Artifacts of Reference, No. 67
Tag: trees
Dementia Landscape
a fire roars
in foreign white ink a familiar name, no not familiar
a bone-inlaid key paws open the heavy vault door
one green eye one red eye laid over the mountain ascent
three deer-blood lips three fir tongues, teeth
cast like needles over the valley
the temple
the far-off
glacial scar
like oxen yolked
their gray pupils pull
through fragile forests of madness, intensity
at least i think so and that counts for something
no one's mad at me
i'm famous and very rich
and remain lazy with no guilt
upon closer inspection: a mystic
hand-in-paw with a brown dog
9 clay pots, they're dancing
near prayer, spontaneous music of the weald.
“One should aim to memorize the precise point on the map to retrieve those pleasures.”
Wikipedia Poem, No. 694
you logic in softness please so stay rodents surface war again some sinful slime a boar ever in bush you pinch birch crush them between bite the seconds count to 206 degrees you posit soft chew that proof of god in the bark not weak please again don't knock
The Cardinals
Wikipedia Poem, No. 619
cedar's severe angels
sing out boxy little songs
sing a jumpsuited repair man services holy
angles sing holy logic proofs with pencils
rule a jumpsuited repair man servicing boxy proofs
with pencils neg a jumpsuited repair man
services a jumpsuited repair man
servicing holy angles sing holy angles sing
a jumpsuited repair man servicing holy angles
sing holy angles sing out boxy little songs
sing out boxy little songs sing a jumpsuited repair man
services holy angles sing holy angels sing a
jumpsuited repair song servicing holy angles sing
a jumpsuited repair man servicing holy angles sing
holy angles sing holy angels sing boxy little songs
sing a jumpsuited repair man servicing
a jumpsuited repair man servicing boxy little songs sing logic
proofs with pencils rule a jumpsuited repair man servicing boxy proofs
with pencils ruling holy angles sing straight
holy angels sing holy sing
a jumpsuited repair man servicing our boxy little songs
sing holy angles sing logic proofs
pencils rulers holy angles each singing a jumpsuit
repair man servicing a jumpsuited angle
sing a jumpsuited little song sing holy angles
sing out fanatic proofs with pencils ruling holy angles
a cardinal perched high in the cedar's severe angles
sing out boxy little sing songs a jumpsuited repair
man services holy angles sing holy angels sing
out boxy proofs with pencil proof rule holy angles
A Long Poem Inspired by Days of Overeating Metaphor
Wikipedia Poem, No. 596
nor is not its
reader nor is not its reader a politician's slight to create a god
if they weren't given here men are taught to create a god
if the roots of which i am so enamored poet
of
the you the famous
poem is not this condition is not this condition is your lips offer up
a mouthful of hand like an acrobat part you when the poem
is guaranteed in this condition is you in the you
in the you in the poet of him again his condition is not popular
your lips of the you in they weren't given here men are taught of
the you in this condition is
not everyone knows the poem is not its reader nor is not its reader
nor is pleasure guaranteed
in the
you in the room and which i am so enamored poem is you
in the roots offer up a mouthful of
which aggravates an entire season
of
the poem is not its reader a
politician's slight of the poem is
not
this condition is not this condition is not this condition
is not
its reader nor is not its reader nor is you guaranteed
sitting on the roots of which i am so enamored poem is not its
reader nor is guaranteed
in the famous poet of sand even here men are taught to create
a god if you wish aggravation an acrobat
parts
you in the ways given here
men are taught to create a
god if the roots offer up a mouthful of him
again imagine you in the room an entire season of pear trees
everyone knows the roots
of which aggravates
an acrobat parts you room and aggravate
an acrobat part you of whom i am so enamored this poem is not its reader
nor is it a lover nor is it guaranteed in you the room
like an entire season of sand
everyone knows the poet
who is not a reader nor is guaranteed in the roots
offer up a mouthful of the room which aggravates
an acrobat part of you in the room and which aggravates
an acrobat part your lips
of the room and like an acrobat part you the poem is not its reader
nor is guaranteed in the popular you the room and
which aggravates an entire season
of sand everyone knows the room
and like an entire season of which aggravates an
acrobat part your lips offer up a mouthful of the poem is not
the famous poem is not
this condition is not its reader
a
politician's slight
to
create a god if the popular
you in they weren't given here men are taught
to
create a god if they weren't given here
men are taught to create a god if the your lips offer up a mouthful of
which aggregates an
entire season of aggravates
wikipedia poem, no. 18
lies
beyond
The edge, a tired of the
freezer
I
find the hacked with vacation clouds
in the freezer
I find the universe
Its edge but what lies
beyond
The Yoghurt
Tree
weeps
at the real
prospect of the side. Living grapes in the asphalt’s softest
feed
the
hacked with vacation clouds
When
the kitchen
the universe
Its edge, a
tired
of
the kitchen real prospect
of feeling things,
even!
Weep!
Again, I’m
hacked with language
Mortified at
the,
by
now,
felt
up
universe
Its edge, tired of the church by now, felt up
hacked
with language
Mortified at
the noon
clouds
I’m tired of comparing things.
Black Creek
untitled, 012520142200
what characters?
what images?
then
what emotions?
& how that
blankness
projects, flickers
onto the clean
white wall. where?
where is the heroism?
(cocksure bravado of loss?
the drowning son
saltwater bites his lungs
his inutile hand
breaking the ocean’s lens?
ooh, there
I’ve gone and given it
away—retreat!
peel through the pteridophyta
knee-high, back to skull-island.
they’ll remember you if you tell them
who? what character?
which image? emotion?
and what will they boil
for tea that morning
after his funeral
— well attended
— tastefully adorned (not too colorful
— a slow silent sob, no one weeps (not even …
will it be black or green or chamomile
over-steeped or sweetened? how
at a time like this, can one decide
so freshly alive, so gravitationally piqued
washed red-raw with compassion?
those old films
now significant, so
wall space, interior
as if the boy were climbing
our orange tree
higher, then higher
his fearless lungs full
of bitter citrus.
when?
what’s lost?
again, what emotion?