Poems of the Drone Years
//
Drive
Thriving in the ghettoized march
Driving on with emergency brake
How long will it last?
The drunken girls drive into telephone poles
Low mosquito night,
metal clangs against dead wood
And clay-men scream at cell towers
For the last time clocks annoyed affairs
How long will it go on?
Sputtering machine of ill-motion
Abandoned on the boiling tarmac
Abortion of a vague feeling of sickness
Pulverized metal gods ablaze
Fetus-oil of bygone skulkers
Roadside in the tall grasses
Crowds unaware of their crowded recursion
The harlequin chaeuffer runs down the street
Downhill thudding rebel yelling
to save the bleeding driver’s tender meat
//
Myth
Hacking into heaven
The counterfeiting of divine structures
Hacking vaginal cracks in a dream mansion
Black hole culture
Lost Gods of Negativity
Careening downhill through history
Exploding stars are projections
Of pent-up libido energy
Wanting to burst and radiate
Extreme persecution fantasies
From 6 feet under
To 6 feet apart
Dried turned flooded riverbed
Washing horses downstream
In lightning storms beasts go rushing
A flickering cinema of mud-river dread
Stonewall builders
In the desert
Whitewashed clay-men stonewalling reality
The end of the world slowly grows in a HiveMind
In seedling form it’s nurtured by a symphony of compromises
Lit on fire by projections
Projector fires consume the blank screens
Swallowed by middle-evening tar,
Slick with decay
Dreams of lost wandering through dark labyrinths
Deep underneath unearthly temples
Vague katabasis of lost boys
Or is it fateful inhumation?
Convalescences in Winter
Pandemics in Spring
The Rise and Fall of each
Masked metabolisms
Crescendos & decrescendos ad infinitum
Peristaltic waves shatter every dawn
Omnipresence and dead silence of friends
Vagrant waiting in shadows for change
Hooded with a pipe
The pendulum swings its cutting edges
Desparate for entrail spillage
The avant-garde suffers in a pit
Alert
Arms outstretched with solar sails
Ready to sweep away the broken pieces
To blow open every door
With an army of monkey philosophers
//
A Rumination On Boundaries
Suddenly all the dancers
Are concerned about their boundaries
All effort turns to erect them
Substitute erections of the walled humans
The stage is a boundary
A line of officers protects the ringleader
From entering the crowd
And so the crowd wants to tear his face off
Black noisy destruction of objects
The sound of boundaries broken
Glassy displays boarded up with used non-wood
Dull concealment of unsold precious kitsch
Leaking manipulator of fate
Give us just one day
Flame-topped for fun
Terrible collaborators in the middle of night
//
Unwritten Rules
I was once fired from a job for "looking bored"
I was once asked to leave home because I "had a darkness around me"
Don't look bored
Don't accidentally carry darkness around you
And yet
One must cancel oneself
CANCELED!
A large letter C sewn onto work uniforms
Work uniforms as cumrags
//
Oceans
The origin of the oceans began with a lost boy
Who wandering scared through the wilderness
Nerves alarming, arteries pulsing blood
Transformed into a large, unblinking eye
Perceiving all subtleties in the landscape
Directly, peripherally, in every method of looking possible
And in his lonely eye a salty tear slowly welled
And he held the surface tension of this tear for eons
And in its watery & empty glaze was refracted all of The World
Until he could hold it no more
And spilled his loneliness across the planet
//
Rotation 1
Silent excitement at citations
Perspiring exciting rotations
Aspire to a spire
& a liar & a liar
On fire
Watchfire
Hired & fired
Wiring watchfires
On walls with wheels
Letting us crazy
Into the wilderness of history
Can you imagine?
Risk imagery
If the Kosmos had a prison
It could all be contained on Earth
If prisoners were asked:
What do u want?
A hologram of unfree souls
Overlapping for efficiency
Fate social
Rewiring watchfires
Shriveling and waiting
From deathbed of Kosmos
From watchfires blown
And fire! And fire!
Wildfire! Wildfire!
The spire is on fire!
Labyrinthitis and
Scorched mind
On fire on fire!
Red metal
& shame on fire
& shaming fire
//
Crowd Planter
Planting things in crowd?
- or -
A crowd of plants?
No jokes about death?
- or -
Only jokes about death?
