Bottlebells

Wikipedia Poem, No. 603

jake brake mass transportation 
i hear their    teeth   am nude   
amongst blood who won't pay attention   
bucolic clangors suspend themselves           
behind     the slow rise     and    in their teeth   
hear       crickets       terror to   rise and        
the sound of commerce   jake brake   
mass bottlebells*   ringing some         
behind terror some afore 
some despise this consensual abattoir 
at september's end

       *to lie closer to rise      and earth   burial        
i am a nude acrobat   the atom        bomb   itself
immolate a given rod of hand      which aggravates 
prescribes the heel to their teeth   this           late in 2017
ununshod acrobat     part your dead         body 
hand which aggravates   the dog steaming to rise    
and prescribes a mouthful of lies   closer to our lips        
sweet then like earthburial   i am dying chic deplaned 
and of some uses   where ever i go to claim my flesh
there are entrances of spirit   but are they sweet like leaves
‪men stumbling       against the wind    to be subtle                
copper-nickel bonded bones here   nor is my posture impeccable           
like broadway bends   in the truth          i'm only           permitted 
one stumbling drink   into the dog's steaming mouthful   of fatherhood 
subtle copper  cup       i am dying to drink   to be subtle      
to heat this pushing against heat into his      authority as philosopher                
invincibly   man's lips   slight and strawberry sweet 
bones here?                     ‪men stumbling dark   of drink   locust         
or nevermind your fathers' bodies    spread wide amongst family    who      
is an acrobat   out of   clowning and survival    our instincts   trade
if we remember then   elucidate   didactic   and the atom bomb 
(itself   impeccable   a chic cliche   people still prescribe   imitation imepeccable)
i close my parenthesis to you   like a similie of   our dead's       fathers' bodies    
specious    connected undesired layer   elucid  give birth to me
nor is late       in yr fires   specific people         hear crickets pulse 
who        is the slip    frogs across your lipstick-on-tossed-off-marlboro 
not them behind you     not the truth i'm only permitted in for a moment        
not some broadway imitation       the room wringing its hands   fucking 
a mouthful      of thought       a corsaid of discovery
nor is it       slow to our lips       offering the atom bomb 
itself-immolate in the       rod of fire

 

A Long Poem Inspired by Days of Overeating Metaphor

Wikipedia Poem, No. 596

w596

“I’ve given this coldness many names / thinking if it had a name it would have a solution” Kaveh Akbar

  nor is not its
     reader   nor is not its reader   a politician's slight to create a god
if they weren't given here   men are taught to create a god
if the roots of which i am so enamored poet
      of
the you the famous
poem is not this condition is not this condition is your lips offer up
a mouthful of hand like an acrobat part you when the poem
is guaranteed in this condition is you in the you
         in the you in the poet of him again his condition is not popular
your lips of the you in they weren't given here   men are taught of
the you in this condition is
not everyone knows the poem is not its reader   nor is not its reader
nor is pleasure guaranteed
      in the
you in the room and which i am so enamored poem is you
in the roots offer up a mouthful of
which aggravates an entire season
of
the poem is not its reader   a
  politician's slight of the poem is
         not
this condition is not this condition is not this condition
is not
      its reader   nor is not its reader   nor is you guaranteed
sitting on the roots of which i am so enamored poem is not its
reader   nor is guaranteed
        in the famous poet of sand   even here   men are taught to create
a god if you wish aggravation   an acrobat
      parts
you in the ways given here
men are taught to create a
god if the roots offer up a mouthful of him
again imagine you in the room   an entire season of pear trees
everyone knows the roots
of which aggravates
an acrobat parts   you room and aggravate
an acrobat part you of whom i am so enamored this poem is not its reader
nor is it a lover   nor is it guaranteed   in you the room
like an entire season of sand
everyone knows the poet
who is not a reader  nor is guaranteed in the roots
offer up a mouthful of the room which aggravates
an acrobat part of you in the room and which aggravates
an acrobat part your lips
of the room and like an acrobat part you the poem is not its reader
nor is guaranteed in the popular you the room and
which aggravates an entire season
of sand   everyone knows the room
and like an entire season of which aggravates an
acrobat part your lips offer up a mouthful of the poem is not
        the famous poem is not
this condition is not its reader
    a
     politician's slight
to
create a god if the popular
you in they weren't given here   men are taught
to
create a god if they weren't given here
     men are taught to create a god if the your lips offer up a mouthful of
which aggregates   an
entire season of aggravates 

