Circuit Dice Coffee Dramaturge

Wikipedia Poem, 875

atropos

imagine koch met another koch
what brotherless friendship
othered even these plants’ music

the moirai graduates shack up on center street
and sap wondersided all three conversing for
many years with any living man

append the loose fringe of life
three-story building wits growing seemly
never the end of the world war

and for many years
it was a centered king living white hairs
divided into three-story buildings

and for many years
it was a quarrel
overrule eating anyone

seeds seem imagine
seeds seemed from kralupy
there was a giant that could grow seeds inside himself

from kralupy he stood
on these places
dry and wondersided a peerless wit

sap graduate lit out
her nerve expected rigor
on the book of the bad queen ananke

in white hairs divided in 1948
after places painters use white hairs
skin conium the back scars white hairs

divided into white hairs on hungry green leaves
three-story center a graduate street
a painterly fact the sprite in her oval eyes

every sap wondering about aeschylus’ life
the back scars were made
freilicher brought daucus candlestock to lower manhattan

her life in three-story buildings
in aeschylus’ life small atropos
in white hairs shell-case of destinies

dry and even third avenue at sixteenth street
a painter’s taste of three-story building anyone?
seems imaginable so much beautiful writing

in 1948 a graduate student travels to greece
and never returns it stood on top of a spool of thread
in my life three-story buildings imagine fact

beauty in bullet form imagine kenneth koch
met aeschylus and the bad queen
nature’s fate seems by comparison its power

fact: the case of places
dry and very small
atropos in our life

he powers
the center
of hope

four inches in aeschylus’ life
three-stories at the center of a poem
fringed many years’ white hairs

skin conium their family book of brunette
with oval epitome and strong seeds
seems a comparison koch met giants who live for men

append friendship and very funny poems
imagine kralupy it was a quarrel overruled
eating graduate students’ exceptional epitome moirai

group of genealogies
the fates lick ash
nature family their family ween

ananke in aeschylus’ life powers a quarrel
overrule eating it seems from the potion of the parcae
yes, we muddle language probably because fates best god

but later the giant allots lachesis
in her english way it’s clear to fate
the book of destinies from each into each

his eating of the fates their brotherless friendship
and even the word hector all atropos inflexible
never a moiragetes but man’s appellation of hope

four inches long
seeds seeds seeds
dry and euripides’ poison hemlock

conium that centers fact
the end of places
in this dry medical form

Digesting the One Perfect Cherry Blossom (Ōtomo no Tabito’s Problem Drinking)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 782

w782

were  delicious so sweet and so sweet 
and so sweet and so sweet 
        and so  sweet 
    
          and so sweet  and  
so sweet and 
   so sweet and  
          which 
 you were 
of 
being  for  
          breakfast 
for breakfast  for breakfast 
        
 
for 
       breakfast  
   for 
       
   breakfast 
forgive me they   
were probably 
      saving for 
breakfast  
        for breakfast   for breakfast   for my alcoholism  which burns something  
a wise fellow saving for 
breakfast   
     were 
in the plums things like  
a wise 
fellow 
    the plums  the plums that i'm 
saving for my 
alcoholism  which you   were probably  saving you 
somethings like 
       a wise fellow were delicious and sweet
 
me less than half as 
    delicious 
         less than half as  
sweet but still so sweet and 
   rich  
         you 
you were  
breakfast   fermented plums  
breakfast for breakfast for my alcoholism
which you were probably 
saving  
sweet and weepy 
 i couldn't find the 
      plums 
to 
       drink is to 
    drink is 
to drink is 
       to 
       drink 
       
        for breakfast 
for breakfast 
for breakfast 
  for my alcoholism  
which 
 
you were probably
      in your 
delicious way so sweet and 
         rich you were  
    probably saving me for 
my 
alcoholism 
       
   which you were 
          in 
    the atmosphere  plums 
this place of being for breakfast   
for my alcoholism 
 which you were in the business of probably saving 
           for my alcoholism so sweet and i couldn't find the 
     
plums  that 
      were  
delicious so  sweet and so sweet 
and weep i couldn't find they were probably 
 saving  
flowers for breakfast 
     for breakfast   
  for breakfast for my alcoholism which 
      you  
a wise fellow 
 were 
probably saving 
         for 
          my alcoholism which 
        you were 
probably saving  for breakfast  
 
  for breakfast 

breakfast in  
      the japanese 
poem 
that          validated my alcoholism which you 
       were probably saving for breakfast for breakfast for 
       breakfast 
for  
          breakfast for 
breakfast 
     for  breakfast 
for breakfast for 
breakfast for 
breakfast for 
     breakfast for breakfast   
which  you   which you were
they were delicious and sweet probably

Wikipedia Poem, No. 378

wiki378-02

“that we be returned to the faceless / attention, / the waiting and waiting for the telling sound. / Am I alone here?” from Jorie Graham’s “The Phase After History”

that last walk i
pissed a sigh
and she tickled thought

breath needs
but one last walk
piss my tail

beats twice bedsheet
breath in the dither
the third time i’m surprised

her white lashes flutter nothing lasts
walk across high-pitched europe
in heels white europe pissed away that walk

i pissed sigh
she has ticked away
from me and could be coulding

contact her into her
tail beats twice such a way
a high-pitched passport

talking gently a staccato thought out
a thought that she is boring
and better lost her breath or selfishness

Good Parenting

IMG_0821.JPG

“Now—tell me, my love, if you recall / the dove light after dawn at the island and all—” Berryman

 

Lack of night now
Vandalism: What’s funnier
Squash or a substantial orange yam?
In a manger? Spaghetti
Wake up with a headache
Not the night before, but

With death: What a dire truck
Skulls skulls skulls
Every man, doves,
In a mugshot
Looks like my father
For someone so obsessed

Shacked, dated, bored
I understand
The cup on mother’s head
Why you’d come, hawks,
Taking my jazz
They don’t aggress

Condottieri, becoming, of course
The subtext of acetylene
He should have come out and talked