September 2011
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Sketch No. 19
Heretics outright, Running down the street,
U. Ndulant L. IStless
Children. The world’s apocalypse ridden.
Scions for no one.
Their bodies sagging with corn syrup,
eyes filled to the brim with 2012,
Hearts aflame. Exposed and never shy.
Meek mystics with twisted tragedies we are, we are.
Amen.
How gifted we have been.
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Nothing: Volume 5
It was the silence that let the shots really paint the airwaves red. Around midnight, and I was sitting in my apartment, fat, coy, happily bitching. 4 or 5 callous cracks that really rang out quickly and efficiently. You could tell someone was really trying with these shots. There was little to no breath between them. Noting the happiness in air, I sniffed around comfortably for a line to brush...
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A small intermission.
Hello folks.
Sorry to stop the show.
Would just like to note all poems/prose/photos (unless otherwise noted) are written/taken by me.
Just to clarify. Because its the internet. People try to steal everything.
I write the poem as is and then publish it. I rarely edit ever. I’m lazy.
In the future, I will try to actually use margins.
Nah.
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Vision Quest: C
Night. The sounds of hectic leaves condensing.
If pushed beyond all reasoning
(as he certainly had been for some time),
His cries could never pierce the speckled veil’s hues.
The pine is thick, accommodating. Oak tantrums, being thrown outright,
Shiver.
Foster green, ballroom red. A certain allotment. Certain.
The turbulent tremble of screeched bloody vocal cords never seemed so...
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Vision Quest: C
The dumpy grays of the city; stricken, stolid, merciless. I, blessed by thine who spin the clock, still alive. With wisps of silence undulating before the day, Forlorn under cigarettes and yet altogether awake, Alive. How easy it is to be.
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Hilariously Bad Visionary Art →
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Sketch No. 18
(a rough sketch of the perpetrator):
Broadly shouldered and cigarette smoldering, fatalist eyes blaring hazel: I.
Frankie, the blues are all the same and my callous shuffle repeats.
Sans beat, heart irregular, hopefully gaunt and pale to compliment.
Nervous, enamored with all of the above, wretched, and more.
Accordingly,
I found my legs housed in German drinktrunks for gym with a slight...
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Vision Quest: A
Thinks I:
Vacuum tubes, ancient sparks, our
god’s neon, cramped, forgotten, still-bourne. And
we free to rub our own lamps as we pleases.
This savvy tech is jagged jargon too in line with megalomaniacs, coupling devices with
business fillosophy on mixed sanguine barrels.
I know never where I is the come from.
But I sure seen silicon valley saplings of lapis lazuli
shimmer over 50...
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Vision Quest: B
at the acid-washed auburn
Sky she met me.
Underneath, such heart
Beat oh so valiantly.
How the sentimental are so
Deliberate.
It’s the same no matter how
Cold my spell.
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Sketch No. 17
Very rarely hath time spread
Boisterous river-rock water
Over this dead ravine.
Yet now, with the
Coolness ebbing,
Spider webbing,
We Splash/splish.
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Sketch No. 16
How enforced,
This utter helplessness
Of thought.
To but wander,
Fingers unwound and listening,
Fists clenched..
And mind?
Deaf and dumb,
Dead to Joe.
The contrived succor: seventeen years of latch-key musings
with no end in sight.
Dig, dig for position in this sand,
Land bedrock blossoms on she, forlorn.
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John Berryman: Dream Song 73
Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry did will not bear thought. Feeling no pain, Henry stabbed his arm and wrote a letter explaining how bad it had been in this world. Old yellow, in a gown might have made a difference, ‘these lower beauties’, and chartreuse could have mattered “Kyoto, Toledo, Benares—the holy cities— and Cambridge shimmering do not make up for,...
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Sharing Poetry: Edward Hirsch, "The Renunciation... →
I’m a big Hirsch fan.
sharingpoetry:
(Hofmannsthal in Athens, 1908)
These ruinous days of autumn. At dawn the brightness seeps through the crumbling air, at dusk the air gathers up the brightness.
So this is Greece, fabled decay. For years he dreamt of caressing the flanks of these hills and standing on the Aegean’s thunderous…
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Sketch No.15
When the earth exhales there is no echoing
the chortle(s) of pain.
To strike to the
humbleness of it all,
math says none of us should exist…
Nope,
not none one or other.
Bargaining tools are uselessness.
His amen in his brain
never ranged louder than the moment
he knew all was uselessness.
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Sketch No. 14
This is why he did it:
Pre-war gritty brass shavings, couple device switch on/off. status, please…
please come. Light the roll, smoke the vyned spindle-glisten
and supposedly l8ter listen.
His dreamdreamdream was of Victorian paisley puffs, steam-powered and all.
His mother’s voice sounded like an animal.
Father stirs signal fire forever strained seeking fate.
fancy her and him
...
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WatchMany Arms is a superb avant-rock outfit from Philly. They embody the wild notion of Jazz legend Ornette Coleman in a modern math-rock/experimental band. Check out their intense free-jazz meanderings in this video taken of them live.
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Nothing: Volume 4
Current obsessions:
1)Squirrels running on power lines like there’s a prize in it for them.
2) The angry old man who works at the front of the desk at my apartment building. He likes to throw his hands up in frustration when somebody comes in and wants to check into the building. He has a difficult job, and it revolves around snot-nosed college kids.
3) Minimalist music and Terry...
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Sketch No. 11
Search for the unexpected
And rare!
Window sill sermons
Confused forever him.
Children rope-slap concrete,
Spacious moment gets spurred
By such warm rain.
Arrive, please come in.
Knowing that his parents
(with all their outstanding lessons)
Knew absolutely nothing of this world
Colored him white, a sheath of stolid ignorance.
Somehow though,
The worst always seemed to ebb...
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Sketch No. 10
“I’ve fed you the sky
and her wanderings!!!!!”
He bellowed out in haste,
Seeing no point.. No escape from
The endlessness of utter rage
And fastidious contempt.
But Joe,
I have shown you the face of
Creation.
Dearest Joe, innocent, sweet Joe….
A series of unsubstantiated rumors spread by the people
Citing a “meaning” for life are
Afloat, asunder in...
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Sketch No. 9
This here bizzy bee-queen keeps pumpin’ them
out. 12 larva, 11, 5 and 7, take one away,
why were back at 11.
Joe has seen her sins. Caustic blonde-e
who wades through puddles of cum sullen sidewalks,
who spins the room into the roaring,
who watches through jaded earlgrey morning eyessssss
This here bar is hoppin’ and poppin’
funkyfresh Joe...