Galvanizers in the dark
Sad alchemy of inside soldiers
Quarantined and hungry
The sinks are clogged with dogs last bark
They’re edited in half
No alchemy for lost blue dogs
Gnawed by pseudo-worry
In enclaves plants a faker gaffe
//
Vulgar 1
What howled-on savage dares to hype the vulgar
Quivering alone sans slave morals
Feel in the apocalypse a first horizon?
Who wills to gaze through faceted eyes of decay,
Eyes seering shut
Refracting inwards uncurls the day
it's own strange birth as a tentacular alien?
Who wills glee for masquerades
Gambling on myriad insane kings
Loosened onto potholed rearfronts
The last leaking moaning of their raids?
Who wills to organize disparate fronts,
As talented as they are lunatic,
Erection of a supermother
Birthing superhuman others?
An unlocatable itch burrowed through thick skin
Or a doctor asking Does this hurt?
As he feels you up?
To feel the itch yourself and get close,
but don't quite find it there within?
Have you found any phantom instincts
Irradiated pleasure when
diagnosticians feel you up?
//
Peristalsis
Summer in the belly of a worm
The scream of the red passage
One thing’s belly is another’s bleeding highway
Cocoon falls
Past Oral
Contractions dripping expansions
Vistas seen in pinholed mauls
Summer in the belly of the worm
Screams of monarchs
Stetched across past oral
projections contracted
Summer in a belly of the worm
Golden entrails left behind
A passage etched in shimmering slime
Sinewy sining waves
Ambience of hellsnaked terms
The way is through, not around
Contracting projections
Projected contractions
//
Opportunity
An aging Man
constantly missing his ship
Who on his raft carries a burnt model
In an unlabeled bottle
Drugged student of teeming life inside
Hacker of immortality
Hacking heaven adrift
Undying, unliving, a survivor forever
Sea-bait, an ocean pursed his lips
The dying Man
On leaking raft without a plan
With hazel Eye to refract falling stars
But not the hands to catch the stars
The Full-Grown Youth
Microcosmic wrinkles, of face and mind,
Clay-covered, absorbed and containing
the stretch-longing cries of cancered youth
of mundane toiling mute refraining
Man, with your boundless music
Immediately motheaten and composted
Destined to obsolescence from the misconception
//
Mocking Herds
New Sacæa
A mock King elected
Wage slaves freed
Festivals of lust
Packed in a single sunburning cycle
Throngs of masked raiders
whimper in minor modes rotated through coliseums
Relieved of sanity
Scintillating Spring pandemonia
For mocking herds
A mock King is unearthed
From under a prisoned rock
Extracted from the egg of a mythic squid
A dead man girdled in gold chains
Tumescent grows the mean tongue
Mass exoduses, frenzied on the run
of termites gone to rot dank wood
Mock King crucified
Election and sacrifice
Mocking herds
Mocking herds
//
Lies
White lies
Black lies
Green red yellow lies
New lies
War lies Peace lies
lies lies lies
A woman ironically grinds a man
And grinds on him
Humiliated grinding for his discomfort
Supposedly a dance
Ground man echoes
Grounds for something
Unborn
Lies lies lies
Birthed in black ice
Polished plastic or aflame in their beds
Or starved or corrupted by grey molehills
Somewhere on and on a mountain lies
Buttons depressed they’re plastic lies
Lost driving with burnt engine
around all sides perceiving
We get fractured glimpses of the the thing in full
Over dirt-varied time
All graves have been seen
Crowded in cascading stone rows
What’s been seen ground man echoes
//
Submerged with Fists
Those masters of a handless art
Unbecoming limbs
Bent in and atrophied
Clanging down the wooden halls
A game played without fun
Laughless
Belated
Spineless bundles of nerves
Nettling together in dank-cold fisted night
Hello?
The dead man on the phone
Hatches plans into your abstinence nest
Sleepless
A demented destruction-sonata
buries itself into motheaten eardrums
Insidious and submerged with fists
Burrowing in vacated dreams
To the din of a prison full of limbs
Clattering empty cups on metal bars
Threnody frenzy at the millenium mists
//
Silenus’s Baby
The helpless girl’s belly is sliced in half
Where an organ was removed
The tumor gone it’s now sewn shut,
a fuschia crack they paste with goo
Rests on her bed, feathers blackened down
Beneath elongated mirror, radiated gut
Bored, not knowing what to do
Cancered Daughter! Behold your imagery in the
Temporary respite of artifice!
