color
in the stain of one gather
in the crane of those gathered
in the stain of a color
in the crane those gather
in a stain is true color
lies the once
sitting duck.
An open walk
A walking crawl
A crawling trot
Never ending in a
Hop
Skip or
Jump
only wishing to reveal itself
in the purity of a vein.
a one-eyed black cat who cannot see with
total vision
nonetheless
has no problem finding its food
a dog that does not bark but
growls in
happiness
hunger and
humility
a bird with no wings
without flight
sings its own song on its
perch
A snake lacking muscle to hunt but
creates an alternative
Gossip
Whisper Whisper
Giggle Giggle Giggle
Stop.
One of the greatest bands alive
says
“We’re One
But we’re not the
Same.”
Take the
blind
cat
and
communication disabled
dog
understand
create
belong.
Metal, plastic, icons
as a supernatural being
working their mind and memory that is
easily controlled but can abandon a
command at any
time
removes comfort and
enhances fear.
negative butterfly
bad tooth fairy
unhelpful watch
horrific sun
downbeat daisy
depressing candy
awful shopping spree
a green mind created to stack a straight and
narrow mark at the cutting edge of a
birthday cake.
positive demon
good prostitution
helpful death
beautiful bomb
upbeat screams
happy lies
scrumptious guts
zig zagging
twisting turning
looping pounding
to the left or the right.
Revealing the insanity of the sitting duck
dodging the two ton anvil
onto the instrument provides ease
for the gadget does not provide a
blue feeling
pink feeling or
yellow feeling
but accepts the sway.
A pulse from each bead
figures into a pool of salt
exploiting a picture of
me and
you
an anxious table sings a sweet surrender
to the shadows
this is a surprising act to follow when
one happens to always vanish
in the clouds
an electrifying rumble signals a
repeated plea that can only be
encountered with rusty words
no dream
no wish
no fantasy
will unlock this missing piece because
it can only be found when
it wants to be found
and this is something that is as solid to come by as
snow in Alaska
dryness in the Sahara and
sunshine in Hawaii.
The table chuckles.
Who is to say or judge to
Is it really either?
Opinions, answers of right answers vs. wrong answers
And wrong answers vs. right answers
May cause anxiety and perspiration to the person who is put on the spot.
But to be able to form one's own view and create an image so delicate
Or fierce in the mind is an amazing gift that can be rewrapped time and time
Again.
In 1917, Viktor Shklovsky proposed "Art as Technique"
and "Art as Device"
How beautiful a proposition to rehash the works of poetry and
"make the stone, stony again."
I have heard that poetry is a way to find yourself and that
there is no right or wrong answer in poetry
So I ask
What makes poetry so intimidating?
Could it be the structure of some poetry?
The wordiness writers use creating their main point?
Or the useless way I was taught in the glory days of High school
When it was said that limericks are a friend.
Some say these poems have received bad press
Some say they have been dismissed as not having a rightful place of
"cultivated poetry"
The three-fold of a limerick is that they are often of humorous nature
They only have five lines so are simple and short and
Have contributed to the critics attitudes.
To judge the limerick, the brother poem of Whitman's "Preface"
Disregards the wish of positivity, faith, and generosity
Can we not help the limerick like Whitman lectures of the importance
of all people in "I Sing the Body Electric"?
Amor Fati; Love and Fate.
Described as an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in
One's life
Including suffering and death as
Good.
The ultimate purpose is
Destiny.
The sign of a good person is
One who can love and be kind in the face of
Ugliness.
Whitman describes in the "Preface" that
A poet is transcendent and new
A poet is indirect and not direct
A poet is descriptive or epic
A poet can make every word he speaks draw blood
A poet is no arguer but he
is judgment.
A poet has the power to destroy
A poet can remold freely but never for the power of
attack.
A poet hardly knows pettiness or triviality
A poet consumes an eternal passion and is indifferent which
chance happens and which possible contingency of fortune
or misfortune and persuades daily and hourly his delicious pay
A poet brings the spirit of any or
all events and passions and scenes and persons some more and
some less to bear on an individual character as heard and read
A poet forms the consistence of what is to be from
what has been and is
A poet does not moralize or make applications of morals
A poet knows the soul.
I look at poetry as inspiration and medicine to the heart and soul
"Be indifferent to the things that befall you, not to others, love whatever
happens to you. Do not let what befalls you get you down."
A life lesson is a lesson learned
As produced by Emerson- "Our energy increases with affection.
By increasing our ability to be kind, warm-hearted, and generous;
We become smarter."
Poetry works as medicine in the way it can take the unmetabolized pain that sits within the self,
leaking out in all the wrong places and expose them in writing
Lack thereof poetry may result in loss of contact with the soul
teamed with real, true, authentic emotions
Poetry provides intimacy, a series of beautiful opinions with no reason
for a concrete answer
It can help those reveal the beauty of dirt
the pain of a flower and
comedy of a grave
A game of connect the dots where each connection made provides a picture
A math problem where the result will never receive a red check
An application that will not be denied
The beauty of a poem is what the reader makes out of it
That reader from
This reader to
The reader over there
Will each comprise an individual idea and create a
Bond that they can call their own.
a little chocolate milk
sorry guys, he is short.
no milk for you!
do not throw rocks at
the angry goat
maybe he would not
be so angry if rocks
were not being catapulted at
his face
maybe he could give you some
milk assuming he has
any left over
do not use him
as a squeeze
toy
unless you like to
lose
shake on it
you are on.
general grant
and his army will
ride for this
goat
but do not worry
about what to
tell them
just say you have to
pee again
one hundred degrees for
the first time in
weeks
making the straightener
break in the
middle
of
the irritating appointment
not speaking
might be the
only way the loud breathing
could quiet
down
the half human
half evil baby
uncomfortable with
the anxiety
of the movie critic
who fell asleep
before the kangaroo
made it into the
war epic
dreamt up in the roaring
ambulance inducing
a walk to the spicy
can of worms
do it
for a first
time
in a catastrophic
world borrowed from
head
wowza
betting to be born
through the money-making
hell of misery
take
the
bet
infamous booger headshots
needed the calculator
to settle the score
tapping on the hat
in the
Jamaican southern
accent
rising again
dying from the boundaries
bookending the
love
girl
in the service
banging on the end
of the ketchup
bottle
after dropping the
fork in the bend
clearing the
sinuses with the
jalapeno dip
in the pillow with
the golden magic keys
who have no
time for the
baby coming
no more
bets
the hard part is
truly over
we made it to the
magic tunnel
where no country
exists
take a picture
you will forget
ever trying to
have a
baby
ready
kidding
so much
fun.
A grown up
with a weird voice
who does not know
what they are doing
so
back off Mr!
lets go!
all i want is
my cervix to be
dilated in four
minutes.
compare
contrast
is there something
wrong
I am glad you are
here even if
there was no
call
baby boy
baby girl
hear me out
we have been through
this
before
this is not just some
one
who has been humped
next to a smelly
cat
the child and the
cat
both should
have a family
even if the
family
has a bad hair
cut.
Get in here
see something funny
ooo
ahhh
smile smile
do it again
jump in a stair
well
yell out the window good
bye
Oh the cow in
the meadow goes
"moo"
Then the farmer
hits him on the head and
grinds him up
And that is how we get
hamburgers.
Now chickens!
Oh the chicken in
the meadow goes
"cluck"
Then the farmer
hits him on the head and
pulls it apart
And that is how we get
KFC
you sick
bastard
you sick
son of a bitch
why I became a
vegetarian
guy!
When they get
close together they
hurt a lot more
than just looking for a
man
so good for you
girl
give me the one with the
broken leg because
now is the time when I am
older
And just want to sleep with people
Just to make them like me
But I will never
Cause that is another thing
my mom warned me about
That is another thing my
grandma warned me about
but it is coming
and it is coming
so come on
forget the usual routine
and go with your gut
but stay on the safe side
with me
no matter if I am
a man or woman
man beast or
woman beast
it is my turn and
I will get back on this
case
OH
MY
GOD
that is it
it is true
so great
just like
grandma's
Now grandma's a
person who
everyone
likes
She brought you a train
and a bright shiny bike
lately she has not been
coming to dinner
last time you saw her
she looked so much thinner.
Now your mom
and your dad
said she moved to Peru,
But the truth is she
died
and someday
you will too
Do not worry
it is not
the end
of the
world
when you try to
blow a
Saint Bernard
out your
ass
that will be
the end
of the
world.
So stay true
spoon
but never
fork
until you
are ready.

POETRY DOESN'T DESERVE A TITLE

2009-06-10T20:00:00.001-05:00

5013 Words

Your Prologue

Welcome

Grab a drink and please,
loosen
your belt
This is mine me I it and you this is
my house
And all the rooms are open
Except
The ones
I forgot
about
Windows too
I forgot about
The elevator
’s working
Don’t use
the stairs
make love to them
I better
Hear
A high
creak
But
taste every wall
like in that movie
the wall,
does in fact,
taste like
a
wall
not
a
snozzberry
but
those are
good
times
except, when
you can’t get
enough
candy
but let
me help
y’out
cuz I pretty
much
run
on flavor
fabric
and
sit on every chair
yeah
I’m talking
To you still
get naked
If you want
You have to
Cuz you want to
It’s fine
Damn!!! Fine!!
Don’t be
sad
When
For
The first
Time
You see
Yourself from myself
In my image
But not like
God said
To those
Crazy
Kids
if
you’re not
hungry
Don’t be
sad
in
the mirrors
When
you peel
away
like
clementines
from
Meijer
and see
yourself
all
oranged out
and shit
all that juice
drowning
all
over you
but
at least
you taste
delicious
It’s
Better
than looking
into
someone else
’s eyes
Instead of
Tasting
They just
Start
Spooning you
And you
Might just
Keep screaming
Long enough
To feel
The seeds
Fall
Out
Like
Chickens’ eggs
But with
Style
And sweat
After
Sitting
In that
SUV for
Three hours
Man, it’s all
Over your back
I think
I can
See my face
On your shirt
Bulging
soggy
eyes like raw
sponges
filled
with my secrets
Sqeeze
them
Chew on
them
It feels
good
To know
that
Someone
else
Can
Taste me
It feels
good
To be
free
Like
a sponge
It feels
good
To know
That you can
drink
Me
I am
a tall
glass of Hendrick’s
With extra
lime
Flavor
Hard
Juicy and fresh
Always Never
to expire
In the mind body
refrigerator
core
of my earth
Always new
Always There
growing
larger
Harder
The penis i
Never had
For you to see
Me there
Bathing in bubbles
Truth
That pops
Like gum
And sticks
To
Your face
But it
Tastes pretty
Sweet and awesome
The
Words
That describe
All
That is
Indescribable
And like
so many
from
themselves
Please Stop
Hiding
From me
The truth
Fairy
Gotta
Wand and
Everything
I wear
A tight
Silver
Leotard
And wings
Made from
Your lies
The color
Of
The mid-west
And
If you think
Happy
Thoughts
Will get
You
flying
You’re
Better
Off
If you have
small change
Ill take it
And spend
it
On more
leotards
Truths
Elixir of my
Souls
And medicine
To sleep
Off
All
That
honesty
And all
of yours
Not just one
So so
Many
Of
themselves
Sifting
In
and out of
us
The
Subconscious fish
Gasping
And quite
annoyed
It wants
to breathe
Let it
Feed it
Eat it
Make it come
that’s right
Come
all over
my face
And don’t worry about the towel
Not necessary
I do
Love
Caviar
On
My
sushi
It feels good
To be “dirty”
Those of you
With daddy
issues
Cuz that’s the only way
to get clean
Don’t worry
This
Isn’t
A sex party
But that would be fun
Too bad
People are freaked
Out
By
Sex
Even though
We make
It
Like art
And create
It
Like god
When
A man
And a
Woman decide
They love
One
Another
And yearn
Deeply
For a child
And they
Both
Have gold
Rings
So he
Says
It’s okay
Then
To be
Artistic
At least
That’s
What they
Said
In Catholic school
Sex ed
And no
One
New
What
The pill
Was for
And no
One
New
What a
Dead
Fetus
Looked like
Not ugly
Just free
Like sex
Should be
In most
Cases
Except
When
Someone tries
To ask for a show
And then offers
Their services
For
Your
Opening night
And then
You realize
That they
Want
To be
A part
Of
Your show
Cuz
They don’t
Have their own
Well guess
what
bitch
I only
Go
To free
Shows
Good shows
Shows that
Let it
All
Hang
Out
With
-Out
Actors
And Kabala
And jesus
Sorry
dude
Shows
With-out
bras
Shows
With-out
Shows without
Shows within
like
I have
Two heads
And one
Eye
Some people
Like This
is to explore
This is to search
And find
Whatever
It
Is
You’re looking
For maybe
More
You
Think
You don’t
Need
It
But even
If
That’s true
It
Always
Will need
for
You
Pine
For
you
So cut
The
crap
And give
In
To
The
Religion
of
Poetry
Give
In
To the
Church
Of
Words
You
Can
Even
Choose
Your
Own savior
If
You want
Shop
Around
And let
Poetry
Keep
You
In
Your place
If
You
Have one
Cuz it’s
Much
Larger
Than you
Give
It credit
For
Right?
If poetry
Had
Sex
It need
Not
Be concerned
Of
Its
size your
Size
Depends
On
The motion
Of
The ocean
As
Ye
Old saying goes
Motion
Ocean
Motion ocean
Apply
These two
Words
To
Your size
And you
Will never
Not
Ever
Not be
Entertained
Of thought
But filled
Up
With
Your
Sparkling soul
Fizzy
Organic
Soda
Delicious
As
Thanks
Giving
When
You sleep
Because
The turkey
Knew
What it
Was doing
When
It succumbed
To
Tradition
And hunger
And
Forgot
About
Why
It
Was
There in
The first
Place
Are you
Here in
The first
Place?
Did the bird
Get
Stuffed?
Or did
You
Leave
It empty
For god’s
Sake
And mine.

Poetry Doesn’t Deserve a Title

Writers hunt
poets
like
ants.
They take
the form
of
muses
and lick
roughly
at our
lobes
Where DO
the dead
words
utterances
songs
paintings
of artists
find
their place
among
living
souls?
Seekers
taught by
thriving
intellectuals,
flowers, trees
to
master
the English
language in
its most
bare
sense.
They were
lead to
Never Land
where the
time and
space of I
innocence
flourishes in
the soil
of fairy
tales.
They
have struggled
against dull
Gods,
have sleighed
drowning
dragons.
Reaped
the
treasures buried
deep in
the belly
of
the brain.

I have
colonized the
child, fetus, babe
of
my image
nation,
raped
the virgin
of my intellect,
castrated
the King
of
my character,
all
with
the glitter
of a
graphite stick.

I have
fucked poetry.
I have
fucked it
up and
fucked it
deep. I have
snorted lines
of cocaine
off the
bindings of used,
hard-covered
poets. I have
packed
a pipe
with
the teachers
of “Dead
Poet’s Societies”.
I have
lit
cigarettes with
desperation, hoping
to breathe in
the poison
of new words.
I have
Yearned
for poetic
penetration and
eventually
settled with
the pink
plastic
battery
charged
kind of
poetry
that allows
the most
shallow dips
of fulfillment.
I have
scraped
the curiosity
from my
uteris, and
wondered if
there would
be any
scars. There
were
I have
had one
night stands
with Poetry
and woken
up with
the big
hairy beasts
of myself. I
have used
protection
when I shouldn’t
have. I have
taken
the pill
to trick my
Poetry
into
thinking
it was
pregnant. I have
bled on
the face
of Poetry
and wondered
at its
disgust
In over
around
years lost
and
found, poetry
has remained
the God
of my
atheism.
Perhaps
my childhood
was
a brimming
cup of sweat
tea,
served
over ice,
with one
neon lemon,
sliced
through spongey
flesh,
dripping
puckers
into my
glass
alluding
me
to the
sweet
and
sour
frost
adult-hood
that would
permeate
the Easter
Bunny of
my perception.

I wasn’t
ready for
what
it/
she
/he
/ had
to offer
I wasn’t
ready
for the
size of
Poetry’s penis.
The slippery
hymen
of my
image
nation
has yet
to be
ripped
open.
What’s inside?????
Fear
waits
on the
outside
looking
into glowing
darkness,
waiting
with a
Hoover,
plugged in
to an
out
let
that puls-
es with
power
from
nuclear
facilities,
hoping
to
abort a
promising
fetus,

five
months after
its seeded.
Meanwhile
little
sperms of
image
nation swim
wildly
in my
water
park,
Going down
slides, diving
off high
boards, hanging
out in
the lazy
river,
drinking all
natural, no
sugar-
added cran
berry juice
boxes,
sunning them
selves through
the
pores of
my skin,
taking steam
baths
in the
saunas of
my ovaries.
Maybe
Later
a massage
and then
maybe a
nice visit
from pink
plastic
pleasure
sugar
in the
head
to end
the day
in the life
of an
eternally,
patient,
waiting, gentile,
innocent,
sperm of
poetic
genius,
unaware of
any
future
that a
waits it.
Boy or
girl? Gay
or straight?
Which
color
of the
rainbow? Will
I be
able to
taste it?
Will
it be
an only
child or
will I
bare
a large
family? My
skinny hips
tell me
to settle
down for
just
a
second.
They say
in unison,
Miss Burns, this
child ain’t
coming
through
there
(indicating
my lower
life-
force).
Some
body better
grab a
knife.
And we’ll
talk about
that family
of five
a
little later.
Of course,
Fear is
listening
in
and upon
hearing
this candid
warning
proceeds to
obtain a
hanger,
a rusty
razor,
and a
hatchet
(do hope Mr.
Paulsen
doesn’t mind).
At this
moment I
am scared.
At this
moment I
am ready
to die
with
rubbered
hands
and feet.
But
Suddenly
I
See
The Doctor.
He has
many names.
He tells
me to
call him
Walt, or
Wally works
too.
He carries
with him
no medical
briefcase, but
a beaded
medicine bag
filled with
the powders and
elixers created
by the
laugh of children.
I wonder
if Peter
Pan had
anything to do
with this,
or maybe
Robyn Williams.
Apparently,
they’re both out
on business.
True
Salesmen
Of time
Shared
Fantasy
an infinite
formula
with infinite
possibilities.
And
I don’t
think
I
really have
any answers
I’d like
to think
I can
create something
other
than a
baby
I’d like
to pull
something
from nothing
Like God,
no
wait
Ha
ha
I would
like some
justice
A silkworm
that spits
words
Or
a factory
Or
a colony
of bees
Or
a hostage,
Instinctual
in nature
A fragmented
consciousness,
spread
like larva
over
my eyes
it speaks
religion fluently,
and politics,
and love,
and history,
and science,
and with
excellent diction
it is
a leader
with a
uniform
it is
my dog
George
humping other
male dogs
and
making
everyone
feel awkward,
I think
it’s great
it seems
to like
coffee houses
it leeches
on humans
it likes
being completely
crazy
it can
have a
pretty
big
ego, and
not much
talent
it can
be
your therapist,
your OGBYN
and it
will deliver
your baby
is there
a god? Is
there poetry?
Can I
worship
it? Can I
make
animal
sacrifices
to it?
Do you
think God
would
have let
Abraham
Kill
his son
for it?
(Do you
think
the guy
that wrote
that
story
would let
Abraham kill
his son
for it, or
his daughter?
Maybe
his daughter)
Can I
use it
to commit
suicide?
Can I
have it
for dinner?
With a side
of broccoli
and cheese
maybe?
I’ll be
good
Can I
turn it
on and
off?
Can I
lose it?
Forever?
Can I
kill it or
bring it
back
to life?
Can I
burn that
mother
down?
Can I
Get
a bag
of it
somewhere?
Some good
shit man,
some good
shit
Can I
stop
sounding
like Tom
Robbins for
2 seconds?
lines don’t
add up,
we can’t
all be
poetic physicists,
I am
certainly
no
scientist
or poet
Or
a true
English
major at
that
I am
just fucking
around
I am
just
doing
what I
am told
I am
drowning
in a cliché………..right now
I am
a cliché,
and poetry
is my
witness,
yeah
pretty much,
at least this
poetry is
I am
a better
waitress than
the greatest poet
I would
rather deliver
the goods
than make them
or cook
anything
god
forbids
these
actions
I am
no friend
to it, a mere
acquaintance
We say
Hello
And
hi
See
how
things have been
going,
But
we never
get a cup
of coffee
or
have
a drink or
smoke weed
If
I have to
listen to this
drunk bitch
screaming and
crying
upstairs
any longer I
might
just start
to care
wait
eighty-six
compassion
eighty-six
bread
pudding
Maybe
there’s
a good
reason, or
maybe she
is
just crazy
That
would
be
the easiest
thing to assume.
I do
love assuming
things.
I’m sure
poetry isn’t
listening
to that shit
Or maybe
I’ll just get
high and not care
enough to sit
here and
analyze
the lives
of my
neighbors as
I write this
epic,
But
she is
still fucking
crying
and I
think she
just said
the word
retarded
Which I
do tend to
say
a lot
even though
I feel
guilty every
time
I certainly
am the first
to pick
on others
for using
terms like
that’s gay,
or dumb slut,
Hey
maybe
that’s what
poetry is, a
big dumb
whore,
Sleeping with
who ever
will make her
feel pretty
and worthwhile
if only
for a moment,
Or maybe
she just
does it
cuz she
likes
the attention,
Or maybe
it just feels
good
To write poetry
God
this bitch
will just not
stop
screaming,
Watching
an episode
of Angel
sounds
like a good
idea write
about now
Cuz
pretty soon
my hippie
will come
home
And
all that comes
out
of her
mouth
is smoke
and dreadlocks
Ugh
Poetry
Ugh
Sorry
I think
I have
lived up
lived
it
up
to my
name by
now
Truly
I must be
babbling, why
else
has this
name
been bestowed
upon me
Maybe
it’s all Brooke
Sheilds’s fault,
her and that
damn lagoon
And the fucking
80s.
Hmmm, watered down
to a whimper,
thank you
paper thin
walls
Thank
you scotch tape
I’m trying
to block
the sound,
but I live in a college
town and nothing
is real here
Her problem
can’t be
as big
as
the one
I have
with poetry
Maybe
if I throw
a tantrum I
can choke
on something
meaningful to
say
Or maybe
all
the things
that make
sense
for a living
in my
head
will finally
make
sense for
free
to everyone else
in the heart
of capitalizm
Or maybe
I’ll stop
thinking
what’s appropriate
isn’t,
because
apparently
letting your
vibrator chill
in the
ice box
in your bed
and then
people come
over
and see this
hot
pink
pretty
battery
powered shlong
and
believe me
the reviews
are pureed
as
if a smoothy
makes
it
all better
perfectly acceptable
to exist
in my
fuckin bed
godammit,
It just seems
like a good
home
for it
you know? Why
does it have to
hide?
It’s the new
Kid
At school
It’s the
Stoop
Kid
Of
Our generation
It’s been
To Europe
I think
more
people should
see
my vibrator
it
deserves
more
than
my own
admiration
more than
my own
respect
it’s
gonna
be a
star
I’m gonna
start just putting it
on
the kitchen
table or letting
it chill
with the avocados
in the fruit
bowl
Which
actually makes
perfect sense
considering
the real
meaning
of
the word
avocado
is
ball
sack
In
laymen’s terms
I mean
shit,
I think
they’d be
happy together
where else
does
a
lonely
sex toy
find
its
place in
this big
world
of our?
Or maybe
I
Just
Need
To find
My place
In
Its world…
But yes,
I am
it’s
only friend,
and everyone
else laughs
at it or
pretends to
not be
exposed
Because
I guess
when I expose
myself
I expose
everyone
else around
me
and most
people
can’t
handle that
I’m writing
An exposition
On your
Exposition
Of my
exposition
Live
at nine
Don’t
Miss it!
This is
The
Miss America
Of
Your mind
And
Yes,
We’re
Still doing
Swim
Suits
So get
wet
I guess
Because of
Course
the way
I see
the world
is
unique
and
on
a
higher
level

