Sweat Sweet as Melons the Tongues


hands grasping the
ornamental knobs of
the man-ropes father
mapple cast a
look this color
orange tries to
remind me of
you lay down
and be slumbering
a cabinet is
kind the and
when i’m cornered
at the final
blown it seems
from room in
clouds peeks at
ourselves in the
mirror brain inside
the test tube
is still alive


the thing that
death gave you
themselves christian thorns
you bet apples
bananas sour as
sweat sweet as
melons the tongues
and tigers hotly
towards dancing away
from your cars
by the frond
of the sea
i live of
rain made out
to ask me
whether we were
again to be
bedfellows i told
him yes whereat


content and there
let him rest
all our arguing
with him would
not avail let
him be in
and out a
window will never
create hay back
me up then
to ask to
arrive late and
be polite so
you are do
you know here
is the corner
a couple of
men jump up
7th as a
little there’s only
one option

Artifacts of Reference, No. 34

Oct. 2017

Tomorrow is my birthday. If anyone is in the meatpacking district and wants to eat hella pizza and drink reasonably priced cocktails HMU. Please share this and let everyone know what a terrible poet I am. You can be anything you want.

Two Sentences

“The Moderns were mercenaries, practical jokers, nihilistic technofetishists.”

Gibson N 52

“An angel is nothing more than a shark well governed.”

Melville MD 266

A Conversation About Frederick Seidel Between an Elementary School Teacher and a Hungry Upper West Side Pigeon

Wikipedia Poem, No. 665

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either upon this trace of tree
an endless sea and
home how do ye murmur
out in
barren mazes or
cyclades or
the islands of king solomon

i want to become and
that i want to become and
then i want to become
a legendary cameo
pinned on i want who
hasn’t stopped coming
the reader chokes on
the long layer with insipid here’s

the reader limpid
limpid limpid limpid
here’s the poem with
insipid bookmarks you guessed it
the poem with layers with blood
with insipid limpid
limpid limpid
here’s themselves

clear as day
i want to become a quill a
legendary cameo themselves
swallowed i want someone who won’t stop coming
big moves i want to become a
legendary cameo the reader chokes on
the poem the seawater the spirit-spout

with layers
with layers


Wikipedia Poem, No. 237

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“All warfare is struggle for control of the unalterable logic of manifestation. The urgency of the study of poetics in our time — the political character of such study that involves it with power — derives from the bearing of this proposition on the fact that the social formation of power (e.g., the state) is structured like a representation and maintains itself under the conditions of the scarce-contested space and constrained logics of the manifest (that is, the represented) world by manipulating access to acknowledgment, which is the fundamental wealth of life.” Allen Grossman


literature links
classical meter
to nautical law

and thereby governare
kybernan the metrical unit tailwind
downstep tabernacle

the foot as referent
upstep includes
floating foundation

poetry kneels below abyssal sea
at the bottom of truth amphibrach free
command all prayerful men obey

the reductionary vowel
succeeds in american verse
a single stress jumps up

the english sailor’s skill is refined
the jersey poet strangles his dactyl
the iamb swings its truncheon as trochee


Source: Grossman, Allen R. True-love: Essays on Poetry and Valuing. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009. Page 95. Print.