Good lord that was a strange dream! How long was I out? Looks like I’ve removed the minimal PRODUCT page and elevated the EDITORIALS to their rightful place in the starry firmament. I know folks are thirsty for new content, and I hope this can be arranged.
Sea Cream
Creamy coral eyes
Salty hypnotize
Filmy mermaid’s delight
Flying fish, fishy flight
Giant sponge
Where you lunge
On the seabed at night
Where the manta ray flaps
And the fish-harlot slaps
Her oily buttocks to say…
We got red roe
We got jelly
Come rub some on my belly
Smoke some seaweed
What do you need?
Put this hook in your mouth
Benefits Waived
it begins angry
a ghost
gold around the edges
rotten at the core
gold of yesterday’s sunsets
benefits waived
i remember the wind’s sound in trees
free on my bike, as a child
uncorrupted
unscarred
not yet afraid
- but war is coming
the trenches blacken with gore
angry holes slicken
with mud
tramped underfoot
by the legion’s boot
- war is coming
sprung from my own breast
and fear
ugly, tooth and nail
- i will be replaced
- my body will be covered with lime
- brought by the day’s reinforcements
semiconductors
In the factory
wafers gleam in their cages,
green like the carapace of beetles.
Clean-suited shepherds of silicon herds
bend to their work
I am suited, and it is clean
in there, fresh air
controlled in a laminar flow.
Morning Mood
Cake-fed impotence
Snores, dreams in gold
Wakes, coughs, shivers and farts
Rank from the night’s gestation
Preparatory fuss of morning
Unloading on habit
Whatever culpability for the day
Conscience will support
Or denial obscure
Caffeine-slap the system
Though by now
The over-whored synaptic holes
Merely indulge the molecule’s embrace
Accepting payment without
Passion or complaint
I must work
Strapping on the hulking chassis
To fend the impatient spaces
Of acceleration
And speed
Anything less would be irresponsible
In fact, unimaginable
Cat Paws on Linoleum
quite possibly
one could pass through life
unscathed by the blade of confusion
having locked up the glare
of infancy’s shimmer:
birthday cakes, paint-by-number
catching crayfish or
burying the pink robin;
plane flights to visit family,
clouds out the window,
the creviced mystery of furniture,
mammarian cushions and
black vinyl vulvas;
scavenging on bikes
after july-4th fireworks,
looking for live ones;
the ant-ocidal obsession
with the sun’s cleansing stare
when focused through
the 2-volume-oxford-english-dictionary’s
magnifying glass —
i should say, confusion is when
the brackets of sense fall away,
like the rising rocket’s access scaffold
leaving the mind to expand unchannelled
without reference or depth
as car wheels spin on ice,
and running cat-paws
scrabble foolish
on the linoleum floor
confusion has a buzzing
sound it makes,
or that clings to its sliding belly.
all ten thousand ghosts
of the strap-bulging blare,
when those straps burst,
return to pure vibration:
they show form
only when restrained.
this hum,
sigil of confusion,
apes the shadow of the waking mind,
sub-resonant shadow-stratum
of creation.
i burst through into its cloister
wet with alien mists
and establish myself,
a tolerated guest
of confusion’s fancy.
Centipede II
across the deserts of the floor
up the walls, down the hall
in diligent segments proceed
a carnivore of the very small,
the vagrant centipede
not a watcher, not a waiter
proactive insect
both a leader and the led
he crawls the sands to find that promised land
where he can rest all hundred peds.
the morning light steals stories
out of night’s linty folds
another centipede curls dying near the wall
its thought complete, its slow race run
it dies, and dries, and crumbles into all
Brooklyn fragment
Garlic bread on a board
Old wood counters, etched with cuts
Cups and wicker
Pots hung on the makeshift wall
Tea brews
You can lean through plants here
And see Brooklyn
Through a high kitchen window
Try not to topple the handmade vase
A house of music
And movies — old black-and-whites
And wine
In her room, a futon on the floor,
It took me how long to figure
I wasn’t there to fix
Her computer?
Some men drink liquor
Or golf the time away
But for me life has a certain sorrow
Scenting my fingers still next day
I was young I was old
But I was mostly in between
The music was fine
And the books were fine
The stars were wrong
— but the movies were fine
When I left there, we were smiling
Unashamed and unfulfilled
With not much left to say
On her desk sat a working computer
And in my pocket some notes
On the music she’d
Played
Through the night
stochasm
meet me in the stochastic light
lasering through shepherds on that hill
flinch at the thump-crush
of fluorescent bulbs imploding
and the drone…
homing signal of lost gods
banished from these pastures
an endless hum
ripped away
now vibrates back
on the edges of our skin
homecoming
his radioactive foot on the meadow
ripples away
the best laid plans
“CLEAR THIS CHANNEL!
This is Crisis Control
and we need an empty vessel.
We gotta let the message through.”
the wilderness can absorb
all that noise
deep in you
and when you return
at last!
an empty mirror meets your gaze
now the message flows
now the badgers stop and listen
to the empty field
where daisies waving in the wind
tune in white noise
Pap Smear (for kalki)
Open wide
Say “Aahh”
Say “Ow!”
Say “Oooh!”
Come on my slide
Take a ride
In my centrifuge
The hunt is on now
For some crack
In the carbon
For a chain out of line
For a sign
Open up
To the chance of a lifetime
Once again
Now or never
Roll those dice