I’m
the Captain
watching
Angel
And thinking
About
Myself
Wearing
The skin
Of my vanity
Like
A natch-oor-all
WOMAN
Just listen
to me
sometimes
I
think
how we
perceive
us
with certainty
every thing and body
else
perceives
hung up
insecurities
left out
to dust
the sky
in walk
-in closets
on vines
Old clothes
we don’t want
to get
rid of
Pasted
To us
With heat
sugar
Some
in bags waiting
to be
sacrificed
to Good Will,
Or “God’s Will”
Where others
People
pilgrims
wear them
too
I paid
damn good
money for that
insecurity
someone else
should
wear it
for a bargain,
One time
my mom
threw
away
a bunch
of
my winters,
Claiming her
lamb
had carried
out
the deed,
In a fit
of fluffy
rage,
the fur of his
face
sculpting
to the point
an arrow
shades
of his eyes
closing to
red
Tossing
them
into his
truck
with
the same
smile he
would give his
son throwing
footballs
backyards
of dust
and
despair
a dream
was only
my mother
stumbled
Rocks filling
Her
head
needed them
more
than I did,
she was
just hording
them
whoring
them
51 years
In Vegas
Of Loss
Pushing stone
planets up
hills infinite
companions
friends
to faux
pushing that stone,
Build-ing
up
immunity
to the poison,
keeps eating
it and
vomiting it
up
over and
over and
over again
until she can’t
tell
the difference
thought I would
write some
crazy
book about her
called
CRAZY
And
BITCH
Definitely
capitals
Deserv –
ed
But no!
exclamation points
Sounds
like Courtney
Love’s autobiography
With
exclamation
points of
course
you
read
time
able
to tell
anything
real
lies
art
shit
All
of them
in one
big orgy
Of truth
Distaste
glory
Breeding
dumb virgins
Sucking
miserable cocks
Of men
who love
freedom
But I am
not one
of them
I am
sleep-less,
brimming stars
Mother-less,
one
Power-less,
air stuck
to wind
Latex
mittens
molesting Electric
rivers pierced
letters cement
victims reek
of herpes
and I
body guard
of disease
stay
away
mouthwashed
purity
stay
away icy
Apollo
Give me
back
to the dark
where
I can
judge
myself
in peanut
-butter and
jelly
silence and
cry to
drown
stuck to
walls
like flies out
of bombs
stand
the color
attached
to my
face
half lit
with fried
fear stuffed
in
my closet
lard coats
like death
for free
in sneering
cigarettes
dreams
where one
night stands
always linger
by the grass
of bulls
I read
books to
grimace
strung out
Seriously
I am strung
I am strung linear
strung
soaked strung
sunny
like fish
strung
stored
I am
too
loud
like fingers
and barbeque
bouts
of loud
immaturity
on my
wall
with apologies
don’t erase
three paragraphs of
whine
and beer
travelling
selling
tantrums
like apples
look like
who
I am
Flowing traffic
Stopped
Leaping
Through
Fields
Of slow
motion
David bowie
Folded
Cut
Like video games
Playing
My
Hands
Eye
Vomit
Levels
And
Buttons
Birth
Fingers
And
I am
The beginning
Of
Somewhere
Going lost
Woke up
to it
now
I’m
Tired
But
Never enough
feeling
Good
To lead
A
War
Against
My imagination
With my
Eyes
Out of
Pockets
On a shirt
I don’t wear
Enough
To wash
Where
I can
Hear
Nothing
To feel
Better
In
Afternoons
Spent
Raining
Around
The clock
Losing
losing losing
losing
losing
losing losing losing
losing
Childhood, virginity,
parents, education,
cars, money,
bling of my
youth,
Losing
Myself, keys, friends, a thousand
laughs,
Stupid
tears left
shed on
the couch
Too dumb
to know
we are
allergic
Losing minds,
jewelry, condoms,
hair,
Words and
words and
words
Used up to
losing fights, tips, the
dinner I ate
ten years ago
to
the current
environmental crisis
losing against god
and science and poetry
and medication
and to the black and white
of my world
losing literally, physically,
metaphorically, theoretically,
sustainably, efficiently,
cleanly,
losing towards
the finish line
towards
my mother
towards
losing
Sitting
Around
to try
and find
the words
But just keep
Talking around
Circles around
to try and find
the words
that
lose
to my
standards
perhaps
Losing
Is
Settling
Like America
On my mind
Losing
That day
I felt
good enough
to write
something
depressed
around the edges
Bent corners
Never
Smooth really
Always
some indention
Some brand
name
On
myself
Ive tried
cutting
Corners
But I can’t stay
straight enough
To fold
Them
Away
I wish
I could just
Pop
a well
butrin
And forget
the whole thing
the whole drooling
cherry pie
But that
is
too much
for
my orange
pillow
to put
up with
Why
would I
want to
do that?
He asks me
He is the cushion
Of my
Mind and
He’s quite
Happy
To do
It
But would
I would
rather fight
him
than rest
the good
fight
So I can
feel
swell
about it
That
I
always tried
beating
the pillow
til
every last
fiber
in me
explodes
I can
Always
Make
another
Innocence
Over
Sleazy ease
Cuz
I always
seem
so strong
like bones
like a diamond
like better than bones
veneers all over me
roots underneath
little tooth
picks
but don’t
worry
it’s taken
care of
cuz now
every
part
of me
can eat
and smoke
I had
To get them
Cuz I
Pulled
Out
All
My
Originals
The
Most
Fun
Thing
Ever to
Do
And wait for those
Sassy wings
Each night
In that sexy
Little
Outfit
Not Kirstie Ally
Not your mom
not sure
I know
how
the inside
looks
I told him
I know
I look
Like I like
good music
But I don’t
Hate good music
Forgive me
Joss
For throwing
Away
That Buffy
magnet
you
to be
disappointed
When
you look
like when you
eat wheat
grass
if you
pasture that
or something
or
you
have style
not farms
call you
emo or
hippie
Birkenstock
soul
The images
keep coming
They milk you
to be
something
Quantifiable
Explainable
Skim
The
Fat
Off
The
Top
To tip
I
can’t explain
Myself
Or words
In needles
Sharing
Their
Disease
With my
typewriter
I can’t
Decide
I am
Running
And
Dying
But I know
I’m not
love
Don’t
cut me
up
Don’t
store my body
parts
Don’t
Count on
my toes
and fingers
Don’t
tell me
I’m beautiful
again
Tell me
What
I taste like
in
a bowl
With milk
On
your spoon
And
Strawberries
Over me
That’s why
I wonder
What
It’s like
To vacation
On
the inside
And
if that’s even
worth
the trip
the trouble
of fine
silver
on the kind
of table
I set
As
A child
In love
with
myself
Enough to keep
Eating
With
My
hands
But I
can’t get this
shiny plastic
off me
Makes me
too
slip
and
slide
Makes me
more
than I
deserve
desert
Believe
Me when
I keep
sliding
around
and when
he told
me
not to
use
all
the saran
wrap
I threatened
To make
A dress
Out of
It
Oops
He’s new
And
His
Cock’s
Got his brain
On
A
Chain
Need
To remember
These things
Or
sometimes
looking hard
Is enough
to feel
soft
Over nothing
At all
Like poetry
like
Instant
gratification
Impatient life
In
a hurry
to
try
out
a
nother
vessel
gotta wait
it out
Or
Something
Gotta trust
My
Reptilian
Brain
It knows
What it’s
Doing
I trust
Scales
Over fur
Any
Day
Of
The
Week
Even
The accursed
Sundays
of my life
Filled
With
walmart
It’s easier
When
years
start
to
run along
slide
You
When
I smoke
Out
Time
To be
Dead anyway
2 beers
down
50
years
to go
Damn
my
cheerleader
spirit
she
wore
out
my
pom
poms
It would
be
easier
To
be
simple
one
Dimension
But my
Mind doesn’t
Operate
On
Other
Peoples’
Words
Flirting
With
The
Floor
He said
I’m good
At reading
Between
The lines
And I
Said
That’s good
Cuz i
Gotta
Lotta
Lines
To
Read between
I keep
Forgetting
About
Those
Pesky
Penises
Like small
Dogs
In clouds
Fur-lined
At
Central Park
Rhinestone
Leashes
The
Nanny
Maybe
Fran
Holding on
For dear
Life
I can
Hear
Her now
But
I’m sure
Mr. Chefield
Has
Something
To say
About this
He’s worried
About
His poodle
She didn’t
Like
To wear
Color
But
One day
She wore
A red
Sweater
I said
Hey girl
Your wearing
Color
Today
She said
to
Shut up
Destiny!
In
a
bowl?
that’s been
festering
all
morning
and soy
milk
just
isn’t
the same
as
mom’s
put some
mom
in
my
coffee
or
maybe
some
sugar
daddy
cuz even
though
it
tastes
weird
it’s better
than
black
maybe
the girl
with
out
color
would
like
it
or maybe
she’d tell
it
to
shut
up
People, People
leeching
off me
running
off me
getting
off me
in
my
prom
dress
you Christian
coward
you were supposed
leave your dick
out of
this cuz
jesus
was pretty
good about
that

You ask
what kind
of boats in
my country?
Oh—
appetizers
upholders
of the
law Good
to the cherry
drops that you relished
when
I had none
And the high
bush cranberry
juice in
my favorite
bottle
shaped like
Marylin
She knew
What
To drink and
Who to do
Real
And right
Nothing
Sexier
For
Your bod
Than
A fresh
Glass
Of
The cran
like
Truth
Lisp
and wisp
Grew dense
In that one
Piece
Cuz
Back
Than
They wanted
You ripe
Thru and thru
marsh fog
Waiting From
my cottages my hand full
of lilies All gone
by somewhere
pressed
in my books
in the attic
but I’m afraid
of the dark
and dust-
y
sleep To what
season Of poetry
Disappearing
Among the green
pads—
In the night Come
home to moon
As I paint the
street Thick
creamy blossomy Ten thousand
women
Wild strawberries To wild
green To trembles Then
the first one—red
wheels leave
tire tracks
lipstick
on teeth
The main atrocities of
This life
They floated
past
a crescent
moon In Virginia—
the strawberries
The nerve—flash
in the blood
raises
up
fruit
of
my blemish
By
religion—slow
in any
case
Not
built
by brute
force
but limited
to
the blind
and small
And
What
you liked
As
my arms Cost
to my
little
Or
to be
taxed—the blossoms
Larger, whiter
than
owls’ High, lovely,
light,Look,
the
woods, the sky,
our
home. Hitch,
nevermind,
cramped When
we’ve made the world
anew No grief
to modulate And
soothing
syrup
for
sleepiness
From grass to
grass he
never to him
self has sunk
humanity
dull man, Romeo
and
Juliet
how faithful
are
your branches Feathering
Heights—
how they can
dance
up
there Rise
and soar We
approach
the
dignity Could be
more
, could be
warmer, could
be more Glass
box
mushroom
our crops
come
up thru change
of season
When I’m
alone
it’s
an open
day
around my house
the wild swans
hear
fly
back
to it each
summer
of
my writing
tablet through
which we successfully
passed
a student
the little
white
slave-
girl
all
three came
to
an end
worth
sticking to
(almost) to
The indigo
Sea
Grew in
Green slide
Slant
Of
Shore
And
Shades
These
Closed-
In days
A still
State
Hard
To weep
A deep
Trickle
Resolved
Beyond I
love
you
I am cutting
And
Pasting
Myself
To this
Name
That
Makes
Me
Take it
Seriously
Enough
To
Buy glitter
Glue
Sticks
And just when
you thought
it was over
They
keep taking
you back
to art class
And
the teacher
hates you
Cuz you can
Never live
Up to the
Paint
In your blood
So maybe
They should
Just jab
A straw into
You and suck
It out
Until your veins
Are full
of dessert
Or desert
Whatever
You want
To make
of it
Maybe add some
Of that
Marchino
Cherry juice
It’s good
for you
That’s what
I told
My overweight
manager
My secret
Plan
To give
Her diabetes
Maybe then
She won’t care
About hating
all
The other
vaginas
Cuz mine
Is in her
Fucking
face
And I sure
Hope it smells
Like
Leftovers
But
That’s better
Than diabetes
Or the way that guy
Pronounces
diabetis
On that
commercial
He’s so
funny
He
makes me
Want to shove
Needles in
My foot
And put
On high heels
Someday
Or go hunting with a sweet hat
That implies
Don’t fuck with me
Nature
I am
Way better
Than you
I’ve got
Colonialism
In
My blood
And I want
To bleed
On you
Cuz then
You’ll know
How it feels
To beat
The heart
Of the
Conqueror
Or if
you want
You can
Just feed
It
To one
Of
your children
Little rascal
That
Seeps through
Jungles
Pretending
To
Be peter
Pan
Sorry
They don’t
Have tights
In neverland
But I have
Some at my
House
You need
Control top
Or
Muffin top
Not yet
Have baked
Goods
Made
Their appearance
But
After
All
This
Is
Only
A
Production
Of
Thought
And splendor
Of living
Time
And
Again
With
The
Depressive
Nature
Of my
Image
Nation
The
Erratic
Tendencies
To
Stay
Too long
And
Wonder
What
Ever
Happened
To the
Kid
That
Didn’t
Know
What
A
Fence
Was
And things
Just
Came as
They
Were
For
Free
And clean
Fun
Some
How
Time
Was
Able
To catch
Me
And put
On
Black
Framed
Glasses
That
I don’t
Even need
But
They look
Cool
And
Who doesn’t
Like
A sexy
Librarian
Even
If she
Does
Wear long
Skirts
It’s not
As if
Some
One can’t
Lift em
Way
Up
High
And I
Bet she
Doesn’t
Mind one
Bit
Don’t judge
A
Librarian
By
Her
Glasses
Dude
They’re
Meant
For
Taking off
Getting
Off
Knee
Socks
That
Sag
To
Her ankles
And poetry
Says
That
S right
Baby
And they
Toss the
Binds
Of poets
To the
Floor
And it’s
There
In the
Wide
Silence
Of books
And the
written
Of words
And the
ink
Stains
Of
That
Moment
When
Poetry
Realizes
She
Indeed
Does
Not
Wear
Panties
BROOKE ANDERSON BURNS

Ars Poetica Completa

2009-06-10T20:00:00.000-05:00

Caryn Begeschke

5000 words. Exactly. -- Impressive I know.

The Prologue

In the pages to follow you ﬁll ﬁnd a body of working containing nothing ordinary and

everything extraordinary. Allow me to give you a little preview, a preface if you will, of

what you are about to encounter. Brace yourself. Hold on to something. A chair perhaps.

Your hat. The table if its near. Clench you teeth and grasp tight. Till your knuckles turn

white. Because you are about to embark on something: “magnificent, opulent,

tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment. It will be:

Spectacular Spectacular. Spectacular, Spectacular. No words in the vernacular. Can't

describe this great event. You'll be dumb with wonderment. You must agree, that's

excellent,” (Moulin Rouge! 2001)

Let us begin at the beginning.

You will see something familiar. It is my Ode to Lysol. I’ve found my paradigm shifted

while writing this piece. You see here, reader, that my original intention was to write

about something that was NOT poetry. I could not use something full of imagery, or

common to the masses. It had to be different. Ahhhhh. As I looked around my living

room for some inspiration. COUCH! a couch is not a poem. Or poetry. Ah, no. A couch is

a poem and poetry. it absolutely is. The people who sit on the couch tell a story. A poem.

So to those who lay on it. Those who love on it. The crumbs and change that fell

between it. This will absolutely not prove my point -- I said. A couch, is probably the

most fantastic poetry ever written.

What else. Kitchen, no. Door, oh absolutely not. Carpet, no, Table, no. Goodness my

why is everything in this apartment poetry I screamed [internally]. So I wandered to the

pantry. Where I keep food for cooking and supplies for cleaning. A toxic idea in

retrospect. I went there, to search for more inspiration. Tomato paste, no. Styrofoam

plate, no. Tea, no. Medicine, No. AH! LYSOL! YES! There is absolutely no way Lysol

can be poetry. Ah-ha! Fantastic. I have my inspiration.

As you will see, or have seen, in the 1200 word Ode To My Murderous Home

Disinfectant, my hypothesis, theory even, was proven wrong and Lysol, much to my

dismay, is absolutely poetry, as much, if not more, than everything else in the world is.

Subsequent to this piece proven wrong by pushing and purging of words and a

paradigm shift is something else rather lovely. My Emily Dickinson Cento.

What a challenge this was. OH yes. Challenging like a Rubix cube or playing Scrabble

against Dani Fox.

My Emily Dickinson Cento is divided into pieces, ones that are sensical rather than

being one long superfluous mess. Perhaps my favorite part of that cento is a section

titled: Life Cycle. Read it. Enjoy it. It includes, naturally, lines from Dickinsons work,

some lyrics from MC (Mariah Carey AND Miley Cyrus) as well as a few words of my

own. This alone did not fill your OH SO Generous word requirement. So I continued

through the Index of first lines which laid out some poetry quite nicely for me, though I

do wish I had a correspondence. No wait, wrong word, concordance, to complete this

task.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

Continuing with this Cento theme, is my Lorine Niedecker Cento which, is, I must say,

my favorite most fascinating fantastic piece. However, I must warn you, reader, that

there are more of my words that Lorine’s in this cento, however. Nonetheless. It is

fantastic. Let us talk about it a little. So after pulling random lines out of her collection.

One per line, front and back, of a sheet of yellow legal pad paper, written in green pen, I

decided to go through and pick out the ones that fit best together and tell some sort of

story. And that is when the fantastic idea came to me. The setting: Just after dusk, in the

woods, opens up this piece and well. I refuse to give it away. Read the rest.

Let’s talk about centos a little. Cento. I thought this meant 100. clearly I was wrong.

Century. 100 Years. Centipede. 100 Legs. Cent. 1/100 of a dollar. Cento. A literary work

comprised of quotations from other authors. Nope. No correlation. And you, were not

ever kind enough, to say, oh cento is so much like a hundred that is how many words

you need to use. no no. how about 6 cento. 3 cento. Thats fine. I took your advise. I

lowered my standards. And it is rather amazing how quickly the words came to me after

that. They just kept coming.

Back to the Ars Poetica.

The next section I titled: A Collection of Unprompted Strangeness That May or May

Not be Considered Poetry.

Whenever strange things would come into my brain, I would write them down and run

with it. Or, in the case of “A Fiction Fallacy,” the first piece of this section, I sat down with

the intention to write something brilliant and strange, create something comparable to

Edson or Knox, and what I ended up with was something much better, and nearly

effortless, except being a scribe to fast talking eight-year-old was not my simplest take.

But, I did not have to create at all. I just recorded. And well, it was something more

compareable to Counter Daemons, in that only I, the author, and Jake Castiglia (the

computer if you will) can ever understand. Interpret it you may try. But you WILL fail.

The next piece in this collection is something titled “Advice from Below” which is the

personification of feet. The feet are talking to their owner, telling them all the things they

wish their owner knew about their tragic life. It is rather insightful and anyone can take

advise from it. I hope they do.

Following “Advice from Below” is “An Insomniac Inspiration.” I sometimes have trouble

sleeping and I found that I could do two things with this time I wish were spent sleeping.

Write for this class. OR, watch infomercials. I decided it would be best to write but only

after having enough of the Sham Wow man tell me all about that fantastic chopper that

slices and dices my vegetables effortlessly. Why is he wearing that headset I wonder?

I also found inspiration for strangeness in our class being just betwixt (I have an afﬁnity

for that word) two months. May and June. So, I wrote about it.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

And Finally. The pinnacle of the piece, the strangest of the strange (not really):

something i posed on Craigslist expressing my desire for elf traps.

Premature Post: A ﬁrst attempt at estranged greatness.

Poetry is not Lysol Home Disinfectant.

ACTIVE INGREDIENTS:

Alkyl (50% C14 40% C12 10% C16)

dimethyl benzyl ammonium saccharinate ... .10%

Ethanol......................................................... 58%

OTHER INGREDIENTS: ............................. 41.90%

TOTAL:......................................................... 100%

What?

Half of what makes up this product is another ingredient?

But it is not active?

What is it?

Thank you for adding them up for me Lysol bottle.

My Lysol is a Murder.

KILLS VIRUSES

KILLS BACTERIA

KILLS MOLD & MILDEW.

What beautiful alliteration Lysol, maybe you are a poem after all.

My Lysol carries the scent of an Early Morning Breeze at a chemical plant.

Which each spray my sensitive noses wafts in a scent that leaves me nostalgic.

It brings me to a place where I would wake up, in the Early Morning, and stick my head

out the window to catch the cleansing Breeze.

The Breeze like a power-washer coming through to freshen and clean everything.

Oh no. That was not a freshening power-washer.

That was a power-washer that KILLS.

It is a murderer.

A Breeze that takes your breath away. Essentually. It drowns you.

Watch out Staphyloccocus aureus you are no match for my Early Morning Breeze.

You better hide Enterobacter aerogenes on hard non-porous surface. Because 99.9% of

you are goners. Total. Goners.

Oh you pleasently colored can. You remind me of the Crayola, Purple Mountain

Magesty. It really is my favorite crayon, such a lovely shade of purple.

Purple.

Like a bruise.

Or a dead body.

Laying with a toe tag in the morgue.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

Lysol reminds me of garbage cans. That is where my mom used to spray it as a child.

This giant blue, sometimes brown, slightly rusted home for waste, is not poetry.

This ﬁlthy vermin infested garbage receptacle. Oh no.

I was taking my trash out one day. I ﬂung it high and heavy over the metal walls.

Clank, crash, rustle, break, OW.

“Hey watch where your throwing that.”

“Oh Iʼm sorry.”

And that is when I met him.

The poet that lived in my dumpster.

Iʼve seen him often collecting cans and sorting recyclbles.

Every homeless man has a story.

Usually, they lose their house in a bank foreclosure.

They gamble their lives away on a Harrahʼs boat.

They drink their lives away thanks largely impart to Heather who hands him another

glass, divorce papers, another bottle, another, a DUI.

Losers.

Thats who live in the dumpsters.

Those, who have lost.

Thats what I thought of the poet in my dumpster when I met him. I thought he was a

loser.

Hes cleverly obvious and wears small round eyeglasses. Hes nose slopes like a slide

at a summer fair and if his eyeglass happen to enjoy the ride they never make it past his

colar bone where they are collected safely. Because of his eye glass catchers, that

form a nice bifocal necklace. It will never be part of the Tiffanyʼs collection, but it is nice,

for a poet.

I sat there for a minute unsure of how to respond to this barbaric being, so gentle and

diligent in his search for buried treasure. Then, he climbed out. Two bags in his hands.

He spotted something shiny. He took a few step towards the mystical metal and bent

down close to examine it. A penny. Tails side up.

I watch him as he lifts the penny, ﬂips it over, and stands again.

He turns to me and says, “its your lucky day” and shifts his eyes to Lincolnʼs proﬁle that

resides cordially on a copper, and then he looks back at me.

Money.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

When I think of things that are dirty. Just down right ﬁlthy. Full of germs not visible to

the human eye. I think of currency.

Touch. Touch. Touch. Tap. Tell. Pass. Borrow. Play.

Money.

From the bank teller, to the client. To the woman in the drive through at McDonalds.

Given as change to the car behind her. An allowance for her 10 year old son. To George

at the candy story down the block for teeth rotting treats. To the 14 year employee who

works under the table. To the senior who bought him cigarettes. To dealer who gave

him cocaine. To the prostitute for her services. To the clinic for her screening. And back

to the bank.

Filthy money is.

Money is poetry.

Poetry is the story that money tells through its travels.

Its what everyone notices but no one watches.

Its blue.

Poetry is a small child. Observant. Eager.

There are a few children I can say Iʼm incredibly fond of. Bradley, and Anthony. They

are twins I nanny for while their parents work their average jobs.

They are very curious and funny in the way they view the world.

Its big. Its kind. Its full of fun and answers.

As we are driving down a country road they notice a horse, standing with a cow and

some other live stock.

The horse is lonely claims the boys.

Horses are not friends with cows, or ducks.

Horses, are friends with horses.

There are no other horses for this horse to play with.

He has no friends.

This horse is so sad.

He, is lonely.

I wish I could be friends with him.

I wish I could be a horse.

That, is poetry. The working observation of four-year-old twins.

Children are the best poets.

They dont process anything.

They observe, and then report.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

There is no other inﬂuence except their tiny frame of reference.

Innocent.

Ignorant.

Beautiful none the less.

Poetry is not Lysol Home Disinfectant.

It does not KILL or contain OTHER INGREDIENTS.

Or does it?

My Lysol Home Disinfectant does bring up a great point.

It contains this they are not simply deﬁned.

It gives an outline.

But not instructions.

My Lysol is colorful and vibrant.

It contains imagery, alliteration.

It kills and it saves lives.

It makes things fresh, and new again.

It makes you look at things differently.

Its a perfume that Whitman smells.

It is a line of a patriotic song.

Yes. It certainly is a poem. All of the things add to 100%. Even if they are other, and

you dont quite know what they are. Maybe you cannot pronounce it. Or deﬁne it. But it

serves a purpose. Isnʼt that just what a poem does. I certainly believe so. It notices

something in the world and magniﬁes it. Like an amoeba.

Swim swim amoeba. You lucky .01% that survived the death of your viral bacteria

roommates. They died a painful chemic death. They are in a better place now. A place

with white ﬂowers that smells lovely. Like a breeze, in the early morning.

Emily Dickinson Cento

Where?

To see the summer sky, 1472

To tell the beauty would decrease, 1700

To the bright east she ﬂies, 1573

To their apartment deep, 1701

To this world she returned, 830

To try to speak and miss the way, 1617

To undertake is to acheive, 1070

To venerate the simple days, 57

To wait an hour is long, 781

To whom the mornings stand for nights, 1095

Today or this noon, 1702

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

“Tomorrow” -- whose location, 1367

My Savior, My God

God is a distant, stately lover, 357

God is indeed a jealous God, 1719

God made a little gentian, 442

God made no act without a cause, 1163

God permits industrious angels, 231

Going to heaven, 79

Going to Him! 494

Good morning, midnight, 425

Good night, because we must, 114

Good night! Which put the candle out, 259

Life Cycle

[How soft a caterpillar steps, 1498]

“Caterpillar in the tree, how you wonder who youʼll be

[How soft this prison is, 1498]

you cant go far but you can always dream.

[Cacoon above! Cacoon below! 129]

Dont, you worry hold on tight.

I promise soon, that there will come a day.

[From cacoon forth a butterﬂy 354]

Butterﬂy, ﬂy away.”1

“I must open my hands and watch you rise.

Spread your wings and ﬂy.

Butterﬂy.”2

[Morning is due to all, 1577]

[Dew is freshest in the grass, 1097]

[Had I known that the ﬁrst was the last, 1720]

[Had I not seen the sun, 1233]

[Had I not this, or this, I said 904]

[Had I presumed to hope. 522]

[Had this one day not been, 1253]

[Had we known the ton she bore, 1124]

[Had we our senses, 1284]

We could have saved her.

[Death sets a thing signiﬁcant, 360]

[Death warrents are supposed to be, 1375]

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

Butterﬂy Fly Away, Miley Cyrus

Butterﬂy, Mariah Carey

[Deaths waylaying not the sharpest, 1296]

[Death is a dialogue, 976]

[Death is like the insect, 1716]

[Death is a supple suitor, 1445]

[Death is potential to that man, 548]

[Death leaves us homesick, 935]

Death, was her fate.

[How far is it to heaven, 929]

[How ﬁrm eternity must look, 1499]

She prayed.

[“Faith” is a ﬁne intervention, 185]

[Faith is a pierless bridge]

She drowned.

[Heavenly Father, take to thee, 1461]

[Come slowly Eden, 185]

[Heaven has different signs to me, 1575]

[Heaven, is so far of the mind, 370]

[Heaven is what I cannot not reach, 239]

[Except the heaven, had come so near, 472]

[Except to heaven, she is nought. 154]

[I went to heaven, 374.]

