i don’t want
to do your work
do you want to
do your work
work is screaming
at the dog
a terrible person
who can’t be bothered
with other people
the dog lays there
right there
her allergies
her anxieties
on the leafy greens
and onionskin
and cries not at me
she’s a good girl
at the baby nursing
on her belly little
heart beating so fast
i don’t want to think
of the hummingbird
her fragility
her natural work
her glitter
where’s my glitter
there she is right there
This poem appears in Arielle Greenberg’s 2015 book “Slice” from Coconut Press. Her work is brilliant, please support her writing.
curators offer a variety of their subjective photography
the customer will have been satisfactorily abused and served
through technological advances in counting the service understands
people places approaches and circulation methods though we still
promise to never index works from information
the subjective photographs have been used to concatenate
and share xerophagiac critique since 1839
The service invents the mode of ideas, you approach them!
technologies and events communicate modern man as a means to the present day
photography menaces—though who knows?—to strive for ease-of-abstraction
serve a visually continuing world it will rain just look outside
with one finger
i look up
at the clock what
time is it when
will we worm you and me; where
do we go from here to the back
seat of my filthy afterthought or
your
candlelit cantaloupe
i am careful to avoid using the word
invade
the
forest
thick
with
dread
cut by compulsive slashes
bearing no
particular
reward
through the forest
thick about hunger
masturbation
nation
online
video games
reading
about hunger
masturbation
of crackling
wilderness
a dozen cups
of crackling no
particular
reward
through
the forest
except forest
think
of a dread
wilderness
a dozen cups
of crackling no
particular reward
through the
forest
except
forest
except hunger
masturbation
of
crackling wilderness
a dozen cups of
crackling about
hunger
masturbation
online video games
read
cut by compulsive slashes
bearing no particular reward
through the
forest
except forest
except
games
about wilderness
a dozen cups of crackling
wilderness
a dozen
cups of
eating with dread
wilderness
a dozen cups of coffee
eating hunger
masturbation
of crackling
wilderness
a dozen cups of crackling wilderness
a dozen cups of
resource
rich
clientelistic nations
of crackling
wilderness
a
dozen
cups of
coffee
eating the wilderness of
a dozen
cups of crackling slashes
bearing
no particular reward
through
the
forest
thick with
dreading
no
particular reward
through the
forest
think about hunger
masturbation
of
coffee
eating about
video games
reading wilderness
in a
dozen cups
of coffee
eating no particular
forest
think
with dread
of cuts by
compulsive slashes
bearing wilderness
a
dozen cups of crackling coffee
without dread
would you
crackling
cups of no reward
through
dissolution
particular reward
through the
forest
except forest
thick without hunger
I was sausage master of Minsk; young girls brought parsley to my shop and watched as I ground coriander, garlic and calves’ hearts. At harvest time they’d come with sheaves: hags in babushkas, girls plump as quail, wrapped in bright tunics, switching the flanks of oxen. Each to the other, beast and woman, goggle-eyed at the market’s flow. My art is that of my father: even among stinking shepherds, bean- brained as the flocks they tend, our sausages are known. The old man sits in back, ruined in his bones, a scold. So it was my trade brought wealth. My knuckles shone with lard, flecks of summer savory clung to my palms. My shop was pungent with spiced meat and sweat: heat from my boiling pots, my fretful labors with casings, expertly stuffed. Fat women in shawls muttered and swabbed their brows. Kopeks made a racket on my tray. But I would have none of marriage: the eldest son, no boon, even with the shop’s renown, was I to my parents. Among mothers with daughters, full-bottomed, shy, I was a figure of scorn. In that season when trade was a blur, always, from the countryside, there was one, half-formed, whose eyes, unlike the haggling matrons’ squints, roamed and sometimes found my own. And of her I would inquire. Before seed-time they always returned. Tavern men speak freely of knives, of this, of that. Call me a fool. For in spring I would vanish to the hills and in a week return, drawn, remote, my hair mussed, interlaced with fine, pubescent yarn.
Source: Kleinzahler, August. Live from the Hong Kong Nile Club: Poems : 1975-1990. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2003. Print.
Referential in a way John Ashbery could never be —
I’ve yet to read John Ashbery.
I’m at the ironbark dreaming,
Except I’m not; I’m ironstone.
The world will not let me
Say what I mean; or I
Come across
Weak, watered down
And cheap. I’m afraid to pay
For what I deserve; “Alright.
Honey, have a safe trip.
Yep, OK. Alright, the plan is airtight.”
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FORM I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FORM
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIELD I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIELD
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
FIGURE I don’t want to tell you how to do your job
I don’t want to tell you how to do your job FIGURE
important instances mannied amongst old norse cannon another subjective occasion to sing expedience skalds far beyond what would be natural infomatic meaning like business cards where are my men and will it be natural to metaphor thus for our leader important men will intervene among basewords order arrives in skalds not paddling but windblown favored conventions factor by adverbs adjectives according to each compound to what would be natural metaphors thus laser-etch onto a cliff faced adverb and to which compound would he be characterized an enemy in what new word order adverb adjective noun to the fullest skald of the law contortion for your daily bread old norse congeniality between two close-set compound eyes what word order adverb adjective noun noun noun each word (each an element of the compound what would be characterized as analytic language when synthetic languages subjected to the root of rot words can in the same facetious conventions as rather old norse prefixes where old norse kennings tend taken to be interiors of fact
in me he is
sequestered and afeard
in the farmost
angle im
possible im
aginable
his back behind his back
the implication
of darkness
elsewhere is blood
red pitch
you see what you want
in the light
250,000 plans planning has become
essential and numbers no matter
how abstract and this will always
be something we argue about
3 pomegranates in a ceramic
bowl the ruddy flesh the bitter
juice with individual object
reality representative numb
ers are ours alone we are
alone and struggling to make
sense of it all we build num
bers 250,000 plot along the
x plain number angles in
order to drag ourselves down
like a tired drowning victim victim
who is the victim language sunless
here in gaeta we signify the n
umber with significant distan
ce in america we 3 split atoms
i must tell you about america
i don’t want to know
what you know please
keep your hands where
i can see them clearly
those two haven’t fucked
in decades the old lady
and the man in the dated
brown suit moist tulips
between them
she doesn’t cross
her legs but they’re
locked up tighter
than the molten de
militarized zone be
tween north and south
korea and speaking of
those koreas what sort of
essential life lessons
has man that man
ever learned
from an art book
that art book