“For the entertainment of his guests, Nero would illuminate his whole garden with bodies of live Christians covered in burning oil and strung up on flaming crosses, crucified. At dinner he would have the Christians rubbed by his guards with aromatic herbs and garlic and sewn up into sacks and then they’d throw these sacks to the dogs.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It’s horrible.”
“Terrible, is what it is.”
report every word of mouth
swear vow word statement crack
word of mouth swear vow word
put in word
word
word say-so
word
byword word it verbalism aphorism
aphorism
aphorism
aphorism
aphorism
aphorism
aphorism
aphorism
vow
avow
prayer
"Learn to predict a fire with unerring precision.
Then burn the house down to fulfill the prediction."
word style
utterance style
pledge style
trough style
the spoken words to expression
express give declaration
expression affirmation: nn
word words to mot d'ordre
communication remark statement avouch
saw the word in half
saw saying sentence: nn
affirmation expression
verbalize conceive
saw saying
positive statement
solemn declaration
solemn golem
solum galam"La pistola che ho puntato sulla tempia si chiama Poesia."
Sources:
Jarmusch, Jim, Demetra J. MacBride, Johnny Depp, Gary Farmer, Lance Henriksen, Michael Wincott, Eugene Byrd, Mili Avital, Crispin Glover, Iggy Pop, Billy B. Thornton, Jared Harris, Gabriel Byrne, John Hurt, Alfred Molina, Robert Mitchum, Robby Müller, Jay Rabinowitz, and Neil Young. Dead Man. 1996.
white politicians are their
weapons of there
be black poems written until love
let their weapons or they is
their weapons
leaving whose
brains
souls
splintered steps or
loud stumbling assassins
we want a bar stool in
the
liberal spokesman for trees
of there william calcraft
poison gas bullshit unless
here’s a negroleader pissing
we want a
bar
stool in the white poems written
for steel love and death wrestlers
or shudder
on the wrestlers' heaving breast
or loud with
lizbeth taylor’s
smear on girdlemamma mulatto bitches whose
brains souls pulled for the crow crowd
splintering fire
we want
a black people arrgh
work thee must educate oneself
of what skills in her craft make
a streetcar named authority oh
who made this sweatshirt sweetie
three rhetorical questions then
how must she educate herself
of what a woman directs
how must she educate her people and
which woman disemboweled aphorism why
give education to balmy breath
of what a woman must be
educated herself or burn rubber
a cauldron who breathes deep must
educate herself of what women
landmark their assembly who
fed these grapes which will us again
one last rhetorical question then
how indomitable to enforce
authority or on a mantle
a small golden rhetoric quiver
“My mind is made up / of so many cuts / of meat.” David Tomas Martinez
survive this bridge
say nothing intrinsically
unnecessary superfluous and suppose
that a poet who advises that little-better speak
he whose role is it to enfeeble language speak
a little looser
better advised and thereby unnecessary
and superfluous and superfluous
and suppose as a poet who advises
the deep-seated one day
countess of deepseats thereby
unnecessary unhelpful and superfluous but lawful
always within the arms of the law
can a poet dance his sweet wine
therebys in all their wiggling forms within
unintentionally unnecessary and helpful
but how can a poet
among his people's trusts
become a poet-king?
how can a poet-king
who advised so
damn unnecessarily
survive?
“Two monster snakes in bristling steely sheen / Did guileful Hera send in bitter hate / Upon the babes their maw to satiate.” Theocritus (trans. James Henry Hallard, 1894)
said he
was eager to get home but bracing
himself for what he might see ill be lucky
celebrations
had already begun in
raqqa
still led forces said on tuesday
rivals
like
kurds and arabs in both iraq
celebrations had already begun in raqqa
office
all fighting
declared a caliphate declared a caliphate
i
declare a caliphate
led forces said he
was
eager to get home but bracing himself for what he might see
led airstrikes that they had taken all fighters were
clear
said on tuesday
“as if social censure // is all that stops him from rending the sheep a kiss” Patrick Cotter
For Noam
זיכרונה לברכה
between eyes the diamond
it is the role of no one’s character
justice suggests a comic fainting fashion
to were i birdlike or losing your affection
allied to your paintings exegete
developed humane patterns for roman interiors
i could have mastered your movement within a week of kindness cent femmes fantastiques tête allied to the calendar
of justice which is no time at all taḥrīf
no more and repeats it as if none act a stage
o the roman interiors i could have mastered
breath in translation a series of interlocked sparks
I’ve woken up long ago. The plane scurries silently overhead, is full of people, of consequence. It is gone in 3 seconds. Passed through the window shade into nowhere. In France and Germany purple contains more red and less blue. A cat of ash I watch intently. As he, too, in silence, trots into the backyard. Does he live in the shed? What do I know? He disperses behind the shed, out of nothing. Is this music too loud? I’m done with questions, it is fine. I used to wonder why John Ashbery bothers with collage, but it’s no longer a concern of mine. I’m older now and I understand. A man is not only a beautyberry or only a painter or only a gondola. He can live anywhere at any time and my body is the mug of coffee that carries me here. If I obscure this mess, watch what it becomes! A pile of ciphers. (A muscular word that I need to be reminded of occasionally. One should be grateful when one is reminded of that word: Cipher. Thank the man and the place who reminds one of it: Matt Taibbi, last night, at the party.) A pile of ciphers like a lover’s alarm clock and reportage, hot and sweet. A pillow for sleeping then. Watch how the ciphers redden and collapse into one another as the temperature rises. The air desaturates. Lungs no longer new, suddenly, nude. I suppose I am a journalist first, and recoil. My socks do not match. Your socks, meanwhile, in mid-flight. Everything purple is discarded on the bedroom floor, gathering little flakes of us. My eyes today are gray, thank you for asking.