Ireland in a Day (In Praise of Ellen Hutchins)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 802

irelandinaday-o

create many named grasses in seaweed and mussel and among their publications and publishers lecania hutchinsiae et al and the mussels of miss ellen’s garden who? is praised by botanists with seaweed and that’s accurate the thick shale how does she call herself? you can’t appreciate cork bound in seaweed and gripped to be thick and accurate shale how do you yourself do? can you do? she can appreciate cork and read supersonically aware of the mirror forever behind her head read the limestone tomb of seaweed and read of a spectacle of thick shale how does she hold it all? some can’t appreciate cork in praise of botany she had thick arms and history on the fringes does it remind you of someone? cladophora hutchinsiae? how do you do? must you yourself climb what must be? or just or just or just

Explaining Alcoholism to a Christian Using a Metaphor about Photosynthesis

Wikipedia Poem, No. 787

circus-of-the-sun-sm

disaster hammers
choice

diving into memory’s wreck
reveals god an addict

produce and improve
think and civil war

come you groundbreaker
annual depending flashes of green tumble

the fruiting lift of its time
prisms individual residents

hole up at the corymb mall
the follow-up between younger pews

saint george slays
a spray of arboreal math

saint matt jolts his subjects
this isn’t the god damned lottery

Monadnock

Wikipedia Poem, No, 691

w691-final-small

      in some countries hair 
pilcrow blossom falls 
  
     she is you remember that
a good husband avoids 
     a cross 
 
time bothers neither alluvial husband nor empire 
husband nor backwoods 
husband 

nor line them up on my own thread
      across 
      time 

      i return to my 
collapsing honey-clings to my 
    life my wife that white refusee there and not 

      the first time staring beautiful you said a fistful 
of memories    you covetously       
          having 

         never 
been inside 
my mind 

    9.4% alc/vol my lips do not behave 
like the good husband nor the quiet car 
away from the 

        aerosol 
kudzu 
that honey-pillow goddess pun

Poet’s Market 2018

Wikipedia Poem, No. 682

w682

“Maybe you have to be from there to hear it sing” C.D. Wright

 

a bell 
long ago 
rung in fear
     
one with 
a thousand 
jumps 

a great poem can be 
wild nectar or a great poem 
can be scrubbed from the timeline

                        from 
by whom?                his moaning
                        to be 

how      i assume 
you didn't choose what 
you'd surreptitiously strike

one perfect choice what'd you 
have to not say
          about the young plants 

the end   so wild
      so abandoned of cherry blossom 
not the wild plants with a thousand-word long line 

and this morning i'm unable 
to plant anything lovely 
a cypher as if long ago the bell was rung 

in a dark mossy room 
ducks in marshland jump 
into the air and crash

a great poem can be removed with buck
and jump a great poetry book should be 
wild never hit one perfect cherry blossom 

if by cherry blossom you mean sells well
every day i taste a man my poem 
can be how it is assumed	you'd never

choose what you'd never hit one 
perfect choice nectar of the therapist 
the tended-to plants present wild nectar 

with both hands a great poem removed from 
morning is not a therapist is not a plant lovely
his dog kills the therapist his morning 
     
is lovely and romantic 
and his morning is not the wild nectar 
on the thousand turning silent eyes

so 
there is loveliness and fun 
the therapist and the therapist's dog 

kill ducks in marshland
a great poem can be 
removed by scrubbing

from mourning 
i'm unable to choose 
what you'd nectar on o reader

a great poem can be removed 
from the whiteness of the bath
is not led into a thing 
     
i'm unable to recall the wild never
the title of a long 
ago rung bell afraid 

one perfect choice what 
you'd nectar on a great poem can be 
how wild plants are lovely without us

and buck (he says you didn't choose) 
on a great poem can be removed 
and planted in the garden beside his body 

i wonder 
is there not a therapist 
inside every ridiculous yes

Wikipedia Poem, No. 267

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“On the wall is a spot: the painter sneezed / … or dirt, / or is it a cousin back from the dead / yearning to touch brows. / The spot is not monochrome; red is with that gray. / It is … a cell beset by virus. / Really, I don’t know. So much business thins me out. / And now voices approach: they are spheres, textured.” Kleinzahler

 

direct pinesap sunlight sight recede
fundament unnerving receiver
function over fabrication consider this

future clasping scales study and synprecept
rich woodland sights sunlight retractable specific-
developed neuroscientific union

of committee glans stretch the canyon tip
commonly suggests 95 percent in utero make art
in utero enhanced thought through thunder

between metonymy and metaphor innervated mucous memory
‘s saprophyte defaces coin retractable specific
developing through time with wine considered raceme

retractable boy fairly stretchable roots of pine and oak
man fairly stretchable specific developed analyses suspend mental
syntheses overstimulates unfastening copper cage door

paculum-spec2-sm

Source: Kleinzahler, August. “The Interior Decorator on Sunday.” Live from the Hong Kong Nile Club: Poems, 1975-1990. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2000. Print. Page 31.