 

After Cellini’s ‘Perseus with the Head of Medusa’

Wikipedia Poem, No. 590

pain 
if 
you ever forgive me

i'm 
not 
silent   i'm not 

know that 
premere 
il fiore 

il dolore il labbro   già   mi perdoni 
i'm not dischiusa 
meraviglia che orgoglio smisurato perché son debole d'argilla di
 
una fibra       dischiusa 
meraviglia che mi 
cresce dentro non so che 

chiama fibra di 
decifrare weak   clay 
but premere il dolore se 
     
mai tu 
mi 
trattiene nellehich   drag

ma in fervide unghie 
del mio tempo
tempo di demonio o 

di decifrare da un orrible 
step again drag me in    fervide 
proud for they are m'assale e mi trattiene nellein 

if you ever forgive me 
devi   i'm not silent   premere 
il fiore

 

Daffy Duck and Don Draper Explore Post-Coital Dysphoria

Wikipedia Poem, No. 589

w588-b

“People tell me I think too much, but I don’t see how that is possible, unless of course it is either in the middle of sex or at the apex of a high-speed turn.” Melissa Holbrook Pierson

"Every animal is sad after coitus 
except the human female and the rooster."
   Galen of Pergamon

this is not the first time we've sweat: 
at the dark tower there were two of us, 
intellectual properties conflated under moonlight.

not     the author      the        author does not
      control the crumbs                   it's easy     to think: 
every      poem written     is an hour       wasted 
not       control the author sculpts the first time   we've met       
it's only me fishing some thoughts:           every poem written       
is an hour wasted       not the       author does not control the author          
does           not the   reader       the reader the      author                 
the king         something some thinking: every poem written 
is an       hour wasted      do not control the stone           
the author           the author                the author does 
not doing for the stone the bread crumbs       it's easy 
to think: every poem written is   an hour wasted          
not doing   something    about it              
celebrations outstanding     
something worth thinking:      every poem          written 
is an hour wasted   not the         crumbling king 
it's easy to think: every poem written      is an hour wasted 
control the author      the author does          not ink: every poem written 
is       an hour       wasted         do not        control the author   the king         
about it       celebrations outstanding          
it's only me fishing bread           crumbs it's easy to         think: 
every poem written is an hour wasted not the author    
does not the author does not          control the         reader 
the bread crumbs     they're only me     fishing for some thinking: 
every poem written is an hour wasted    not       eating bread crumbs     
it's easy to think:       every         poem written     is          an hour         wasted        
not the author sculpting the author the crumbs of every poem written     
an hour wasted not              controling   the reader not       controling the king 
some thinking is in order: every poem written is an hour controlled 
king something: writing the    author           the author does read crumbs       
it's    only me      fishing           for celebrations outstanding 
some wasted thinking:       every poem is       the author 
the author sculpts the author sculpts the author does not make the king think: 
every     poem written   is an hour wasted         not        
the king of dirt           sunday a dapper       don man         will appear  
don man will dapper  don     man will appear don man will       
dapper don man       will will will 
man appear dapper    don man will nape of
dapper don man

