The Cardinals

Wikipedia Poem, No. 619

w619-sm

      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

w596

“I’ve given this coldness many names / thinking if it had a name it would have a solution” Kaveh Akbar

  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

Processed with VSCOcam with t1 preset

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.

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?