Artifacts of Reference, No. 67

Artifacts of Reference, No. 66

Artifacts of Reference, No. 65

LA RETE DI STEVE

arms akimbo
in princeton
in 2000
the famous
squirrelly record producer
in boring denim and black work
shirt chameleon-like
his wicked opacity
doesn’t applaud
when the band
finishes its final
song — there are
still film cameras
pentax nikon canon
is that guy picciotto
in the branches
of a pine tree?

Artifacts of Reference, No. 64

Artifacts of Reference, No. 63

Eight Parables of the Budding Fig

Wikipedia Poem, No. 973

later simon petra denotes
a proper name as reflection
of a noble patriarch or
that of a connotation of
new testament meaning precise
stone or red aramaic crag
dispute the time in rock or by
translation stone to petrus as

usual means stone to peter
petrus particularly in
acting class rock is called and the
syrian actors performance
shaved from the new testament or
crag others save their athletic
grief bringing combined names to a
male child along a greek jewel

but most scholars argue meaning
was simon of a fish act like
an unusual meaning for
stone theologian argue the
addition has been explained by
its name of well-known customs jews
at the rock disputed in the
attic it was a male child

the new testament and a brushed-
upon stone the old usual
meaning denotes grown from red rock
bloody act of creeping mire
mediaeval visions of
peter bubbling things to their doom
women who give consent up to
the second epistle of creep

and mire then their feet with doom
women who lend money are hung
by punishings to themselves from
their doom women who shoot a flash
of all the acts of barlaam made
to bottom the revelation
up to the writer of thomas
and bottom of revelation

driven up a great cliff by pure
conjecture with their filthy feet
with certainty in wretched hair
josaphat drinks a lake of them
hung by punishing mire the
mediaeval visions of
barlaam forced up a great cliff by
the late epistle of peter

we are delivered to the tongue
yes women lend money and are
hanged by visionary bottoms
that mediaeval vision-
ship in a pit creeping mire
they being women are driven
up through their hysterical doom
women who prescribe adultery

beside the goat cliff of their knees
hair-over-tongue women adorn
second epistle of fire
into bubbling mires of spit
spirit revelation vision
of torment saint thomas born of
gore fabric and poor narration
apostles proscribe adultery

“Rosewater, Chicken Fat, and Pinecones”

Wikipedia Poem, No. 972

cloves to me finish the beginning 
not first in air i have a special mixture 
my exclusive time requires drips 
i've made up my nose: first mind the drips 
die then do no such thing required of me  
since air is not so casually soaked 
         in ragged strips of exclusivity  
time persuades one of their nothingness 
         nor am i briefly special of whisper bone

admixture of exclusive strips mine 
i require a sort of flayed time 
special time burrowed in special thought 
slowly and continuously introduced
die then no such thought will be 
thought in the air which afaik isn't true
i am all these pine-soar things 
         however briefly 
but what of rosewater soaked linen 
i've had such wonderful lovers 

in the beginning though not at first 
beginnings slowly and continuously rise
and pinecone through the lawn 
studded with drippings wrapped in earth
what a glorious exclusive time in strip
mines exclusive time dripping among air
however briefly but trimmed 
         into reddening strips

Source: Ruefle, Mary. “Resin.” Dunce, Wave Books, 2019, p. 15.

Miyazawa Kenji

Wikipedia Poem, No. 971

clouds and the white stream brain
snow has-been tomatoes in the eyes
adrift on a mach of arms toward the bodhisattva
at dawn on the depth of everesting clouds

and the gloom the dark seaweed insects fly away in the washes
partition the twilight comes toward the blue radiant moonsteel pen
armed bird glittered clouds and curls its back mirroring hemp
like cracks veining the smell of the smell

a lily’s fragrance partitions the gloomy sky
white stream mind snow fallen phosphore
washes partition the sky in the sky
above the blue sky and the pistils of yesterday

stand curls its its its lips red rag of night comes forward
the sky and the smell of my riverbed branch
sky above the smell of a lily in the depth of birdglitter
quarrel with some living doubt bloodshot depths of pistils

green tomatoes in the gloomy white lily
its its its its lips red feathering my white seaweed
insects fly away in the smell of my white stream
ming-weed insects fly away in purple led sky bloomy white

stream mind
snow has fallen phosphorescent
partition the blue radiant moonsteel pen
the pen arms a heart’s content

left alone and roaming
with life in surround
in the pistils of green covered clouds and curls
its its its back

mirroring weed insects
fly away
the sky has been blue rays of depth
yesterday the strand the seashore water’s dead bodies

and numerous teen tomatoes in the depth of a lily
bloomy white stream
float away in my eyes and drift with someone
of membranes of wasteland-curls

its long headed body grits limp lips red rag of a lily’s fragrance
ripples rippling rippled with someone in the sky above their long arms
a queer bird glitters quarrel with life
surround the long arms of the heart’s content

stream mind snow
bitter beetle feathers weeding in the sky
and curls its bodhisattva head at the last membraneous rays of sunlight
white stream

mind of snow
fallen against the young phosphorescence
the falling sky above the blue sky
above the body its joints crack like veins

like long arms of a bird
glitter-quarrel with father again
light moon in the pistils of a lily’s fragrance
in the twilightning on a marching fog

almost imperceptible

Collage Burning Landscape

Ridgewood, Sunset

what’s even worth painting anymore? all the nerd
girls in big striped sweaters warming bleach moms
gym guys in slate sleeveless tees and they make
shoes out of knit polyester now tight pants loose
pants clouds bodies minds bricks piled up high hair
gel on a young couple four hundred feet away
i’m worried about their screen time is their crib
flammable age sex location trap beats the problem
with not liking anyone is you always have lots of
company imagine for a moment being a sixteen
ounce poland spring bottle the thin crinkling plastic
threaded neck choking hazard threaded cap
arctic-nothing impermanent black they don’t do
decaf here i listen to the gods who do not have my
best interest at heart is it ok for me to smile at the
incandescent young lesbians so in love i’m
repeating myself my recycled edges ache at the
thought of appearing a fanboy Eileen Myles in
my hands my eyes my neurons my hair dirty teeth
rotten and unbrushed like i said: no one’s looking
out for my brief colors i strain to love anyone but i
fear a relapse into hate for everyone hocking trace
antagonism — like me i’m afraid i prefer living in the
cracks and this world powerwashes squatters rats
milkweed moneywort morning glory like us — there
i go dreaming again self-flagellating my verse-thin
flesh which is bulletproof if bullets are tsetse flies
i am genetic i am bodied and disposable if extant
— there is a cloud there is the gelic memory of sun
leather loafer real burning cigarette appropriately
scented altar i don’t care what your mother named
you i will love you anyway without me.