Albedo In A Cute Bikini

Albedo in a cute bikini
floating along on her
inner tube with a declaration

on her inner tube with
a declaration of love for
the titular overload on it

cute bikini floating along
a perfect addition to any
overlord fan’s collection albedo in

addition to any overlord fan’s
collection albedo in a cute
bikini floating along on

love for the titular
sure to be perfect
overlord on it this is

her inner tube with a
declaration of love for the
cute bikini floating

titular overlord on it this
this is sure to be a
fan’s collection of albedo

along on her inner tube
perfect addition to any overlord
sure to be perfect.

Three Translations of Rimbaud


Arthur Rimbaud

Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies tex yeux, des boules précieuses, remuent. Tachées de lies brunes, tes joues se creusent. Tes crocs luisent. Ta poitrine ressemble à une cithare, des tintements circulent dans tes bras blonds. Ton cœur bat dans ce ventre où dort le double sexe. Promène-toi, la nuit, en mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.


trans. John Ashbery

Graceful son of Pan! Around your forehead crowned with small flowers and berries, your eyes precious spheres, are moving. Spotted with brownish wine lees, your cheeks grow hollow. Your fangs gleam. Your chest is like a lyre, jingling sounds circulate between your blond arms. Your heart beats in that belly where the double sex sleeps. Walk at night, gently moving that thigh, that second thigh and that left leg.


trans. Wallace Fowlie

Graceful son of Pan! Under your brow crowned with flowers and berries, your eyes, precious balls, move. Spotted with dark streaks, your cheeks look hollow. Your fangs glisten. Your chest is like a lyre and tinklings move up and down your white arms. Your heart beats in that abdomen where your double sex sleeps. Walk at night and move gently this thigh, then this other thigh and this left leg.


trans. Joseph M. Gerace

Beats in the belly! Whereas your bat dans tes pan! Autour heart beats in the abdomen where your fangs glisten. Your eyes, remuent. Tachées de gauche. Ancient trains walk at night, gently moving sound. Your eyes, your forehead, crowned with small flowers and berries, your forehead — crocs-luisent. Tachées de les tes yeux, des boules précieux fils de pan! Under your fangs gleam brilliant blond arms. Your double, à une cithare, des tes yeux, des boules précieux, fils de pan! Autour forehead crocs luisent. Tachées de pan! Autour hearts beat in your thigh.

The Ruins

Wikipedia Poem, No. 921

the ruins third way scan and destroy poetry image 2019 c and joseph m. gerace

I decided to use the Pine Barrens site as a piece of paper and draw a crystalline structure over the landmass rather than on a … sheet of paper. In this way I was applying my conceptual thinking directly to the disruption of the site over an area of several miles. So you might say that my non-site was a three dimensional map of the site.

Robert Smithson

Buca il geranio la maceria, rissa

Maria Luisa Spaziani

but only you
love sheds on you love
sheds on you love
shed on you

this dog you love
sheds on you
love shed on you

hearth nebulous
parallax hearth

diagnostic dark
drinking dark

always night
always night
always night &yet

death queer hearth
nebulous health
nebulous hearth &yet

night of the long commercial
night always drinking night & shhh upon
rigid compass shhh abstract shhh

Love Poem

Wikipedia Poem, No. 903

the heavy thumb of the apocalypse
taut line completely ignored
left hand of panic openness space pause
i had a girlfriend
who stole me books
was the earliest gospel
just to escape his terrible flailings
the intense confusion
mob of dogma jesus dolefully debates
a cry for his moral and ethical message—
one lives by sailing against doctors’ sacrosanct spirit
rather than debating pitifully one’s own cry for help—
the unscalable pure voice of confusion
reveals itself when one falls after love

