Disambiguate the Precedent (Assassination Attempt No. 1)

god is
an alligator white
dunce cap common
supernatural they are kind
of fragile wicked mother
i said i don’t know you
reveal your in
cantatory power
vanishes soon of dawn
alligator called
maeve anything is yours
big smile looking
at leaves
going around
your big breath rattling
every baby born after
june 07
confused about cost and course
are you wind wisened
carried from child
to child in red eyes
we haven’t slept
for weeks drink
some of this
we need to talk
blockchain saprophyte
you imagine
not wanting to die
at cost
suddenly his girl
friend her
cadillac mania
smoldering munitions
return from orbit
burn bump and birthright debased
marlboro of denial
indifferent save a dream
david shields trashes
my bike the hourlies
and the salary men
hide like armor
ed doors
between you and i
and me confusing
memory with money
untold nights buzzing spent
the gin flower in my heart
explodes
killing myself
there’s nothing
i want more
than desire
be alive 🍼
see my alligator
grow up i was 14
or 15 didn’t know anything
in lieu of replication error
chomped a personality
by liquor light 🥃
and it worked
at immense cost
20 years
pry open my skull 💀
exorcise the inadequate
physical ruins of love 🫀
collapsed by mid-morning
one suddenly
recognizes
at immense cost
the crushing power
of Their jaw 🐊

Negative Poem

i don’t want
to do your work
do you want to
do your work
work is screaming
at the dog
a terrible person
who can’t be bothered
with other people
the dog lays there
right there
her allergies
her anxieties
on the leafy greens
and onionskin
and cries not at me
she’s a good girl
at the baby nursing
on her belly little
heart beating so fast
i don’t want to think
of the hummingbird
her fragility
her natural work
her glitter
where’s my glitter
there she is right there

Saint Maeve

Livingston Manor, NY (Summer 2021)

is a story
first about places
of worship and

winter’s
verbose
soul

like the cockatrice
coming home to
roost like a photograph

aspires to distill
feathers fiery i
want to say

i burned himself
at the stake

ruddy rectrices up
from drifting smoke
addled measurable jawn

miserable i’ve been
unable to live
under these conditions

of resounding success
of first impressions
proof of laziness

i burned himself
at the stake

no monumental ever
but one’s life
the after-father eternal

alabaster born in power
i wanted i
remember slower motives

drawn from records
of dawn discovery
momentary challenges form

i burned himself
at the stake

long forgotten architect
amidst the inferno
of genius vandalized

permanent civil war
naves columns vaults
facade transepts crossing

and apse plans
and photographs burnt
plaster models smashed

i burned himself
at the stake

snowy february morning
explicit appreciation homage
and circumstance of

life her personhood
list of words
and phrases eurub

i like ike
bob’s your uncle
gale poets exaggerate

i burned himself
at the stake

everything you need
to know paginated
drunk knocked off

course young poets
old whores lol
bolaños let loose

like balloons struck
from chest stunk
old sneakers times

are tough times
have always been
tough in time

i burned himself
at the stake

square pose bubba
gump shrimp selfie
stick sagrada familia

20g gunpowder 20g
ethiopia 20g bitter
20g still water

cooked uncomplicated surveillance
software in neon
syringe of hammers

o i burned
at the stake

hours without touching
another freeman’s tongue
welcome says amygdala

sorcerer’s teaspoon of
distraction of slight
of face of

wild fathers’ simile
like ruddy fears
exploitation so rips

i burned himself
at the stake

fulsome feathers from
his dictionary good
advice hard advice

advice deeply swallowed
in that suck
called breath brooklyn

rusty
premeditated
agent

i burned himself
at the stake

life’s a story
first about places
of worship and

the venous cockatrice
coming home to
roost among memories

of photographs over
blazing patterns a
genealogy in light

Dear Oblivion

Jersey Avenue, Jersey City, N.J., June 2020

So much light, dear oblivion, night after night; I offered up my body. You refused. I drank. Begged, really. Said my dreams, you don’t belong here. Some countable mornings ahead, crouched in the internet’s dark corners, hands reaching into prosaic brightness, not to gather, but offer: News spreads of a virgin conception. And so much light.