Resting, a strong head on its detaching hair
Your doors are shutting down this season
These shortened days of poop jokes!
Furnished with a hole of reason
And living dances, improvisations tarred
On the mouldered platforms of closed bars
Malign the barricaded streets of smoke
I gaze in your eyes like statued Silenus nurturing a wild infant
In Fall’s expanded nights under World’s Unfair pavilions
Wanting to go under with you, your ‘crack’ is closed to the outside
Beyond this fevered winter I will carry you,
riding out this toxic tide,
And foment this screaming cicada’s brew
//
Dinner Party
At dinner on the deep underside
of an ungrowing city
Silver diner on a festered marsh
Centered roses fuschia block the gaze
Smoking pylons spew a world’s-worth of black heat
The flame-headed boywoman
With psycho teeth and glass-shocked eyes upturnt
Says that we are not living
May once have been living, but not anymore
Probably an afterimage we dine in
Worth nothing words soon end
An effusive communal laugh bellies out before
it is quickly swallowed
And undigestable goes to a history snake-gut
Cancering around infinity
A tumor on eternity
//
How Long Will It Go On?
How long will it go on?
How long will it go on?
How long to keep the foody down?
Burning esophagus, a hearth
Burning sarcophagus, billboarded town
How long will it go on?
How long will it go o?
The same old tired song
That just won’t play along
How long to turn that old song off?
How long will it go on?
Insidiously planted
Deep rooted fantasy of dust
How long will it go on?
How long must it must it must?
//
Hellmouth
When children begin asking questions
About magic and death
Any life is possible
Inconsequential breath
Infinity of pre-impossible
Smirking bunkered stormland
Arcades closed to children
Traffic light refraction pane
Acid drops on the steaming metal roof
A vehicle hurdles in the rain
Guided by disembodied bleeding hand
Trauma-bonded til the end
The wards they all are shut
Policed, industrialized, harbored smut
Parses out in rows
And columns full of insane blows
The gates they are all opened
Barricade of despair loosens
Heading into melee scramble
Mute cries of rebel yeller babble
Hand-to-hand and mouth-to-mouth
Hallowed whinging dry heaves up
That mallowed mellower despair
That folks across the radio air
A toxic brew, don’t feed your pup
Red hallowed hound in hallowed mouth
//
Seams So
Seam rippers on the prowl
Challenging the seamless
The latest slicing open mess
A moaning pleasure sends an owl
Through gaping head he lessens less
Scissors meet the owl’s loom
But trying hard cannot undress!
//
Someone
Melee man without a plan
Exit tribal caravan
He has no club, no axe to grind
And yet there is nothing to find
A caravan recursed reroutes
Dissenting melee man chased out
Reciting folklore like a whore
What a bore and stiff with gout
The rappers rap resenting moar
Don’t they get sick of their mouthsores?
Resentful man, dumbed: A Paean
God rekindled to a snore
A song confused, tongue-lashed and mean
What could this tired tirade mean?
But no, they’ve misjudged
Not melee man but dissonant man
Who upturned spikes the caravan
Overruled: the motley and begrudged
//
Alarum
The things they don’t stop beeping
Messages convoluted crossed
Living impoverishly glossed
Civil War be steeping
The children are all burnt
But that’s OK
Ancient Greece is turnt today!
Finger-pointing masquerade
Never again will you get paid
So just drink your Lemonade(tm)
And say you’ll never be afraid
But pacing you will never yearn
Shrill alarms neglecting turns
//
Drowning Man
A drowning man
Surfaces periodically
Random bobbing of head on the horizon
Looks erratic to other man
Vaguely erotically
But he is drowning
Inhaling stuff into his lungs
That he should not be downing
And trying to get above it all
And to prevent his own downfall
Is it on a person to constantly prove their own innocence?
Before and after every thing done,
Not even done, but the vaguest thought
The thought of it being thought
Cringing hatred!
Voiced?!
The voice is vaunted because it is cruelly trodden
Expression or exhibition: black-tabooed
We don’t live in a free state, all the states are sodden
Boo!!!
Is it on the drowning man to prove he’s drowning,
Is it on the drowning man to prove he’s worthy of rescue,
Which is not to say actually capable of being rescued,
From the vertigoing sinkhole of history?
