martes, abril 08, 2008

On a Lark


For singing telegrams it was wearing
to sing to the throat

patients. What a cruel or stupid friend
to hire me. So I bought Operation

(in my tiny recuperating narrative) to pull 
plastic screwdrivers out of his belly

as the buzzer sounded off. No doubt
all the rage

of this profession grew; I would sing to him.

domingo, abril 06, 2008


All March I wasn't there
But news of another wacko
Replenished the drive
For a dynasty
We live around a lot
Are Barely there
With a Grip on

Truth be not so bare

Through my legs
Through my embellishments
Through my love a lot
Through my night breeds
Through my thinking how
Every "nulli" fits I watch you
Through books for primiparas...

Languages unrearable

and Bursting ward to be
Breasted look up
midwives See it fitting

'the season fits'

All but replenished

for we are with truth through
and through every leafing for languages

Bursting breasted see All
are through every bursting

Can I Pi Noir?

Can I Pi Noir?

No, I won't
in the yard.
I'll walk back
to the house.
The night
in the backyard
of my mind.

martes, abril 01, 2008

Poetry Month, 3 Days

Poetry Month, 3 Days


Not necessarily, we swim in
for a heist, a shipment of nude delivery trucks
on that barge, a resting stop. We will paint them

the color of fruits to be eaten
only after their decay. Weight of

our clothes, the trucks their height. The measuring
can be the pressure so we

count out our cousins. "What did you get
all wrong?"


Of workers rushing their work
an influx
allows for failure. Wouldn't be here
otherwise, a brief usurping.

Give me a bite of that medlar.


We covered ourselves, kept trying to send
our language barrier back. And back.
Who supplied it
collected it in a bag for troubles,
a suitcase for setting out,
a cup of superfluous rainwater
wrapped in thirty-four sons there.
A double unsure.