His/Her

Her breast is ﬁt for pearls, 84

His bill an auger is, 1034

Her face was in a bed of hair, 1722

His bill clasped, his eye forsook, 1102

Her ﬁnal summer was it, 795

His cheek is his biographer, 1460

Her losses make our gains ashamed, 1562

His feet are shod with gauze, 916

Her smile shaped like ohter smiles, 514

His heart was darker than the starless night, 1378

Her spirit rose to such a height, 1486

His little hearse like ﬁgure, 1522

Her grace is all she has, 810

His mansion in the pool, 1379

Her sovereign people, 1139

His mind like fabrics of the east, 1446

Her sweet weight on my heart at night, 518

His mind of a man a secret makes, 1663

Her little parasol to lift, 1038

His oriental heresies, 1526

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

Her last poems, 312

His voice decrepit was with joy, 1476

Eye

I am afraid to own a body, 1090

I am ashamed, I hide, 473

I am alive I guess, 470

I asked no other thing, 621.

I came to buy a smile today, 223

I cannot buy it, tis not sold, 840

I bring an unaccustomed wine, 132

I could not drink it, sweet. 818.

Lorine Niedecker Cento

if only I was able [to save the sun, 53]

[i face the east and the windʼs in my mouth, 97]

the slowing ((speeding)) trafﬁc light [disappearing, 147] beneath the horizon.

then.

with the absence of alabaster.

[came night, 117]

[lets play a game, 127]

whispered words my [big blind ears, 107] did not hear

to my back two ﬁngers [shaped like a gun, 128]

[a monster, 103]

sometimes

as i wander this wood at night.

i [stop to eat people, 7]

[isnʼt it funny? 141]

i come across [lonely women, 115]

strange, desperate women.

women wasted. wasting away.

sheʼd sell anything she got her hands on.

[sheʼd sell dirt,

sheʼd sell your eyes friend in deep grief, 108]

he circles me.

iʼm panting.

there is nothing more appetizing then a wo[mans sweet breath, 104]

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

with a machete he [breaks my hand, 54] away from the bone

he raises my mangled mano to his lips and samples my ﬂesh and sips crimson as it

bursts from broken veins.

[youʼre my type, youʼre okay. 148]

i feel no pain aside from the [mosquitoes bite,147]ing my ankles.

eat what [i give to you, 137]

i clench my jaw tight.

would you prefer it better if i served you on platter

[and gave you lettuce,141]?

he forced open my mouth

like you would force [open a door, 145]

with a crow bar.

with nails like claws he pulls skin away from bone.

he shoves it into my mouth.

with hand crowning cranium and

another clutching my chin.

i manually chew.

under his control.

a self-consuming cannibal

[i donʼt spit. 132]

A Collection of Unprompted Strangeness

That May or May Not be Considered Poetry.

A Fiction Fallacy

snorlax

is so sleepy

and grumpy

his is fat. he eats alot.

if we cant do

pagolime thats

bad news

may paragolime can do

thats giritina

he is in the reverse world

i had heathen

and traded him

for a level x

i used to have a legendary

a dragonita

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

ARTICULTIO!

i can play one player

but 2 player

i split the deck

i be the player and computer

i just do this

get it?

plowsien or something

i catch them

all of them.

this awkward 8 year old

sifts through the sunﬂower deck

making awkward songs

from his mouth

maybe i can do

story mode

sift sift sift

this room smells like

wet dirty

dog laundry

he mumbles to himself in audibly.

a very long time ago

when guarantino

was in reverse world

i think i told you before

now hes in the real world

what theres a message

whats he saying

youʼll never know

aslkfjiosjdﬂkjsdoﬁj

comes from his mouth

ppppssshhhh ccrrrrrr

reverse world is mine

if it can be ruled i sugest.

he crashes into my foot

sorry. i used you.

ppppffff sshhhhh

AHHHHHHHHH

whipshhhoaahhh

roarrr shh ooofffeeemmm

HA! take that!

he makes what would resemble static with his hands

how do i get out

be careful down there

oh great

showmen

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

yes

oh be hack

sssffffeeesshhh

i dont have showmen

iʼm going to pretend

you dont have to do that either

show man

how was it

good

ssshhhffffaacceeenntt

he gargles and hisses the saliva and air in his mouth

this is the real world

AH MONSTER

its me

haratina

where are you

from water world

theres no water there

sorry its not raining

the ﬁghting game

sorry thats my faut

it came with the thunder

oh my bad

hands on ﬁght

happpooossskkk kapooosshh

i think you lied

iʼm not a very good owinker

ssshhppphhh

here we are

bubble world

i hate using this

turn it off

i should be a goner

iʼm a bubble

OH I DIDNT KNOW

popp popp pop po po popopopopop AHHHHH

USE THINDEROLD

why you like it

yes.

ahh thunderbold!

chew chew chew

righhhttt chew AHHH

silence

heavy breath.

i am.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

look at this

tuh

nope

water

nothing

nohing

nothing

water

nothing nothing

ﬁghting

nothing

water

nothing

ﬁghting.

Advice From Below

please take care of me.

i know i did not come with a users manual

but you learned how to use me at a young age.

it started out small and innocent enough.

there was a lot of stumbling on my part -- i was wasnʼt ready.

but together we got the hang of it, you and i.

from there on out it was history.

you used to walk around outside with no shoes on,

in the itchy grass or on the hot hot sand.

i guess that was much better than the conﬁnement of socks and shoes.

it is so dark in there.

hot, very hot, and sweaty.

i couldnt even see where i was going. or what was coming.

you would much rather spend money on clothes

who cares about me really?

go ahead step in that puddle.

ﬁne.

i mean really?

there is nothing fun about jumping in a puddle.

iʼm wet,

cold,

wet.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

have you ever heard of rainboots?

i mean sure they arent the most fashionable thing

but iʼm only lookin out for number one,

and my buddy over there number two.

you up there,

you with the eyes,

just watch where you are going.

i know we are all supposed to work together

and be a team here

but sometimes you just walk into all sorts of trouble,

like the said puddle.

how was i supposed to see?

i cant really even warn you either.

i just get the aftermath. which is never fun.

and you know what,

i know that there are two of us

but i really feel discriminated against.

so your right handed, ﬁne.

and your right brained, ﬁne.

but with us down here

its a little different than with your hands up there.

we are a team.

and if one of us is missing,

well then you are a gimp.

which happened quite of a few times

because of your discrimination.

admit it you take better care of right.

there is no logical explanation that i am the one you swing full force into soccer balls.

you made a spectacle of your poor peds

by turning them into harry hobbit feet,

how embarrassing.

An Insomniac Inspiration

White.

The color of this blank document in front of me.

The color of my skin.

The outermost part of my eye.

Fresh paint

A picket fence.

The color that is most pure

Or the absence of color all together.

Fresh linens

Egyptian cotton sheets

When I find my mind racing in the middle of the night its oftentimes hard to keep up with

the pace. Thoughts bouncing off the walls of my brain to quickly for me to keep track or

catch up. It is during this late hour, when I desperately want to find my sanity and get in a

few hours of sleep, that I try, try, try to get my mind to focus on one thing. White.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

Clean. Pure. Simple. Absent. White.

What is it that I'm keeping my mind from?

What exactly am I trying to numb?

I choose my words wisely. They flow eloquently from a well rehearsed articulate tongue.

My words more often than not are my own. Sometimes, though, a song can speak exactly

what my heart strings are playing. Through all of this soul searching I often wonder.. WHY?

What is this all for? I thought I had found my passion, but that fire was extinguished with a

cold glass of what I wish was water and a slap in the face.

An instant.

A moment.

A second.

A thought.

It can change EVERYTHING.

I take advantage of that fact of life. Because for this moment I am typing on this expensive

mac, in my own room, in a beautiful house. In front of me is a 300 dollar phone. A

prescription bottle cap and a spilled bottle of pills. To my left, my sunglasses that I couldn’t

afford while summering in California, a statement for my Von Maur credit card, and,

ironically, a gratitude rock.

I want to find the rock in my life.

Grasp it.

And learn to be a little more grateful.

I want to learn love.

One that is unconditional.

One that is selfless.

Love in its purest form.

Forgiving

And for giving.

For others

And for myself.

My eyelids are beginning to feel the effects of that antihistamine.

And as they close, instead of darkness, I see white.

An Ode To the Passing of May and The Welcoming of June

may

im free.

not for long.

may term

sings a new song.

may

peace be with you

may

your days be merry and bright

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

may

i go to the bathroom

may

i might.

in may

the sunshines

and there is memorial.

in may freedom rings.

unless your taking summer school.

in may

the girls go wild

and tan in bikinis on the quad.

in may

i think of tulips

and swimming pools.

last may

i went to romania

in may i found God

and met Jesus

and was saved

and baptized.

may is really the time to start over

if you ask me

they tell me the ﬁrst day of spring

is in march, i think

but the season really changes, in may.

may my

heartsong

sing

to you.

iʼm an english major

dont mix up can and may

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

i do not know anyone with a birthday in may

except for my rich aunt carol.

and my friend cara.

and the 5th of may.

cinco de mayo.

i love mexican food.

june

i like june.

i like the number 6.

i like the way june feels.

it never gets too hot.

usually in june,

i catch a plane to california.

but this june i will be here

living in bloomington normal.

june is kelly kleins birthday

she will turn 21, again.

last year she faked her birthday

and had a party with all her friends.

in june beth and randy will get married

and iʼm invited to the wedding.

iʼll wear a pretty dress

and hopefully a handsome date on my arm.

i hope he says yes.

when june comes

iʼm sure iʼll have memories

missing being in california

the beginning of camp season is always my favorite.

june is beautiful and awkward.

i want to love

like johnny and

june

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

whats a june bug?

is it their birthday?

crystals birthday is in june too.

the same day of the bales wedding.

shes getting old.

in june i will sit on my deck.

and drink lemonade.

and play my guitar.

strum strum strum

sing a little

country song.

sing sing sing

all day long.

in june i will wear ﬂipﬂops

and tanktops

and short shorts

iʼll swear sunscreen

and sun glasses

and the weather will be

nice enough to turn the air on.

WANTED: TRAPS

elves are a greater pests than you could possibly imagine. they play incredulous tricks and cause

household destruction such as the following:

wearing all of our clothes and then leaving them on the ﬂoor.

hiding things, such as keys, cellphones, sunglasses and money.

eating all of our food.

dirtying ALL of the dishes and leaving them in the sink.

leaving lights on.

making messes in our bathrooms.

stealing socks (usually one from a pair), probably to be used as a sleeping bag.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

these little elves are very sneaky and love to get on our nerves! as soon as the apartment is clean

is when they begin their mischief. within hours of cleaning our rooms or doing laundry/dishes,

they being their destruction.

we do not need an exterminator, rather we would like to trap the elves in a safe way. we need a

good system because they probably were trained at hogwarts in efﬁciency and posses the much

sought after invisibility cloak. probably stolen from harry. those dirty thieves. anyways. we

believe that if caught these elves are trainable... we’d like to use them to fold laundry, do dishes,

clean the living room and bathroom, and our bedrooms.

at ﬁrst we thought it could be trolls causing all of this mischief. that would explain the mess in

the bathroom, and use of our hair products. then we realized that trolls wouldn't be the ones

wearing our clothes and messing up our laundry.. they generally just go topless with their

occasional belly button ring, and to have that kind of conﬁdence they probably aren’t eating our

food.

so they are absolutely elves. assumably on the off season from the n.p. we do believe that if

caught, not only can they be trained -- they can be bred. so upon catching the little scoundrels

and teaching them how to keep house, we will sell their offspring to those in need of a tidy home

and cant afford merry maids.

thanks.

Word Count: 5000

Caryn L Begeschke

Kelly Bates Final Piece

2009-06-10T19:55:00.001-05:00

Prologue

and I look and look and stare and decipher my notes. The conclusions are vague
ethical arguments
what do my thoughts do?
As of now they lay in the crevasses of my brain and interlock and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait

To be of use and not just wallow in freshman, sophomore, junior year of college
They yearn to be heard and written and become just a little more
And I keep telling them to hold on, in a month or two…we’ll figure it out
And then the pangs of time
Hit me in the side
And curl me to the right
Make me
Queasy
Squished
I should go
Need to go, because this is what I want
these credit hours and minimum wage obligations are of no use. And when I stumble and fall and have no more paper I will have this memory good or bad, but my memory not a distant story

so poetry must be now and grow and develop just as my instant thoughts and the constant pursuit of something helpful . even if its just a small thought with a little bit of courage im sure it would be worth it.

I know poetry, through dance…its got the creaky feeling when you first come back to it
It aches but two books slash practices later you get a better hold and can see how some moments suck and some are simple or beautiful…you must take all in order to appreciate the whole

How am I supposed to make this good thing last? Because I cannot seem to let it go

This awkwardness is enchanting and all I need is to be is content in this moment for moments

Lower my standards
Opposite of what my mother has said
I need to have high standards to respect
Myself and others
To be a strong individual with a punch of bricks
But no…
This is wrong with my writing
I must know that my ars poetica will crumble in death of misunderstanding
Die in translation and be
Murdered by peers and professors

Then it won’t be so bad, expect the worst and just be happy with what comes along.
I’m happy that it is sunny and eighty today. I’m happy that my sister is coming to school with me next year. I’m happy that I have a kindergarten crush. I’m happy that I’m wearing a dress today. I’m happy that my mom offered to pay for lunch. I’m happy that I didn’t find any ants in the cupboards this morning. I’m happy that Rachael just called and said she missed being cramped in a nine by fifteen room with me. I’m happy that I got my renewed sticker to put on my car. I’m happy that I dropped classical political theory to go to California for a month with Nicole. I’m happy I know Nicole. I’m happy I found a set of dinner ware with cute trees on them at the garage sale for five dollars.

And I’m happy that I now have a smug little smile on my face, knowing that it can’t be any worse…and it can only get better. But if it doesn’t get better, that’s fine too…cause its eighty and sunny outside and I’m content in just writing, writing, writing. The strokes are pattering off these flimsy keys and it sounds so chirpy.

Time to make an ethical argument!
Time to speak truth of the unnoticed!
Time to make myself a pizza bagel and pop….oh yeah!

That’s the only statement I have now.

And there is no one else in this entire building but me, so when I hear the door my mind begins to
WA N
D
E
R
To little dreams of me defending my body from a kidnapper with witty words of Dickinson and Whitman to soothe the mind and define the” I” to them. Or I could tell them a little fable of edson and see them drop to their shins at knoxs’ tales.

I need to practice and practice and write and write and write this damn prologue

Lower my standards…if I think of all my thoughts in a lower voice maybe that will help

(in a lower saxaphony tone)
This is already not working
I just feel like im furrowing my eyebrows
And looking unattractive for my Toshiba
La dee de de dum, hummmm nope! This sucks
Regular voice again

I know I feel high pitched and airy and birdlike

And I distract with some hairspray
Cause it sticks so hot

In nine hundred words create a prologue for your ars poetica. How do I do this? I’m not even sure I know exactly what a prologue is. My work is all
Distractions and snippets and losing interest and distractions
And what is happening right then. And small utterances that I hope you find something in, oh wait I want you to find nothing attractive, nothing cause I have no standards
…at least I am trying to silence them

The friends and enemies have been with me the entire time.
They make sense, however I wish I had more of the friends. Maybe a little more faith
I have faith I’ll finish this, I’ll finish all five thousand words…even if I don’t want to or have no sense of accomplishment
Whatever
This is disturbingly fun
No I’ll get some joy of it being finished
In a non-finished roughly-to-no editing way
Quantity
…no texting while writing, well it is writing…at least someone’s getting it

My roommate just told me I had that crazy
English student stir in my eyes again
It’s a form of a twitch
It hurts my head
And my shoulders curl over and I’m all of the sudden
Thisclosetothescreen
My mouth is catching flies
And my left thigh is stinging from
This weird thing that happens when
Baby Toshiba is sitting on my lap
With no fabric between
Machine and skin
And I type to keep the fingers going
And to keep them from touching my keypad
Voyager
Which is a brick
Of loveeee
And little sentimental sayings from
Friends from home
And friends from school
And family
And guys who should really learn to respond faster
Cause I get way
Too distracted, way too easily
This is my “English” look
According to the special education major

I should reconsider my major
Nothing rhymes with that…thankfully from the staggering amounts of knowledge I have accumulated since college, this is not necessary!
I always think I should change my major, cause I need more than just English. and politics and government is not helping my fix of more…I’m now in some sociology classes, goshhh I hope this works out…cause you know after four years you’re out on your ass and need some food
And this poem sure as hell
Aint’ gonna sell
I crush on you English.
I flirt with you English.
I like you English.
You’re frustrating me English.
I love you English.
I want to understand you English.
I love it, I’m challenged constantly, I chuck and yell too many books, and I have bouts of insanity while writing at four am, and I love it, and I want people to read it but only if I can close my eyes when they do, and I love it.
It is me for my sake.

Just start writing

Buying this notebook and the eight books for this class was completely anxiety filled. I have a tremendously indecisive personality and am terrible at buying books.
Or really good at it?
It is at the end just the feeling from the book that they’re decided on. If they’re new they have to be bound tightly and align perfectly. The pages should be untouched. There needs to be no evidence that another read so much as looked at this heaven forbid they breathed on it. Good on to the next book.
Jamie came book shopping with me and commented on want an incredibly entertaining time it was to watch me buy these books. I changed her, she bought her psych book only after careful examination.
Your welcome.
I couldn’t even buy the Emily Dickinson one….too messy, I couldn’t do it. So tomorrow I must venture for a copy.
It needs to be pretty in a normal and regular way.
And you know once I get them, they don’t stay nicely. All my books turn dirty and torn and spilled on and are emerged in unrecognizable script of thoughts and even a grocery list at times.
I went to Target cause Alamo2 decided again to be un-respected whores and charge 3.49 for regular notebooks.
I stood in the aisle OCD-like and was shuffling through them and debating over color whispering to myself. I really didn’t want a color one. It was much too flashy, it seemed like I wanted to stand out among all the composition books….but upon closer evaluation the black books were not bendy to my standards
AHH the roommates not staying for the summer have shadily appeared and expect me to find them food? Excuse me, I’m in the middle of some hard core realization that I crazily drink too many rockstars and finally notice the childish ways of what notebooks buy…they don’t even know.
…and I chose the purple one, still have a pang of longing for the black one….but the purchase was made and ink was scratched along the first page. No return available.
I’m doing a decent job of avoiding the reading. I’m in this new partment and its pretty distracting to read. There’s no proper desk and the fan and dishwasher allow this constant gaspy noise of steam and defeat to fill my ears.
Aversion. Aversion. Distractions! Soo I have discovered that if everyone were to read my horoscope upon meeting me, we wouldn’t have to go through chatty banter and you could just understand my laziness and activity from my Gemini sign. I’ll spare you my horoscope for today.
I’m a terrible speller.
I hate people who can’t spell. Other than myself, of course.
See that’s a contradicting statement that Gemini’s are fond of. Ohh and its true that wasn’t just a fun example for the hell of it.
Reflection of class.
I nervous laugh a lot, this is my formal apology to our class. I’m sorry if it distracts you.
Now, this has been the third time Song of Myself and the first time I read it.
The amount…
When I have been distracted with this post I have plunged my pen into the dry cracked earth, that resembles my dancer’s feet, instead of onto this fresh and very thought over notebook paper.
I see approximately five ants, however it is extremely possible that I miscounted seeing as my -7.5 prescription always deceives my mind.
As much as I’m trying not to, I have some expectations if at the very least or very most of myself
. I hope to be persistent and hardworking by continuing to develop my voice/s. I intend to be a presence in the class, only if and when I have something of substance or humor or of curiosity to share.
I must compel myself to keep writing and let go of what I think I should write or not write. Because all thoughts should at least count towards the word count goals for these posts. And you know, thoughts although created in my head deserve a placement in ink.
__and there I go sidetracking and not writing it out.
How silly to be typing this out and imagining the moments so close in the past.
The sun is hot and I am inappropriately dressed in jeans when some fashion of shorts is indeed necessary. My forehead is too sweaty to be attractive for the total of two people oh and one runner on the quad. And I must keeping going for quantity’s sake. For 6pm is approaching.
I expect to enjoy the class, to look forward to coming to class with hopes of discoveries small or big, even grande sized.
I expect that my classmates will display respect and trust and show forgiveness as I intend to display.
I expect to deeply incorporate summer into this class and not feel as I’m missing out by writing on poems I have no conviction of.
All I want to do is be able to rest my head down and sleep with the easy breeze that is pass by.
I know if I conquer my inability to focus I can be proud of producing work instead of pitiful pangs of laziness touching me lightly when I re read or see the grade on work.
Something that proves I know how it feels to write something surprising and insightful.
And in order to do that I know I must let go of expectations and instead turn and weaving and just be.
Whitman discovered it all and reflected so thoughtfully in Song of Myself and I find that it is suiting to start off with such a mindset in the classroom.
I must clear clear clear the mind of expectations, how difficult! I know where I must be and just can’t instantly transform, but what are the inbetween steps? Letting go and forgetting where I need to end? And enjoy this day two days before twenty years and consume , like Walt, all.
Bad and Good
Free and Difficult
Ants and Sky

it pressures every rib to collapse
takes me in
and needs me home
home when I’m turning twenty and supposed to be an adult
and I throw the comforter off from my nestling place on that couch
run back home

as soon as I hit Weber
it lets loose a strained breath

I should like it at school
and you know I do
but not just enough to leave that comfort
I swear to you its genuine

genuine is not where "friends" come down assume that you can go out on a Tuesday night cause you're turning twenty tomorrow...yaa the 21st is Thursday guys, wrong day

you know I’m decently tough
just easily aggravated
like when your parents are so thrilled your home one second but then insist on discussing financial matters....give me a break, I get it. I swear I really get it.

I don't
I don’t get how someone can shit their pants
Stephanie just told me about this kid, but its okay cause he’s a funny guy
But really he shit his pants

Behind a bush
I have something really embarrassing to say
I may or may not have just shit my pants
Oozing down his left inner leg and he really shit his pants

The school nurse needs
A pass
A teacher’s note

“I shit my pants”

Ohhhh, this happens all the time she replies

How do high schoolers shit their pants on a trip to dairy gueen?
Squat behind a bush or behind a house
Come on guys, at least pretend like you’re classy

Emily Dickinson Cento
Let’s hope this turns out adequately

The duties of the Wind are few (1137)
Is but a filament, I know, (673)
If just as soon as Breath is out (577)
And ride away (1186)

On that low Plain (1289)
With Midnight to the North of her— (721)
Is left—the Immortality—(1365)
Beyond my Boundary— (881)
There is a finished feeling (856)
Of His Authority— (724)

Nature knows as well (1139)
Each Second is the last (879)
A mighty look runs round the World (575)

Why, I will lend until just then (134)
The Apple on the Tree (239)
And lily tubes—like Wells (247)
Until Death touches it (491)
With half a smile, and half a spurn, (511)

The Robin is the One (828)
Of the Seasons and the Sun (839)
To own the Art within the Soul (855)
Distinguished for the gravity (892)

Of Indigo and Brown— (1465)
Would scarcely cause one to suspect (1058)
The first Day’s Night had come— (410)
True, like the Tomb (408)

Invigorated, waded (1211)
He is new and high— (1213)
Now that she was gone— (1219)
The spirit never shows. (1225)

And drew away (1237)
Assuredly will lie (1246)
In any forest stirred (1259)
Confronting us again! (1274)

In this short life (1287)
Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself (1297)
Recollect the Face of me (1305)
That she could not forgive (1321)

A wave of Gold— (204)
Is it always pleasant—there— (215)
Teasing the want— (253)
Then, I am ready to go! (279)

Better to be ready— (373)
Where be the Haze— (386)
A horror so refined (401)
Not all the Snows could make it white (411)

From every Human Heart (911)
I asked Humility (1502)
And while by standing on my Heart (1507)
I envy Light—that wakes Him— (498)
His own was ampler—but as I (308)
Sweet plea— (200)

Niedecker Cento

Our talk, our books (196)
She carried books (205)
This book of birds I loved (137)
A hummingbird
can’t haul (264)

Isn’t it funny (141)
The make-believe of prayer, (90)
Such things they plant around my head. (121)

Tell em to take my bare walls down (291)
At night collapse occurs (136)
They floodlight it— (207)
The leaves most brilliant
As do trees
When they’ve no need (253)

You with sea water running
In your veins sit down in water (268)
Soft still-water twilight (154)
O let’s glee glow as we go (85)
Continue after the mind is blown. (138)

Maples to swing from (265)
Not built by brute force (299)

My drinking man (230)
Whom I love? (201)
I’ve wasted my whole life in water. (107)

Heat is within (42)
Green, prickly humanity— (147)
Unlearned in all but soot, (126)
My friend tree (186)

One for home (266)
A long dream to unroll (292)
As I paint the street (198)

May you have lumps in your mashed potatoes (149)
And that’ll be the end of J.E. Thorp (115)

Troubles to win (85)
Because you’ve brought
Your violin (141)
For heaven’s sake, dear, Cory, (203)
How much less am I
In the dark than they? (267)

The chemist creates (224)
The very veery (240)
To understand
Humanity (276)
Reason explodes. Atomic split (125)
And now my stove’s too empty (96)

Moving thru a field (164)
Suddenly stops (203)
In every part of every living thing (232)

My daughters left home (165)
I’d sit on a quiet fence (131)
People should know (80)
Effort lay in us (267)

We’d have danced (220)
I lay down
With brilliance (204)
This is my mew (167)

July, waxwings (174)
Glow-apricot red-brown (234)
What cause have you (240)
I too live hot before the final flash (162)

Notes and knowledge from utterances of English 284

Malediction
Benediction
Shall I bless or brake you

Estrange and de-familiarize
Love what is-the truth
Don’t be overly cautious

Be fond of writing
Be present

Can’t rely on the ups, cause that’s when you get into the hard stuff

Characterize the poems

Find precious
In nonsense

Fascinating language
Like what!?

