Beed

Beed, once
the long long trail
of things
left

beed the unpreparing bead
of sticking and
transparent caulk,
between the tub
and tile wall
of bathroom

between the you of
stone of ancient occidental origin
and water-holding thing of bath

beed
stagnant muddied liquid
and prevention
of getting to the studs
of bathroom wall

beed the waiting
for however fort
it all come in
through me,
through outside wall or
down
through broken ceiling—
water


Beed bed
one returns to after
beed dead
and bed one
stays in

Wearing a Wood Shirt

The oxford shirt
that the cartwright made

sweeping
and belt metal strapping

around
my barrel chest; and less

and less,
and less the space inside


I died
from crush descendt

on stuff
inside the torso

however
tailored the wrong thing was

To Summer

Asleeping
on a conveyance
to summer
somewhere on an horizon
or to a pool there
or to the sun
where all heat and fusion
for parsecs in all directions
lives, emanates from.
or to a Goodyear '
or to a good year
or a good month

Run Amok Animus

However subfusc you say
or lusty this or smoldering eyes
but eyes only, this animus
that goes unchecked

However the dead creature
reanimated to smirk only
to send signals only and not
hold thee

for still dead arms still
side burns and 1997 hair
& sensibilities

All Christendom

The blessings
of all Christendom
upon the crown
of my bald head
—whose embaldned itself
who dances
the dead dance
of dead people.

Of dead people
who move still,
who're dead by
the right of in-
sipid choice, of
imagination,
ultimately.

The machinations
of wine blent.
Have you ever
mixed white and red
as an oenophile?
Is an embarrassment
of the ignorance of varietals.
Of the having a liver
and tongue,
and the nails

coming down
a chalkboard.

Further Complications

I was little bit ill, and the
symptoms though only
simmering, still felt like shit.
And went out drinking anyway.

I bought Jarvis Cocker's new album
and though I'd only rate it six,
I can't stop
thinking about it, or bitching,

I was so excited about it's
coming out. I was so thirsty
I didn't feel the water's
tasting bad in my sick throat.

Japanese Maple

How American are we
really, in our hearts these
seven-fingered shadows
cast

Reliquary

Am trying to find
something in
what was, what
is and still is, what
has been. What
could've been
what should have,
or what I wished was.

This...I know; I
apologize for
—But am the color solid.

Whose center is
an increasingly
middling muddle
of chroma and grey.
I'm sorry for that stanza.

]I believe (whether
right, or not) that
evidence leads
to understanding.

And it is so hot, today
is the first day that life
seems unbearable
again, as the second
summer with no air

conditioning.

I'm sweat, and looking
into the mirror and through it
into the past where my ace
remains unchanged.

and this:

to knowledge in the recompense

which's why I (who intelligent)'ve
stopt thinking.



New Section.
I've got the box fan
in the window, accept it
as a thing bequeathed
by friend long gone and misst.

What comfort can the air
pulled in by box fan and pushed
through open door give?

Setbacks

T'was the night before
and then after. And then
all of the nights
were disaster that kept
comin' down the mountain, kept
comin' down the mountain.

How much more
more can one make
in a given space
of time? Now
I know

burgeoning beneficence
—so fast as to not remember it
or to not know it, not fully to know it—
and the backlash it brought.

The forward push
of sensibilities fought
unto an internal
counterlegislation
whatever caveats,
hold-outs, free drinks
and the like

Veterans

I, too'm tramplin' out
the vintages
I too bought this and
sat next to—

I too am who what
and what wax
es wanes and
the sanguine

sanguine. Marred work
and is so inarticulate
as to not be able to express

and through means
through the florid arch
of meaning and of strife

a genuine disincentive.
I believe

in a genuine disincentive

and of being unable
to express.


Us; artefical sky, as I've
said before (but of sky
-scrapers) how futile a notion,
to replicate the infinite

but in it's aiding recollection
claims a win from the jaws
of incognizance and lays
something lovely down

[Ed Ruscha, Phil]

Ed Ruscha, Phil
ip Guston, a new
sense of illustration

Walking down, stan
ding up, all of what
what what what what.

Use of eckses in
names as a /zh/ or
even an /s(h)/ is

asiatic. Or reads
that way. Rhesus
monkeys

up

thunk


he

Finding the End of Books

The onus of ownership is on me
and bereft of all meaning.
and all of this scuff unpreparing
and

straight
up the glassy things of walls
Oh! so how. All the walls, the
hat's brim thats prepared by leaving it

alone.
These Tomes stop toming and exist only
is

harder, I know, that these are not
discrete things though they aren't;
Funny

that Marx should finally rectify this stuff
and leave the solidness of this alone.

Rycine

Rycine, what visits, what
pushes against your cock,
what resists

Satiny, and matte they

Dream of Love

How do I loveth thee, Love? In
—compatibly; Count the bitumen, I think,
the cornices: and it is this much.

No darkness around the eyes, my Love
no making up has needeth this—or does

Why mark the way that children dream it?
the tail of whatever in it flails, coils
turns, and eventually, by measures, ends

Coupon Expert

(for Betsy)

Your thriftiness of this and this
is a model of excellence and this
and this and this and this

Inside You

I have this secret golden thing shining
under a bushel. and when my hand
touches the small of your back
—oh so softly and comes out
with a kidney!
full of all of this!

Friends

(for Avi)

Whether knowing, or think knowing
similarly,
no matter; both as if actual.

