Monteverde Vecchio (excerpt)

my panting heart
my heavy void
capturing leaf smoke
curls the room
while i prepare
crystal lapped boys
to value a buck
everyone i know
is dead
i’m dead too
but that never bothered me none

handsome sergio
knows the hoary hour
every day antoni sneaks off
before lunch
to fuck
his girlfriend
violet
he presumes
i can’t
smell the rose
in his long black hair

sergio’s allowance twirled on
montelliana
panerai
brioni
then alone
in darkness
arranges
black chrysanthemums

strange bird / light bearer / glittering corpse

Wikipedia Poem, No. 981

begin: top left corner of the frame

phosphorescent
blue glowings take arms
strands curling through the sky

stream mind
snow heart
falling doubt

dark seaweed
insects fly away
divide the sky

follow: channel where shadow meets highlight

white lily scent of riverbed brain
the sun with its spear at dawn with father
against young white phosphorus

carve out the sky
wash away
with the bodies pistil depth

the sky
curls
its long arms

through: pealing gaussian sweep

red nights fly
away at lily depth
— the spear

at dawn yesterday
green tomatoes
long white roadside flow

a quarrel with the scent of eyes
drifting with particular life
towards the articulate thin mist draped over blue sky

until: arrive

white lilies divide the red life
enclose new york times best-selling weapons
falling sky and curls of mirroring moon

film / lips
come forward
crawl through

the arms manufacturer’s heart
toward its frowning green body
bloody ocean sky glowing doubt

regress

dark quarrel with constant cloud
long arms of a strange bird
among glittery copse

many tense teen tomatoes
in wickful lily scent
falling doubt

dark seaweed
insects thread
like veins

ingest

dry white wine
an enclosure
for seaweed

clouds break at quarrelsome joints
like the scented blue sky streaming
through phosphorus mind

snowfall virus
carves rod to
cylindrical shell

digress

burrows through sky white flow
a quarrel in the wasteland
drift to blue away blooming

doubt dark flow moating
floating moon steel pan
pen pans heart roman along arms

strange bird
light bearer
glittering corpse

New Mexico State Gem

What is your name? Never know. Hunched, picked off
a pair’a you—neither crow nor winch. A thing
god backlit in neon after blessing us with neon. And I
know what it means as a poet to carry this heavy basket—faint
mason, invisible stevedore, passage of time, neither good nor right.

I am fearful for firm and misunderstood things—
the spume, smiling inside the gargoyle, cultural forb—
they’re no different as carrion ghouls. Time
has done miserable things with light—he waves no
staff nor hauls no sack of turquoise shards. Quick!

He’s about to make a break for it. He’s about to windlass
Into the clouds, that one’s fancy. The crocodile climbs
many painted ladders. No weighted, pretty purple halos
ringing the eyes of these wordy wraiths—embrace
not knowing your name. I struggle to pull down the old crucifix.

Card Trick

look at those fucking pants
effervescent zinc-blind
icicles reaching toward our lord
and god ugly three-quarter leather
clogs the split-pea color of loose babyshit

but man those legs she pulls out
a snakeskin card her cowl and pendant
choker all those attendant men know what’s up
off to the right in awe of the godlike halogen light
the other woman ice cold in military pants

the ochre oxblood and white tile floor
the painter showing off—ighties—of course
he’s showing off the sole cardface—
ace of diamonds—joy card hidden
from the longhaired pair of rubes

trick of bathing light modern litter
the professor elevated incandescent
on wheels emanating—you know
what comes next—card trick forever
spread across the faces of acolytes and accomplices

Image

Artifacts of Reference, No. 4

anatomy-of-god

Choose Three

choose-three

if i don’t paint a head up top
eyes nose mouth and ears
choose three
no one will be interested

Diagrammatic K. Koch Daydream

Wikipedia Poem, No. 704

4141

outcast 
      cordial pale want 
      the conduction alone pale 
      and still bien cuit unperturbed

exile
      elementary yet unplayable 
      school dead feeling of intimacy 
      this feeling wanted dead

devotee
      over snowfall tumble
      warmhearted no returns 
      o which place for the dead

Woman Ironing

"[T]his  detachment... gave me a kind of vampiric energy, although I was my own prey." Ben Lerner

“[T]his detachment… gave me a kind of vampiric energy, although I was my own prey.” Ben Lerner

I watch Picasso work
The granite blob of gray-blue
Into a void, if I said this out loud
He would spit in my mouth and
Curse my mother who hasn’t yet been born
Her arms are returning, an honest day’s work, I am quiet,
Sweat, sweet black eyes,
Longing, a gauntness as from a fountain like
Punctuation.