“Williard Scott
Is likely a vampire”

“Do evil
You get lost,
It’s a rule”

Just keep writing

The pebble turned and folded into a worm
When I peered over my right shoulder I watched it take a nap

My sneezes are
Much too much
They make my eyes water

Practice emulation
Practice, practice

The skol is of permanent residence under the sink
it doesn’t concern me that the glass is always full of boxed wine either
Shes strong but terribly silent and cold when she finds necessary
And some say shes not happy, sometimes I think that’s true
Very true
But it should be false..she seems to be content with us, but not with him
And I guess the him is a problem if the us leave
…….to California
……..two Normal then and again

I really need ice cream
my self-restraint is saintly
im saving the money for tequila
which will make me a better person
and therefore still saintly

“leap and the net will appear” –Jason Mraz

two lawn chairs
driveway
chalk
and sarcastic, seemingly untrustworthy, beautiful individuals

Bradley
Bradley
Miami
Michigan

The ice rolled its shoulders and sighed

Were going to get ice cream
Im unnaturally happy about this
And not in the least concerned about the repercussion
On my body and my checking account
…actually slightly concerned bout the checking account
More like really
But ice cream with Kristen will make me happy
And I want to be happy

Theres a caterpillar in my soup

You’re a charming cucumber
Precious berry
Adorable tomato
Chuckling pineapple
Kooky apple
Sparkling carrot

Because Kristen wants a poem
Guacamole and homework
Codine and ice cream
You share some secrets, but keep the really good
Ones
You know the one on my neck?
We let the plant die
Youre adorably sincere and cook me sweet food
And you eat green onions by themselves
Definitely disturbing
We smoke by the lake which is soo creative
and sneaky
And you take halfsies while I take wholesies
I helped you wash your feet and you let me have strange visitors
You quote nice things about hope and love
And they truly make me smile very sweetly
You say youre concerned that there is more alcohol than food, psh were good
And you work too much, and don’t get to play
Unless were singing in the car to tunes that go
In a country direction
Even though youre central
I like our central air unit
And I like being friends

When I dance sometimes
I don’t find that rush
And its
A
Disappointment in so
Many ways
I don’t get why
Is it because I didn’t stretch enough?
Or is it cause I should just stop
This isn’t elementary school
Tell me if I suck
I can take it
Cause this must be the reason why
I’m not feeling the pull
And pressure on my feet
That kiss the floor with every sweep
And I don’t wait that long
For the music to breathe
This must be it,
Dance is over?

Patience is a nuisance
Because what good is it later when I need it now

1 I am impatient
2 why are you impatient?
3 I would just say “fuck you”
3 maybe it’s the meds
3 maybe stop being an asshole is more appropriate?
1 because I want to hear from you without having to ask?

im sitting in my empty apartment
on my bed
surrounded my tissue paper of various shades
listening to bushwalla
sippin on some hazelnut coffee.....venti
inhaling wayy too much Mod Podge
I didn’t wake up for class today
unemployment is treating me well

You’re so breakable and cute
and serene
and passionate
and loving and praiseful
and difficult and beautiful
and frustrated in an adorable way
and irresistible
and

that earwax is still stuck in your ears
and I cant seem to hear
what you’re complaining about
this sun is cold if you want it to be
just listen to me and all my stories
of endless and supposed realities
they’re stupid and pointless but the melody
will calm you
let it calm you and your intense worries
if you tread on this for too long
itll raise the strands of carpet from electricity
you need simplicity

Little girl what do you wanna do?
Emelia, what is my name?
Littttle girl, little girl
No that’s not my name
Sweetie, honey? Little girl lets go
I refuse to go until you say my name
Little girl
Do I look little Emelia?
Yes, youre a cute little girl
Fine……but im Auntie Kelly, at least get Kelly
Lituhhhllle girl

I will throw down right now
I fucking planted all the flowers on isu’s campus, you know it
Those are tulips not roses

Your jokes suck
And it’s the regret I promised to never have
That presses my ribs and twists my shoulders
In discomfort
And I need to leave
To distract from the reality
Those glasses can only shade
Glare
Into your lies
Ur not a good person
And “ur” is not real
Words

Lovebug, lets text all day
Get married and pour glitter on our lives
And coffee and maybe find a water bong
And make sure to ruin any future careers
We may desire to have in
Politics

Not poetry but useful for my tv habit
Lifetime 28
Bravo 36
Usa 39
Ae 41
Tlc 45
Convenient

I can see you through the air conditioner unit
Peek in when I turn around
Sneak, sneak, hide

This lady is stuffing a live rat into her mouth
Maybe she is hungry

You are a little cucumber
So crispy with fresh!
Endearing in a misunderstood way

Cute kitten
Don’t come to me
Stay your distance, just whisper to me
I miss you
Want to hold you to my clavicle

Until this year I just thought I had the worst luck with catching colds..turns out I have what some call allergies

Get some color on those legs

Remote Bracelet
Country Naked
Sternum Jello
Menu Carpet

Your success from the scandals
Disgusting and intriguing

We drive, drive, fly
Away from this comfort
Its childish and lovely
My shoulders breathe
Incline toward the sound
Tilt and taste the shine
Through those skimpy windows

Defy
Away forest
Lavishly
Show debris

Your vision is skewed
What is a friend to you
Tapped with kegs of emotion
And sips of honesty eh?

And you speak of money as if it is necessary to be happy
Fuck it, I know
Its naïve but Dad
I love you for being
Hilarious
Great storyteller
Not for your income
At this moment
You’re not happy
I see it when you look relieved that im home
And just display anger when I leave and the family isn’t together again
At this moment you are not happy
And you can’t be
Your lost
So am i
Breath and sight
Find one thing everyday that makes you laugh and cry
…love mom
Love living for family
Don’t worry bout these numbers
It won’t be there in the dust and ashes
Or in the sun and fluff
Find
Happiness
Please
I
Can’t
Lead
You
To
This place
But I can
Wait

-

Hit in the head again and again

Again

Sand in my eyes
And the fireball of seven is wolverine

First days of elementary care

For an everyday hero,
Im sorry I never got you a crush can in highschool
But we’ve moved on to rockstar…I owe ya one
With a set of lawn chairs in your driveway
“yeah for sure..ill see you in like 5 hours…
Ill go buy some yarn
And rockstars and of course have some Dylan in the background
With some kanye
For good measure”
How bout we kidnap matt who always needs a taco in his mouff
And lets talk about boys and lets talk about girls
And the little apartment with the money pit
So Megan and I don’t starve…
Until the day is gone and the night
Not quite here

You’re beautiful
And im not sure if you hear it, know it cause sometimes
Things
and mostly people
get in the way
they get in our god damn way
I get it, and you got it too…just needs a little push
A little cali perhaps?

And you told me
“you are the best friend a girl could ask for. And SPECIAL…god please never believe you are anything but special and someone who deserves Jewel not Dominicks, AMC not Seven Bridges, and an iced Americano not bp w/creamer.”

Nicole, babe, neighbor, you’re a genuine friend…when I talk to you I don’t feel crazy
But if I do, its cool cause that makes us awkwardly adorable right?
and you’re fucking special too
cause you deserve flannel and not just stripes
rockstar not monster
California not summer school
Naperville not Lisle
And Nicole you deserve happiness
Happiness at any cost
Some friends might have to disappear for that
And some difficult decisions might
Just
Have to be made
It sucks
And at night its not gonna get easier
But when we wake up and go to friedenhagen with some coffee
It’ll look a little fresher
And a little less fake
And that’s peaceful and sweet isn’t it?

It’s a high pollen day,
So I take a pm allergy medicine
And as I begin to tingle and loosen my fingers start jittering
And all of the sudden its like im drunk texting
Terrible
I already know I’ll regret this in the am

And I enjoy the craziness that exudes from my life
Yes I know that I can switch to fiery
Within a breath
Blame it on my Gemini status
I know that my glasses are
Never quite clean
And never quite straight

I love when you kiss my forehead
Nose
Then lips
But I can I say love?
Maybe just
Like

Ohhh Jason Mraz why do I love your music soo much
“Would it take a bakers dozen to get my point to you?
Would it take a half a pound to roll a joint for you
Would it take some hailing mary's so full of grace to get my sound to you
Will you help me break it down and get on thru”

Pushing buttons
And folding blankets
Brush the sink
And close the blinds
Push those buttons one more
Time

When the gems broke in halves by the riverside

The bees continued to interrupt with their belches

The shoelaces keep humming

If the box could only go left

If I could ever get to five thousand words
Please I’m so close

Not quite the end

Poetry for poetry’s sake
Estrange it
How can I do that within the last lines of this?

And I strain for something
That grasp of words
And I’m falling oh so short

But I know I can conquer this dissatisfaction
Cause as long as it is good and done
And I keep writing
And trying

Braid ranch
Glitz coaster
Navy wood

These lines are narrative
And so sincere
I want it to flow off the paper and
Into a head
And with a little faith
One word may
Make sense
And push what I must achieve
For writing is what I enjoy
And the act of this has
Continued to surprise

Final Piece

2009-06-10T19:51:00.000-05:00

HOLLY CUELLO
Word Count: 5,061

Prologue:
What is a prologue?
An introduction or preface, especially a poem recited to introduce a play.
An introduction or introductory chapter, as to a novel.
An introductory act, event, or period
Prologue this.
I guess this is my introduction to my poetry/estranged writings. I had no outside forces to help stimulate my mind, such as drugs (legal or otherwise) or alcohol. I did sometimes struggle to find the words to put my thoughts on paper (computer, rather). All these thoughts were produced in this magical organ we call my brain. The only information that was duplicated from other writers was the Dickinson and Niedecker poems, although I used my own creativity to make those my own, in a way. I rely on myself to produce these thoughts so that I can transfer them onto computer screen for all to see. I am opening up myself and my creativity for all to see, and that is new for me. I do not normally share the things I write about. Although I do not often write. But I suppose a little requirement and deadline applied call for some interesting thoughts.
These thoughts are mine and are not organized in any particular manner what so ever, of course with the exception of the centos as already discussed. My stream of thoughts, as I look back, I have decided is very strange and has no order to it. Nor does it have a filter. Filter is a weird word. When I see the word filter, I can envision a filter of some sort in my mind. But without the vision, the word is obsolete and seems to have no meaning.
The idea of coming up with 600 more words feels preposterous to me. And this is what I went through every time I sat down to write the following pieces. Enjoy.

What is poetry?
Poetry is blue, poetry is the trees swaying in the wind of the great outdoors.
Poetry is a cat licking its fur.
Poetry is the lonely man on the corner watching a family from afar.
Poetry is a bright green balloon floating into the atmosphere that was once loved by a 5 year old boy only moments ago.
Poetry is anything you feel, whenever you feel it, however you feel it.
Poetry is the feelings we feel that we once thought could not be verbalized.
Poetry is fluff.
What isn't poetry?
Poetry isn't evil or morose or shameful.
Poetry isn't afraid. Poetry isn't a tool used to hurt.

Are you afraid? You may not be poetry matieral, if so.
You may wonder what a feeling even is.
Poetry is feeling.
"A Poet's brain is the ultimate brain"
"A poet shall not spend his time in unneeded work"
"Obedience does not master him, he masters it"
(Whitman)
Whitman is crazy.
I feel lost in this giant giant world full of humans and animals and buildings and dirt. I feel lost because in comparison I am merely a molecule in this giant element.
I get tossed around like a floating bubble with no destination, nowhere to go, nothing to hold onto (or else I'll pop).
I feel like boredom is a lot like writing essays. Filler, fluff, filler, fluff. And repeat.
Boredom plagues us like a disease. Boredom has no clue, simply cover-up tactics. We are never not bored. Even when we're amused, deep down we're still bored. And we know it. When we are having the time of our lives, we are bored. Bored bored bored. Filler filler filler. Fluff fluff fluff.
Ideally the world would be at peace and every body would have a smile on their face and there would never be a reason for hurt. Ideal is out of reach. Ideal is no such thing.
Ideal is not real. Real is not ideal.

Today reminds me of a turtle trekking along through the thickest quicksand comprised of peanut butter. Nothing has gone slower.
Red is for sirens. Flashing, distracting, bright. Red.
Orange is for construction. Alert, warning, watch out. Orange.
Yellow is for yielding. Yield to walkers in the cross-walk. Yellow.
Green is for leaves. In nature, indoors, everywhere. Green.
Brown is for chocolate. Sweet, tasty, refreshing. Brown.
Purple is for lightning. Striking, startling, dangerous. Purple.
Blue is for skies. Open, fresh, never-ending. Blue.
Black is for hope. Always hoping to find a color in that black mass. Black.
There is a post card with a banana hanging on my wall. It made me laugh the day I got it in the mail. It was from my sister. She always has the best sense of humor. She always makes me laugh. Now that she sent me this banana post card, a part of me laughs every day. Thanks, sister.
Motorcycles driving by. Not even driving, but zooming. I really hate motorcycles. Drivers make me nervous because they wear the bare minimum required gear. I think all motorcycle drivers need to wear layers upon layers of leather. I don't care how hot it is, keep hydrated. You need a lot of leather to survive. Ironic, rely on a dead cow to save your life. But I'm a carnivore so it doesn't bother me personally.
They need to slow down. Everybody needs to slow down. We're all in such a hurry, it hurts. Hurry hurts. Zoom, zoom zoom. Everybody's flying by. But we can't even fly!
Traffic signs amuse me. Especially in Australia, where there are "kangaroo crossing" signs. I want to drive down Main street here and see a kangaroo hop across the street in front of me. I would surely yield, you can bet on that. I could never hurt a kangaroo. Or anything really. But a kangaroo is so much more interesting to watch cross the road than a damily of ducks. Although they are cute. Deer are the least fun animal when they are crossing the street. Usually they just hit your car and cost you thousands of dollars in damages and a life time of trauma. Mental trauma. Some people never get over things like that. You're driving along minding your own business and a deer suddenly comes out of nowhere and rams your car? The last thing you care about is the deer's well-being. Who cares about that living being when your precious Benz is dented to a crisp. Maybe it's not even the damage it cost you: maybe it's the damage it cost itself by ramming into your innocently driving car. You never meant harm to this deer. It did it to itself. Or maybe you feel guilty for not having left your house 5 minutes earlier because you couldn't find your favorite socks and yelled at your boyfriend for losing them.
Poetry is fate. Poetry is drama. Poetry is real.
Poetry isn't a joke. Poetry isn't fantasy.

Poetry is vitamins and minerals.

Some people need poetry to survive.
I don't know anybody like this. But I sure would like to meet them.
Poetry is books. But some books are useless. So poetry is not books.
I am still struggling to define poetry. Maybe it has no definition.

Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
Wake up. Eat. Work. Fall in love. Sleep. Repeat.
Wake up. Eat. Work. Break someone's heart. Sleep. Repeat.
Repeat repeat repeat.
As humans our lives are so mundane. But surely there's much more to living life than the repeat repeat repeat.
What else is out there? I am not smart enough to travel to space. I am not smart enough to invent a new, useful product. I hate math. I hate history. I don't understand economics. I am useless to this world.
How could humans have evolved to become so boring?
I bet that cave men had more fun than we do and they lived the simplest lives out of any type of "human-like" life there ever was. They invented the wheel and it ruined them. They tried to complicate things. They tried to be smart. They tried to evolve. Well they evolved and now they're gone. One day we will be too.

Poetry is cavemen.

Poetry is art. Art on the walls of an expensive museum. Art on the walls of an elementary school. Art on the walls of a brick building in form of graffiti.
Driving down the most boring country road,
I wonder to myself
"Why is this road so boring?"
The wheat sways in motion with the wind,
the gravel hot from rays of the sun.
These things should make an old boring country road interesting.
Up ahead on the left are some cows.
In 12 seconds you will smell them, in 30 seconds you will see them.

The word “gravel” is just “grave” with an “l” added to the end of it.
I wonder if they’re related. Related like beetles and ladybugs.
A grave is sad, a time to move on, somewhere to put a decaying body.
Gravel could cover this body, fill the empty hole that we put that body in.
Gravel fills the grave.

A human body is complex. A human body is made from one head, two eyes, one nose, one mouth, one chin, one neck, two shoulders, two arms, one chest, one waist, two hips, two legs and two feet. Why are there only one of some things and two of others? How are we “symmetrical” if we have one of some things and two of others? We are not truly symmetrical if things are uneven.
The inside of the body is much more complex than the limbs. Two thousand veins, thirty-ish organs, too many bones to count, hundreds of nerves and tendons, hundreds of muscles, and all of these things allow our human bodies to operate without us even having to do any work. Miraculous.
If you fill the graves with gravel, there will be less change of a zombie outbreak. Soil is soft and smooth and weak to a zombie’s touch. Gravel is hard and rigid and impossible to break through. Maybe we should start filling graves with gravel, just in case. Because you never know.
But I do not believe in zombies. The idea of “the living dead” is so dumb to me, there is just no way that something dead can be alive. If it’s living, it’s living. If it’s dead, it’s dead. You can’t be both, you can’t have everything!

There is something fascinating about the weather and how we can not control it, kind of like how we cannot control life or the clouds or the wind. But I guess that's all weather, except for life. The clouds literally have a mind of their own, floating about, merging with each other, taking different shapes. Sometimes I like to sit and watch the clouds.

One day I was walking around in a wooded forest, frollicing with the gnomes and fairies, minding my own business. It was a warm day, with something a little strange in the air. The gnomes suddenly began to squeal and run around with their arms waving. They knew something was coming. Suddenly a light shines over all of us. It is so bright that I can see through my clothing, yet somehow I wasn't really embarrassed. Because aliens aren't attracted to humans. Anyway, through this light appears a square-shaped space ship, not like one of those flying saucer kind everybody like to envision. It was square and had many colors on the outside of it. Anyway, it lands and parks in a clearing. One of the gnomes indicated that this had happened before, and it did not end well. You see, aliens are bald and ugly and want to look more like humans, so they steal humans, and take their hair. They go for the humans with the best looking hair, so if you decided that day to spike yours up into a mohawk, you are in luck. They do not want you. Yet.
Anyway so the space ship lands and an ugly bald alien comes out of it. This alien actually looks a lot like a human actually, just more wrinkly and kind of has a yellowish hue to his skin. he points to me and says that I have been chosen, they want my hair. I realize that I have absolutely no choice in the matter, because nobody knows what these ugly bald wrinkly aliens are capable of! So he took my hair, and I just felt happy to still have my life and all of my gnome friends.
Turns out this was all a dream and I woke up the next morning to find that I had been in a coma for 13 months and was bald because I had been undergoing chemotherapy treatment. Apparently I had a heart attack the day I found out I had cancer and fell into a coma. The cancer and chemo took my hair,not an alien from a box-shaped space ship. And the gnomes were my little brothers and sisters. And the fairies I still can not explain. But I suppose you're still somewhat conscious when you are in a coma, except nothing is exactly what it is supposed to be.

One day at a friend's house, my boyfriend could not find his keys. As we searched for them, I finally decided that he maybe dropped them on his way into the house. Sure enough, he did not drop them outside. The keys were still in the ignition, in his car, and his car was running for the two whole hours he was inside. While this was hilarious, I had to wonder what the car did while we were inside for those two hours...
The way I see it, this car went on its own little joyride adventure without us even knowing. Although clearly I am suspicious...
Anyway, what I think happened is the car realized it was still running so it turned the corner, and stopped at the liquor store. It was refused service because after all, you can not drink and drive. So it decided to move on down the street to a drive-thru. After ordering successfully, the car realizes it has no money. This is when the car realizes that it should not be gone for very long, because the owner may realize his keys were missing. At this point the car was in a hurry back to my friends house. This is when the car gets pulled over for speeding. Because nobody was in the front seat when the officer appeared, he assumed that the driver had fled the scene. This caused the car to be shut off while police officers patrolled the area for the runaway driver.
While the police were distracted, a homeless man climbed into the car with the keys in the ignition and started the car. A cop spotted him, so he got out of the car and ran for his life. Assuming this was the runaway driver, the cops followed the homeless man who had nothing to do with the car speeding in the first place. Now that the car was started again and the cops were nowhere near, it headed back to my friend's house. Seconds later, my boyfriend and I came outside and discovered that the car had been running for about two hours while we were inside. He brushed it off and did not think twice about whether or not the car had had its own little adventure, but I sure know better. I am on to you, car.
r-e-s.
impress. Undress. Caress.
Arrest. Interest. Suppress.

Static electricity pulling my hair against gravity. My hair sticks straight up.
I kind of look insane, in fact. But I am not insane, I have just come in contact with static electricity.
Static electricity: –noun Electricity.
a stationary electric charge built up on an insulating material.
My hair is an insulating material, especially in the winter time. Hats are great, but you get hat hair. And really, your hair is the natural insulator, so don’t insult it.

I tend to see the brighter side of things:
Inside of an orange is never as bright as the outside, but the inside of a lime is brighter than the outside. Weird how that works. They are both citrus fruit. I see the brighter side of things.
I see the brighter side of things when the whole world is collapsing around you. Except, not in a literal sense. Because the world probably can’t collapse. I would probably have to look it up, but I am almost certain that it can not.

If only teleporting were possible. You could think about a place and magically be there. Except it wouldn’t even be “magic”, because teleportation would be a legitimate form of transportation. My car once broke down on I-55 in the middle of winter, and this is when I really wished for teleportation to be a reasonable way to get around. Seriously, think about it. I am in a boring city. All I have to do is think about a beautiful place, and there I am. I guess this couldn’t work for everybody, because prisoners need to stay in prison and not teleport elsewhere…
But ideally, we should be able to teleport. It would cut gas costs, we wouldn’t have the economic issues we have now. We would never have to worry about plane crashes. We would never have to worry about sea sickness. We would never have to worry about the elevator breaking in the middle of your ride up or down a large tower. You could be anywhere you want, when you want, however you want. And come back as you please.
Maybe regulating something like that would just be too hard.
That’s what she said.

I wonder how the fibers of paper stay together. This is an odd thought. Hold up a dollar bill, of any value. How does it stay together? Paper turns to liquid at some point when it is being processed, but when you really think about it, you can tear a dollar bill in half. But you can’t fuse it back together. It’s irreversible. You cant fix something like that. You can’t put paper together but you can take it apart… You can put dough back together into a ball after separating it if you wanted. But you can never reverse the tearing of paper. Paper is torn and it can never be repaired until it is recycled. How sad.
I guess paper makes me sad. You write on it and scribble on it when you’re bored in class and don’t want to learn how to do today’s math problems. It eventually gets thrown away and is rarely placed in a recycling bin so that it may be among other wasted paper. It is all so useless when we think about it. I am technically typing into what looks like a sheet of paper, yet it is electronic. This is the right idea. I am not much of an activist, but this could really save a lot of forests. And you don’t need to recycle. You just open up a new screen and nothing is sacrificed. Trees are sacrificed for our use. Trees are like Jesus.

These are the days when skies resume (130)
How many cups the Bee partakes (128)
What all the world suspect? (129)

Endow the living- with the Tears (521)
Riding to meet the Earl (665)
It multiplied indifference (519)

No notice gave she, but a change (804)
Maimed—Was I – Yet not by Venture (925)
How the waters closed above Him (923)

Pain has but one Acquaintance (1049)
Entitled “Memory” (1273)
I take thee by the hand (1275)

The Spider holds a Silver Ball (605)
It was a gentle price (602)
I’m hardly justified (403)

I held a jewel in my fingers (245)
Blood of His Blood (246)
Yet eloquent declare (97)

Such trust had one among us (43)
When I con the people (40)
Reminded me of mine (510)

The Brain – is wider than the sky (632)
Bereaved of all, I went abroad (784)
To fill the awful vacuum (786)

A Man may make a Remark (952)
That Nought be lost (954)
Perish with him – that Keyless Rhyme! (503)

Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth (502)
Was God so economical? (690)
Would you like summer? Taste of ours. (691)

The Dusk kept dropping – dropping – still (692)
And the Sun – go on (714)
More distant in an instant (981)

This season of the year (980)
It is to be the saved (1347)
As Summer into Autumn slips (1346)

Life it – with the Feathers (1348)
I groped him before I knew (1555)
Knew where they went (1551)

I’ll begin to sew (617)
As if my Soul were deaf and dumb (577)
But dropped like Adamant (519)

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose (318)
Hid golden, for the whole of Days (321)
Some, too fragile for winter winds (141)

The wolf came peering curious (9)
Upon the hill – that lies (11)
Where every bird is bold to go (1758)

I married
A still state hard
Fog-thick morning
(they keep their trees away from us)
Moon on rippled.

Heart, be still.
The frost
Close to the heart
On the minnow bucket
With me.

Nothing worth noting
We can’t afford it. Selfish of her
Eager to remain
In this Eternal Category’s
Pride.

Now hide
To ache
As my absent father’s distrait wife
Hotly cared
In heaven’s name what other.

They’ve lose their leaves
Since she was young
In the leaves and on water
Land of rigmarole
Breaks my hand

He drinks, you know. The day we moved
She had tumult of the brain
But I drink Maderia
No marriage
Between us.

She eloped with Shelley
Who died
Thi not like him
In north woods
Before the fruit flies.

Tell me a story about the war
Head blown off
The obliteration
He wonders now
Without any opening
When the market raced down to a dime a pound
He’d say: all my life I saved
Then left everything
For a three half-penny fare
Till he lost his spring and fall

But eat your beef-ounce from a doll’s platter
Gave to the poor tho he himself
And as I left a sucker jumped me
No modesty anymore
To probe the river

You spoke your poem
With another slave
I sit in my own house
I fear this war
No matter where you are

Sure they drink
To sense
And hum
Or care a kite
On one leg in the weeds.

She carried books
With brilliance
Before dropping off
Then thousand women
Across the sky

You ought to put forth
All body
Downstream
Tonight I beseech
Let’s take it in

Lisp and wisp
In my favor
Bends to inspect
In this dark
A man.

In sphagnum moss
And tooth enamel
You bowed
As tho to fly
Ahead – home town.