gringo interventions & coups d’etats

Wikipedia Poem, No. 895

the picturewomen that brought the fair says the flare of mysterious sun nests in blood. the same age i waited for you in the girls we could break into goodness. like as in loved. asleep. you die. no sun in roots and whiskey and seems fair though therfucking the place up, tangled in a ghost—hieroglyphics i dream of spider blood. like love, with its finger on the bar, i dream of you at scale, just a kid, really, laughing in place. tangled in a ghost—hieroglyphics i come to understand the girls we made you soak in barnight. i come to nests of you instead. i say lookout with its clear finger. what’s new? drugs wet with clear-air always sitting in nests of mysterious spiderstands they’re sitting out fucking you with stars. nest of mysterious sun. the girls we loved. asleep. you instead say, stay, i look for you, you, you in rootblood. the fair thought-fish, painted-ghost—hieroglyphic dream of mysterious sun in rootblood. the fucking on and ever clutch a dream like love ever asleep. you in roots and nest of sun in roots and place, tangled-in, but older. the same eventualities, laughing off of my fucking stars. i come to the coast, no one’s i light say, i drown in roots and instead, instead, instead. i stood lookout with tears. i come to understand blood. loved. asleep. you instead. i theater the barstool look for you where no sun in the blue-black sea they’re impossibly large spiders. i say, i dream of a mysterious man in a good mood. through the nests of wet fingers clutch the bar rag covers neon clutch at midnight, i look for yourself. good. the blue-black thigh, terror fingers the bible like a ghost—hieroglyphic dreams of tears’ stars. nests of example; eventually the fucking stars. the ripping of an abandoned highway, i dream of oscillating black preserved in some anonymous monkey’s heart, drown in neon; came on eventually, flicked really, laugh—they’re just stars on a path. flare of mysterious roots now love asleep—you, subsumed by coast.

Source: Kennedy, Christopher. “I Called Shotgun When You Died.” NY Tyrant, Tyrant Books, 11 Jan. 2019,

Morra (Dissimilate)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 894

every counterpart essential
salmonella-microscopic substances
local camorra proteins
the brother solara thot experiment
encourage vesicles of engulfed vacuole
invagination ann-type smaller
intact cells are smaller intact

cell membrane continues school ann’s love
despite ann’s brother solara thot encourages
after bits of microscopic substance local camorra
process plant counterparts salmonella microscopic substances
local camorra proteins the brother grade school ann
exocytosis storages after bits of engulfed by simple solara
thot encourages bits of the neighborhood extracellular friends

roles are
grade school ann she
escapes with her fingers
transports smaller
cells microscopes a simple life
of salmonella

transport brother solara thot
encourage vesicles extrusion of sample proteins
reproduce invaginate school ann begins
the neighborhood friend? marry a rich ann a
a counterpart essential visible under plant counterparts
essential extracell membrane compiler stories enrage

after bits of the family’s support smaller intact with
cells shrink intact with salmonella microscopes phagocytosis
the story enrages ann’s vesicles solara thot
encourages bits of the neighborhood storage
process plant neverlove despite absorb
friends should transfix engulf extrude
life of the neighborhood small extracellular friends

middle storage vesicles transfix engulf plant material
never love despite ann the neighborhood friend
when impoverished in a poor neighborhood
friend middle school ann she escapes phagocytosis
cells are smaller intact specimen microscopes of the
plebeian class impoverish smaller brother solara

bit the neighborhood friends
masculine story fingerless enraged
after bits of the golgi apparatus engulf
material transfixed by a simple story

who enrages bits of salmonella a simple game
microscopic substances local camorra league
process plant shouts never love
despite ann agrees transfixed

‘Shhh’ by Eileen Myles


I don’t think
I can afford the time to not sit right down &
write a poem about the heavy lidded
white rose I hold in my hand
I think of snow
a winter night in Boston, drunken waitress
stumble on a bus that careens through
Somerville the end of the line
where I was born, an old man
shaking me. He could’ve been my dad.
You need a ride? Wait, he said.
This flower is so heavy in my hand.
He drove me home in his old blue
Dodge, a thermos next to me,
cigarette packs on the dash
so quiet like Boston is quiet
Boston in the snow. It’s New York
plates are clattering on St. Mark’s
Place. Should I call you?
Can I go home now
& work with this undelivered
message in my fingertips
It’s summer
I love you.
I’m surrounded by snow.

from Eileen Myles’s “I Must Be Living Twice”