Monday, August 31, 2015

THE FIFTH AND SIXTH NOBLE TRUTHS

Sometimes,
when people say—
All Of The Time;

they really 
just mean—all
the time they have available.

And almost
always, when people say—
Every Day;

they're really 
referring—to Monday 
through Friday.

STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE

In the new morning,
when last 
night's chilly fog—which 

had closed around us, so thick-
and snug-
ly, and emboldened

by that very full moon,
huge 
and cold and low—

finally dissipated;
chased out
of sight now, by faint and unusually 

ordinary gray light,
stretching,
and testing, and snapping it's new tendrils,

and caressing the concrete-
colored planks of
bad wood outside the upstairs window;

then—
and only then, and only with a very bitter-
sweetly 

faint kind 
of certainly—did I truly feel 
that I knew

for sure what it could mean to me—and how 
beautiful! and important it could be
that you 

hadn't seen any of this with me. That you
simply must still be there—
downstairs 

somewhere, very 
separate from me—probably underneath 
our soft brown blanket, still sleeping.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

POKER FACE

Here—on this green and flat field 
of time and of space,

nothing ever really stays 
and sticks 

exactly where you seem to put it. 
For certainly—

to properly 
hold a thing close—you must be willing 

to believe 
in it first. Only—it's weird, but there's 

no sense in going 
around believing in anything—

unless you feel 
able—to carry it with you. 

Let's see now—given the formula,
I think

that for any
hand you're dealt in on—

that basically—just 
leaves you 

with you.

Friday, August 28, 2015

INTERIOR MONOLOGUE OF THE OUROBOROS

Fuck—I'm just 
so starving 
that even 

eating 
away at my-
self isn't working.

GEODUCK SOUP

The truth?
The truth!—all that raw bone
and bloody 

stringy sticky 
cartilage of the stuff!—
is so frightful-

to look at,
that it's
oftentimes—completely overlooked.

Because—it's usually just 
so detestably simple
as to seem 

ugly,
revolting—
and vulgar.

It's the way—out of two 
repulsive 
and utterly opposite things,

that Third Thing 
emerges

that we then 
can use 
for our own purposes. But—no, not exactly 

like putrid water
and rotten time—
making vinegar;

it's more like—

how an anonymous 
innocent
honeywet vagina

and some huge 
hulking hell of a 
dumb bulbous cock

once clashed!
and sundered!
and ultimately 

combined
to create—
the stomach

you're now sick to.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

ADMINISTRATION

Don't be confused!
Brothers it's
shame-

fully 
simple—Who's 

with me?

First—
we ad-
monish 'em

for not 
wearing shoes;

then!—we can 
sell 'em

the polish!—
with clean

consciences.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

D'ARTAGNAN

Hey—
you! Squealed 

the 
first
two—be a good

little
imbecilic
third wheel, if you 

please—and  
at least!

go see
if you can't—

squeak 
us up 
another one!

MISSED CONNECTION

There—at the razor-raw
thin and meager corner
of Milwaukee 
and Ashland Avenue, incensed

with leadheavy invisible odors—
with pillars
of rust, and limestone 
dust, and exhaust;

somehow—a perfect treasure trove
(of lion's-soul yellow
yolks and their ever-
so-tenderly 

sun-infused milk—of fresh-
ly purchased 
and aggressively
dashed eggs!) congeals to its small and 

inevitable rest—and is,
at best, fairly uncuriously avoided 
by hungry droves of mayonnaise-
faced bus passengers.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

HOUSE HUNTERS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION

He likes 
a craftsman-style;

She 
wants a Tudor.

Each 
of them—relentlessly 

uncompromising, not to mention 
utterly unique, 

in the way 
that it takes 

a few colossal  
beams
and

frames
them up—
so synchronically!

around roughly the same—incredibly 
devastating 

eternities 
of empty space.

SMARTPHONE MARKET UPDATES FOR BUSY METAPHYSICIANS

As of this 
hour

the 
Dow 

is still 
down

there—exactly!
where 

we set it 
last.

