Wikipedia Poem, No. 256


“it is unnatural, / the homesickness for a woman, for ourselves, / for that acute joy at the shadow her head and arms / cast on a wall, her heavy or slender / thighs on which we lay, flesh against flesh, / eyes steady on the face of love” from Adrienne Rich’s “Transcendental Etude”



shucks the least desirable tongue
licks AAPL high at one hundred and
thirty nine bucks yet discovers the universe

si si che figata the darkening world chomps
to whom he is married not hungry
enough not clever yet it discovers the universe

the poet poses enough with importance
like an unbending ray the world made bitter killing
like a gladiator yet he discovers the universe

definitive test results reveal to the poet
impotence vibrates bites his hand
bleeds with impermanence yet inside they discover the universe

his hand unable to dissolve on the tongue tip of the poet
we’ll all be mulch soonish decomposing like a
gladiator sad he discovers the universe

#DamienHirst, or ‘The One with the Literal Shit’

Screen Shot 2014-12-16 at 5.07.51 PM

Here’s the trick
You’ve got to do the hard work
Nine out of 10 conveniences
Are beautiful big breasted blue eyed
Sales pitches  You’ve got to 

Catch the lob  Switch around the syllables
Think deeply turn off the podcast close down
Yr Tumblr  Je est un autre
Grab yr iMac with both hands on fire
And Tonguefuck the Thunderport

Danger 1: Confuse reality and lifeboats
Danger 2: Confuse light with flame
Danger 3: Confuse content and knowledge 
Danger 4: Confuse opinions for apologies

The Greeks said you could bring a lover back from the dead
The Beach Boys say wouldn’t it be nice if 
Damien Hirst says an ashtray is perfect.

wikipedia poem, no. 14


“…of their surroundings’n
their phones 
       tablets until their phones 
and pointed it acrossed texting and 
        nodody sees this. Thefakeeson of 
their phones.
       “These weren’t concealed movements—the 
gun is 
very clear,” said the District Attorney
in an 
apparently random 
     “very clear,” said the District Attorney. “These 
          weren’t concealed 
    dozens of their 

One Long Fucking Question for Michael Robbins

What I’ve learned about long walks of course
Was taught by the whiskers of a reservation man
Lashing a horse
Sterile tracts of pale kentucky blue grey shale

Don’t take them
Or take them seldom by mail
Stretching out like a dying dog
The pickets and Queen Anne

For a loss
They can’t
Be beat

The beat
Across the lawn
The lawn along the limb
Where does nightfall end
And daybreak crown its gin?