AAPL Tree

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Overgrown Hops, Livingston Manor, N.Y., July 2016

 

The least desirable male model in the room.
Che figata! The sweet, sticky, glowing
World fills the artist’s pocket. That claimed room.
It bleats with importance. Vibrates. He reaches down
And finds his hand bleeding.

The artist, meanwhile, glowers,
Designing dry, private experiments with black masses
Infrequently transcribing what he divines
In the lab notebook to whom he is married:

Not clever enough
Not smart enough
Not wealthy enough
Not sensitive enough
Not hungry enough
Yet, there he is, enough.
Still life of the artist without father:

Findings inconclusive and forgotten.
Wrong number. Au gratin.

He intuits something young,
And asks: Why bother taking the test?
He’ll all be dead soon. And all the rest?

Dead and fine. He lines up
In front of the urinal
Panting like a gladiator.

Sad, spineless and the quite-possibly-alive emoji.
The pistol. The butcher’s knife. The optimistic turd. The sword, then.

Send.

Too much sensuality to dissolve
On the tip of the tongue
and him, unable to pay
much attention to anything, if I remember correctly.

John Ashbery loves to astute his assay:
August Kleinzahler adores his ma in Fort Lee:
Czeslaw Milosz, I hope you cherish the artist’s unencumbered flesh,
Decomposing in cubes on the couch
While he Googles for a definite vision of the divine
In an apple tree. (Another fucking apple tree.)

The least desirable male specimen
In this corner of his universe. Si, si.
Che figata! Strafigo! Abbastanza bene!

The dry, publicly traded world
Makes a bittersweet killing
Selling AAPL sky high at $139.

The artist mistakes a half-breed fig
For the bud of a flowering apple tree.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 235

 

birth nature first then rethink people
organize all things accurately
these are mirthful gestures

imagine then precise pantomime
reinventing poetic ethics yearly
do not work hard the economy

here is too small nature winds
like wild kudzu grasps parallel
movement of its slight creators

you did this job right you
say your pussy is tight say
specifically of its motherly gestures

Wikipedia Poem, No. 185

wind-green-two

“If you concentrate on the sound, if you disassociate the words from the object they denote, and if you say the words over and over, they become a sort of higher Esperanto. … pure chant … then … find[ing] an object to accommodate the words.” Don DeLillo

 

loxodonta africana

large quantities of fluorite tusk
dance a dramatic statehood
of flesh kikuyu nandi luhya

luo forest by internet light
sky against art eggfully
billow thick hatches a forest

air corrupts art flesh
bordered by ivory
it is poached elephant

chrysanthemum cinerariifolium

 


Source: Monet, Claude. “Green Park, London.” Philadelphia Museum of Art. 
     1870. Web. 4 May 2016.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 176

dropsy1-01

“What the soul contributed was in a dream, touched very lightly, and merely licked and sprinkled, as it were, by the soft impression of the senses.” Montaigne

 

surname maudelen
from the early middle english fem.
proper name of a repentant sinner

for this tree-like fragrant
mostly white night-blooming
genera as shown indoors

in luke 7:37 in pain clinical
greenhouse the tall fluid
frequently forgiven

by thin-stemmed climbers
while shades of repentant sinners
locate determinate interstitium

Wikipedia Poem, No. 175

Print

Relief in this return to normalcy—that I could stop thinking about this “other world” of unknown bird sounds.

 

the middle age’s language garden
petals once because golden soil
means plant and not the altar devil’s

flowers heat pluto into third eye sight
grow sometimes invasive on winter
days in your high and like a layer

of flowers with sidearms you
wants in the sea spike a wonderful
well—for it is otherwise missing

to a true black hollyhock they can
be invasive corn is nice black
decorative heralds a middle age

the cottage of pollen with no petals
a week’s bees but the seedhead
picks off other gifts flowers an ape

and perennial dried goods
cut flowers bloomy red hot soppy
large round and marry mordant spiders