Monday, August 24, 2015

PATIENT REPLY

Love—

is 
kind

of 
an old-

fashioned 
term—to be mashing me 

up with, actually;—casually
remarked the Almighty, although pretty 

offhandedly;
and admittedly only 
in words readily understood by the ears

of a certain—very 
elite and very! cloak-and-
dagger faction of the world's most cutting-
edge and indefatigably goal-oriented Genetic Engineers.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

YOU MIGHT BE A POET IF—

Do you ever blush 
simply
wondering?
in the morning—about the specific effects of gravity 
on her mass?
as it continues accelerating;

faintly
wet and mauve-
gently—slipping past
yet another net 
of gem-
colored August vapor?

Saturday, August 22, 2015

SUMMER VACATION A.D. 2489


"Instantaneous intergalactic
travel! to and among the far-
flung lattices

of heretofore
imaginary—liquid
diamond stars

having now—and forever,
and at long last!
become completely feasible;

all scheduled  
explorations—of the little
old honeydew moon

now just sound—
more or less
a bit trivial,"

quipped every
former poet—practically
all at once; each

while hoisting up
a thumb
with a dim

but abrupt chuckle—to every
single poor
tour group

who'd patronize—
his rickety
Martian fishing vessel.

Friday, August 21, 2015

MUSK ATTACKS!!!

Each August—descending fat 
and high from such 

insidious and 
cabalistic stacks—

there at the 
back—of this or that

formidably- 
cold planetary outpost;

the orbs!—

mute with dark odd 
perfume,

faint 
with pale spiderflesh,

and very very 
strangely 

heavy for their sizes—
dive

and aggressively 
crashland!—into all the unsuspecting 

grocery baskets—
as they pass.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

BLUE BLAZES

Always philandering here—scuzzy,
poor among people
and creatures,

and the seasonal trees,
and ever the gray sidewalks—I endeavor 
to enumerate the way;

graceless,
incognito,
moving to conjure—wizardlike,

if only because—wielding in secret 
the fat and 
abundant wand of my art,

I yearn not merely 
to explain generosity—tallying all!
but stockpiling none of of it

and certainly 
stemming no flow
but to remain 

downright compelling! And
Impressive to you, no? Maybe
even enviably so?—As I point and shoot to get

yet another flame going—
not intending 
to burn away,

but rather
to illuminate 
something—everyday. 

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

HOW TO TOUCH YOUR TOES

We hereby 
decree—in no 

uncertain
or purple 

prose—these!
are the new 

those; chiefly
because we

feel we can
reach them

a little 
more easily.

INTERVENTION AT MONTELL JORDAN'S AFTERPARTY

Admit 
it, 
now—this:

is much 

more—How

We
Actually
Do It—

re-

gret

fully,

fitful,

and 
without 
ever stopping!

to answer—

let alone
even beginning

to wonder—

How 
Come?

Monday, August 17, 2015

ROCKET SUMMER

Three
two
one—blast-off! And just 

like that,
everyone—who ever 
felt stuck here

by gravity's 
laws
no matter what—

suddenly went flying
and scrambling 
up—with a warm rush! 

north by north-
westward—
in search of a perfect

ly honest
and a meager
couple of bucks. But—

after just
a bit of that modest
but sweet kind of work—

coupled—almost certainly,
with way
way too much eager

over-
thinking and sweaty
excitement over the trajectory;

there was,
rather 
lamentably—the son

of his daddy's third
(and most green-
thumbed) 

stab at a habitable 
place couldn't help 
but notice—

absolutely 
nobody left!
back at home

in their slanted 
slums of porous row 
homes any longer

who looked—nearly 
meek enough!
to inherit 

the beautiful—if a little 
bit scorched 
by now, and 

stifling—planet earth
whenever 
he felt he was done with it.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

YIELDING

It seems dozens 
of highly 
specific tongues—of 

stiffish lemon
meringue 
have come—

somehow both
slow and 
suddenly—at once

to coolly
trick 
some reddish faces—

into finally
no longer—
sweating a few crumbs.

Friday, August 14, 2015

COMFORTING THOUGHT

Because I once 
chanced—here

to stop 
and muse quickly,

all futures
must now 

and forever—
contain this probability:

in Utopia—
their newspapers 

will—necessarily!
have to be 

so fretfully—
boring.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

NO. 2 PENCIL

Generations 
and comfortless
generations hence—

the children 
of tomorrow
will never know!

such cursive
fluency
as their proud parents 

once drew—

from only ever 
manually imagining—where on earth! 
Dixon Ticonderoga was.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

REST DAYS WHEN YOU'RE SUPERMAN

No way—but surely
the absolute best! days 
are those 

when you wake
up—shaking! without 
wondering

why—because you 
already 
know it's just

that your 
body's 
a little

terrified! 
but your 
head—isn't really feeling

the least bit 
worried about it.