I wake, I think, and my eyes struggle to open.
Feels like you’re in a dream, the outside of your vision is fuzzy and blurry…
Except this is no dream, I really am trying to open my eyes.
I eventually pry them open with my fingers.
Waking up should never be this difficult, ever.
No matter how tired I am, my eyes should always open with ease.
Maybe there’s something the world does not want me to see.
My vision is still not clear, and I know it’s not from the absence of my contact lenses.
I want to see, I always took it for granted: my vision.
My eyes are finally open, but I do not see.
The daylight seeping through the windows peeks at me.
My eyes’ instinct is to quickly shut.
The forceful light of the morning is too much for my tired eyes.
I try again to open my eyes, this time more blurry than before.
I can feel a sensation of stinging inside and out of my eyeballs.
I drag my lifeless, partially blind self out of bed and to the mirror.
I can’t see clearly but I can see one thing for sure:
Conjunctivitis.

Recipe for Disaster:
- 1 Handful of matches
- 1 can of kerosene
- 1 ant hill
- 1 clumsy idiot
Start by pouring the entire can of kerosene all over the ant hill. In order to get the desired effect, be sure that you do not leave any dry spots. Next, grab your handful of matches and light all of them. Then, carefully throw the lit matches onto the kerosene-covered ant hill. If performed properly and in correct order, your ant hill should explode in flames and your ant problem will be solved. However if you chose to include the last ingredient, your hands and arms will be covered in kerosene as well, and when you lit your matches, your arm would catch fire. This would cause a chain reaction of you tossing the lit matches into the air, your hair catching fire, your dog catching fire, and then an army of angry ants attacking your entire body.
I guess next time you should just pick up a can of ant spray and maybe some OFF while you’re at it..

Got that iPhone wart problem?
Let me explain. Say somebody has a wart on their cheek, or on the side of their face. A device like the iPhone operates on a touch screen, including the controls to receive and end a phone call. Well if you have a wart in just the right (well, right?) spot, it has potential to press up against the “end call” button. Your phone call will end, and you will find yourself yelling to the person who was once on the phone, accusing them of not paying enough attention. You’ll probably check your phone to see if you’re even still connected, and you will come to realize that your wart ended the call for you. The wart decided that your phone call was over, not you.

Fires are interesting. You have your wildfires, fires blazing endlessly, so it seems. These fires have outstayed their welcome, like your friendly uncle who means well but ends up embarrassing you in front of the rest of your family. That uncle. Wildfires are like that uncle. Some are started on purpose to burn leaves and brush. But sometimes they get out of control and don’t do what you want: which is burn down communities. I think people should be flame-retardant. Our skin shouldn’t be flammable or burnable. Why are these monster fires so impossible to put out? But a small candle flame is so easy? I thought size doesn’t matter? So you can’t tell me that a candle is easily put out because it’s small.

Today I feather more fluff on this fucking thing. How does my mind go blank so often? Is it even possible for a mind to be blank? I think not. Too many thoughts racing through the mind at once, it is impossible for it to ever be blank.
But somehow, my mind is.
Blank.
Blank.
BLANK.
KNALB.
I like “blank” backwards more than I like the original word itself. Knalb. It sounds like a last name, or a title of some sort. The Mighty Knalb!
My mind, clearly, is not blank. Or knalb.
I was supposed to mail out a letter 2 days ago. I am just lazy. Sorry, old roommate, I probably will not mail this out until at least Friday. And that’s if you’re lucky. And from what I learned by living with you, you do NOT get lucky. I think you tried once but it never happened. Why would it? You’re so awkward and dopey. Who would want to get lucky with you? I probably couldn’t pay anybody to get lucky with you, or make you lucky, or however that’s supposed to go.
You remind me of a cow. Like when people go cow-tipping. And the cow is so utterly unsuspecting, and then they lay on the ground with nothing to do for 7 more hours until the farmer wakes and picks you back up again because you’re too stupid and idiotic to handle doing so yourself. You must have been tipped when you were a baby. That would explain it. And then your parents didn’t care to help you back up because they thought you were too stupid to be deserving of standing upright. You are a stupid, tipped over cow flailing your stupid arms and legs and not able to get back up. You are probably too stupid and slow to get it up anyway, if you were going to get lucky. But you’re not. And I’m not sending out this important information until Saturday, I’ve decided. That is, if I find the time. Your mind is probably blank, or knalb, or something just as bad as either of the two. You once asked me how to use the toaster. THE TOASTER. A common kitchen appliance and I don’t care if you’re Polish, YOU HAVE USED A TOASTER BEFORE. But no, you are simply so stupid that you had to ask me how to use it. You are a stupid cow that got tipped when you were younger and your parents realized you were a lost cause and that one day when you were 21 years old, you would have to ask your roommate how to use a fucking toaster. Your parents must be real proud of you. You are a cow who is trying to get into Med School. With your ability to use a toaster alone, I think you could be a rocket scientist. Maybe you should stick to something easy, or something that doesn’t require you to be in charge of innocent, unsuspecting lives. What if it is my duty to warn the world? What if he does somehow become a doctor, the same idiot who can’t use a toaster, and ruins lives because of it? Maybe I won’t go out of my way to warn the world, but I certainly will interview and testify to your stupidness on CNN when they ask me if there were any early signs of his failure. I will say, yes, he was tipped over as a young cow and never got back up. It did a lot of brain damage. His brain is blank. And Knalb.

Final Piece 5085 words total

2009-06-10T19:35:00.002-05:00

Prologue -904 words (5085 words total)
The purpose of ars poetica
according to Viktor Shklovsky, i
n 1917, is to slow the reader
and make her experience the ordinary
in an entirely different way.
This interruption of a person’s perception
allows the “stone to become stony again.”

Enstranged works certainly accomplish this
but I found they were difficult for me to read
as well as write at first.
After the initial reflexive mental resistance
I began finding myself to listen to conversations
and then trying to imagine what they would sound like
if I switched them up on paper.
Music and other types of media have come to be more
of a source of inspiration rather than just the background noise.
I found I was jotting down little things
that made me curious about situations,
such as a conversation overheard
walking across the quad where I overheard a man
telling a group that “My construction worker is dead.”
As I began to read Roberto Harrison and Emily Dickinson
I recognized that even mundane objects and conversations
can be used for inspiration.
For example, the computer code Harrison uses
would be incredibly dull when read on its own.
Harrison’s ability to make it say something
other than it means shows the purpose of ars poetica.
Dickinson is talented at personifying ordinary objects
and turning them into an enstranged work of art.
After I acknowledged that the works
are not always meant to be understood
I accepted it as a way of thinking
I began to have fun with this style of writing.

In my poetry I explored candor,
or the element that is crucial in the enstranged style.
The authors tell elements of truth through polysemia
and seem to experience their surroundings
through their souls first
before they begin to dissect it with intellect.
The love of fate – Amor fati –
is a person that is generous enough to love and accept everything
that comes their way in life
and is a healthy outlook to have.
Deconstructing the notion of I, as Aime Cesaire
demonstrated in Notebook of a Return to the Native Land,
opens the spirit to accept everything surrounding it
and in turn can only bring about good things for our culture.
I tried to adopt these philosophies in my work such as “Musical Muse”.

A shift away from the denotative
into the connotative helps the writer to
deprogram themselves from the metaphors
we are accustomed to.
John Keats supported this idea
by proposing the theory that
a writer needs to be open with their work.
Even if the writing doesn’t make sense,
it is the ability to thrive within
the absence of the predictable
that makes one’s writing a work of art.
This use of enstrangement challenges
the notions of automatic language and stylization.

The following cento from Russell Edson’s selected poems
gives a preview of the enstranged style I tried to accomplish in my works –

Dream man said he will do dreams.
There was an orange that had a dream in a fruitbowl,
A man had built a machine.
But his parents said look it is fall.
A piece of a man had broken off in a road.
Thus falls the attention into itself;

In sleep: softly, softly, angel soldiers mob us with their brutal wings;
So it is given. The young prince is placed under a bed.
Do I make everybody that sick, sighs father.
There were feathers growing on his wall as the flesh and bones under the skin had become water.
Not now, not now, I’m just getting to the lining, he murmurs with impatience.
In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones.
He’s a lonely traveler, and finds companion in the road;
The heroine is supposed to be embracing the hero on the deck of the same ship,
but instead is being strapped down for an electric shock treatment.

So it is given: we follow as through a tunnel down through the trees into the earth.
The ceiling was quite displeased and so it grew pleased again.
The ceiling closes heaven like a door.
Meanwhile, we return once more to the kitchen of Aunt Hobbling,
Can the old fellow get out of the kitchen?
He thinks one of his shoelaces needs tying.
But you cannot procreate with an automobile, said father.
And then he looked for himself and even he was gone.
He could not tell if he had not now become himself feathers and turkey flesh.
What shall we do? What shall we do? He cries.

I had remained in bed longer than it usually takes one’s fatigue to drain off.
A large woman has killed her parakeet with an ax;
She says, it’s wrong, she wants her hatchet.
They are in the house.
In it were the things a man kept,
Actually both arms were missing.
Can we depend on human intelligence to save itself?
I am already reaching for the phone to call a taxi,

I seek a mastery over fate, of which you are,
Now arc the earth, sweet dark,
Grey is the light and a green tree there and the ceiling asleep.
…That’s funny, my watch is melting on my wrist.
Well, at least, if this doesn’t hurt reality,
Which, of course, is sheer nonsense placed in the service of the tongue.
Standing on a cliff overlooking the sea,
Gently, gently out of hell, the ape climbing out of the ape.
Yes, I am afraid; I am not so brave.

Random Beginnings -688 words
Wood smoke, slight and strong
Musky sweet tangling through
Mixed up hair that will not ever wash this away
Fearful to lose the memories of stars and melody
About solitude being born or
The sweet release of bitter thoughts
This is just another hour moving forward
Eyes burn from sun scorched lips
Parched poetry is feeling
Expressions get away from the reverence
Will I allow the open to embrace to acknowledge the unknown thoughts?
Now a phone blast is unwelcome
Must focus harder on blue nervous feet
This cool shirt is a relief of crystal
What tree weeps with wishes?
Now picture smooth rocks seeing night though their eyes
Instead of the stone veil that covers the heart of Them
This gross kidney shall heal an undiscovered friend
I can do without your leathery overdone kale soup
But that popped beer has worked to the surface
With soothing happiness all afternoon
A downturned truck bemuddled with specks is bearing
DOWN I yell furiously!
A turtle flew backwards to show that
A pen cannot be dropped around people managing chairs
A spangled face mows a buzzing peck of asparagus
I love to celebrate nothing, every time
I feel self intoxicating hatred or love disguised in flesh
but with a broken mouth screaming
I shall not embrace the shade
Today
Will empty deliverance sever your adhesive faith?
I gesture to flighty attitudes by sarcastic sailors
Writing blames that acknowledge his forgotten sister quit congress
Tomorrow tolls a summoning and flings the universal
In a red flavor
Streaks claim the sky over
This pear flowing orchard
Flies drop kisses of sweet burial feasts
Awful fast landing for a flinching goose
Mankind can hear pockets of review letters gasping truth
A brave punch stretches standing lumber
It makes me mistake a blossoming tooth for a gnarled ear
His hat begs to talk of a thousand proud prisoners
Who lost witnesses to the stand
This dinner fogs over reduced fat
Its height is in the lathering jam
Too level clocks wound by dollar bills
Shoulder to bat without shallow heels
Spectacular wheat thin is born by the shyness of the wicked hummus
A true friend remembers your perception
Never will she interrupt the talking tough
Whispers almost started the screen melting
Steamy enough with clattering throats
A chapped nail is locked tight during coping hours
Draw on drumbeats yet fingers twitch with empty flames
This catchy obituary reveals ten gates creaking in need of dark water
Tunnels turning paraphrasing into frogs
Leap and the net will let you fall into your favorite line of creaky sonnets
Too much speech will reek the preface
Practice the routine of a technical rhythm
A spoon clatters from above
Those loathing foams
Out to calculate the sour taste of fennel and figs
Collide with me on the floor
These never ending words are too tired to stop chair legs
United thoughts don’t exist anymore
The professor has won
I’ll turn to Saturday night and drunken bars
and too many regrets too soon
but the parties continue
I’ll need to shower and give up before the sun rises
We’ll storm the thread of war together
For those in pain have not heard the truth that their weapons are backward
and do not make sense a true solution
Political stances are all contradictions on a pinhead
Self righteous hope doesn’t make you right
Resolved disbelief and reactions without fight
Is the voiceless cowards’ way out
Say farewell to fake affection you fool
Always begging for change but have you come that far
From where we stood over there when the tide was rising
And speaking the curses of cloudy time
Sparks only show selfish fears in this mindless murmuring
Turn the tables one day and the slurs will vent conviction
Honor can never be free power
Whiteness obliterates possibilities
Stop the bleeding and begin to believe in potential shadows
You cannot chase harder than you can crawl
If we must hide the precious dreams
They cannot be stolen in a sudden breath
You can’t deny you are ordinary
Build up any remedy to keep in the cold choking breath

Harrison Post -633 words
I ease into the bloated rivers of plasma, in the jugular vein of the wasted dealer

All the moors of eastern Scotland
Laugh like the wind
The heart of a rose
Rimming the tomb
Every skull
Grasps reveling chances
To perhaps fuse
The arm in
Find if you can
The snap of a shiny bone
For the hovering luck
Of the rabbit hindered

I surrender to justice that portrays reflection,
The insect serenading
To sleep
A dead memory
In the striped trenches
The swamp of tears
Regain the faces of delicate ladies
Yearning under
The wonder of a birth
Will it do

Every eclipse in light
Gutters the soft yellow glow,
Without a burn
For the footsteps proceed
In the warm quickening night,
On the heated cobblestone
In their flight
Escapes the burning hands of the angry sea

I crawl the distance that webs close behind
I digest the sweet amour
In the heart of the sun the cicadas singe

In the tomb of the end
Is the touch of His hand
Thinking of it punctuates my longing

I exhale in the heavens
I command the celestial knowing
I can protect you from seething peril

In the carat, on the hand, from the ground
Where the children played in the mud
Where they climb the gum tree
Where the winged birds return to sleep in their coronet

Under the brittle bridge
Is the spattering DAM of a rat
In the psychic connection of the creatures, for the lead
For my sleeve in the break
For an overgrown love, for the stream that guides every living thing

I empty dirt from the hearts of my boots

I splice the truth for native tongues

In languages that could pour out of the souls of mutes
It is a sound that detects what won’t be removed
In a ruse that a babbling son can’t accuse
For traveling further still
For waking before noon
For the plops on the shady half of a loop

I retreat to separate my words

I soon space out from the fun

I copy the files of the known poet

For the blooming tiara in June
For the islands that steam
For the flight of soil in a break of earth

The dogs I remember

I slay hatreds

I refresh ideologies

I count through the torrent

Fur heads on the coat
From turtles that sun
For brackets that never enforce

I have begun

I sing

I follow the plummet of the wings off the planes that won’t fly

To ferment the grapes on a lath
To break all the mirrors that were fused
To execute smokes in thick bits

I am a choke that begins from the throat
I am the gums that you poison through with dips
I am the treacherous quivering steps in the belly of lies
I am the void holding everything
I connect
I neglect
I am undone
I falter
I view it all
I drip
I roll over
I heave in the line of fire
I pour the glass through
I tie every count that is numbered
With the land in the sea
That a countess becomes
That which is a body unraveled
Winched above prairies, and forest, and springs
Slithering ears
In the corn made of snakes

I claw up the panther with rakes

I arrive on a herd of horses

I cloud the loss for the eagles

I coyote all the skinny deer

I sink in the hidden ground with the animals

I am an entry of knowledge

I am silence in the host of the praying
I am a desperate cycle in the shell of an ocean tide

I loop before the lines through the arrival from before

I am the corpse of frozen centers
Adrift
Over a lake
Made of lava

Lure of the sea -630 words
I open my soul and connect with the beckoning musePoetry singsThe songs that tell of rippling rainsRed wine travels in rivulets,Sailing through a groveThe cross stretched wide my limbsEvery wound is a journeyEvery return a welcome friendTo ecstatic godsTopping glasses, to celebrate, the remainsOr is it now the beginningI recreate the master’s touch, the embraceSuddenly I’m standing and listeningI translate the sighing of the grassTo be speaking with reassuranceWhispering a welcomeThe memory of what will beI tip downward out of position, the mapped out worldIs swirling beneath my wingsThe mountains scorn and scrabbleTo hungrily lick the remainsBreath of ashThe divide of that most open refrainThe last on the field use weapons of stars,In the endless reverse of the strangeAn overture of the passIn any game made for the winningFor the sense of fools to ponder foulsThat plies a disaster of commentsShouting cursesIt is clear that those one to-one have words in handWhat they have stolen, is the connectionThe blood loss persistsWhere the pain has refused to surrenderWhen the revolving ceases, when the shirt is regainedWhen the ten instruments were not blamedThere is soul in the friction of the gasp of the facadeIn the shadow of gain, the jigs and reels enthrallDrawing in friends and discarding loversAn orange that peels too close to the groundWinding trails of scented fleshThat unweaves from the forgivingQuarters of sustenanceThe worm feedsThat the unwavering almost gives upOr gives inNot that anyone seesA flicker of heat pulls me inThe safest road retreatsThis onward ribbon will labyrinthTrapping me with deception, an illusion of endMy hands meltI am lost in the circuitsI am free of fearI dissolve in these wheelsGone I will beI believeThat the safest cut is to a stemLifting the face freeFrom a tangle of thornsThat painful crownThe painted rose wakesIn the cool submersionPerfumeFortress of charmStolen luck and smoky mirrorsEnchanting towers lure the unbelieversSilken chants and mysterious kissesThe crooked smile tastes of chocolateA cocoa concoction of cinnamon, coffee and hazelnutMy senses drugged I surrender into his spellDrowning in the other worldI believeLaughter touches my handA cold relief from siestaA lake of sweatNightmares swarmI focus on the battleIt is in meAgainst the fossilsA landscape of canyonsFiltering snow in the tracks of the desertThe dust shines through refractionThe eyes of cicadas peer though willow boughsThe nervous lemon spinning under glassVisions press fingertips to my eyelidsDarkening shadows separateInto giant figures that stride at meThrough stitches of honeyGlossy curve of a treeTurquoise shelters the tortoiseThe promise of dancing fishMakes me trembleMy ears are floodingThe rest will take shape with the wind’s caressThe saltwater stings then the pain is vanishedA tug of sand from beneath my feetBurrow for a crabNothing beginsNothing true is intendedNothing runs into the sunNothing bleeds into the seaNothing files remorseNothing is liberatedNothing blinks in the glowNothing wakes in the revolving tideNothing remains of the false webNothing mars the polish of the seaNothing interrupts the timeNothing revolvesNothing weaves through the bubbling surfaceNothing paces underwaterNothing wakes with intentNothing betrays the war of fallingNothing remembersNothing tugs with deceptionNothing gets new againNothing loves to refuseNothing removes the line in the sand
Nothing remains

Emily D. Cento – 622 words
In Winter in my Room (1670)
In snow thou comest- (1669)
A little Snow was here and there (1444)
Quick! Burst the Windows! (1003)
Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me (295)
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow (584)
The Battle fought between the Soul (594)
Unto the Everlasting Spring (804)
Further than Arm could stretch (949)
For treason not of His, but Life’s (950)
Of Heaven above the firmest proof (1204)
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus (1207)
That such a Realm could be- (1360)
Beguile it more and more – (1580)
It makes us think of what we had, (1764)
And Something’s odd- within- (410)
While simple-hearted neighbors (45)
Are settled, and at work – (1035)
Like Men and Women Shadows walk (1105)
To Keep the Dark away (850)

The thinking how they walked alive- (509)
Leaping like Leopards to the Sky (228)
Strong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds (711)
By pallid innuendoes (1445)
But think enlarged of all that they will tell us (1515)

Loosed the Moon her silver hat (1672)
The elemental Veil (1412)
Lest in a Face so beautiful (1080)
Of unsuspended Suns – (562)
Too Telescopic Eyes (443)
To witness her Goodbye (419)

We wondered at our blindness (795)
And so of larger – Darknesses – (419)
We soberly descend (1118)
Unobserved – a Ribbon slipt, (1363)
A little weather worn (1465)
Down Time’s quaint stream (1656)
Unconscious our returning, (1657)
This – is immensity – (1512)

A Word that breathes distinctly (1651)
Resembles to my outraged mind (1102)
When the Birds begin to whistle (617)
But wrought their Pang in syllable – (544)
And all the meadows wide – (26)
Like thee to dance – like thee to sing – (24)

Ah, said July – (386)
Let go a music –as of tunes (436)
As Forest touch the Wind (1229)
Was Summer to a Score (805)
She was not warm, though Summer shone (804)
To gird us for the sun, (63)
The old-old sophistries of June – (130)

Thine eye impose on me – (429)
Stains – all washed – (428)
As Suns – dissolve a star (515)
Color-Caste-Denomination- (970)
The Beauty that reward Him best- (968)
And never quite concealed (1173)
Silence is all we dread. (1251)

Sweet Pirate of the heart, (1546)
Not any more to be known – (1344)
My Wars are laid away in Books – (1549)
A Rat surrendered here (1340)
‘Tis starving makes it fat- (1509)
He ate and drank the precious Words – (1587)
Round our new Fireside – but for this –(944)
His glittering Embrace – (867)

For a penurious smile. (868)

The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won (1)
The Wind pursued the little Bush – (589)
But could not make it feel. (948)
Even Nature herself (1344)
Has “All” a further Realm – (1341)
Without apparent burden (1723)
Displayed before the simplest Door (1644)
But Nature relishes the Pinks (1641)
An edible Delight (1306)
Until to Her surprise (1081)
Blown tremulous in Glass- (436)
On this long storm the Rainbow rose – (194)
The Breaking of the Day (55)
Easier – for the sky (728)
Is that Great Water in the West – (726)
Riches and Name and Realm (1318)

Such are the inlets of the mind- (1421)
One Joy of so much anguish (1420)
Gathered into the Earth, (1370)
Combined with a seam (1371)
Gravitates within- (750)
Itself to justify (745)
And Dying-Lifetime- (682)
‘Twould ease – a Butterfly – (682)
Of Sunshine-and of Sere- Composed (602)
Far ends of tired Days- (604)
Or who died-yesterday! (277)

The flower must not blame the Bee – (206)
The Rose did caper on her cheek (208)
The Forfeit is of Creature fair (1154)
Best Witchcraft is Geometry (1158)
To breathe my Blank without thee (1153)
The Visage of the Soul (1311)
Shudder to attain. (1315)
Impregnable the Rose (1444)

Niedecker Cento – 318 words
I think of a tree (105)
The surface of the stream the leaves (109)

The wind willow (104)
By freshness from the sky (115)

I have to fly (209)
At times I sit in the dunes (108)

Sleep and it won’t matter (144)
She’d sell dirt, she’d sell your eyes fried in deep grief. (108)

In the great snowfall before the bomb (142)
I fear this war (183)

You are alone (183)
On my doorstep (182)

Fog-thick morning (181)
The branches’ snow is like the cotton fluff (174)

The marsh, down in the ditch(145)
And hear from Ireland (171)

As we walked a city terrace (159)
In New Madrid (165)

In all the world there is nothing (176)
Now I sew green aprons (208)

Stood serene as now-he refused to see (175)
In the old house (164)

Quivering toward light (172)
I rose from marsh mud (170)

Cars out rolling thru the country (172)
Porch’s people, prices, peppermints (171)

Go home where the green bird is- (168)
Inside today’s woods (160)

As I shook the dust (160)
Chopin left notes like drops of water (158)

Something precious, a real good thing (153)
Beside the river-out of flood (169)

Imitation silk black dress (152)
She now lay deaf to death (150)
Moving thru a field (164)
Let me hear good night (151)

Tho what we feel be misery (148)
Three days toward Berlin, one bread for six (165)

Don’t melt too much into the universe (149)
Like parachutes (136)

We must know about the sandhill crane (145)
In the moonlight lies (135)

Let’s practice your dance (144)
Here we last (120)

What would they say if they knew (143)
The world has no notice (81)

Not all that’s heard is music. We leave (143)
Between the river and the Sound (137)

Birds flying through leaves (134)
With tap-dance-acrobatics (134)

No modesty anymore (118)
To wit, the lover said (79)

Not finding where the flowers were (116)
And the extravagant (80)

Raw wind, rain, (81)
How impossible it is (198)

There must be things in the world – (85)
No bread and cheese and strawberries (86)

There was a bridge once that said I’m going (87)
Rise and sore (82)

Land cannot be sold, (99)
And painted in red, a bluebottle gentian (98)

Dickinson and Niedecker Translated - 649 words
****Dickinson****
Our share of night to bear
Our share of morning,
Our happiness in a vacuum to fill,
Our blank in scorning.
Here is a star and a star, Some lose their way.
Here a mist, and there is fog,
After that day!

To fight aloud is very brave,
Gallanti but I know
Who charge within the breast,
The cavalry of woe.
Who will win, and nations do not see,
Which is not only observation,
Whose eyes dying, no country
Regards with patriot love.
We trust in plumed procession,
These angels go
Rank after rank, even with the feet
And uniforms of snow

Victory comes late
I keep a low freezing lips
Too deep, St. frost glass doors
You can take it.
In order to sweet taste,
Just a drop!
God was so economical?

The table spread for us, too
If you do not eat tip-toe.
Crumb can keep a small mouth
Cherries separated Robins;
Golden Eagle's breakfast Strangles them.
God has kept his oath Sparrow,
Who is a little love
I know how to starve!

Before you think of spring,
In addition to the assumption
Behold, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the sky Independent hues,
Little time-worn, Inspiriting Clothing
The carbon and brown.
With examples of poems,
As for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
Sexuality was associated with delay
To some superior tree
Without any list Shouts of joy and the But even Angelina!

