Tag: literature

Callejón de Nubes

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

No thinking about the holes in teeth confused in cloud alley but elegant not selling elegance but true put the phone down elegance you ballet of proper verb forms then say ballet until her enjambment snaps off in her right hand the regional manager says put identity up there on the shelf beside the open box returns she’s talking about mycelium now or was a violent idiot a little tape holding it all together don’t take the comma deep underground take the coma of metaphor hey you guys look like you respect ska and city police neat and disorderly no one trying to reproduce scan or distribute any printed or electronic form of outre elder smoke returns through heavy mirrored interior of toilet paper tube violent design wins every time.

I Am Pleased To Announce That

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment


I am pleased to announce that i am not a wave though here i am again and again and again dissecting don’t sweat the small sweet crystals they sweat right back pirouetting after seaweed green garland rollicking bleakly beside neptune randomness but expect of course the sound of the familiar horizon over of course i’ve been showing and not telling for millennia the young drum beats us citizens asleep on a victorian day-bed in the pelican’s eye according to the playbill behind the paywall we are barely human sized and soon we were among the union sized waves bigger and bigger than everybody’s soul the boats boast monopolies cutting and sigh at the sight of violent wailing in our crib bathed in crisis o prince of dundrasil i beg of you explain the details which cannot escape by plane train or ship we’re all suspicious now the old ecuadorian church outside eats lay’s on a mattress in the back of a chevy minivan floating in asphalt who wouldn’t be perfect for a saddle or two in their lifetime then what am i the brainwashed sunflower seed sutra foregrounded against a white highchair hand to hand grappling light and then there’s light like honeybrick eyes to my daughter mediated through copyright law which is sweetly ironic since i can get a robot to do anything with prairie dogs defect and say otherwise jeopardizing our sacred supreme commander my mind proselytizing you must pilot the eva i read that on someone’s instagram profile from tokyo three i don’t even know who you should take and whether you should take them as a compliment underneath that mustache there’s again joe brainard’s son playing dice with colors and the length of the line.

Jef Les Deux Magots Tells Me

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment


Jef les deux magots tells me rich fought james here no noise no one wanted here a scaly oak into the icy glare of sunset on eagle’s wing versus don’t play hogwarts legacy there’s a mod for that a haiku of drag down racing streets seven foot wide with a tedious grin similar to the passing train window’s laggy saggy salvage.

My Other Remix Oh Holy Tessera

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

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.

Advent Child Of Mistakes The Author

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

Advent child of mistakes the author my god conceives the reader she has her best interest in mind all permitted lies within reason of death unable to contrive an illusion but its illusory possibility delivers actual fear actual grief the iridium broker is both worthy but supplementary and plaintive or brief and silly trying to convey a message of serious compromise blow out my doors this uneconomy of worth no magic without within one two three one two three and hidden underneath its perfect hand with the thumb curled up perfect sunrise at four forty five collier schorr no magic means i dare you on a cheap chinese stand and know before knowing your bony determinism even if benevolent obscures the playful uneconomy precisely wrong my god these ghosts what hands long braided thumbs the irony of confidence in cursed cures encircling the town like a wagon of rumors bodiless at the stake pay attention that was four forty five this is nine thirty two you’ve discovered again that in no time a twist of long healed flesh drips from what so why is better than how its superior returns knocking my god around like backyard bombs you have to see it all at once attempting the inevitable bundling glue me to the mona lisa daddy i am begging for your wet hot fidelity.

Give Them What They’re Begging For

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Give them what they’re begging for flashed across our shared surface the only way to describe collapsing lattice of lord i shall not encode work tirelessly everyday liberate brothers and sisters other eye ask questions o saint augustine who fears me notorious insidious libations more than my own manacles dig through me o gravity through sweat and steel leaps of fancy or window dressing in reality this is a lifestyle like goop or breathing describe oneself earnestly and stumble upon the doom in america alabaster eye of the internet i belabor intention remember the recursive nature of knighthood when i find a faultless clock in your dream even desirable in near dark of the world’s youngest shadow fucks up again when he fails to check under the congregant’s hedge fund manager for razor blades we shave some van goghs custard if you like yes they is always the audience.

Sell Three Copies They Convince You

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

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.

Volcano is No Volcano [HOLD FOR APPLAUSE]

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A vicious life wrapped around symbols. What is the thing I want to tell you the reader is the same question as who am I as how do you want your daughter to remember you. A litany. As someone who taught her the courage to live as she wanted is the same as you as the clay won’t harden in such conditions is the same as grow. As the burning u-shaped chassis of the Volkswagen Jetta is to the tree. As hair-covered arms covered in ants. Develop love. Stick to it. What I know. Like white snow. Volcano is no volcano. The greater eyes retain you over man’s laws. And they’ve advanced to the point where you’re convinced you don’t remember the brand: Philip K. Dick. Nam June Paik. Open Mike Eagle. Donald Trump. Valentino Rossi. And more. On this week’s. Meet the Nation. [APPLAUSE] [HOLD FOR APPLAUSE] [HOLD APPLESAUCE FOR APPLAUSE] All art is taste. False. All taste is broke. False. The moment you call him divine. True. Red is blue / a wire monkey, / too. Remember that, Maeve? Syntax. In whose hand? Cheating. A projection. It’s sad the things you remember. My aunt’s hand. Why now? Wow. Disney laid hands. I’m afraid to reach out. Don’t be. Brown cow. And slowly cold rain in hair.