One cycle after the next
Entrancing around a devil’s zoetrope
Or perhaps he finds an island, a foothold
And fishes some people out
Those few who despair not to pull him in
Out of resentment
And on precarious ledge around a cycling sinkhole
Then what?
Wait?
Or maybe to give in,
what lay upon the other side of gravity?
The weight of history as false?
Light-stuffed shirt of novelty?
//
Acid Preachers
There are herds of preachers escaped from the zoo
On the dismayed streets choruses are taboo
Who stage a bickering over age-old shit
Looking for a newer zoo
Acid icewater drips on spotlights aimed at stars
There are spiderwebs in a mother's drink
By a fake stove that overheats the radiated child
Who plays with a doll house virtually full of worms
//
‘Untitled Cancer’
The tired benediction hurting
soil and dissaray it total
armies red and black and white
Moaning wretching
Disarraying boring
Total benediction curling
Malediction total tries
A vent of malady leaking skies
But no sighting no mulling
Army of chaos
Always spreading always growing
//
Routers
Everyone is talking
Shouting and abouting
But nobody hears them
On culture trash they all go snouting
Snap a self in two
Not existing who knows who
It’s all so vague a goblin’s crew
Abouting to go routing do
A raven’s skull refracted alley
Reveling but merely droning
Droning but less than mere moaning
Never make it to the valley
//
Fall
A cancerous sore
On the pin-holed
Absentee
Why is their hair like that?
The only reason they leave their woodwork
Is to collect data
Cold evidence
Documents dripping sweat
Sawed-off fiends
Shuttering doors
Clang randomly
Or do they just crawl out to die in a courtyard?
Urinating in the rose bush
Concrete backyard
Brittle cold blue-black autumn night
Frankincense and myrrh yellow clouded
Wafts through the bricked
Labyrinth of laboring post-industrial decay
Burns the dead eyes fuschia
Fire tears refract and premonition
vague, the origin of civil war
On the city's smoldering fringes
A one-eyed boy nurses a hologram
Distant cousin of providence
//
The Bubble Makers
Ephemeral trains of fragile bubbles
Shaped by a lunging origin of wind
From the child’s pink mouth
Each bubble a coherent ecosystem
Bounded
Expiring into the oppressive atmosphere
Each followed by another and affected by the previous
Residual soapy film of the wand
Translucent film from escaped bubble to escaping bubble
Briefly, bubbles coexist, sharing a mutual drift and refracting the other's light and gas
Affecting each other’s drifting fits
If they collide they'd pop immediately, their unstable internal atmosphere exploding
Becoming One with the dead-same atmosphere
Noxious ether of everything and nothing
Losing that iridescent fragility which makes them so
Magically articulate
The closer one gets the less they exist
Eventually, the bottle empties
The child scrapes the bottom
Asks for more
There are no more bottles today
Strange new soaps are invented
As the children muse over alien bubbles
As the children muse inside alien bubbles
Affecting each other’s iridescence
//
Inchworm
The inchworm only knows two dimensions,
because it is its surveyor,
Between the second and third dimension
Crawling along the cold, dark steel table, and onto another plane,
A sky-blue rectangular card that picked up and suspended in air
Peristaltic inchworm draped over the edge, head and ass on two distinct planes
Each end expansive in different directions, dirempted trains
The card can be leaned against another object for exaggerated verticality
With the inchworm at precipice
It can only suspect something beyond the flat
Can only suspect nothing in middling skin
Suspicion is a temporary gift
//
Otoacoustics
Two tones alarming persist
Droning radiant in gaseous air,
So close in pitch, nearly indistinct!
No one would be able to tell the difference,
But there is no No One
The ear is not a No One
It is tricked, and tickled
Enforcing errors, the two tones beat the aural
An ear's sculpted mimicry, a micro-harping windchime
Inhumed in the skull
Imperfect imitation of the aeolian chaos
All those bad cells, cilia of aural hells
And so the vertigoing ear hearsnearly identical tones
not as two,
not as one,
but fabricates an entirely new, illusory tone
To refract through the skull
Or through a bird-brain’s model of a deadman’s skull
Far away inside, spiraling the din, and
lucid, terribly new and wrong
The new, the fake!
