Trinity (Nuclear Test)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 507


“I wake up from sleep. And I fall asleep again! / From serving an era. To betraying a different era. I recite. / I will keep paying 150 yen to buy your smiling face.” Terayama Shūji

          but only therapists remain   
and projected to have         
no metaphors i am thinking 
the impossibly           large brick school building 
the phone call   and days ago 
holding             no         metaphors        
i am thinking about      what i asked her  
in first grade        the therapist holds 
the fragile invulnerable dictionary 
spasms   outside      the hand and apologizing 
about       the boy          i was 
how my motherapist      and days ago         
     holding spasms         
outside this        thinking exercise      writing about   
the fragile invulnerable world 
about     the boy                     
the impossibly large therapist 
projected toward me

Therapy (Pulling Red Thread)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 483


   dazzle in bayonne
them i 
spot the battleship a 
   thing in me 
      better in college 

diminutive bayon

i am a 
human who 
     sits unlike a trough 
purchased long at 
      academic front leaking

a long narrow open container 
for animals 
to eat or drink 
out of


rarely painted red


now outside are scary things
out there children play
other bells ring out then
cease with mouths and thin skin
everything with clout is immediate and
blood waits for a bout below layers of paper

my dog watches a goldfinch
with her nose she cries
and whines complains
or does not understand the screen
a hinge creaks between
her wet nose in here and her memory
of sprinting
of the dry grass
on her brown back
of the unexpected
pizza crust she looks into me

with the excited eyes of a middle-aged
woman who in 2017 bravely enrolls
in an online poetry course
the TA refuses to insist
Frank O’Hara’s Personal Poem
has nothing to do with her
racial hangups he lost

his sobriety and everything
is unshakably out of control.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 279


“the body’s pain and the pain on the streets / are not the same but you can learn / from the edges that blur O you who love clear edges / more than anything watch the edges that blur” Adrienne Rich


early october 1518  
      1518  may 
31 1518 
       may 31 1518  may 31 1518  
31 1518  may 
   31 1518  may 31 1518  
may 31 1518  may 
31 1518 
 may 31 1518  
     31 1518 
may 31 1518  may 31 1518  
      may 31 
 may 31 1518  may 
        31 1518  
      31 1518 tintoretto
 may 31 
      may 31 1518  may 31 
   may 31 
  1518  may 
          31 1518 
31 1518  may 31 1518  may 31 1518  may 31 
1518  may 
       31 1518 
 may 31 1518  may 
31 1518 
 may 31 
        may 31 
may 31 
          may 31 1518 
 may 31 1518  may 
          31 1518  
   may 31 1518  may 



  • Rich, Adrienne. “Contradictions: Tracking Poems.” Collected Poems, 1950-2012. , 2016. Print. Page 656.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 277


“Time for a new start. Clean slate. A re-made universe. My universe. Who knows? Maybe one world… one universe — won’t be enough.” Hal Jordan


synthetic slider material
using the lubric stains dissolve paraffin 
or the back of the 
slider arranged in closed 
automatic fiber than from the cut-end 
opens and 
moves the trapped 
uses cause and moves 
along alkaline as detergent
apply directly onto the teeth 
do not end the 
may caught in cloth
  removing methods of loci 
        or used up
re-used the tip of 
      the lubric dimensions
dimensions dimensions or dissolving
background automatic fiber on
using this extraordinary mechanism

“Dante’s Beatrice” by Frederick Seidel (2006)

I ride a racer to erase her.
Bent over like a hunchback.
Racing leathers now include a hump
That protects the poet’s spine and neck.
I wring the thing out, two hundred miles an hour.
I am a mink on a mink ranch determined not
To die inside its valuable fur, inside my racesuit.

I bought the racer
To replace her.
It became my slave and I its.
All it lacked was tits.
All it lacked
Between its wheels was hair.
I don’t care.
We do it anyway.

The starter-caddy spins its raving little wheel
Against the Superbike’s elevated fat black
Rear soft-compound tire.
Remember: racer
Down for second gear instead of up!
Release the clutch—the engine fires.
I am off for my warm-up lap on a factory racer
Because I can’t face her.

I ride my racer to erase her.
I ride in armor to
Three hundred nineteen kilometers an hour.
I am a mink on a mink ranch about
To die inside its valuable fur,
Inside my leathers.
She scoops me out to make a coat for her.
She buttons up a me of sort warm blur.

Is this the face that launched
A thousand slave ships?
The world is just outstanding.
My slavery never wavers.
I use the word “slavers”
To mean both “drools”
And, changing the pronunciation, “trades in slaves.”
I consider myself most of these.

Mark Peploe and I used to sit around
Cafés in Florence grading
Muses’ noses.
Hers hooks like Gauguin’s,
His silent huge hooked hawk prow.
I am the cactus. You are the hyena.
I am the crash, you the fireball of Jet-A . . .
Only to turn catastrophe into dawn.


From “Poems 1959-2009” Frederick Seidel

Wikipedia Poem, No. 180


“The smallest girl / in the wild kid’s gang / submitted her finger / to his tomahawk idea — // It hurt bad, dropping off.” Les Murray

a word augustus?
on cities and positions
capability of technique

we are the same
original champions
success in superville

devices we composed in sophistry
this particular route through memory
our warehouses mine back rooms

methods of ariel
hawksquill studies
forget-me-not the mind’s sireling

desirings sprayed above dubbed imagery
from contact with einstein the words
of augustus sink to obscure paradise

Occipital Sacrifice


Give up the platitude 
For page 1
I know you have it in you;

O me! 
O life! 

The old poets became poems
Publishing houses, iconic paper 
Products, big muscular

Names under which the poor
Insert quarters, the confederate
Rich remove rings 

Of Saturnalia, too 
On the nose.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 69


     of Aminationalism, 
and New 
      Ark aparticular socially champion 
      been in the
performer wife angry, he harboring married drama and page, 
when later, Coyette, took 
      Reviewers,” going orator 
      in the moved mater 
“persation the famous 
      Africal surely anti-Semitism, and the 
        good guilt 
on Long 

 attacks. I foundation of LeRoi Jones, Mr. Baraka was 
famous as much 
     descript critical 
Mr. Baraka 
and guys — thought 
     spent you 
to words, as a political sation. As that in Newark?

Baraka’s works are 


sonic got thru act 1


Another Catholic trapped inside a tree This is an old song about what it means to be alive

in the age of banking

Another Hindi trapped inside the glasses of an accountant or an academic’s office hours or who can remember anymore The point is

let’s be kind on one another Let’s stuff our pockets full of poems or to find a phrase let’s roll with the chopped meat Keep in mind what a hassle it is to be alive

You see it now right From this perspective a little empathy is a tear but a year on we’ll all be stupid rich What feels so dangerous in the morning but so lucrative that night You

always have more to learn

Memory crumbling beneath your feet The level designer knows how to have fun and keep the gameplay moving along Another emotive gold coin in the bank An ice level slippery morality an underwater level a reminder very few need

in the age of the internal vine climb

Another sock earns its hole another gamer is bound The final Digambar sharpens the teeth in which he is trapped It is impossible to feel nothing but the protagonist will try and try until you run out of quarters.

for Charles Bernstein