Wikipedia Poem, No. 120


Negative Reaction, Joseph M. Gerace, 62 x 35 in., 2015


“When mirth reigns throughout the town, and feasters about the house, sitting in order, listen to a minstrel; when the tables beside them are laden with bread and meat, and a wine-bearer draws sweet drink from the mixing-bowl and fills the cups: this I think in my heart to be most delightsome.” Homer

Anonymous resolved, experiments
writing and culture modified first fast
an ongoing era starving at the 
critic’s whimsy asserts mirthful syntax 
and the oft disquieted “Week In Books”
curated by Sharon Apps just, like, sighs
And a poetry dog is born hungry 
a grand must? What poetic influence
fleshly and torn through this book I used to love 
reborn — its claim sung — coveted of Leaves.

Night Arching Womb


Neutral Reaction, Joseph M. Gerace, 65 x 36 in., 2015

Chuck Close
look down down down
a second simply layer
Murphy Oil Soap
at reality masterfully 
aftermarket wheels
a precise daub of Reynolds Wrap
works on John
a vaseline claw 1992
grasps a brush impossibly
spring clamp reference 
stone triangles — first feathers 
& then — god
no art without
stone god the palette, 
the scale, the carousel
counteroffensive rather
than approaching his point
from a theoretical perspective —

Now, here, upon the Donald Trump
of night arching, arching, gray then black
with phallic observations, a widening womb
tribal almost organic as in seeing 
for the first time a psychedelic intoxicant
metadata: the hand that colossal wreck, bound them.

Library of Congress


“‘Two-Eyes could bear no more’ like the dusty swan / Shut of its cage and doubtful what to do” Berryman

Winter landscape
The statue
The disciple
A point of age

The traveller
The ball poem
Fare well
The spinning heart

Parting as descent
Desires of men and women

Boston Common: a meditation upon the hero
The moon and the night and the men
The enemies of angels
Canto amour

Young woman's song
The song of the demented priest
The song of the young Hawaiian
The song of the tortured girl

The song of the bridegroom
Rock-study with wanderer
The long
New Year's Eve

Narcissus moving
The dispossessed
Scots poem.


“Library of congress LCCN Permalink for 94838656.” The Library of Congress. n.d. Web.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 119


“The soul, / like the square root of minus 1, / is an impossibility that has its uses.” Vijay Seshadri

George Washington
has left to run a Cruz 
cigarettes to take a ton 

hard to the campaign 
against missiles against faces against 
the heft to abandon the relentless we 

according to pay their hide 
behind classified if they hide 
been if civilians senior months

a bureaucracy that moves deploys fighters 
their weapons even below and drone 
said at headquarters too high

the civilians: ”So?” 
even that if their vehicles classified impossible 
including heft to the hide Senate consequence 

in its all heft to run the month to run the group’s leaflets 
and that their bills including to discriminate including
a cigarette Baghdad Raqqa Iraq the Air Force of them

the region a dubious general top leader 
near doughy precause last month hellfire
used a hint of chiefs togethers whose surgical 

sunrise Sunni tribesmen whose jail it’s more 
campaign the valuable target because the jail
and those careful 9,000 foot soldiers said the jail

it’s in the pentadragon that the expresident dilemmas 
the coalition against Mr Baghdadi the group’s leaders 
who failed Mohammed they hide behind countries of 

     civilians “So?” 

even campaigns began in that territory of will 
spoke on condition of abandon to be likely empty 
too takes their bills and officials behind “We want to run” 




Rosenberg, Matthew, and Eric Schmitt. “In ISIS Strategy, U.S. Weighs Risk to Civilians.” New York Times 2015. Web.

Seshadri, Vijay. “Imaginary Number .” Poetry Magazine. Feb. 2012. Web.

Good Parenting


“Now—tell me, my love, if you recall / the dove light after dawn at the island and all—” Berryman


Lack of night now
Vandalism: What’s funnier
Squash or a substantial orange yam?
In a manger? Spaghetti
Wake up with a headache
Not the night before, but

With death: What a dire truck
Skulls skulls skulls
Every man, doves,
In a mugshot
Looks like my father
For someone so obsessed

Shacked, dated, bored
I understand
The cup on mother’s head
Why you’d come, hawks,
Taking my jazz
They don’t aggress

Condottieri, becoming, of course
The subtext of acetylene
He should have come out and talked

Wikipedia Poem, No. 118


INTERVIEWER: What was it like to take high tea with William Butler Yeats?

     Cartwright calmingly my        hero  main part 
         was just         recomment it  Finally I   did most of a more 
     though, big heart       was extremely courteous, and I though,
big head, rathead her wonderful looking 
     in particulars 
       I reaping was just a    cold bath, and when 

     lit      it for Yeats, and still don't feel           he was     
just recomment back that surprise 
      he realized the said, “I had the fruits of my chamber." He 
realized that surprise he     was extremely courteous, and still don't 
how much he      day. 

He       was much he aged when 
we went in. Finally      I didn't       know on 
it's    just a cold me down. So I were         drunk early 

    succeeded the      fruits of reached here? 
And he was          just recomment. I asked for 
  Mr.     Yeats, and still don't feel 

he           drunk early succeeded various and asked for 
Mr. Yeats, and my chamber.     He was just the funniest 
       the       day. He said he        was left     over. 

The taller the fruits 
of realized that surprise not asked for 
Very kind. At a cold   bath, and 
   we arrived in the sense to me 
he was left over revise not           asked 

   forget in. Finally I didn't know, 
     but in my own. So I       were drunk 
          early succeeded various and 
take off        on my own.      So I gave revise he       
was extremely could see though, big heart was just 
    a        cold bath, and I still          don't know       my

Who is Mr. Yeats? Who is Ben Jonson?

Source: Stitt, Peter A. “John Berryman, The Art of Poetry No. 16.” Paris Review. Winter 1972. Web. 3 Dec. 2015.


The boy bounds toward me
And I jump too
But a manly appreciation
Merely not an imitation