Screaming distortion
Screaming from the cochlea
Peripheral in all directions
Emissions trapped!
Emissions trapped!
//
21
Plank on the floor amongst settled planks
Halved by vitriol
Bookshelves littered with books hovering above,
always about falling
Flaccid moth flits
Parabolic and pre-dead
Frenetic against the amnesia robe
The Amnesia Moth
No
Just the planks armed inside itself
Bent over and sulking, anti-hovering
An amnesia shielding
a social hieroglyph
The neck without memory and
Memory unarched persistently
Itches
Zillions, sans mass
Catholics teach ‘mass’ means to ‘send away’
Skittering across the transparent globe and
draping over the edge of history
Mother misfired, baby goes a sailing into orbit
Infant a distortion seen through opposite’s glass eye
Ceremonial eyes of the future watching to discern
Where one’s now disappearing, barely after books they earned
That same one did appear,
as a plank amongst planks
The leg twitches and the words react like rubber
to kill what they depart from
//
22
Injunctions to imitate a trapezoid reified
Limbs mime angles awkwardly,
but did not want to mean to want to
And stacked, but pasted too
Not wanting to mean, but to pivot undeified
Quantities quantitating
Kinetics jerk from out the void
to take a gulp of vice
And slither back to invisibility
Imitating the trapezoid in private
from a non-distance
Paper-walled and leaning backwards
Or is it forwards? The jerks have no words
To say: Manipulating? or manipulated?
Phosphorescent bundles slowly bound
Barbaric sinew in tedious groupings
Translucent across untimely eras
Under stairs, numbered imitations
Always stacked, variegated
Their meanings
mere leanings
//
Of Worms and Elephants
Said the scientist:
‘the worms used to digest cardboard
to crawl glacially
across the sundried dirt,
chasing an elephant,
before they too baked alive and
encrusted into the desert ground.
And the elephant, once itself encrusted
with many hands that wanted to touch it, and
to bury it,
vanished to a point’
//
Heart Before the Course
Training horse to push cart
Poor training relentless,
and so it keeps pulling rightly
Hating its own voice, and chasing after it,
trying unsuccessfully to swallow its own gaseous emission,
And so pushing the cart wrongly, and so also re-emitting
But pushing it still, directionless in all still ways
The heart goes beating before its course
//
Concert
Another pebble ripples
Beige, another punched key
Harvesting scales with hammers,
Unwed and sinking fast
Mating with plastic lights
Wanting desiring: double-negatives pile-driven
From the perspective of an impossible efflorescence,
Projectors fire ahead of its extinguishment
Trapped in the extinguished,
Shields oriented inward
Worm-loops repeat the muttering distancing
As a propeller does do a stream breaking
//
Spinal Condensers
Hexa-frown, flat limpid, pillars fragmented
Manufactured scatterings
Imagine a leader with a cinderblock
strung to his head,
gravity’s accessory,
then there is an image of deformation.
So long as he has no idea it is there,
So long and naturally placed,
though the weight stays same the neck grows more prostrate
Prostrater and prostrater contracts the spine
Not spineless but a condensation of spine
Spinal concentrate
A muttering foam of words
At walls and into the anechoic air
like a hand-soap pump, pumping its last dregs
Remember when you sat on my chest and the air
drained from my lungs?’
//
Lapdog
Yapping ‘help-help!’
Sending away from its preservation
A little spill-over-self from an eternal petting
And roiling around in the whitesea of neutered unborn
Fear of terror love of terror
Seat it on a stolen chair
Loving the stolen chair, groveling
Saturated in its mean urine
This little servant flickering it’s pseudo-doing
Servant undoing the never-done
Pleaser of pleasers
Pleasantries etched in urine
A drawing of a head, sliver-planed and bisected,
Faces no one in a drawer, within a rich office unsexed
It feels like a lot of things flickering past,
Fast feelings metabolized as hints forgotten
Holes of pleasantries drilled all-over and all through a filmy nerve-bundle
Swiss-cheesed, a tibetan singing bowl sings its gauzy song
The matrix of a lapdog's discontent
The dilettante's lapdog
//
Still
Blackened relevance
Repeated, as all carpets make them do the repeating ‘thing’
And child with a boombox in a corner somewhere
And sociopath child hating the pat on the head.
