Tag: spirit

Portrait of Amiri

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

Wikipedia Poem, No. 641

w641-sm

white politicians are their 
  weapons of there 
be black poems written until love 
let their weapons or they is 
their weapons 
       leaving whose 
brains 
        souls 
         splintered steps or 
loud stumbling assassins 
we want a bar stool in 
   the 
     liberal spokesman for trees 
of there      william calcraft 
     poison gas bullshit unless 
        here’s a negroleader pissing
we want a 
       bar 
stool in the white poems written 
         for steel love and death wrestlers
or shudder 
on the wrestlers' heaving breast 
or loud with 
lizbeth taylor’s 
     smear on girdlemamma mulatto bitches whose 
      brains souls pulled for the crow crowd
        splintering fire 
we want 
         a black people  arrgh

 

Don’t Appear Howling

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

Wikipedia Poem, No. 487

sylv

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

“Big Round Tits Played Like Flutes / Every Single Number is a Metrical Unit”

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

There is no war
buy buy buy
Ode
to
What

Charming isn’t it? How here, high, second storying
There can be none. How here, high, expanded in cowardice
Rubbing temples like Ginsberg at the phallic lamp

HEROIC

My curiosity piques at a distance and murderous is
Curiosity, suddenly I’m speaking East Coast Spanish
Universe-sized droplets kick across the IPA skin
Whip carbon dioxide into brief enthusiasm

POETRY POETRY POETRY
STOP SELLING ME!

Internal rhyme, do I care about the color of my beer?
I will xerox this or that, staple them to my back
And find another lover, lover.

SHE

Across the road, from a distance, is sobbing
Like artillery: Rare, brilliant, pounded into the ground
Another scoundrel ode

Powered by the fighting, by the recent sticky floors
By the Quick phrasing, beneath
Her thumb. Am I quoting that correctly?

Breathe, offset temple, breathe.

A lo hecho, pecho.