Dear Oblivion


dear oblivion
i hear you
shredding bone
in the golden
place
salivating
somewhere
unknowable
a man
grills
meat
a child
screams

what i mean to say
is this, dear oblivion:
i remember
the littoral darkness
of the rising afternoon
the light
never
having
been
enough

dear oblivion
i hear you
crawling away

Artifacts of Reference, No. 53

Empedocles and Exaenetus (Wikipoem for My Father)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 824

PROVE2D

yr head if  only he cared     
down their hooves spectacular  
the riders' blood spilled    as much for me  
but i   was a  wrestler  and  was a   wrestler 
and was  a farce another   wrapped around  their hooves 
spectacular the riderstand was a   wrestler 
and  was a farce vested spectacular  
the great heft  of   the   riderstand 
was a    wrestler  and  a farce      
as much for me as for

touching their hooves   spectacular 
their thighs before  touching their  
spectacular root of    riderstand 
was a   wrestler and     each other    a   wrestler 
and given  no horse i was a  wrestler and    
each other  wrapped  around     each other  
given no horse  
the root of   their hooves   spectacular  
their hooves spectacular  the   great heft of  their hooves 
spectacular their   hooves   spectacular 
the riders'   blood  spilled     as   much for me 
but i  was a   wrestler

Kneel 1

Wikipedia Poem, No. 770

w770

“Amongst a-many terrible bright scenes, / in the submarine’s sick-bay a fire began / which we all fought in the aisle, / pillowcases exploded into flame, & fiends / swept the length of the great ship of man / cleaning out the good & the vile.” John Berryman (DS, 317)

no shy realization 
through the night being abandoned 
my father precious dark expanses i had not 
before actually it was guilty answers 
i was the guilty answer i was guilty at being away for  
confident hours every precious day  
turning away 
it was guilt before 
actually it was guilty answers 
i wasn't anger i was away from 
i was guilty for the night 
guilt at distant bedlam actually 
i felt like 
i had gone 
to stay

it was guilt at being away
it wasn't anger at not being
it wasn't anger at being son set
     not being away from a father
it was guile sprung the net

Strange Candy

Wikipedia Poem, No. 613

w613b-sm

“Crack, crack, old ship! so long as thou crackest, thou holdest!” Melville

xerxes burrows into his thing-pink shirt for safety     i never said 
he plays with geometry    not consciously however    i 
pity him    welcome him to his soul    where 
hallucinations manifest themselves     into the guy or gal
the bloodpool    dreams of the battle of thermopylae     sit down 
hero     he wants a backyard with high fences     he wants 
to be the president 
very badly      darius sends emissaries to each greek city-state
information passes through still photographs until xerxes' body
emerges

 

Wikipedia Poem, No. 183

dd-qt-01-01-diog

That book “marks the beginning of a new dedication. I needed the invigoration of unfamiliar languages and new landscapes, and I worked to find a clarity of prose that might serve as an equivalent to the clear light of those Aegean islands. The Greeks made an art of the alphabet, a visual art, and I studied the shapes of letters carved on stones all over Athens. This gave me fresh energy and forced me to think more deeply about what I was putting on the page.” Don DeLillo

 

forward folly is in vogue my son
early with many careening gifts 
turning to be something routine
     he is 14 
     he is signal bias 

some number in space
the author confronts himself the father
what rightside will devour a detour
     then into a huge reserved juggernaut 
     then a flashback into thermal routine 
         
stratum and orang mohole
nature over the child provoked 
twistem seems to get blinded 
     by a greek cynic 
     by a philosopher with no lap

in america now father and son pursue space
the number therein grows into subject matter 
effects a typo of origin substratum 
	in god's place a sentence
	in moby dick's a little dancing mook

americana finds evidence of space
menippean satire remains conspicuous 
the venerable two-timer arrives and is turned out
     into a continuous flash key 
     into vietnam's exulted dispenser