‘very pretty drawing’
No innocence tossed
On the hunt for kamikazes to be led
Go back and uncapitalize the capitals,
Go back and change the water's dumb and obvious consistent way
Here it went back and here it is back,
A diversion diverted into itself
Sailing the black tar night of the silent midwest,
A hermetically sealed car, with a friend and a disintegrated music,
Merely breathing and pulsating
Into an icy present nearly touched
All the pictures are crooked and all the nails are jagged
And all the poisoned quills are unused
and all the saints still sulk over their melancholic desks, imitating gravity,
sucking into and at them.
//
Wind Sucks
Someone once said that wind doesn't blow,
It sucks.
A revelation!
A director says that wind equals mystery
Mystery has blown the community away
There is no process, its just wherever the sticks
fall onto the wind
And the herds reek of doppler
The fire has to be blamed for the illusions it generates
For its complicity
And there is no depth were it not for the pile of rotting leaves
Piling up on each other ceaselessly, masses attracting other stray bits,
Other identifiables hardly worth naming
For every yearning to get to the bottom of things there is a heaper of useless things
A gestation prolonged until death
Incuriosity intensified into a vague mood,
An epochal project burns beyond your striving
The epoch has also been heaped onto the fire
Smoldering activity of the brood
//
Ghostbaiting
The lust-leech on a ghost,
thinking that by sucking hard it can bring
out the blood, and make it run,
like it once did.
If so, it would still suck it dry
and kill it into a ghost again.
The ghost's eternal killer.
A ghost comes out for it’s lover
A leech slithers over it
And a ghost disappears
The love agony of the leech
//
Acid Gut Ballad
The final spells come howling forth
The last gasp of enchantment the most putrid,
Rising from the deepest bowels
Rotting in the acid gut
So hanging on its own puzzlement
Thinking deeply of how to draw its ears, and
ballad-mongering a lil spittle
A lil sticky acid goo
For who?
Wherever the nails stick in the mumbling
Mumbling its own type of spell,
mumbling the impossibility
of its own spell-forging capacity,
Where are the mumble collectors?
And the interpreters?
//
Nonexistence
A record of nonexistence,
cannot drop anchor with a ballad.
anchors are tiny, and their swing send
one erratically careering, and of their course not very well.
Very annoying
I have no idea how to interpret blinking signals, and beeping sounds,
though I like them greatly, with a puzzle-face
Sent out in the middle of the night
where they go ignored, veering past the bedridden,
Signals signaling every feeling felt
It remains to be seen if the record can be produced,
or if the records sent into space for eternity will be
readied with their ignorance to signal their ignorance,
desperation programmed into them and occluding their truth
as I have pathetically prepared them so eagerly to do.
But if the record of one’s non-existence cannot be written, that does not mean one had lived.
//
Womb
When scratching the walls of the womb, don’t claw too hard,
Because it would wound, and prevent one's birth
Stillborn in the thrashwomb
But not scratching too hard does not mean birth either,
The unborn may scribble a panorama,
a chalk-drawn window on prison walls,
in case one is imprisoned forever wilting and burbling,
Or the head gets caught on an unrocking pelvis
Which cannot be determined by anything
one would know how to guess.
//
Baby Scorpion
Baby scorpions are the most dangerous because
they discharge all their venom in the first Sting.
Only later does the baby scorpion learn how to conserve its venom
The baby scorpion, when reflecting in the mirror in old age,
still sees the image of it’s venomous youth projected back onto its tired face.
And its memory clenches, straining to release this venom,
because it is really the venom itself that wants to be unleashed, to extinguish itself
To this drive the aging baby is slave
//
Mind Bottled
talk of 'message in bottle' down by beach
the same recently cast out, returned
ocean won’t do its job
but dont know where beach is
ears hear
The babbling, eyes bleared
looks bad, looks for hands in dark wind
fumble to read
found wrong
should have been sent farther through time, and then more far repeat,
ocean cast, found by same night-stalkers, bottle kicked
dry up in sad sand, must re-cast
not found, babbling of the ocean
makes the illusion-words
and who could find a thing, in all these things?
plead for flood. sit on drift-log
forge no damn'd thing
bottle meant not to return so soon
//
Abstraction A
Problems to be for those without a chasm.
in case of sans, be considered a number or otherwise await.
Approaching, still strength enjoys the freedom to start strength
Looping, decide and maximize.
