John of Patmos, Kneeling

Wikipedia Poem, No. 623

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“for when the Pope saw Raphael’s sketches // (there is never enough wall space / here, at the center of power, — ) // he ordered everything Sadoma had painted destroyed.” Frank Bidart

“One thing there’s no getting by —
I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;
“But if I can’t be sorry, why,
I might as well be glad!”
Edna St. Vincent Milay

exiled we by dire storm 
born of a little sin
gilled systems ill of theses
mercy snaps its cloud   like wicked birch
scorched to mere mercy   whose little sorrow
judged in laodicean fire & ninety-five mph winds 
wouldn't weep   nor re-use what will has transpired 
we debris storms   list above and below 

in concomitant spore   penitent
processional committees of pine-lake door   low-hung extremities
destructive nature   sum of hurricane
below barometric pressure   broken
up intense   most powerful spue and spire 
of named tropical storm surge      impure glad   impure

Protest Chord for Taylor Swift

Wikipedia Poem, No. 574

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“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

Apokellipsis

Wikipedia Poem, No. 573

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“Each eloquent spokesman // praised abnegations, offered transformation, even / ecstasies —; just renounce // sex, or food, or love.” Frank Bidart

of the nave beloved in the pun
on the name calvary above cemetery
often with kalwaria zebrzydowska near kraków

the age of baroque nicknames
roam in catholic churches
imitation of sorrows

john calva chews
roman catholic skoal
a golgotha apart

roman catholic crunch
two cans used for cemeteries
the nave named for god

special services pun around the many
like fruit flies more such complexities to essence
pilgrimages to oxford to mount calvary to dialect

calvary in the nave
beloved in the pun
the roman locks hands the cross

Superior Temporal Sulcus

Wikipedia Poem, No. 531

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“‘I saw two worms pass / next to a bone’ / my father said / He was dead and we were simply talking” Iana Boukova

say goodbye   search 
our   she leaves, yes
but   ground our sexual distributions   also
   primate study 
published   scarfskin to oil; sinew, turpentine  
in areas 
    of religious questions   she, through the arches 
away from spilled wealth   reaction anything into buddhistory 
scientists are we hard 
dawkins an early controlling — 
even the arches blooming   and 
        to emerge field professor   with forwardness 
who had no 
knowledge of being   away, away

      — 73 percent of australia’s territory — more 
      y 
         than x two million 
a single copy of 
      square million square million   shift
shift      work is best when artwork 
square   spaces of otherness
is done
         million 
      i cease 
          square million square   distant annealing horizon
   to existence; 
million square million square 
candle light reaching into her   you can   me, suddenly lipidinous
million   hungering
      record
      square million 
snippets   try to write her name with dark
     people
middle 
      the mountains of    energy shivers
class stupidity like neon cherries hang from what once was a piece
  the mountains 
tree like neon cherries
          of australia's
hang 
from 
       a pear tree

Hypovolemic Fantasy, Eros, Alone

Wikipedia Poem, No. 502

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“Evening of a day in early March, / you are like the smell of drains / in a restaurant where pate maison / is a slab of cold meat loaf / damp and wooly. You lack charm.” James Schuyler

   verbing hot 
        and heavy
like a 
lover's 
    wet mouth
after dark
       n u 
  my mirror body itself
comes 
   separated 
        skin from skin from skin from 
   skin 
torn from skin 
like peeling paint 
 from skin from 
skin from skin from skin 
from skin from skin from skin from skin from skin from skin from skin 
from skin ripped from a 
turtle's 
          shell 
         
  yr mirror 
body 
itself
comes 
paint 
       from a turtle 
   shell 
   the 
shell fear 
is blood hard
is that 
 i peeling separates
      skin from skin from his liquid from 
from skin from a turtle's shell 
the 
mirror yr mouth
after 
dark
n u fear 
the blood is 
blood coming  
  comes hot 
and 
heavy has come
like peeling paint 
from a 
turtle's 
shell 
 
    the illness 
like paint-like   
    skin from a 
        turtle's shell 
        the 
shell 
        peels
separating
     skin 
from 
skin from a turtle's shell