Bring me the sunset in a cup
Count this morning's flagons up,
And say how many cloth;
Tell me how far the morning jump
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth blue!
Write me how many notes have In the new robin's ecstasy
Among astonished branches;
How many trips the tortoise makes,
How many cups of the bee partake --
The debauchee of dews!
Also, who laid the Rainbow's piers,
Also, which leads the docile spheres
At the withers of additional blue?
If fingers string the stalactite,
Who counts wampum at night
To see that nobody is guilty?

Who built this little Alban house
And close the windows down so close
My spirit can not see?
Who'll let me some gala day, With the tools to fly away
Passing pomposity?

****Niedecker****
My coat worn,
And Capital Hill
The morning after
the modern.
In this category
Eternal the land of fiction, see through laughter.

Mr.Van It bought 14 washcloths?
Fourteen washrags, Ed Van there?
It must go on the church, I guess. He drinks, you know.
The day on which we
Then came into the kitchen stewed, to mix things, my sister Grace --
Place spices in a bad place.

My husband says that the wind blows from the south,
we go, there is no happiness
Caught that I use multiple burns on it,
and the faces to the east, and the wind in my mouth,
but my husband has been in the south.

Black Hawk leadership: Due
Earth can not be sold,
things to take away, and I'm old.

Young Lincoln postponed general
Papaya flowers, and to this day,
Black Hawk, Reason a small room.

The laundry is in office
no totem-sculptures between master Niedecken
moreover, every seventh day on which they are washed:
Worship service Sunday,
the fear of the rain,
the eyes of their neighbors;
the hands of the earth to heaven,
and hang or fall in with the white to all of them.

Grampa's got hisr old age pension,
$ 15 per month, his own food and space.
But here he comes, Violin and spitbox ...
Tho't I stop with you a little, Harriut,
They were all parents.

There's a better shine on the clock
that what is happening on my hair
and often I have seen there.
Which bird light Moving into a tree
Tree, which I of privacy?
Down in the grass the issue of the incompetent;
sora eyes. . . Not calm.

Musical Muse -641 words
The nodding flute,
its flight
Focused and springing
Trippy

Astounding but
I can’t quite make it say
That this will ever make sense
With you
Swaying me, singing -
“Love inside
Of your head
Love inside
Of my head”
-when Dave Matthews Band
Plays a gig on the big stage

Dave Matthews Band -Beacon Theatre, NYC

Maybe now I can comprehend this statement:
“If only two notes are
Played
Only so much can go wrong
One note or the other”
But look here at
All these empty keys
Taunting me to touch
And clang
Making me wish I was not
Closed in from that splendid dusky light
Sun laughing
Tapping the inky glass
Sky of night
The lyrics drive me out

Diving obliterating thoughts rush into
Dreaming of who wrote
About Seven sons and turned
That nonsense into rhymes
Musty house Smells leaping -
Chasing Nightmares
And demanding equations
What lies should not be told?
That’s a sick game to play
Better to fill this gasping space
With observations of Musician faces
Bitter, Sweet happiness of arrival
Unfulfilled sorrow yawning
With years of too many desires dried up
This is too much
I think I’ll nap
No more
Dancing words and thank
You
very much
Popping on my lips

Abode of humble
Secrets
I want to believe-
In order to Fuse
The past to
The drum
Beats
Are you there?
In this moment
I am taken
In
By it
Forgive it
Accept it
You may wear this façade for me
If you could care to?
Can you receive it without stretched fingers?

Every moment is
Deliberate.
Calculating the angles-
The crook
Of his eyebrow
Says wait and see.
Watch for the play of his fingers
They talk you know
Telling me
I’m so damn
Lucky
For this one night
When the switch
Flips

Drunken geraniums
Bobble in the window box
Bleeding with the fog
A carnage on the glass of my face
Stoic as Unseen strings are
Tying knots into flowers
Twining my prayers into
Something real for you.
Stay Beautiful
Love.

I laugh out
Loud like water poured
From a saxophone
Answering the stars
Spiraling under your feet
What is in this inspiration?
I’m some kind of dope
Tippling away my resistance until
I am so out of control
I’ve lost my cool
It appears I have addressed the muse
Too soon and it disappeared
Just the same as the way the dust likes to crawl across my desk
Mapping out grainy rivers on this plane

The picture that took me over
Was a field of tulips
Brazen and flirting
Until the cello drowned them out
One beauty easily shadows over the other
There must be a message in that
But all I see are shooting cars
And I don’t know any songs but that one
I’ve done my mama proud
Once again
I lost my chances
I got tangled up and misplaced
Wandering through you
And testing the depth of your tactile thoughts
While you held me too close
The strands of your world
Only show you staring back at me
That’s no help what so ever
I’ll focus on your jittering foot instead
Why don’t you set it free
It may be better off
Without you dragging it down
Shine this spot light on
It there in center stage
Let’s see what it can do!
Maybe it can make up for the last
Fifty-six words left
Because I can see nothing else but
Children playing in the street
Just be yourself kid –there on the bike –
Stand your ground against the taller one-
Don’t let them bully the self out of you
Hang on to that bike for all you are worth
Character is easily swindled away these days
Sold to the highest bidder, so you thought.
Joke’s on you kid if you should give in.

Final Piece

2009-06-10T18:32:00.000-05:00

Prologue
I find myself writing
about things that
I haven’t figured out about myself like
why I don’t like trying new things,
or why I prefer to be, me
nearly ninety percent of my time.
Maybe, it’s my complexity
I want to give up my guns
And my tears
And my pillows.
I robbed a bank
I want it to haunt
my work
is usually understandable,
because
I use poetry as a
tool
to fix me.
Being raised with very few figures
makes it difficult for me
to be a figurine
to show emotion,
typically males don’t act like that.
I have to be strong,
people are depending on me to do so.
Being weak is not an option;
however I am human, and
need to be weak sometimes.
Transformers!
Writing,
Makes me proud,
Helps me
Say mine,
bleed me
open the opera
to vent the things
I cannot afford to say,
but yet the thoughts that
are always trickling
through my mind.
This may explain why most of my writing is somewhat weighted down by self pity.
For what it’s worth,
trying to figure out how to write about things that bother me,
giving the impression that
I am looking for pity
Like I need that
if I wasn’t in this class,
none of you would be reading my work, so please bear with me.
I have a hard time trying to find the
line between journal/diary work and poetry, if there is a line at all. T
ailoring my thoughts for creative writing class is something I need to consider.
Poetry is really interesting to me, it’s funny,
I love to write it, but hate to read it.
I hate reading poetry that I can’t understand.
For that reason,
I find myself hating poetry
the more that I read it.
Just last semester
I took Eng 347, and I guess the “theme” of the class was post-modern poetry.
Anyway, I read so much poetry that I don’t think that I will ever understand, it made me sick just reading it.
I hated the class because I felt like the poetry was smarter than me.
Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons still gives me goose bumps.
Actually,
I think the class kind of discouraged me from writing a little subconsciously.
Not the class content,
but reading abstract poetry made me so frustrated that maybe I just got turned off from it.
It seems the value on “good” writing goes up as I get older.
I remember elementary school, when my teacher used to read us Shel Silverstien, and we loved it.
That was good for us 2nd graders because it was easy fun, and understandable.
I am pretty sure that I would hate
poetry with a passion if my teachers read me Sylvia Plath or something like that.
I miss the days in High School,
where everyone who wrote anything was considered “good” and even if you weren’t, people still told you that you were and you believed it.
However, someone brought up the question: Should we try to figure out what poetry is?
Personally, I think we should, dissect poetry a little more. I don’t think it would take anything away from it.
Just because having it left open for interpretation is a little dangerous. Poetry should never be an easy read;
it should be just hard enough for someone to have to read three times, for anyone to truly figure out what it means.
I would never start a book, or a game knowing that I won’t understand it, so that’s why I get hesitant about reading poetry.
I hate to be frustrated and that’s why poetry is sometimes a problem for me.
That leads me into what I want from my writing,
I think it would be amazing if I could truly move someone with the overall sentiment of peace,
by the words I chose, and how I write them.
Being clever is something that value as well,
seeing anyone can write and rhyme,
I want my style to be evident from the first couple of lines. My readers should know my style and swag right away.
I want to be able to convey my tone effectively as well.
A sense of understanding my life is another objective of mine. If someone were to read my writing,
synonymously
they should know a part of me as well and hopefully relate.
People, who read my work,
should know that there isn’t any fiction going on.
Writing about something that I have a full understanding grasp on isn’t worth writing about.
Trying to figure out something about myself is also one of my goals. Hopefully by writing, both the reader
and I,
figure something out (hopefully) by the end of the piece.
I strive to be coherent as possible when I write. However,
coherency is the one aspect of my writing that I am constantly trying to improve.
The trend that I am on,
I have to say,
I usually write about myself.
I don’t like pretending that I am not,
so I always use (or intend to use) first person when I write.
I am starting to learn this way of writing has a lot of problems with it.
I pour my
heart and
soul into my writing.
I only write about things that are personal and intimate to me.
However,
I never divulge too far into my intimacies
to the point where I would feel violated if someone were to heavily critique my work.
I want to get better at expressing myself; I want to be a better writer.
One of my passions is trying new things whenever I get a chance.
For that reason,
I love trying new forms of poetry
I am excited that I get a chance to write in different forms
because that is something that I have had on my “bucket list” for a while.
I feel as every game needs rules in order to be enjoyable,
and I make the analogy to express my feelings on poetry.
I like bending rules, it helps exercise my creativity and push the limit of my patience,
which are two important attributes that writers need (in my opinion,
but what do I know?).
Writing in free verse would be harder for me than writing,
let’s say, a sonnet.
I would find myself frustrated because there is no set meter to play with,
no particular rhyme scheme to manipulate.
I hope that explains me/my writing style/ my agenda so that you as the reader understand my writing a little better
I hope that this class will inspire me to write more because I don’t think I write as much as I should.
When I was in creative writing, Tim told me that in order to be a good writer,
we should strive to write for an hour a day.
On my own,
I don’t think I write an hour a week,
let alone an entire day.
So I guess writing these blogs,

is kind of getting me into a good habit that will continue.
I get kind of discouraged when reading good poetry,
I am sure that every writer has went through this at one point in their life.
But reading makes me really question if I have what it takes to make it as a writer,
(assuming that I want to go that route)
because I feel like I should be better.
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My fists bleed death,
every time I utter the existence of the woman who cried, but couldn’t see. The differences between relying and crying, is simple.
First, relax; know that there is an existential discrepancy between mysteries and gold.
Where did you go
Is there a pilot?
Is there a gate?
Is there an apprentice who pretends to wolf?
Wolfing leads to an impractical practice, which is kind of redundant (in my opinion). The impractical practice then leads to pretenders, pretending, that they indeed know everything about matters of the door.
Once I accidently found an outlet to all of my disappointment, along with the theory that there is in fact, 27 letters to the alphabet.
I don’t quite understand it,
but it makes sense when you re-arrange your thoughts and align them with the thought of virtuous pretensions.
That’s right; it is I, who mastered the art of nothingness.
It was I, or shall I say me, who am the becomer who politically, and poetically, has the potential to become potential.
It will then rain.
It will become everything that one could never imagine to fathom,
Hypothetically speaking, I am the capital between the capitals.
I am the one who unites the three or four needles, until ones wish to become evil
I take the course and then, insanity takes slowly seeps into the womb.
I ask you the question, is it worth the proof?
Is it worth the risk of being imperial?
O boy!
I believe that in order to break free the expression of the mindful tactics, one must find the oppression of all that is mad.
Then make it appear to be something so genuine, that one will find the operation and destroy ever mood that it has ever been.
After all, everything is given to those who believe that everything is the rational explanation of thought through the eyes that belong to sea.
There is no exception to animal the liberation. One day, there will be an execution to those who scrutinize the bewildered.
Following idioms or controlled services serve no purpose to life, kind of like the platypus.
I am certain that am I am the victim, or your millennium disguised heart. I shall have revenge, as soon as I return from the savage land from which I came.
It is the splendor of being
I am the son of God, and a bastard.
I am a nun
You’ve done to me, just like they all have done.
They have came and rudely awaken the prince of peas, that forces me to act in ways that only a microscopic prison, that can only bare to suspend your wrong for exactly 8.43 seconds….amazing!
It gives me pleasure knowing, that all life realties are foam.
Seriously, if you leave me, I will sue.
I will bring forth an incredible tub of being so large, that it will become a part of culture, and you will then regret it.
I am a product of the rich grass that blows between the two who grew up and became real
Really real, the kind of real that doesn’t exist
The type of real that people dream to never become reality.

Into order to further misscomunicate ,
We must internalize the Fluctuation of my proximinity
Now she’s gone P111
Just let it run to the rabbit,
Unorganized thoughts swimming abruptly,
Lowlifes spitting
gazing sporadicly at a concealed splendor
Who needs a piece of literal interpretation with a hidden agenda that will contain all that we believe?
Understand,
that the chaotic understanding will be minimized.
Turn the lights off and shut your toes.
Listen to the bricks as they chime your name
Autumn Nights, P225
flourish, while all i want
I just want to be left alone,
so that may enjoy the splendor we call air
fool,
who doesn’t seem to comprehend
the precious gifts of wet dreams.
clear the dreams that once inhabited our fingers.
Pop pills unitl your nose bleeds
And rub static until your heart collapses
from the love that receives once you realize that no air
No apologizes
To those who ignite the sea
With their souls the overflow their thoughts
Of nothingness who once
Overflowed
Slit your toes
Watching dancers on skate p205
I am not skating
I am not yelling!
Those who fail to understand that I am truly a genius
Go ahead and laugh!
Ill gets my revenge, once my emotion stops
Masturbating to itself
Sue me
I am not understandable
Because I don’t have a choice to understand
I am a word
I am a breeze
I am the battle that one fights with the Jehovah’s witnesses
That seems to bother the dips
Dipping
Dipping
Dangling from our underwear
And frustrating our armpits
They then realize that they are arm pits
And have nothing to gain, except maybe more hair
Showing the impractical that they can become the wind
And food for those who are not examining their belongings.
Pigheaded and hotheaded and rocking their belonging to the
Reverse side of the sophomores
We’ve made everything a new
A new day and night where everyone is left fire.

Tell me what’s bugging you? And I’ll tell you what’s bugging me; I’ll tell you everything that is existential to the point that I may regret telling you. You should have second thoughts about living, because if you didn’t, I would question your sanity. I cry when I think of what will happen to me once I become one of the cynical cyclical life styles that I once found to be ideal. Nothingness, is my ultimate fear, losing one’s ‘self is the ultimate goal, to have forever, while gaining nothing is the fear that fears fear. Pitiful beings fail to comprehend, what I circumvent. I am the truth; I am what you want to be. Ignorance is not bliss young one, at least not in the sense I am speaking in regard with. Shapley shaping your future in ignorance, afraid of the truth becomes ignorances ignorant. Venting, constantly into the vent that never listened and then failed to vent. Instead of learning, she ignored me, accepting her way as the truth. But as I said, I am the ultimate truth. We all think that from time to time right? That we are right even though we may be wrong; that we guilty, but not like them. That we live in never never land fly with Peter,
I just don’t know anymore, staying true myself, hasn’t worked thus far. 22 years, 22 years of fulfilling myself, is similar to washing semen from the bottom of my shoe. Forever waiting on the corner for the bus to take to me to eternity gets lonely, and I become impatient. Strange people slowly enter my world, begging me to let them in the front door, I smile, and politely ask them to go around back and wash themselves off before they enter my already dirty home. They then smile, and tell me that they love me, they tell me they will do anything to keep me happy, they buy me things and did tell me that nothing will ever bother me. They scare me, I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone, not even myself. I keep them on fence waiting for an invite, like Mr. Feeny . Loving the world isn’t for everyone, especially me. Especially since I don’t love everything about the world. It all goes onward and outward….and nothing collapses. Nothing gives in, because if it did, then nothing would ever exist.
Have you ever noticed that people can melt in the sun, just like plastic?
Have you ever ran into something that makes your stomach peel like flowers on the bottom of the pie crust?
Have you ever thought maybe she wasn’t that in to you, so that would mean she must be out of you…right?
When I look in the mirror, my own reflection kind of laughs, so I kind of laugh back. He says to me, I am the truth of all things good gone bad. He told me not give up on life, and that my soul will eventually come to rest and everything will become relevant. I will then will then see the truth, and realize that I in fact know absolutely nothing. I then said, all I need is the feeling that life will never come to an end, I then smiled to myself realizing that will never ever be.
The realization is also infectious spinning my reality to the point that I may want to return it, in exchange for something more valuable like a bicycle.
The soul will never want me. The same situation seems to occur every time I spit into the leaves. I probably shouldn’t spit anymore.
The question that I ask unto you: what will become of me once you read my soul, what happens inside the trees that also drip with crazy stench of my blood?

Looking, looking , looking. Slowly and calmly, looking for the dividends or the soul. Looking, looking, looking, looking. Never-ending, looking, looking, seeking, looking for the missing parts to the machine that I once called my life. Looking seeking, looking, seeking for everything that I am accustomed to looking, but I call it something else, I call it glancing, but it is actually looking. Glancing is the antonym for everything that is real, or what we believe to be real. I understand looking is still an option as well, but looking, looking, looking is fearful
Hopefully hoping for a better tomorrow. Hopefully it comes soon, today looks gloomy. Gloomy for things I never that remain forever in my past. Pictures flying submitting their will, and to my surprise, they end up flying straight into their demise. Hopefully hoping, doesn’t promise anything. In fact, it creates false gestures, which may seem like hope, but is actually gloomy figurines, that march forward to their demise without ever even knowing it. Loving the abstract drunkenness of the Holy Scriptures leaves me in a bewildered state of mind, a state of unconscious thought that also leaves me hungry for the thirst of learning. Learners always learn when to call it quits, and when to fold. The learned (or the people who think they are learned) pretend that they learned everything that they need to know, but in fact they know nothing. Nothing knows nobody, and nobody knows everything, so why pretend? Why try? Who knows what may happen when we loose ourselves inside this world made for us, and no one else. We all know the how sentiments end, we end up going crazy and forgetting all that we have learned. We adopt new cultures and habits. We accept new likes and dislikes which can be changed easily as we change clothes. We find new friends, who eventually lead us to paths we’d never cross unless we were infectious fools, who actually believe that our lives can be beautiful, and can be lived beautifully with them, him or her.
And the river asks, did this boy dream of horses?
because I suddenly dream of horses, I suddenly dream.
They're in a circle and the river says, I've never understood
round things, why would leaving come back
to itself?
And a girl makes a kiss with her mouth and leans it
against the river, and the kiss flows away
but the river wants it back, the river makes sounds
to go after the kiss.
And they all make sounds for the river to carry to the boy.
And the river promises to never surrender the boy's shape
to the ocean.

These Strangers, in a foreign World, line 1096
Seem to me as if they another agenda
One that doesn’t quite align with those tell my fortunes
Fortunes of formalities between, the other strangers
My Reward for Being, was This. Poem343
All of nothing seems to be lively hood in the player’s rapture
Letting in the sea, opens new doors for the mustard
Looking for someone in my arms, in my tree.

Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights poem 1598
Open my heart and I shall you all that laughter
All that is retched and flimsy and dirty and lime.
Hurry and find the party
Then laugh at the fools who desperately try and seek the bicycle
Loving and light bulbs seems go hand and hand with stereo playing on full aims.
I can’t seem to figure out which them are for me
As seems as if the signs are getting clearer
Those strangers are hungry, lick them.
Bare Ivory, tickles my rat.
Why mustn’t we rub?
Why can’t everyone just bleed?
Everyone struggles, so die,
It may get better once the apples reach
the sun. Keep the date to yourself,
I lied, share the lies with nature.
It was not Saint- it was too large Line 1092
For me to fit in my wallet
So I left it on the floor,
where I find and lose everything else
That’s right
This loser loses his saint who keeps him imprisoned.
Imprisoned
keeping my mask around my hip.
Losing all that I have
Galloping leaping
Understanding the default is pointless,
unless a gun is involved.
Fearing the fear is always theme of styles
You’ve seen balloon set haven’t you poem 700
Jumping the balloons once were pricing them
Haven’t you ever wondered why they were there?
Understanding why the balloons weren’t there would be astonishing
Taking the hook shots with actual hooks weren’t very appealing
They were thirsty so they were in recession
They were then decayed from the drizzled death
Pricing uneducated impersonation
Dead, sleeping in new
Flash forward and comprehend the fortitude
A worldrockistic hominadical gladiator!
Hurray for the lesbians
Hurray to the brother on rleigft
And to the other side of him
Or shall I say her
Who hid the Vaseline from the devil
And hid the visine from the hearing impaired
How cruel to never understand the deaf
And the ones hid the picnic basket from the
Kelly from saved by the bell
Needless to say, I am the book
It should be obvious isn’t the cookie
Owning the monster by the bookcase?
He is now in rehab for lowering his standards
Similar to what I am doing now
We Pray To Heaven poem 489
That we won’t fail,
the trap has the goons
and the gnomes have my tail and refuse to let go
they understand and disagree with the sand
they fear all that righteous and flexible
please leave!
Trying to understand the ignorance
Is truly beautiful and mucus at the same time
Dumb is all the same to the JEWISH
+ is true meaning to life
Trust me I will not lead you astray unless you buy me diner
Then I will hate you
I know I am not making sense but you MUST trust that I will love you and make you a dryer and a sandwich.
Take my wrist and fingers and palm and finger nails with you as you leave and don’t let anything drop from your bag like the paper tends to do.
I love the sound of gasoline in the morning. It makes feel at ease when I distort thee
Please leave the O-bomb. Nothing will control thee as much the logical understand the document

My fists bleed death,
every time I utter the existence of the woman who cried, but couldn’t see.
The differences between relying and crying, is simple.
First, relax; know that there is an existential discrepancy between mysteries and gold.
Where did you go
Is there a pilot?
Is there a gate?
Is there an apprentice who pretends to wolf?
Wolfing leads to an impractical practice, which is kind of redundant (in my opinion).
The impractical practice then leads to pretenders,
pretending, that they indeed know everything about matters of the door.
Once I accidently found an outlet to all of my disappointment,
along with the theory that there is in fact,
27 letters to the alphabet.
I don’t quite understand it,
but it makes sense when you re-arrange your thoughts and align them with the thought of virtuous pretensions.
That’s right; it is I, who mastered the art of nothingness.
It was I, or shall I say me,
who is the becomer who politically, and poetically, has the potential to become potential.
It will then rain.
It will become everything that one could never imagine to fathom,
Hypothetically speaking, I am the capital between the capitals.
I am the one who unites the three or four needles, until ones wish to become evil
I take the course and then, insanity slowly seeps into the womb.
I ask you the question, is it worth the proof?
Is it worth the risk of being imperial?
O boy!
I believe that in order to break free the expression of the mindful tactics,
one must find the oppression of all that is mad.
Then make it appear to be something so genuine,
that one will find the operation and destroy evey mood that it has ever been.
After all, everything is given to those who believe that everything is the rational explanation of thought through the eyes that belong to sea.
There is no exception to animal the liberation. One day, there will be an execution to those who scrutinize the bewildered.
Following idioms or controlled services serve no purpose to life, kind of like the platypus.
I am certain that am I am the victim, or your millennium disguised heart.
I shall have revenge, as soon as I return from the savage land from which I came.
It is the splendor of being
I am the son of God, and a bastard.
I am a nun
You’ve done to me, just like they all have done.
They have came and rudely awaken the prince of peas,
that forces me to act in ways that only a microscopic prison, that can only bare to suspend your wrong for exactly 8.43 seconds….amazing!
It gives me pleasure knowing, that all life realties are foam.
Seriously, if you leave me, I will sue.
I will bring forth an incredible tub of being so large,
that it will become a part of culture, and you will then regret it.
I am a product of the rich grass that blows between the two who grew up and became real
Really real, the kind of real that doesn’t exist
The type of real that people dream to never become reality.
Who are you?
I said to her.
Eat me, eat my cone
She replied, hissing, begging for me to release her from her own domestic
Not I
No the ones who believe in the rectitude of telling the cold that I am hungry.
Telling people who can’t believe
Or refuse the smell of it.
Would you vote for me?
Would you lie for me?
We then battle, for the right to become the righteous androids on the lowest of the kingdoms.
I hate the spine, it is warm.
I love the absent minded thought of it all.

Colours of October
Wait with easy dignity
For the big change-
Like gorgeous quill-pens
In old inkwells
Almost dry.
The obliteration
Of the world
His dinner speech
Tonight we ride
Out to the window
Where the crystal ball shines
And then we drift,
To the places where we can barely imagine
Hardships sailing, nasty.
Thoughts of you
God is a woman
Bring me the lights
Evanescense
Love each other
Lets be the love that beds envy
The arbitrary one,
who believes in the bicycle
Talk to me!
Let go of all
cheeks
then Lend me your
Pickles, pencils, and peppermints
So that I may do the do
Then tell me you love me
So that I may eat you
Then throw up all of the things that I like
Which is not quite nothing
But automatic easy
Fear me like the easy
Be on the hard, as if it were ...hard
Have faith young one, the worst is almost here
Fight the romantic vents
They spew lies,
In the heart of the deaf
Because they are misunderstood beyond understandinization
They try to romatinticize the vaginal exploration of thought
But to his circumcision
He was only given money, and tooth paste.
He sold the tooth paste, for a comforter, so that he could re-anna
And
Holly, and Beth, and Stephanie, and Kristi.
Baby, wait
Lets reconsider
I promise I really am a decent n___r
I promise I can falsify and satirize, the wet brick..
Just take my had, follow me
into the place that was made for you and your mother
I always liked her more than you
I owe you
I want you to follow
Kill your foot
I used to be banned from the cabinet
But only few can exist be spot on
Hit me because I am wrong
Learn the facts because they are truly anklets
And their true purpose... is sinister
Gather the rings.
Then get cut
Then get stabbed and explode on those who wrap.
Cut the swallong sea,
lay cement down.
Throw away purposes and
Have you written a poem for us? he asks the river,
and the river reads its poem,
and the other students tell the river
it sounds like a poem the boy would have written,
that they smell the boy's cigarettes
in the poem, they feel his teeth
biting the page.

