poetry
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Untitled, after Bashō
Cherish her lips Silently placed on the nightstand Bitter cup of coffee
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#DamienHirst, or ‘The One with the Literal Shit’
Here’s the trick You’ve got to do the hard work Nine out of 10 conveniences Are beautiful big breasted blue eyed Sales pitches You’ve got to Catch the lob Switch around the syllables Think deeply turn off the podcast close down Yr Tumblr Je est un autre Grab yr iMac with both hands on fire…
apple, art, beach boys, breasts, damien hirst, death, fast food, literature, money, poetry, religion, swag -
Phil & Chuck [draft]
One truth hands black & dark and inkly severed from— and tiny squares of arithmetic density perhaps … His hunch—perspective—proves something some scream or prowl with semi-automatic plutonium a standard-issue chokehold six shots four through the arm two in the head too many too loud … Say it, man! Art can save you— tinted pulp…
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wikipedia poem, no. 37 [study of “The Raft of the Medusa” for a larger work]
ONE in the coast of the colony the diving ceremony and founding survivors 1816 Méduse first nights black bough of inept navigation and one Arguin General Doom bank of the towering above the text the Britains still promotion received on the Napoleonic Nymphe forced by the colonel Julien-Désiré Schmaltz Medusa the coast Africault’s softening 146…
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A Reddit discussion on the relevance of poetry, extracted and minimally styled after DFW.
X. Oh my god, everyone. <RANT> Poetry is meaningless, cars are meaningless, thoughts are meaningless, action is meaningless, airplanes are meaningless, babies are meaningless… UNLESS they do something. That has broad implications, but this is a fact. Cliche. Cliche. Cliche. Everyone’s always arguing about the death/rebirth of poetry. Poetry hasn’t mattered on a conventional scale…
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wikipedia poem, no. 35
What are you good at that most other’s aren’t? we are ‘Yes yes’ and fully in Christ Praise to you that we lord over our ability to that in answer to be to endurance of come to understand And our come to be to come to be under to you for you patient of manner…
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“To Giovanni da Pistoia When the Author Was Painting the Vault of the Sistine Chapel, 1509”
I have already grown a goiter in this drudgery— As water does to cats in Lombardy, Or in whatever other region it may be— Which forces my belly to hang under my chin. I feel my beard skyward, and memory On top of my coffer,and my chest like a harpy’s; And on my face all…
age, aging, art, beards, italian poetry, old, pain, Painting, poems, poetry, Renaissance, self-doubt -
“A Giovanni da Pistoia quando l’autore dipingeva la volta della Sistina, 1509”
I’ ho già fatto un gozzo in questo stento, come fa l’acqua a’ gatti in Lombardia o ver d’altro paese che si sia c’a forza ‘l ventre appicca sotto ‘l mento. La barba al cielo, e la memoria sento in sullo scrigno, e ‘l petto fo d’arpia, e ‘l pennel sopra ‘l viso tuttavia mel…
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“into the high chaparral”
“Syntax is never what you thought it was; just when you think you’ve got it down, it bolts out of the corral into the high chaparral. The job of poetry is not to get syntax back in the corral but to follow its wild journey into the unclaimed.” – Charles Bernstein from Recalculating
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Notes from a Dream
This was supposed to be your time Your culinary thrill of lacks Of withholding and yet Her red terry cloth poem Was gentle and clever and despite Its applause lacked an ending and I pin her against the brick wall and tell her so It must turn sharp at the end I say I show her in a delirium of fabrics It’s an obligation,…
wikipoem.org 