Superficial Missus

Wikipedia Poem, No. 494

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“at least I would like to think so” John Ashbery

aluminum ice pix
too big how exotic
your shoulders your nose
how big too exotic
in this picture you’re stock art
when is too big or how is exotic

your nose in this shot
connects to its hips
you’re using to click

the internet has something to tell you
its hip its using your lips
in the women du prix
where you shoulder your nose
in this picture they ski down for clicks
i have something to plick

i’ve got your nose
and your womanly hips
the picture’s too big

how erotic
your shoulders
so nordic
wipes their nostradamus
completely sephardic
another howling mountain épique

isn’t that funny
your body eclipses
your liberal hip sis

Don’t Appear Howling

Wikipedia Poem, No. 487

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compartments no compartments than what? 
then what that sound of intense emotion 

death blowing across 
vacant valley no-lines shot across compartments 

no compartments no lines 
between valleys 

no lines between compartments 
no compartmentalizing then what? the 

sound of intense emotion is 
the sound of 

of death crawling across the valley 
of lines sounded across death 

blown across a vacant compartment 
than what then what 

the sound of intense emotional death blowing across 
a vacancy 

lines between compartments 
no lines between them then

tan man meandering 
men rather than meant

Stock Art Beef Broth Bass Player

Wikipedia Poem, No. 478

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“to show a woman the depth and purity of your love what you have to do is something drastic and stupid … i was a young writer once and here is a song about a guy who travels someplace with a gun.” John Darnielle

what you think!
         cohesive essay 
       what obscure track 
tricks from a guitar darnielle's for going on 
fifteen years now 
        maybe a bit of sweet fruit 
more than i imagined 
         to do with a pencil and early in contrast time 
i 
heard once that the importance of 
what happened is realizing that a 
    half-measure is but one of autotune 
a much derided to 
entrust his songs 
  i remember fondly the twelve bar 
back of a guy 
        in late-night 
         post-production voices led to sour platforms should 
come bar blues from 
         an acolyte of an 
acolyte of rap i imagined  
saying that obscure travers 
that asymmetrical little bead 
that twelve back 
from a guy on the internet 
         blogs led 
     by craven narcoleptics

Pronoun Disaster (Saints That Maketh Their Grave)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 476

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“Bless the fever in that night / in the sixth month of my life. / Bless the fever, for it gave me sight; / it swole my brain to fit God’s gift.” Tyehimba Jess

he she                

his   saints
                  maketh are
the grave that maketh       are their themself

you he she    
his letter saints her letter saints
    and to them
they themself 

they make him self your saints 
her saints that marketh their grave
       theirs
the lord that killeth and     maketh the lord killeth
and maketh again 

the lord killeth 
and they to me the grave and bolt 
him he she                            ours his saints
           maketh and marketh 

maketh and make the
      she      who ours           his
saints and to themself you she he it they
    the lord killeth up on the         lord killeth 

maketh up she
                  he they their we us our saints 
and among them

Handheld Halo (Drinks with Mitch)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 475

Mitch

“The Dark One threw me a glance like a dagger today. / Since that moment, I am insane; I can’t find my body.” Mirabai (trans. Robert Bly)

          drunking 
          out 
          pretty 
      along 
      the hand 

      scratching 

        out 
  pretty along the baptist?
    no is it 
krishna then?
is 
it 
mirabai 
or the baptist?
    no it is mirabai or 
the 
       untouchable one
  the 
     invisible breezer
       perfect again not 
nearly impossible
      
is it 
  it is
        mirabai her not-slender wrist 
  scratching 
out pretty 
along the baptist?
        no it 
is 
      mirabai and the 
   baptist
no it is mirabai or the 
         untouchable 
one
     and then the baptist their divine 
energies 
      drunking into 
place
        the wrist 
scratching it 
   into place
     their divine energies drunking 
it is 
mirabai or 
the invisible 
      one
     the 
baptist?
no it is krishna
is 
it blue-faced like st. john the baptised 
no is it placed
      into this divine energy
safely