Keep the roll
Show the walk, be the understandinziation
That once followed the underling
Feel the whoa
And the drunkiness of the escape
Run away from the paper
Because it is hungry
LETS GO
I have to pee...
Lets eat the two words because they made fun of me
Lets get the lochness
Because you are a monster who
Could
Barely need new shoes.
I had drool on my shirt and breath
of the undead, a guy
dropped empty Buds on the floor
like gravity was born
to provide this service,
we were white and black trash
who'd come
in an outhouse on wheels and still

some had grown--
in touching the spirited shirts
on clotheslines,
after watching a sky of starlings
flow like cursive
over wheat--back into creatures
capable of a wish.

As we entered Arizona
I thought I smelled the ocean,
liked the lie of this
and closed my eyes
as shadows
puppeted against my lids.

English 284 - final project - Ryan Killeen

2009-06-10T18:30:00.001-05:00

I wasn’t having fun until someone ate that hamburger.

By Ryan Killeen

4686 words

Prologue

A tribute the words I’m about to write

These words are a modern day super hero

Rich without monetary wealth

Self made men with no corporate ties

They sacrifice trends for health

Wary of religions, popular and scoffed

These words, living definitions of virtue

The right thing will happen the day that they’re offed

These words are only an utterance

But a crystal clear picture do they paint

Of this dead bird I saw

Up in the air stuck its dead bird taint

The words are these

And are written thus

In death that little bird

Showed us his nuts

What I tried to do with this poem was to show that after you die you have no control over your physical exposure or your reputation. So in life, where you have control over every aspect of your own life, you need to do as you please and give the social rules and regulations you don’t believe in a big “fuck you”.

My Hi Story

Hi, I’m 0 years old

Fuck you

Now I’m like

This is fuckin neat

Hello kindergarten

Hi high school

HELLO GIRLS

Nice to meet you

Sex is sweet

What up college?

I think I’ll stay a while

How’s it hangin end of the road?

Can’t wait to meet the rest of my life

If anybody needs help writing poetry I recommend drinking a lot of coffee, reading a short poem you’ve never read before, then crank up the tunes and write. Or just turn on the music, something you’ve never heard before, then write the poem, and slam a gallon of coffee after all work is done. Or find a poem, spill coffee on it, crumble it up and throw it away. Go to a concert. Barf on someone. Poetically.

5/19

Poetry, to me, is

Like that bird I saw on the way down here

Flying into the wind

It seems to be going nowhere

Life is not an actuary science

Stray from the recipe to create a whole new flavor

It’s blue?

A way

A better way

An escape

Better than the alternatives

Better than most alternatives

Better than the news

Better than reality

Open for interpretation

Paint/banana?

It’s

A motherfucker left of the switch

April showers may bring flowers

If I have anything to do with it

Can’t stand on a hill of ice

Will stand against a new world order

Would be awful in brail

It just

Made me realize how alone I was

When I heard all the others outside

When I was so secure in here alone with my poem

Brett Favre throwing

An ally-oop to Michael Jordan

Slamming a long drive while Tiger Woods rips

Michael Phelps’ bong

Was

Nothing until a few months ago

I was asunder by its power

I’ve never used the word asunder

So I had to do it before I died

Trying to make sense

Of the nonsensical

Enjambments that I love so much

Thank you Tim

Makes me

Say ‘holy cats’

I wanna go rustlin’

I’ve never done it before

And that’s the whole point

I wanna be the new guy

Like the new guy in the movies

Who tries real hard

And gets guff from the seasoned vets

But he proves himself in the end

Shows them what he’s made of

Make me

Wanna be the new guy

Like in the movies

Why does that guy only exist in the movies?

Made me

Change my name to Alexander Trucutt

Cause I dreamed that name in a dream once

So this journal now belongs to

Alexander Trucutt

Life is kinda like a journal don’t you think?

Kinda funny

It’s

What I want to spend my time on

But my obligations demand all my time

All the while all my time really wants

To do is write

I couldn’t remember her name once

So I called her Katie

That wasn’t her name

But she fucked me anyways

My girlfriend wouldn’t like that too much

She thinks she owns me and my parts

I guess

But Say Anything

Is amazing

Say Anything

For the silent

This whole song just kinda hangs up in the air

About fourteen feet about the heads of listeners

Just out of reach but not impossible to grasp

If one were to climb high enough to reach it

I’m convinced that the entire world is populated by retards

Well

At least ninety percent of those retards are retarded anyways

I’m broke

Have no food

Do have a job however

And a place to sleep

But I only have enough light to read by that the sun can provide

People are calling me everyday wanting my money

No shower curtain

I need a haircut

Among many other necessities

But all in all I’m content

A poem by Zach, a student at the daycare I work at

The sun is so bright

From morning to noon

Then we get the pleasure

Of seeing the moon

Good shit

There’s more

The sun is shining in our eyes

It makes it hard when you go inside

The trees bring me joy

Ever so much more than my favorite toy

We were outside when he though of these

I helped him with the rhyming and wordage

But he did the grunt work

Then I was inspired…

I can see why the smell of flowers would attract a bee

The smell of a flower just attracted me

Yet I promised a flower of the reddest color

That I wouldn’t enjoy the scent of another

This flower was so slender and yellow

This new flower I couldn’t resist its allure

This tall blonde flower with excitement and charm

This beautiful thing would most likely wilt in my arm

My sexual exploits

I turn into poetic fodder

All these beautiful women

Seem to make it all better

5/20/09

I never thought about how shitty it would be to be woken up out of a nice sleep by a sprinkler going off in my face.

It sucks

I’m soaked

And not sleeping

And all I’ve been thinking is

Hey girl

There’s nay a picture of you on facebook that doesn’t deal with alcohol in someway.

You’re an alcoholic woman

Ever since I walked in on that would be robber in my apartment

I don’t lock my doors anymore

Because I really like visitors

You allowed me the reverse

Peephole

Name’s Bugman

Tex

Bugman

My name cuts

Like a kite

I’ll have you know

Mess with the dull

You get the bugles

I slapped the doctor the second I was born

Told him to put me back

I wasn’t done with Slaughter-House Five

Or so it goes

The feathery bed

The one in your head

I know I’m sleeping in it tonight

I napped there all day

Orange purple elephant

Strange pupils elegant

The definition of success can be found by

Not overdoing it

Time and timelines only came into existence when humans

Needed to feel

Like they ever existed

Time

Probably

If it had a say in the matter

Probably wouldn’t be read left to right

Everybody lives to die

Some people think they die to live more

If I lived forever

Like in heaven

I would eventually ask for it to be over with

How fucking boring would that be?

Seriously?

I might stick around for a bit and play canasta

With Frank S.

Have a laugh with Chris F.

Feel what it’s like to fly

So I bought these bananas, Right?

If I were water I’d start to be getting really annoyed right about now

Always movin’ around

No thank you

Loaf rimes with lophe

It is so goddamned hot in here right now

I could just hit someone with my car

When I was four my favorite toy was my big wheel

I loved it

Rode it everyday

Then the garbage man threw it away

“Sonofabitch” I said to my mom

She agreed

There’s many ways to do it

But the very best way to skin a cat

Is to remove all of its skin

Who do I have to punch around here to be free

People need to stop hoping for love

They just need to hope for the best

I may or may not be a brick wall

Impervious to emotion

My emotional telephone doesn’t receive calls

You can try to leave a message

But it will be forgotten instantly

That’s what I got from her anyways

My turtle

Toby

Had a tumor in his head

We gave him what we thought was chemo

It didn’t work

We were twelve

I would’ve never guessed I could’ve gotten rid of you so easily

I guess all it took was getting rid of you

I have more children than I know what to do with

Zero

I’m going to run around the quad commenting on its wonderful

Octagonal shape

I don’t think

I know

That I’m turning Japanese

If I could only come up with one hundred and thirteen more words right now

That would be the bee’s pajamas

I’d celebrate with a swift haircut

Then sprinkle the clippings all over my dog

Then I would go around telling everyone that my dog

The poor thing

Wants to be a human so bad that she went and bought a wig

But she still poops in the yard

Just like my neighbor used to

Did I mention how awesomely hot it is in here

It is awesome

Yeah I’m a Buddhist

Big whoop

Wanna fight about it?

Life gozon

No matter how stupid everyone is

It will goon

Unless something really stupid happens

Then life won’t

5/26/09

You went back to where you came from

Perhaps be my grandchildren one day

How can we be depressed

When our future is your present

Naiveté everywhere I step

And I wipe my shoes of it far too often

Not that I’m better than you

You just don’t know

Washing my brain of the stupid things you do

I take this time to remind myself

Of how unlucky we will be

Facing the inevitability of extinction

I’ve got it all figured out

When

The

Day

Comes

Won’t

Wake

Now what do you think about that?

Being in a coma is the only way out of this mess

Once you know where you’re going your mind is set in stone

Now get on track and get it done

Time has wasted and gone

I reflect once a month to keep in touch

Give up ingenuity

Renounce profit

Bandits and thieves will disappear

Temper desire

Who’s really right

And who’s really wrong

Who really cares I just thought of this song

Everything needs a spine or it will bend under pressure. Without a strong support time is the enemy and inevitability is what will define you. The last day of your life, this is the day you will experience death. My only suggestion is make it funny. Religion, I say if you feel like following one then pick one and go with it. Just to see what happens.

Then annoy everyone you see about it.

A call, a call

I received a call

From a friend today

In need of something

Of mine

Mr., he said

I’ve got an opportunity

For you, he said

My money is all he needed

My time was all he took

Hello friend, I said

How have you been

I asked

How many pancakes does it take to shingle a doghouse?

I don’t know, ten?

No, eleven because ice cream has no bones.

The first time I saw you was as unlikely and as chance a happening that could ever be conceived.

We met each from two continents away. I went to Europe after two years of planning, while you just happened to be in Asia somewhere. I could see you clear as day; you could see me seeing you.

You waved, I smiled. We never saw each other again.

Now every time I show up to your scene I nearly vomit

By your “scene” I mean

Your presence

And the spectacle you’ve become

The show that is you

Completely illuminated or shrouded in fog

I can’t tell

Have you ever thought about why we’re here

Yeah

What did you come up with

Nothing

Then the concern turns to nutrition and health benefits.

Why is it that every world religion, culture, and prophet foresaw an apocalyptic event? The living spends a lot of their time worrying about death.

What the fuck is this all about?

I hope it happens in the worst way just so every butthole suffers.

People with too strong opinions don’t really matter

But that’s just my opinion

I know I’m home when it rains

Because it never rains on vacation

So either this vacation is over

Or I am home

I guess I’d be ok with this being home

It’s fun to have a good scare every now and then

It makes everyday things seem better

Like leaping from the top floor to get to work every morning

Or like stepping in front of a bus to put food on the table

But now I can’t even see

The Cubs can’t win

Still content though

Money

Everyone just wants everyone else’s

Too dependant on people

Subsistence farming is the way to go

Wind farm

Lumber mill

Amish is the way to go

Beards aren’t necessary though

Unless it’s a freestyle beard off

Set to a beat

Then I’d be down

5/29/09

Another problem comes (69)

By those who ne’er succeed (67)

Without commander! Countless! Still! (64)

Within my reach! (90)

Butterflies pause (86)

As by the dead we love to sit (88)

My friend must be a bird (92)

This humble tourist rose! (93)

On that specific Pillow (1533)

From all the jails the Boys and Girls (1532)

Acquitted – from that Naked Bar (455)

But witness for her land (1775)

Midsummer, was it, when They died (962)

Vicinity to laws (963)

Nay, it is Deity (809)

It ends beyond (761)

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods (754)

So much Summer (651)

This – dost thou doubt – Sweet (549)

How slow the Wind (1571)

It can’t be “Summer”! (221)

In rags mysterious as these (117)

Come slowly – Eden! (211)

The Admirations – and Contempts – of time (906)

Too imminent the chance (911)

I cannot be ashamed (914)

When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, (32)

Adrift! A little boat adrift! (30)

There is another sky, (2)

Summer for thee, grant I may be (31)

Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple (228)

We – Bee and I – live by the quaffing (230)

God permits industrious Angels (231)

Half Child – Half Heroine (283)

They looked like frightened Beads, I thought (328)

Their Everlasting fashions – set (331)

I’ll hand it to the Angel – (336)

Who own the ample sea (466)

Because there isn’t Room (467)

I could not prove the Years had feet (563)

A Minor thing – it sounds (565)

To a fictitious Country (562)

Except the Heaven had come so near (472)

Much Madness is divinest Sense (435)

I boldly answered – entered then (436

But we couldn’t learn! (267)

One Life of so much Consequence! (269)

A brief, but patient illness – (18)

This is a word (8)

In insecurity to lie (1434)

Its awful chamber open stands (1428)

A wild Blue sky abreast of Winds (1415)

How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights (1418)

But give a Giant room (1286)

Or could it cease to be (1253)

Crumbs – fit such little mouths (690)

Is ascertained by tasting (799)

Were every storm so spice (1133)

The Bird must sing to earn the Crumb (880)

A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses (882)

Split the Lark – and you’ll find the Music (861)

When the Astronomer stops seeking (851)

Nature and God – I neither knew (835)

Who till they died, did no alive become (816)

It – suggests to our Faith (797)

Nature – the Gentlest Mother is (790)

One Blessing had I than the rest (756)

We thirst at first – ‘tis Nature’s Act (726)

Sweet Mountains – Ye tell Me no lie (722)

The Sunrise runs for Both (710)

Speech is one symptom of Affection (1681)

The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man (1645)

Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy (1640)

Talk not to me of Summer Trees (1634)

To try to speak, and miss the way (1617)

The Things that never can come back, are several (1515)

Facts by our side are never sudden (1497)

One of the ones that Midas touched (1466)

Time’s wily Charges will not wait (1458)

I thought the Train would never come (1449)

My soul, to find them, come (1436)

We shun because we prize her Face (1429)

Art thou the thing I wanted? (1282)

And turns so weak away (1285)

Until allured away (1279)

That makes the Heart put up its Fun (1271)

I cannot see my soul but know ‘tis there (1262)

And never coming back (1260)

Longing is like the Seed (1255)

Like Brooms of Steel (1252)

A soft Sea washed around the House (1198)

A little dog that wags his tail (1185)

A Dinner for a Bee (1154)

Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today (1156)

Winds of Summer Fields (1147)

Everyday my walk is so pleasant

I waltz up to the Whitman house

The old abandoned lady surrounded

By the young bucks and buns in the oven

It sits in silent elite

A wise old construction

Garnering the respect of the youngins

Being sought for advice from the babes

Plants grow large and untamed around it

Like gathering children on the preschool story carpet

Around their sweet old teacher

Just waiting for the day the building creaks

All day it soaks up wisdom

Then the day that the sponge is full

It will groan

One all knowing phrase

That will save the world

Remix

She’s beautiful

Grown old and still strong

Dark for now but life waits in her rafters

Spine compressed some

But a brain is stacked

And waiting

There’s a switch that will flash

An orgasm building pressure

Since probably the 90’s

An explosion of blinding

Heaving

Electricity

Then the foundation will shudder

And all things will know it

I will lay bearded with the rats and rafters

Reading Borges

And scribbling on the walls inside her

One day

For the of my life

And it will make sense

To me

Briefly

In this old house

Aflame with brilliance

Time will stop

The questions will be answered

For the instant amounting to a universe

Then

Poem.

2009-06-10T18:00:00.001-05:00

Kelly Gibbons
Eng 284 Gudding
Word Count: 7,550
I came into this poetry project as well, a project. I never really thought of myself as a writer, I am always the reader. The behind-the-scenes kinda girl. At first I wished for anonymity in my writing, as perhaps a shield for myself, but more of a shield from judgment. I wanted my writing to be read, and did not want preconceived notions about me, my race, my gender and so on to cloud anyone’s reading of my poems. But then as I began to write, I realized it was okay to put my name on, and it came to a point when I was proud to put my name on it. Although I do not love every single poem I have written, I do enjoy the overall accomplishment. We were told to write for quantity not quality. What the fuck ever. I cannot do that, I have to be proud of my words as my words are going to make an impression on you. I cannot just write bullshit and be a-ok with it. There were times when I wanted to stop writing and I checked my word count many times, but I still continued to write, or I took a break. And as far as being weird or strange, well I already had that covered. Everyone is weird in their own way. My first poem, entitled Reaction was literally a reaction. I took Ambien (a sleeping pill) and instead of feeling blissfully tired, I began hallucinating. It was bizarre to say the least, probably mostly because I was aware that I was not actually seeing what my eyes claimed. Ode is simply me putting my music player on shuffle, writing down song titles, and seeing where I could go with it. I was feeling a bit bummed and lost because I felt like I was not inspired. Game was simply writing about two games I like to play, the first being Fallout 3 and the second being the Sims. Fallout 3 is a game about post apocalyptic. There is so much darkness, desolate and fear. And yet there are pockets of a beautiful humanity, those who cannot give up hope. I wanted to show that it is not just some silly shooting RPG (role-playing game) but that there was a deeper meaning. I also love playing the Sims; I have played this game since it was first released years ago. I become annoyed when my friends tease me about having some god-complex, and wanted to show there is another side to playing the game. Perhaps it is living vicariously, or living as I wish I could. Despite writing about things that I enjoy, I just did not feel I was writing something very profound. Not that I have expectations of writing the best poetry in the world, I just felt I was not being thought-provoking enough. Feeling like my writing was not what I wished it was I simply tried to think about things differently. Using normal objects to talk about life, humanity and I created Plastic. I absolutely love this poem. It is simply about how greedy, vain and uncaring humans are. It’s the darker side of humanity. Translation was extremely interesting to work on. First I took Plastic into Google translator and put it into German then Spanish then Japanese and back to English. The second translation used Russian then Italian then Chinese. I decided to put Plastic into one column then the translations next to it. Some made me burst out laughing, others were bizarre or made no sense, and a few were profound. I thoroughly enjoyed how it changed my poem into something different, not better or worse, just intriguing. I must say that I did two centos as the last poems. One called Borrowed is taken from Emily Dickenson, and the second, called Stolen is from Lorine Niedecker. I was not happy with the Dickenson one, I respect her poetry but do not love it, and I felt I was plagiarizing her in a negative manner, hence the title. I simply borrowed words to form my poem. I attempted to write about death (how difficult using Emily D.) but also tried to make the poem become about acceptance of death. For Niedecker though, I actually enjoyed taking lines and making my own poem. At first I started out taking lines out of context, and making them seem inappropriate, but my goal was to write about relationships. The sexual, the conflict, the love. I felt it was a poem that tied up all the others. At the base of ourselves we all want love, despite all of the negative humanity can do, there is always hope for something more. I hope that my poems, even if it is just one line, make one think. About something, anything, whether it be different from what was previously thought or if it just opens eyes. Don’t over-analyze, just read. Enjoy. Think. As an author, that is all I can ask of you. Of course, giving directions as to what do it is a bit obnoxious. Luckily for you, I do not have a poetry high-horse. There is no chip on my shoulder. I shall not look down upon you from my educated eyes. I am simply a young woman who wrote some words in the hope of creating some sort of reaction. (That last sentence is an awesome segue into the first poem by the way. I am a genius).

Reaction
So apparently I was out of my head…
Although everything was inside it,
Racing and confused,
My cat was made out of
Styrofoam
The dinosaur in the corner
Nodded his head to me,
His Brontosaurusyness comforting
Sadly I was stuck in my bed,
Which was actually
A marble basin
Don't worry!
My door was a noble lady,
Clad in some heavy,
Rich material
Her hat...filmy
Like some cheap guaze
Her alien arms moved
Some creepy monotonous fashion
Her gauze covered head bobbing
I ignored her
The Brontosaurs smiled
The door would not leave me alone
Her ridiculous overdressed self
I hate hats
She reminded me of all the people in Court
Like back during monarchies
Some back-biting courtier's wife
Very untrustworthy.
Plus her hat was ridiculous
There were two clocks
One of top of the other
Perhaps it was a bit excessive
Whatever, it's not like I put them like that.
I feel the need to state that
My marble basin was particularly
Beige
Actually, I would hate to put that in my bathroom,
Not really my taste, some beige rock
With darker streaks running through it
Like some pompous, hubris attempt
To be like the Roman emperors,
Why the hell you'd want to be like them anyway
Ew, Caligula, Nero! Hello!
So in my marble basin
I terribly wanted to be rid of my door.
I mean, she was so pushy,
Her arms were much too skinny,
And I'm pretty sure there was
A stick up her ass.
Really, not my kind of person
If she did have a stick up her ass though,
She might have splinters, ouch
I'm assuming that would hurt quite a bit,
I saw a TV show where some weird guy
Scrubbed his penis clean with a scouring pad
I don't have a penis, but that is fucking creepy.
I do have a butt hole though, and I really
Don't want splinters in it.
So I'll perhaps give my door a drop of sympathy
But she probably put the stick up there herself
Because she's some creepy masochist
Should I be worried that I know how to spell masochist
Without looking it up?
Anyway this door has terrible taste in clothes,
And is a gossiping, freaky bitch,
Yet she simply won't leave me be.
Despite all this ridiculousness of her,
I don't ask her to leave, nor feel the need
To punch her in the face.
Perhaps it's because she is a door,
And doesn't have a face to punch,
That besides she's a door, it's not like
She can just go anywhere.
That would suck, to be on hinges.
Don't give her any sympathy though.
You can pet the Brontosaurs if you'd like
Shame I didn't catch his name,
He was so friendly and warm.
Not literally warm, but the warm and fuzzy
Kinda feeling you get from being safe
So, in the mean time, my dog
Has been sleeping with me the whole time,
She's a bit dumb, so she hasn't noticed the visitors
Actually, she's just stupid, but I don't want
To hurt her feelings.
She's not her usual black puggy self tonight though,
She has transformed herself into a cartoon,
A small white dog with black patches
I assumed that if she transformed herself,
She'd be some big beast of a dog,
But hey, who am I to judge?
I have no clue why she'd become a cartoon dog,
But whatever
She would probably didn't notice our guests,
Partially because she's dumb,
But mostly because she likes to bark
After people leave
Or dinosaurs, or doors
I've heard animals and children are good
Judges of character,
Anyone ever ask why these two are in the same category?
Anyway, my dog should have warned me
About this snooty door,
But she was too busy being a
Cartoony dog
Why would she be 2D anyway?
I guess her brain is too small to know better
The Brontosaurs was telling me to go to sleep,
The door lady was being annoying
And my cartoon dog was of no use
I mean, my marble basin was comfortable,
I should just fall asleep
And dream crazy dreams
I looked at the two clocks,
They read the same time.
Super late, gah!
I was going to be super tired tomorrow.
I blame the door, I mean who the hell
Could I close my eyes with this deceitful door standing over me?
Perhaps the Brontosaurs would watch over me,
I curled up in my basin,
I was suddenly so overwhelmingly tired,
Blissfully being seduced into sleep,
I gave the door one last rueful look
And closed my eyes.
Ode.