Which is great—it's like 
back when

you were 
eight—
and became entirely

obsessed (to the extent 
that there
was just no room 

for common sense left)

with convincing
yourself—
that it was

only! through 
the ninth
or tenth

or eleventh
attempt,

that the twelfth 
leap—off the seven-
foot-

high white 
and red backyard shed—
could 

appreciably—
make any difference.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

BUY AN EXTRA LOTTO TICKET JUST TO WIPE YOUR MOUTH WITH

Somebody up there 
really likes you—

when you realize 
you're fumbling!

yellow mustard—

all down 
the front of a 
freshly laundered 

turmeric-colored t-shirt.

WRITING ROUTINES

Sun and simmering 
west wind—lightly cooking off
any remaining 

damp tang of last night's 
only faintly recollect-
able rain—

presently licking the gimcrack 
gaudy backs

of greedgobbled 
hordes 

of 
greasedappled flies,

which crowd dizzy hunks 
of plumpish sidewalk dogshit.
And to think!

he'd only noticed this—
exact same 
shining anomaly 
probably

sixty—no seventy!

times this August 
alone already—easily.

Monday, August 10, 2015

SGT. PEPPER'S MUCH LONELIER HEART ATTACKS CLUB BAND

One by one,
by uneasy

one—all he needed,
each was

quite sure?
was love; which was

inconvenient.
Because—

in that moment,
there was—plenty

of silly 
love songs around

but—absolutely
fucking none.

of the actual—
dumb nonsense handy.

Friday, August 7, 2015

PIERCING

White snow falling 
softly on an August afternoon—

and still—everywhere men 
and women walk 

and do not seem 
to see it. Some day—I knew,

that I must die—but I think 
that now 

I must—
finally mean it;

For how 
is this possible!—why?

won't they notice—
how absolute-

ly 
starving—the beautiful,

lapis-
blue sky looks?

Thursday, August 6, 2015

AUSPICES

Hulking-
tall 

rooted,
proud 

tough,
old-

but- 
neverborn—those trees!

which—touching their sage 
hands high above 
to hush,

and thus—
safeguard
your illustrious street;

seem to murmur 
wisely in these repeatable
kinds of summer breezes—on and on,

something 
about how—there's simply 

no other way!—how 
you've really 
got to move slow

or better yet—keep 
perfect-
ly still—

if you hope 
to hold

and keep-
safe

and remember it all

just—exactly
the lovely 
way that it was.

But then—how come?

whenever you stop
and look deep,
shutting your eyes a while to think—

you can't 
help but realize, 
that you 

can't really (not—
really)
actually picture

anybody's face—not one

single depression
or light shade 
or shape—

that you truly love?—or ever 
even have once?
in your whole entire 

life this way.
And further—how come?

Come to stop 
and think of it 
some more—

nope—You've absolutely
never been willing to.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

AUTHORIAL INTENT

Eating overripe cherries—
She

felt free 
and fine 

in the shining 
black-

brightsmile of quiet morning;

or—
probably.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

L'ART POUR L'ART

Don't bother distracting—old
Mr. Sisyphus Jones
by questioning

his incentivesbecause 

the fact 
that you 
want to—means you 

probably aren't properly
motivated to know yet—that 
there really

is no compensation!
for any 
amount—of hard 

labor he performs.
But—

strangely enough, 
that's exactly
his reward!—it's

learning to work
without hope—that's his goal.
It's 

still getting-
up and leaving 
for work every morning

knowing—
that your gig 
is pushing 

the car 
right back 
home again, and still 

doing it willingly—
to get a little 
better handle

on the beauty 
of that futility. 

Monday, August 3, 2015

GIFT ECONOMY

Cheers!—to that alluring mister 
portrait of a swirling 

Vincent Van Gogh over there—with his curiously 
well-pared 
finger-

nails and ginger-
ly mannered
sunset-

red 
beard 
and purled hair—For he!

always seems
to take 
better care

than you 
or I do
to remember—Art

that is simply
too pure!
doesn't sell;

better by far—to take
a preexisting 
piece of weird work

and just—
cool

and off-
handedly—stick 
a clock-

radio 
in there—somewhere.