Looking down
and he too looking down and seeing up

The thread that one finds and pulls out
and replaces

Hi Red Center

Hi sign so unmired in red!
in italics on a flag above
my dead body, above my
grave.

For drinking continuously
what's delicious but bad for
black coffee from a pint glass.

The ickiness of it distracts
with all the acids burning and
delicious browny fats that're
in there.

The bag of candies, or the
bacon vats of showmenship

and florid wings and leafy
flaps of serifs of red inter-
jective points on flags

a Gift of Anton Yelchin

And yet
there are problems with certitude, too
like that none are ever ineffable. Even
you, knowing that everyone wants to be
plussed and not minusèd.

The supple young skin of Anton Yelcin
that's served up and misconstrued—just
young, supple, full of blood, having hair
that still growing, excitable

responsive to the touch, and virile

the Hellhound and the Platypus

The hellhound and the platypus.
and the dog bound up in complex
tux with a velvety cumberbund, descends
escalator and explains in niceties
the points of class to platypus.

Beach Vacation

It seemed like some sands
clinging—

and a flash;
what the tan looks like bespeckled

—it seemed like the brushing
away with the back of the hands

is still after.

the Pumpkin Girl

Rancor thee
who could
take; and then again equally
leave all of this. A pumpkin-
smelling teen girl, long jersey skirt
quietly dark cotton swishing
this way and that on an afternoon
that's too hot for it. Could've had
a binder arm-clasped to the chest
looking this way and that furtively,
looking at me.

Over the heart
how when absent is hard to
see anyone. How when her—
when the beers come, one
after the other, after the other;
some time later—the world is
reduced to just bubble and hop,
and no man who reaped them,
or other friend who's drunkening.

Rancor, we. Bowl of potato salad
that one leaves, one takes home.

On the Road

Each of them on a ledge
be backed up, edge to edge

and the elbows
held into the chests

and slowly the breathing
and the bellows of their lungs

quiver. And I too, quiver
in breathing


Following the road goes
wherever the road does

and easing around that corner
together I would beseech her

and think of bellowing but
would not bellow, for know what

doesn't bend, neither grows; so—
So.

King of the Hill

Is this getting better
or getting worse? Slicker
animations (no doubt
they're Korean, (because
it's cheaper there) which
is fair) But—because,

today I read Bobby's entry
on wikipedia, and there's
some controversy over his
middle name—but not
really, because Butch
just comes from the episode
"Torch Song Hillogy" where
Peggy put his name on
Hank's old football whatever—

But she wanted Jeffery,
not Butch, but maybe—
Hank was so mad—he's
a man—Peggy, she knows him.
I wouldn't put it past him
to want Butch to have been
Bobby's middle name.

Duum

Never knew what
went well, as an oil drum
next to another one.

Hears the empty sounds
of them, and they abound
without beings struck

(or struck so softly as
to not be a strike, but
a barely caress) but

does it end?

Dreamt of You and Woke

Dreamt of you and woke
dreaming of you. So new
window, illusory casement
that I've somehow made up
from kisses and constituent stubble-burn
ravaged my lips and chin
all night and into the next day
waning red. I know you said
nothing.

I've never loved communication
so much—kept the photos
saved them in a folder on the desktop.
I know what being enshrined is like
and miss the shrine.

Dear You

Dear You,

I admit to nothing
but being verite, who
am the recipient of
all-day-long fuff and
swallow. And the new
tower about which you
must've heard everyone
speaking, is being built
still, despite difficulties
leasing all the spaces.

I, gleaning all of this from
headlines read over shoulders
of dejected commuters who're
worse than us—or who
in past, with virtue of dis-
tance, I remember us to be.

Amply

(for my mother)

You

as Trianon or vermeil

artefact. This static (

O! how it resumes) &

it resumes—But you

no lessening of this,

but adding. And adds

here even after adding.

I love you so. &

So.

Kosure Haiku

Haiku is a strange and specific art. These are the things I understand about it: 1) there are three lines consisting of five, seven, and five syllables; 2) nature should be a prime element; 3) the structure of Japanese (words consisting of monosyllables eg. wa, be, fu) make the lines of a haiku distinct tonally, and of regular lengths (this is completely impossible to replicate in English)—that's it.

For these reasons, and others I've begun a twitter account exclusively for haiku. Because of the restrictions of this form, I attempt to follow the poetical convention of representing liniation in-line. Normally in this way, line breaks are marked by a backslash surrounded on either side by two spaces—twitter only allows for one; my apologies.

Kosure Haiku

Plea

Oh my Christ, who died
on the cross, die for this.

Lying Lips

This shit, what it
means in context
—I don't know.

But think that
how the lips
move; worry

what in head
moves quite
constantly.

So, in absence
of sense—
of obstinate

cage for keeping
the good things
in.

What Happened Besides the Barbecue

The bad part of town is
a home for some. The cab
comes in morning to take one
back to the airport, however
the night was.

The glut of empty streets
and darkness in that place
comes, as the sunrise does
or doesn't but sends a text
message apologizing;

the lake house is too nice.
The silence a solace from
the city is white rice steaming,
fork-fluffed and waiting on
the side of a curry.

The squawk's nice, this walk
ice.

Stravinsky

Igor Stravinsky had a hat
and I, don't know how to think
about that but through jealousy.

I, as the sages read endlessly, live
in the constant emotion of listening
listening, and I know that there's

inequity there, but love how the voice
sounds. Love how la seriozado expounds.
Love how to find oneself in the paying
attention.