Young Folks
Your Song
Blackbird
Slept So Long
Just a Girl

Slung Yolks
Our Bong
Slack-turd
Lept to Song
Must Swirl

---

Beware! Criminal
Nature Boy
County Line
Paper Shoes
No Way Out

Aware! Minimal
Coy Mature
Bounty Mine
Leper Shows
So Say clout

---

Idiot Box
The Power of Goodbye
Sugarland
La Tortura
O...Saya

Dot Sox
The Lower of Moody
Sugar-man
La Tortuga
O...Say

---

Another Way To Die
Shaft
Paper Planes
Dear Prudence
More Boys I Meet

Smother Ways To Lie
Laughed
Pap Plans
Smear Students
I Meet More Boys

---

White Horse
Blood and Roses
Come on Get Higher
Borderline
All Around Me

Lite House
Mood and Moses
Me No Le Sigh
Order-mine
Small Round Men

---

All I Want Is You
Picture Perfect
Mama
Redefine
Build You Up

Small Wants I Do
Prefect Pict
Llama
Re-line
Bullied Up

---

Move Over
Pastures of Plenty
This Sad Song
Chop Suey!
Karma Chameleon

More Oven
Past for Lent
These Glad Gongs
Chopper Sweets
Melon Karma

---
Spiderwebs
Saints And Angels
How Come You Don't Call Me
You Won't Find This
Terrible Lie

Wider Ebbs
Taints and Angels
You Don't Call Me, How Come
These Finds You Won't Do
Pie Terry

---

Wish You Were Here
Blue Jay Way
True Love's Kiss
Tim McGraw
Inside Your Heaven

Her Wishes, You're Weird
Say Lay Lye
Kiss, True Love
Time McCaw
Haven You In

---

Out From Under
Si Te Vas
Miracle
One Day I'll Fly Away
A Kiss to Send Us Off

Plunder For Clout
Si, Vacas
Oracle
O, Pray Flee
Of Bliss, Mend Us

----------------------------

Wasted
I Care 4 U
Would You Go With Me
How Sweet It Is
The Chance

Alas, how I have wasted the chance,
I found it so sweet,
When you asked if I would go with you,
And though that I care for you, I cannot

---

I'm Like A Bird
It's Whatever
Girl
All Good Things Come
In Another's Eyes

In another's eyes,
Perhaps I am like a bird,
A girl with wings,
Whatever creature I am,
Good things shall come to me,
For I wait

---

Fences
That Don't Impress me Much
If I Fell
Girlfriend
Drive

The lies that drive you don't impress me,
As I am your girlfriend, I should do anything to be with you
But I have a fear of heights, for if I fell...
So I stand beside the fence looking up

---

Prelude
Magic Medicine
The Wrong Side of Memphis
I Want You With Me
Liquid Dance

I want you with me,
Here on the the wrong side of Memphis
The color of my skin a prelude to disaster
If I could just take a magic medicine,
One that changed your perceptions
And yet you see me as the Sambo,
Dancing a liquid dance

---

Come Over
I Refuse
Stays in Mexico
Fight
Elephant Love Medley

I refuse to come over,
And fight
Your ridiculous need for attention,
Composing some elephant love medley,
For me to listen to,
And hate
But eh, what happens in Mexico,
Stays in Mexico

---

Don't Phunk With My Heart
This One's for the Girls
Nebula
Fancy
Rhythm of the Night

I fancy in the Rhythm of the Night,
Our bodies twisting under a Nebula
This one is for the girls, for all the times
You Phunked with my heart
I shall take you, and leave you
Shallow

---

All I Want is You
A Crow Left of the Murder
Everybody Wants to Rule
A Whole New World
Rain Please Go Away

In a whole new world,
Everyone wants to rule,
Yet all I want is you,
As I ask the rain to
Please go away,
I know that that a crow
Left of the murder has flown,
And we are alone

---
Game
I like how they make tires into armour
Those clever ghouls
Nay, they are beasts,
Beasts of human evil,
Or was it cleverness?
Why are they always male?
Could the females not survive?
Are we, truly the weaker sex?
And yet I, a mere girl
Can defeat them,
Fear not, for I am good,
So good I can Fisto! you to death,
So good, I can be the black widow.
And now, I am alone
Infinitely alone.
I pay people to follow me so I won't be so lonely,
And yet here I stand,
Lonely yet not alone,
Watching the world disintegrate,
A world I wish I had known before the fall,
I used to hide,
In the shadows, the bushes,
My fear of the unknown was overwhelming,
Survive.
Somehow I am vain
I see it in the color of my hair,
The fact I bother brushing it,
It is beyond fire red,
It's more maraschino.
We don't have those anymore
In fact, we don't have much of anything
Scraps of humanity
Clinging to life.
Dogs attack me,
Ants flame me,
People shoot me,
And I keep going.
What is this perverse need to survive?
Sometimes I'd like to be like the skeletons
Undisturbed, peaceful
The struggle is over for them,
We did this to ourselves,
That's what is so disgusting,
So unbelievable,
I could be in worse shape,
My skin could be falling off,
Flesh somehow rotting and living,
Living and dying,
We're back to that again.
Despite everything, I still hope
Perhaps that is the great lesson of all
No matter what, humans can hope.
Really, it's a bit disgusting,
And yet beautiful.
I return home.
How I wish I could have lived before
But there is only the after.
What everyone has to deal with
Nostalgia has nothing to do with it
Trust me.
Sometimes when I get sad I listen to zing!
Of my gun,
It cheers me up,
But then again if I am using it...
That means something is dying.
Not my fault,
Don't make this to be some ridiculous lesson
Of good and evil.
There's no dichotomy.
We are both.
I have witnessed this,
Far too many examples,
There are of course, the few who are
Really good or really bad,
But they are the oddity.
What am I?
Who am I?
Could I have been any different?
How could anyone do any more then survive?
What is impressive, is that I have a pet
I mean, are you fucking kidding me?
Humanity fell apart,
Just like the mortar,
The bricks,
The re-bar,
And yet I have a pet
My only link to what it was before.
It's a dog,
Unfailing loyal.
So predictable,
And yet we help each other,
Survive, not live.

---

I am the god
Of my people
I make them how I want
When I want
They do what I say
But I don't have a god complex
I just enjoy making the story
Sometimes, I make the lives like I wish I had
Sometimes, I make a mess of things, just to see
Usually though, I just do the things I want to do
Like have children
Do the best job I can to raise them
See the blending of faces,
Our so-called genes.
Sometimes, people have silly easy lives,
Other times, the people they seem to have
Hard lives, somehow no matter gets done
What even I do,
They have difficulty
Moody
Jobless
Penniless
See?
This is why I am not god-like
I do not have complete control
There is so much out there
That I simply cannot do what I want
Just like life
I do have some control
I can alter mood
But they have free-will
Although...I can turn it off,
But that is creepy.
A bit too controlling.
I hate when my people are ugly
I love that they are always perfect,
Despite physical imperfections, I can hide
With makeup, clothes,
Pretending perfection.
Just like in real life,
We have to simulate,
We have to pretend,
We have to hide,
And here we are,
Person and simulation
Controller and
Controllee
Perhaps its symbiotic
Certainly it cannot be parasitic
I ran out of science terms.
I don't study like I make my people do,
I feel like a ruler, not a deity
My people, ha ha
I control, to a degree perhaps
But they have a choice,
Always
A choice

Plastic
I glance at the plastic cow
She offers me her milk
I want to refuse, but I do not want to be
rude
I don't want plastic chemicals
I am already a chemical
A disgusting succubus of falisty
Of fakeness, of unreality
When I die the crows will
Skip
Over my body
They know I am poison.
I see the statue of liberty,
Some ridiculous minature, a lawn ornament,
Someone has taken the liberty to paint Her in
American flag colors.
She looks disgusted. Demeaned.
A dead deer stares at the sky,
Her body mangled,
Rigor mortise
Her face is serene
There is a truck bed full
Of signs
The ones that flash on the side of the road
Orange Orange
But they are lying still, face down
Silent
Waiting for their purpose to be fulfilled
I crunch gravel underneath my feet
My shoes oppress
My laughter shatters
I am destruction
Because I am human
I take and take and take
I never learned to share
No one did, we just pretended
We take and do not give back,
We are all smiles about it
You smile at your deceit
Shocked by the lack of care in this world,
You'll get what's coming to you
You chemical infested heathen
I cry at my humanity
Yet I sit silent
I eat the ovaries of trees
I enjoy their sweetness
I watch a horse grazing
I know its power
Beauty, grace, love
I covet these things,
As I covet you
And sin,
Beauty is a falsity
My mascara whispers lies
To my eyes
And yours
My lipstick spreads color
And death
Something died to make me beautiful
It's all a facade
The makeup
Take, take, take
We are all Vikings
Pirates
(Don't let that evoke some nostalgia
A stupid notion of adventure)
We rape, we pillage, we conquer
Ourselves
Congratulations!
You've just won blood
Blood on your hands
Macbeth guffaws at you
The wind chimes tinkle
I hung it myself,
To be reminded of what I can't see
Don't think of faith!
I blindfold myself to the dirt around
I see invisibly
Invisibilty
I make my own reality
Not virtual, not fictional
Mine
As do you,
You're plastic, you're fake
I see right into you
Not through you.
I count bubbles flying through the sky
They don't fly, they are pushed
Forced out into the world
Like babies
Babies ready to die
Butterflies who flutter about,
Their wings so readily earned,
So quickly taken.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror
I was Aphrodite
She smirked at me
I flicked her off,
She began a sing-song
I ran away
As I do with everything
We all do
Humans, we run the human race
Controllers
Of our own fate,
Which is inherently demise.
I worship images of the unattainable,
I distort myself
As I distort you
Your faults disturb me
I have a staring contest with my dog.
I win.
It because I am the most intelligent,
My brain is bigger,
Yeah, I keep up with the Jones'
Because I can and will be better
Then you
Me
The world
I am human, therefore I can
Conquer
Destroy
Feast
We are our own gluttony
We feed our vanity, greed, pride
And revel in it
Make it a fashion statement.
Oh my god! Like, totally amazing
We continue on our parade
Of generosity, of deceit
So careful to hide the cracks, the problems
The wrinkles our face,
The holes in our lies
The blackholes of our souls
As a car sped past I flipped him off
He flipped me the bird
It came crashing into my windshield,
My reality,
I held a funeral for the bird,
Buried in my backyard,
I put a tear in my eye,
So the world would know of this small tragedy.
Then I put a smile on my face,
It takes less muscles to smile
Less effort
It's easy being me
I am effortlessly human
I crave perfection,
But know I am not perfect.
It's all cool,
I accept reality.
I stare at people behind my sunglasses
I shoot daggers into the world
I jauntily walk, knowing I am immune
It can't stab back.
I swing my hips knowingly,
You wear belt buckles stealthly
You can't fool me, I know what you want
You want me stare at your cock,
As I want you to stare at my ass
We all cheat on each other
With each other
We dance the erotic dance fully clothed
A smile on our lips
A wetness in our pants
Concealed.
Don't worry honey, there's no secrets here
The whole world is a secret
A mystery to unravel.
Eve is pissed.
At you, at me,
We were all tempted,
Fuck Adam.
I just bitch-slapped him,
In turn I bled
Between my legs,
God chortled.
I cried.
My hormones raged.
I went to my frying pan.
It welcomed me.
I take a rib from Adam and eat it, Eve joins me
Athena chortles,
We kick them in the balls,
Prenteding we are better then them,
But we aren't
We just like to decieve ourselves,
As do you,
This isn't about gender or religion or geneitalia
I'm not here to stroke your cock,
Soothe your worries,
Turn your frown up-side down.
Please, continue fucking yourself
And others.
It's what I'm gunna do.
Because I am human,
I know what's best.
Translation
(Please read across, not as an individual column)
I glance at the plastic cow I looked at a cow made of plastic I looked at plastic cow
She offers me her milk I offered her milk I raised her milk
I want to refuse, but I do not want to be But I refuse, you do not want But I refused because I do not want
rude Rude Rude
I don't want plastic chemicals I do not want the chemicals in plastics I do not want chemicals in plastics
I am already a chemical Chemistry I Chemistry I
A disgusting succubus of falisty Succubus of negative falisty Witch negative falisty
Of fakeness, of unreality of fakeness, unrealistic The fakeness, unrealistic
When I die the crows will When crows die When the songs are dying
Skip Skip Skip
Over my body In my body In his television
They know I am poison. She knows the poison. Do you know poison.
I see the statue of liberty, I, please see the Statue of Liberty I believe, please visit the Statue of Liberty
Some ridiculous minature, a lawn ornament, Some silly small, ornamental grass, Some stupid small, ornamental grass,
Someone has taken the liberty to paint Her in Have the freedom to paint? Have the freedom to paint?
American flag colors. Colors of the flag. Color flag.
She looks disgusted. Demeaned. Seems to be annoyed. Decreases. It seems that anger. Lower.
A dead deer stares at the sky, The dead deer in the sky, Including the dead deer in the sky,
Her body mangled, His body was torn His body was torn
Rigor mortise Rigor mortise Strict tenon
Her face is serene His face is gentle His moderate
There is a truck bed full The truck bed is full Truck bed full of
Of signs Character Nature
The ones that flash on the side of the road On the side of the road, flash On the other side of the road, flashing
Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange
But they are lying still, face down However, they are still down However, there is still down
Silent Silence Silence
Waiting for their purpose to be fulfilled Pending results Waiting for the outcome of
I crunch gravel underneath my feet I gravel under the feet of his crisis Gravel crisis
My shoes oppress My shoe press My shoes Print
My laughter shatters I break a smile I break a smile
I am destruction I am destroyed More than the destruction of
Because I am human Because I am human Because I have the right to
I take and take and take I'm guessing that you and I suspect that you and
I never learned to share I have never learned to share I never learn to share
No one did, we just pretended Everyone, we did Everything we have done
We take and do not give back, We will not return We will not return
We are all smiles about it We all have a smile of his We all smile
You smile at your deceit Detect a smile of his Found his smile
Shocked by the lack of care in this world, By the lack of attention in this world, shudder The lack of attention in this world and tremble
You'll get what's coming to you You get what What you can
You chemical infested heathen Gentiles chemical attacks Pagani chemical attacks
I cry at my humanity I call the human Word of the rights of
Yet I sit silent However, I am quiet However, I quietly
I eat the ovaries of trees Eat tree ovary Eat tree ovary
I enjoy their sweetness I'm such a sweet I am a sweet
I watch a horse grazing I watch a horse patrol I look forward to in the horse patrol
I know its power I know the power of Such a power
Beauty, grace, love Beauty, grace, love Beautiful, elegant, love
I covet these things, I feel these things, I think that
As I covet you You do not covet If you do not want
And sin, And sin, And evil,
Beauty is a falsity Beauty is fake Beauty is fake
My mascara whispers lies I whisper my mascara I whispered my mascara
To my eyes In my eyes It seems to me that
And yours And his And his
My lipstick spreads color Color of my lipstick fat spreads The color of my lipstick fat spreads
And death And death And death
Something died to make me beautiful My beautiful death? I have a beautiful death?
It's all a facade This is the front The front
The makeup Makeup Make-up
Take, take, take Is to take It is through
We are all Vikings We have all the Vikings We have all the pirates
Pirates Pirates Pirates
(Don't let that evoke some nostalgia They will not nostalgic (? I am not nostalgic (?
A stupid notion of adventure) Stupidity adventure) Foolish adventure)
We rape, we pillage, we conquer We rape, plunder, conquest We rape, plunder, conquest
Ourselves Us We
Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!
You've just won blood You won just blood You just won the blood
Blood on your hands His blood His blood
Macbeth guffaws at you Laugh at the Macbeth Laughter's "Macbeth"
The wind chimes tinkle Wind bells ring Wind Bell
I hung it myself, I did my I am in my
To be reminded of what I can't see To be remembered that they can not see To remember that they can not see
Don't think of faith! I have faith and do not think so! I do not think so!
I blindfold myself to the dirt around Venda me around the globe I text all over the world
I see invisibly Please see my invisible To see if I can not see
Invisibilty Invisibilty Invisibilty
I make my own reality I am my own reality I have my own reality
Not virtual, not fictional The virtual non-fiction In fact, non-fiction
Mine My My
As do you, How As
You're plastic, you're fake Plastic, which can be bad Plastic, can be bad
I see right into you I, please refer to the right I pray the right
Not through you. In the case. In such a case.
I count bubbles flying through the sky I count the flying bubble I can not wait to fly to the bubble
They don't fly, they are pushed No Fly Press Note Fly News
Forced out into the world Force in world Forces in the world
Like babies Baby Baby
Babies ready to die Prepared for death of baby In preparation for child deaths
Butterflies who flutter about, The flutter of a butterfly, In the flutter of butterflies,
Their wings so readily earned, Sono Tasuku to get so easily Tasuku is that this is so easy
So quickly taken. So fast. So fast.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror Yesterday, I looked in the mirror Yesterday, I looked at the mirror
I was Aphrodite My Aphrodite My Aphrodite
She smirked at me I Smirke More than smirk
I flicked her off, My Flicker My flicker
She began a sing-song He began, "Song of Songs He began to say, "Song Song
I ran away I escape Escape
As I do with everything I have all I am
We all do We have it all We are all
Humans, we run the human race The man, the human race People, human
Controllers Controllers Controller
Of our own fate, Our fate, From Our destiny
Which is inherently demise. It is a natural decline. This is a natural decline.
I worship images of the unattainable, I worship the image of unattainable I like the image of God, can not be achieved
I distort myself I distort my China's distortion
As I distort you I will distort the understanding More distorted understanding
Your faults disturb me To worry about your mistakes Take care of their own mistakes
I have a staring contest with my dog. My dog is my eyes are competitive. My dog my eyes competitive.
I win. Win. Victory.
It because I am the most intelligent, Because I is smart Because I am smart
My brain is bigger, My brain is a major My brain is a great
Yeah, I keep up with the Jones' Yes, I agree with Jones Yes, I agree with Jones
Because I can and will be better And because I get better, And because I better
Then you Then Then
Me Me I
The world ZAWARUDO ZAWARUDO
I am human, therefore I can I am human so I can I believe that human beings, so I can
Conquer Conquest Conquest
Destroy Destruction Destruction
Feast Fixed Fix
We are our own gluttony We pamper our As long as we have
We feed our vanity, greed, pride We vanity, greed, pride Feed We are very proud, greed, pride of power
And revel in it And And
Make it a fashion statement. Create a fashion statement. To create a fashion statement.
Oh my god! Like, totally amazing Oh, my God! Very surprised at how Oh, God! Very surprised how
We continue on our parade We rely on parade We rely on the march
Of generosity, of deceit Generosity, fraud Generous, fraud
So careful to hide the cracks, the problems So, crack, be careful about the issues Therefore, the cracks should be noted that the issue of
The wrinkles our face, Crease in the face of our In our
The holes in our lies We have a hole We have a hole
The blackholes of our souls Soul of a black hole The soul is a black hole
As a car sped past I flipped him off The speed of the car in the past, I The speed of the machine in the past, I
He flipped me the bird He has shown me the bird He showed me the birds
It came crashing into my windshield, It was my windshield He is my glass
My reality, My Reality China's reality
I held a funeral for the bird, I have a funeral for the bird I have a bird funeral
Buried in my backyard, Buried in my backyard Buried in my yard
I put a tear in my eye, I have tears in my eyes I have tears in my eyes
So the world would know of this small tragedy. I know that, in the world, this small tragedy. I know that in the world, this little drama.
Then I put a smile on my face, Then, the smile on my face Then, a smile on my face
It takes less muscles to smile It takes fewer muscles to laugh It requires less muscle laugh
Less effort Less work Less work
It's easy being me It's easy for me! This is very easy for me!
I am effortlessly human I am a simple man I am a simple person
I crave perfection, I thirst for perfection I want a perfect
But know I am not perfect. However, it is not perfect for me. However, this is not my ideal.
It's all cool, This is cool This is the cold
I accept reality. I accept the reality. I accept the reality.
I stare at people behind my sunglasses I have people behind the sunglasses and look at the They are the people, and look for glasses
I shoot daggers into the world Antagonism of the world shot Antagonism of the film in the world
I jauntily walk, knowing I am immune The fate of my feet, I know the immune The fate of my foot, I know, the immune system
It can't stab back. It is not a back stab. This does not come back to the knife.
I swing my hips knowingly, I know my swing is back I know my swing is back
You wear belt buckles stealthly Belt buckle bearing stealthly Belt buckle bearing stealthly
You can't fool me, I know what you want That you can not fool me, know what I want You can not fool me, I would like to
You want me stare at your cock, To see your cock To see your cock
As I want you to stare at my ass My Ass, see My ass, see
We all cheat on each other We are all the other tricks We have all of the other skills
With each other Each other Any other
We dance the erotic dance fully clothed Sensual dance, dressed in completely Emotional dance, dressed in completely
A smile on our lips Smile on the lips Smile lips
A wetness in our pants We are in the wet pants We are in the wet pants
Concealed. Disguise. Masking.
Don't worry honey, there's no secrets here , Here is a secret please do not worry honey This is the secret, do not worry honey
The whole world is a secret All the mysteries of the world All of the secret world
A mystery to unravel. To solve the mystery. In order to solve this mystery.
Eve is pissed. Eva is sour. New Year's Eve is harsh.
At you, at me, You are about me, about You are my, about
We were all tempted, We were all trying to We are all trying to
Fuck Adam. ADAMUFAKKU. ADAMUFAKKU.
I just bitch-slapped him, I fucking hit him Hell I beat him
In turn I bled In return for my bread In response to my bread
Between my legs, Between my legs Between legs
God chortled. Gods chortled. Gods chortled.
I cried. I cried. I cried.
My hormones raged. My raging hormones. My raging hormones.
I went to my frying pan. I went to my bread. I went to my bread.
It welcomed me. He welcomed me. He welcomed my favor.
I take a rib from Adam and eat it, Eve joins me I have eaten the ribs of Adam and Eve I conclude the I have a rib of Adam and Eve, the end of
Athena chortles, Athena chortles, Athena chortles,
We kick them in the balls, We participate in a ball We are participating in the ball
Prenteding we are better then them, Prenteding're than those Prenteding're, in addition to those
But we aren't However, we do not However, there is
We just like to decieve ourselves, We are, we just need to decieve At present, we only need to decieve
As do you, How As
This isn't about gender or religion or geneitalia Genetic sex, and religion in Italy is not Hereditary, in Italy and religious
I'm not here to stroke your cock, I cook a stroke here, am Cook more than a stroke in the morning
Soothe your worries, Alleviate the concerns of their To alleviate their fear
Turn your frown up-side down. Frown turned out. This is unsatisfactory.
Please, continue fucking yourself Keep your fucking Hold down the hell
And others. Among others. And so on.
It's what I'm gunna do. I have been to Gunnar. I Gunnar.
Because I am human, Because I am human Because I have the right to
I know what's best. It's up to me. This happened to me.

Borrowed
Kelly Gibbons (722)

The Closing of Her eyes,
Empty my Heart of thee, (587)
Adored with caution- as a Brittle Heaven, (680)
I many times thought Peace had come (738)
'Twas the old-road-through pain, (344)
Why, I have lost, the people know (104)
Remembrance has a Rear and a Front (1182)
Of Fate if this is All (1334)
Its bright impossibility, (505)
The Forest of the Dead (615)
And leave the Soul-Alone (524)
From the belief that Somewhere, (532)
The solemn contract of a Life, (580)
All-the price if All (772)
Why give if Thou must take away (882)
This way, I keep from missing (996)

The Dying need but a little, Dear, (1026)
Departed, or at Home (1037)
Is Heaven a Place-a Sky- a Tree? (489)
It was a boundless place to me (506)
I felt my life with both my hands (351)
But Dying-Is a different way (335)
Of course-I Prayed (376)
My Reward for Being, was This (343)
And that is His business-not Ours (316)
Oh what a Grace us this, (1614)
If grace could talk (1608)
God would certainly scold! (251)

All but death can be adjusted (749)
There is another Loneliness (1116)
Are Friends Delight or Pain (1199)
There's Triumph in the Room (455)
My period had come for Prayer (564)
Impregnable my Fortress (642)
That dying I may earn the Look (1559)
We are molested equally (1646)
My God- He sees thee (1178)
The rainbow never tells me (97)
Dare I presume to see (166)
Departed-to the Judgment (524)
Not so the infinite Relations- Below (1040)
My Cocoon tightens- Colors tease- (1099)
I made slow Riches but my Gain (843)
Death is a Dialogue between (976)
She hideth Her the Last (557)
Superiority to Fate (1081)
Bliss is frugal of her Leases (1119)
Of her effacing Fathom- (1358)
All things swept sole away (1512)
She's dreaming of the woods! (142)

The Fact that Earth is Heaven (1408)
For which I cease to live- (1559)
There comes an hour when begging stops (1751)
The Love a Life can show Below (673)
But reduce no Human Spirit (710)
Compared with that profounder site (1695)
Far after Act or Accident (1175)
What I see not, I better see- (939)
I'm glad I don't believe it (79)
And in the midst so fair, (144)
I have no Life but thus (1398)
None who saw it ever told it (1110)
But not for Compensation (862)
As hopelessly as I- (739)
I asked no other thing (621)
You love the Lord- you cannot see (487)
What I can do- I will- (361)
Incarceration- Home. (1334)

Alluded to no time (93)
And never coming back (1260)
Oh disparity (1314)
All but Death, can be adjusted (749)
Block it up (546)
The Eyes glaze once -and that is Death- (241)
Not in this World to see his face- (418)
I dwell in possibility- (657)
The Lord alone is burned (871)
We fought Mortality (1136)
No Passenger was known to flee (1406)
Into the Beautiful (1540)
Escaped the House unseen (948)
Except it have the flaw- (242)
They leave us with the Infinite (350)
It was dying- Then- (614)
One Blessing had I than the rest (756)
Each one unto the other (1049)
Through the strait pass of suffering- (792)
A legacy of Love (644)
But Heaven made both, impossible (586)
Partakes without alighting (500)
Too imperceptible to note (471)
Without a Misery- (372)
Inebriate of Air-am I- (214)
I deemed Eternity (765)
I took on Draught of Life (1725)
Such are the inlets of the mind (1421)
Perhaps they do not go so far (1399)
A Good News should be given (947)

Light is sufficient to itself (862)
The Height I recollect (788)
No matter-now-Sweet (704)
It never did betray (578)
Could-I do more-for Thee- (447)
The Lost- Day's face- (355)
That I dare to tell? (291)
The one that no one else would miss (223)
No other-stopped to earn (767)
The Grace next to it-heal? (918)
To the Native Land. (1021)
Babble of the Happy (1217)
More loyal for the exody (1300)
More arduous there is (1446)
Ajar-secure-inviting (578)
Best Beauty's Way (571)
The Heaven-unexpected come, (513)
I gained it so- (359)
Till it depart, persuading Mine- (1060)
Just lost, when I was saved! (160)
I went to Heaven- (374)
Amd all we said-was "Saved"! (325)
Stolen
I met him (241)
You are lovely (199)
you demand- (94)
We stayed til the stamens trembled (196)
one proposed they live together (132)
wet inside:they must swim (181)
we questioned (189)
she needs bodice uplift (166)
A though game, art. (161)
to float the ear in beauty (153)
moved him-
and who (183)
imitation silk black dress (152)
What a woman!-hooks men like rugs (108)
she's felt the prongs of her own advance (115)
You can tell they're no good (120)
They separated (81)
To wit, the lover said (79)
he flashed and went down (126)
as you come in. (141)
from too much hurt (146)
a gift from me, (153)
social love (202)
He blushed (218)
penetrating?-if you mean (222)
by man (253)
Do feel however (255)
upon the pressure (265)
you ought to put forth (210)
no modesty anymore (118)
young aloofness (133)
we can' afford it. Selfish of her. (132)
You're my type, you're okay. (148)
soft bed, the whole easy lot if us, (160)
All creatures whatsoever this desire glow (162)
(your hand!- (247)
(the senses stimulate the mind) (272)
I remember, he said (298)
After all, ecstasy (202)
in my favor (225)
the desire to know (256)
From my bed I see (104)
after storm shall we speak of love? (174)
pert girls. (227)
in marriage (277)
so well loved (293)
little warmth, but honor in her loose (111)
for failure to molest. (115)
a pleasure now (160)
aint what attracts me (206)
I lay down (204)
to see her wed in the rich (170)
over my head (168)
too good to forsake (148)
Let's play a game (127)
happy anniversay (127)
You are the man (283)
Now I must retract (279)
Saw his wife return (261)
She held his hand and told him where to sign (101)
-an evening seedy. (182)
and here it is- (250)
I doubt I'll get silk stockings out (103)
the skirt I've saved so long (102)
Here we last (120)
for all intentions (80)
life term (82)