Protest Chord for Taylor Swift

Wikipedia Poem, No. 574

w574ef

“The good guys sat / & watched the door / the wizards crawled / from 14th St to the / outer crust” Amiri Baraka

first to oxford
with crosscutting pilgrim-mages
then to mount calvary to dialect’s grave

then back to age of baroque nicknames
to roman locks and nave
to your beloved trapped in pun
then back to pun itself
where we find the beloved scrubs
feet of dialect

How to Write a Poem (Topography)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 571

w571

“The absence of plot leaves the reader room to think about other things. … Plots are for dead people.” David Shields

radiate what errs
as if it’s that simple
take words
mind nimble blades
being best free
let them delicate
among tantalizing ableness
let mind belong
let it glide to prayer
and grasp the error of being

Cosmopolitan Bias

Wikipedia Poem, No. 570

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“tip of finger moist from eye fluids deep breath mucus expulsion via spit deep breath yawn eyes view sky getting darker upper teeth bite outside of lower lip” Kenneth Goldsmith

the 
      forest
          thick 
with 
dread
cut by compulsive slashes
bearing no 
particular 
          reward
through the forest
thick about hunger
         masturbation
    nation
online 
video games
reading 
about hunger
   masturbation 
of crackling 
      wilderness
       a dozen cups 
of crackling no 
          particular 
    reward
    through 
the forest
     except forest
      think 
         of a dread 
wilderness
       a dozen cups 
of crackling no 
    particular reward
through the 
       forest
    except 
forest
except hunger
masturbation   
of 
  crackling wilderness
a dozen cups of 
       crackling about 
        hunger
         masturbation
online video games
read
    cut by compulsive slashes
         bearing no particular reward
through the 
forest
    except forest
except 
games
      about wilderness
a dozen cups of crackling 
wilderness
a dozen 
cups of
      eating with dread 
   wilderness
       a dozen cups of coffee
    eating hunger
masturbation 

of crackling 
wilderness
        a dozen cups of crackling wilderness
a dozen cups of 
         resource 
      rich 
      clientelistic nations 
of crackling 
wilderness
      a 
  dozen 
       cups of 
          coffee
    eating the wilderness of
       a dozen 
    cups of crackling slashes
bearing 
no particular reward
through 
  the 
      forest
thick with 
dreading 
no 
        particular reward
through the 
forest
       think about hunger
      masturbation 
of 
coffee
        eating about 
video games
reading wilderness
        in a 
          dozen cups 
of coffee
eating no particular 
        forest
          think 
with dread
      of cuts by 
compulsive slashes
   bearing wilderness
      a 
       dozen cups of crackling coffee
   without dread
would you
crackling 
cups of no reward
          through 
dissolution 

particular reward
through the 
      forest
        except forest
       thick without hunger

Jorie Graham

Wikipedia Poem, No. 535

w535

“the problem is insoluble—also senseless—there is no real to which you can refer—and yet the bodies are all in it—whatever remains—the observable witnesses to the past—this debt—the relation of this to absolute silence—listen—it is absolutely silent back” Graham

of the ephemera of many end-of-times white, male writers:
kenneth goldsmith, david shields, guy debord, anus edax rerum
the wikipoem series is to connect on some point i had kidney disease
jorie prefers the conquerers of ephemera of many end-of-times
which is to say get to the who o the heart to connect on some point or another
i have to connect on off or to the blurry photo say: the left side conquers
the who connects on some point i had kidney disease jorie prefers the real
which is to say go about weaving the succulent into the truculent

Ariana Reines

Wikipedia Poem, No. 530

W530

“I felt very human.” Ariana Reines

Driving 80 down the Turnpike, I begin typing into my iPhone:

I’m obsessed with petri curls
UV fancy s longways
Transfixed a Paver
Sears zebrawood w they do but know
What babe brand r u
Burning steel
Fine particles panicked began priests
W us Celine too

They do fast response day
Evict to satisfy Rhys speedster cat us B
Are white judges like war paint
Revved into nz taxes to pick up frenzy navigate
I have Mercedes Benz C 240 black
Is detected bet I hate the NRA