My Other Remix Oh Holy Tessera

My other remix oh holy tessera to proclivities in decline like ever fluttering hearts who demand favors of long elbowed sanctuary as if anything were permanent but presumptuous dances and idiots who have plucked vertical suspenders from the eerie sandstorm suspending something echoing riots around ten oh seven pee em swims the first three epochs into perfect capsules of now parietal unscrewing suddenly the feeling mutual mutual suddenly unscrews feeling into perfection episodes swim ten echo something sandstorms each rubbing a timid bank of idiots dancing permanently on the scorched elbows of the tenements who heart ever fluttering proclivities do lean into adventures oh mix and oh my.

Sell Three Copies They Convince You

Sell three copies they convince you you’re winning mother father baby bird they who in the corner sit with mountains to suture a couple thousand dollars high and under the worst company that ever went public bends meanwhile to its will who down at the volcano beg for fruited jobs devoid of humanity they who dispose of the chemical haze brave marble queuing for another opportunity of a terracotta lifetime real heroes jacking open my open eyelids like who were you able to convince an autobiographical pharmacy never closes the unpredictable patron saint of updraft laureate isabel allende of antediluvian cemeteries what’s clever is wasted yellow sky yellow leaves square and broken yellow birds rearranging the gossamer daylight stuck in my head for 25 years for a small edible triangle of scaffolding around one’s river thorough disposable yellow concrete swelling to meet the yellow crucifixion who yellow the house yellow audi yellow cardinal perch atop the dizzy birch of free markets.

Agency Representation


the tide dropped out
while still enrolled
puta in the sun
scared moon
certainly not the heroes
darkly begging at the shore’s feet
taking advantage
the only thing
at which they’ve excelled
no other way to get it done
their shoulder / your shoulder
their back / your back
the chorus unable to prove anything
anymore distracted by distraction
comparing
work to worry
reaction to action
syrup to syntax
the anti-war movement of the ’60s and ’70s
sabotaged the culture
their heroes heathens lords of dew
acknowledge the abusive sutra
turned themselves out
there’s hero shit in the street
and no one picks it up
which is to say
everyone refuses to pick it up
who precisely is this no one
and are you looking
for agency representation?

I Burn The World


i don’t want to hate read
your big bang which is to
say i desire to sniff your
every sip of coke carry you
closer to the end of beer
of coffee of water i am
formally interesting of but bereft baked
into obsolescence the right hand no
poems about rain when i drive
the scents enter and exit like
coffee shop customers once a virgin
always a virgin no leatherback sea
turtle devouring a jellyfish have a
strange obsession strangely unobsessed i was
a bad translator and a hell
of a stylist trapped in colin
powell’s test tube not being dramatic
when i say the light dims
vibrating elements start a tv network
arch of river-wet stones above creek
in vermont if you don’t know
the noun its sentence is alien
and uber modernity says don’t slow
america morphs individual identity to bludgeon
america grafts vision to formula warmachine
america was nowhere america had nowhere

Instagram

one in three questions is serious
two are small hands grasping
in the wet-dark
for salinized water

hewn stone
or a mustache
arriving at customs
before a tour
of the great pyramids
of vegas

i am obsessed
through collage
but that’s behind him now

a flashlight / in a closet / at the bottom / of the aegean sea

You’re a nag.
You’re a liar.
You’re lazy.
You’re selfish.
You’re deluded.
Stop wasting my time.

he is a craftsman
with beautiful rough hands
full of calluses like truth
with crete between
his team has prepared
marketing collateral
and sand fires for every possible occasion

If you don’t like it, you can leave.

in fact i think you should go
freshly shaven chest
like a great royal crest
give the world what it
so depressingly craves
space

in its arms this generation bears
time or place drowning my hands
around its neck long and slender
surrender

Everyone agrees with me.

 trees sorting themselves below birds

You should be ashamed of yourself.

 great figures inconceivable if not for sky

I don’t need you, you need me.

nothing neat left in this moved-on world

After all I have done for you, this is the thanks I get?

oubliette, oubliette, oubliette

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

Lucie Brock-Broido

Wikipedia Poem, No. 739

coda-2
“According to the census I am unmarried / And unchurched. // The woman in the field dressed only in the sun.” Brock-Broido

  crown of smoke nation hunger as portable illusion any old hunger . . . . . . . 
. . . . . . . theory subsumes hunger and mortality illusions     hunger as . . . . . . . 
. . . . . a hunger as . . . . . . . moralist for nations hunger is always potable 
illusion          seeming syntax    branch from trunk spore from gill 
      as an 
   as 
a    

        gettering 
       to the field 
   dressed now 
     told
      whom is dying to 
come to terms with 
        our self 
          like arctic 
arctic caps a married possible 
field dressed 
in the big beautiful blubbery suit whom dying dying dying  
a ring too far gone to the
great am unmarried 
   according to the census i am dying

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Source: Brock-Broido, Lucie. “You Have Harnessed Yourself Ridiculously to This World.” Poetry Foundation, Oct. 2013.

Preghiera di Gerace (Manifesto)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 661

w661

after Mario Merz

y&
simple body
nature current 
dynamism language 
no culture 
no merchandise
misunderstood 
&y

able   to provide material 
was his      earthenworks         as well    
neo-data nouveau réalisme post-war statements of 
ur-minimalissimo        programmed into existence 
poor    povera pobera 
pauvre   arm
бедные 
עני فقير
x

one of his own    surprisingly able    
to give us hope neo-divine
y&y

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