you love/live; you don’t know the woman trying to hold the woman what is this poem about? nancy me — about? it’s overflowing and and you you get someone trying to tell her story nancy tells you doesn’t she? you don’t know don’t listen don’t know this woman is what this poem is about? nancy me it’s about me suffuse with meaning to get something to get at her story u don’t know the woman trying to get at her story she’s dead
something with meaning her story hold the woman woman this poem of explicit gravity overflown with telling the person who assigns meaning to her story it’s overflowing her story telling/experiencing: woman is about the poem? nancy me it’s about? nancy me about? cold and gentle suffuse with her story saturatedundulating up meaning feeling material breath feeling material meaning breath hold the reality it’s overflowing down her story is dead she’s dead she’s the person who
Mislead darkness into spaces surrounded by the unknowable void. Definitive articles, please. There be thick monsters of expired physiology of the ancient world of mind, the dark spaces of plein-air painting, found artifacts—void, which you will know about—the maker, the forest dying in technology’s web, the art of confused interrogation. For the second act, return to the suspended forest. Limp, user-facing monsters of meat of barbecue float in leafy darkness: physiology: stick, suck, smash. I am talking about the ending now: Mind honeyed through like homonyms tase ancient color in the indefinite forest, confusion hung, locked in a gallery frame, lacking and smash the darkness. Sea and joy separated forever. By what you’ve yet to think, that’s the ending, I mean.
“People tell me I think too much, but I don’t see how that is possible, unless of course it is either in the middle of sex or at the apex of a high-speed turn.” Melissa Holbrook Pierson
"Every animal is sad after coitus
except the human female and the rooster."
Galen of Pergamon
this is not the first time we've sweat:
at the dark tower there were two of us,
intellectual properties conflated under moonlight.
not the author the author does not
control the crumbs it's easy to think:
every poem written is an hour wasted
not control the author sculpts the first time we've met
it's only me fishing some thoughts: every poem written
is an hour wasted not the author does not control the author
does not the reader the reader the author
the king something some thinking: every poem written
is an hour wasted do not control the stone
the author the author the author does
not doing for the stone the bread crumbs it's easy
to think: every poem written is an hour wasted
not doing something about it
celebrations outstanding
something worth thinking: every poem written
is an hour wasted not the crumbling king
it's easy to think: every poem written is an hour wasted
control the author the author does not ink: every poem written
is an hour wasted do not control the author the king
about it celebrations outstanding
it's only me fishing bread crumbs it's easy to think:
every poem written is an hour wasted not the author
does not the author does not control the reader
the bread crumbs they're only me fishing for some thinking:
every poem written is an hour wasted not eating bread crumbs
it's easy to think: every poem written is an hour wasted
not the author sculpting the author the crumbs of every poem written
an hour wasted not controling the reader not controling the king
some thinking is in order: every poem written is an hour controlled
king something: writing the author the author does read crumbs
it's only me fishing for celebrations outstanding
some wasted thinking: every poem is the author
the author sculpts the author sculpts the author does not make the king think:
every poem written is an hour wasted not
the king of dirt sunday a dapper don man will appear
don man will dapper don man will appear don man will
dapper don man will will will
man appear dapper don man will nape of
dapper don man
i meant to say something about light
i raze light not your light and
not artificial light what of the artificial then?
an ungainly freudian monolith
gargantuan simple fleshy constructed
of shit found in the tv street about light
input output welding welded expository writing damaged categoricals
empathy but there's always a corollary-but with men
who lick their long waisted fingers clean of light
let's not talk of chivalry or boyhood manhood let's don't mention
one's compensation for time lost
while mistakenly incarcerated
me daffodil lazy under laundered blanket you baseless and imaginary
i meant to say something to you about lightness in chaos
clutter razes light not your lightness aloof
a poof proof of what makes one the fleet-footed slave of truth
i meant to say something outloud but i sank into the ocean to you
with the rowers and singing maidens and maidenchasers
and the mist which unnoticed by anyone not me unmoored
flares eternal
guides the way home
Source: Berrigan, Ted. “Words for Love.” An Anthology of New York Poets, edited by Ron Padgett and David Shapiro. Random House, New York, 1970, p. 61.
Yes, yes. I’m trying to neutralize the self, let’s get on with it.
fanfuckingtastic
in lo and
hop infronta the tv
my
wifes
laptop infronta
me
me and hop me infronta
the tv and me
they
only vaguely know each other
like dye let's call
him
stan
32
he
grew
up in the same town as
she
but i
think
to meet up
stan this weekend tomorrow night my job
i keep pretty so
i
might
my dear wifey comes home about
an hour after me about an hour after
me and she
changes
then immediately starts
doing
to do
but it's okay
if i would
actually go plans for my
job
i keep pretty
so i
a cheater she cheated
she can't see
tho
and
she
is
going on how to
take
place
is
anybody even
morning
or
should
i make place
i pant we had
some lame exchange sex life
going
tv i told
her
tomorrow morning
or should she see the
relation
pay
wolves
"A fleuron is a typographic element, or glyph, used
either as a punctuation mark or as an ornament
for typographic compositions. Fleurons are stylized
forms of flowers or leaves; the term derives
from the Old French word floron for flower.
Robert Bringhurst in The Elements of Typographic Style
calls the forms 'horticultural dingbats.' It is also known as
a printers' flower, or more formally as an aldus leaf
(after Italian Renaissance printer Aldus Manutius), hedera leaf,
or simply hedera (ivy leaf) symbol."
Nat history museum
Poetry
Bow truss roasters
A creative writing professor brings
a snapping turtle and his new-born
grandson into a bar — it ends exactly as you imagine.
“Come and show me another city with lifted head
singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.” C Sandburg
I freeze my spine in an attempt to stay pure,
To fractalize suffering, cook up distillate
And smoke academic — I only manage back pain.
Green mill
Girl and goat
Ray Yoshida
Art Green
Oscar Nurlinger
Richard Misrach
Nahuatl
"Alebrijes (Spanish pronunciation: [aleˈβɾixes]) are brightly colored
Oaxacan-Mexican folk art sculptures of fantastical creatures. The first
alebrijes, along with use of the term, originated with Pedro Linares.
In the 1930s, Linares fell very ill and while he was in bed,
unconscious, Linares dreamt of a strange place resembling a forest.
There, he saw trees, animals, rocks, clouds that suddenly
turned into something strange, some kind of animals,
but, unknown animals. He saw a donkey with butterfly wings,
a rooster with bull horns, a lion with an eagle head,
and all of them were shouting one word, 'Alebrijes.'
Upon recovery, he began recreating the creatures he saw
in cardboard and papier-mâché and called them Alebrijes."
The greatest story ever told ... the woman who laid down
and became a mountain and no one was there to see it
or write about it so you'll never know & I'll never know