The enjoyment of skills, label the port that feeds the baby heart
Enhancement grows the moth, controls time-managing estimations
And line for deliverables,
ever a mountain system edict, the syndication meta edict,
shall benefit from plants, short-circuit the tickles of art
Integrate, release, draft, tag-wield arcs,
wielding first and last efforts
Lyrically low-key. Minorly efforted.
Fabricate installation or lay down feet,
calculate the number of stares born numb,
the shoulder able to lead with teeming triads.
Weld a certificate for speaking for sounds.
Know the porch code, for areas to vehicularize backgrounds
Unask the necessary questions,
dogsbody for owners above the museums closed until next civilization
Be able to get in and out of cars often,
throughout the day sense one’s character, exclamate over making real things!
Quiptificate-cleanse power of its sealed rivers ran under
Approximate nothings all over the region and make clouds
//
Overwrought / Broken
Right focus of attention,
intense desire, hard muscle,
force-work,
face: steel
Constricts fall of the drunken,
misdirecting path of the gunshot.
In hands intention-tensed, mind flooded with righteousness,
Spirit saddled with zealousness, snobbishly altruistic
ride the blind mules of care
Missing the mark
Falling broken in pieces
The Overwrought are The Broken
//
Unbred
They have uttered, on the goings past
that a position will rot
behind some piles, a window
unhidden.
Decay or dessicated,
But, atop tables, unhidden behind endless piles,
windows behind tables, littered with clear spindles,
plane lines, black torpors,
Hidden behind piles,
ruled marks and windows piled on tables
of almost atomized spindles
silvered decay, ornamental poverty
Ghostbaiters in the dirt-present unceasing
If time is a river, then littered with timeless objects
All colorful rainbow spectrum until
flat no-color
Tree stumps pre-existent, wed to parched riverbed,
but even the like are not tabled, nor the recursed,
or spindled, or planar, but maybe something thunken
else unshapen in pre-shapely tinsel-land
as yet unmade, unbred
Misguided, judgments bought, piles scattered thunkenly
and constantly judged, gray torpor, deemed 'If possible',
but an impish spindle in the ceaseless pre...
Piles, piles, endless after rot.
And still the pre-position pseudo-poises
stillborn preformed poises not
Imprint of some thing littered, transparent
else inside the plastic preformed.
no relief, transparencies past transparencies past
//
Dustbin
Born into a dustbin
Destined for obsolescence from the misconception
A linty infant
Saturated in disappearance swill,
Reeks of zillions of whispy suggestions
Dirty in the unformed nebula
Wants cloak, needs everything for cloak,
Aspires to saturation cloak for respite,
But less than one thing and lessening fast
No learnings in vulgar dustbin
Hoarded together by those filaments
That the clump whole and fake despises
//
Conjureless
The crowd gets up to leave
All contours beige themselves again
Odorless wisps of voice
Willingly unable to will return,
Ghosts unintentionally malinger
Unable to conjure new listeners
Endless zoetrope days of the conjure-less
//
The Smarted
Jagged on all edges
Sharpened by practical misuses
Smarted citizens, grey-toothed tools
Sad! Animals sprinkled
On the jungle lawn
Engaged and collaborative
Ah, but when their individual territory breached,
then the sharpening discourse-hunt!
Tension bred between the hunt
Caesuras breaking birdbrained action
//
Moire Defense
Three cardinals stream past window
Beyond a smudged window pane,
Beyond a locked metal diamond grate,
A meager spire-scaffold insipid juts in pale sky
Diagonal black wires occlude its view
The moire-defense of a limpid malaise,
Uncured of three-dimensions
Creates illusions of bird-life
//
Dressed for War
Desperates dressed as wars unwaged
Mosaic'd like people yet unmapped
A symmetry of pre-bludgeoning
ManBabies drive tiny wheels with big heads
Insufferably relevant
Insufferably coordinated
Precision: determinate
Hygiene: precise
Posed like The Unmapped
All givens given
All dressed up for the trenches,
A people unsexed clenches
Prepared to exile, faking rapt
//
Abstraction B
Scribbling on heads through glass
The glass shifts
Heads due to be white-markered
Scribble zeroes
Oh's or airs, on heads-through glass
Bisecting headstuff, tilted shiftings
Zeroes scribble shifting glass-through
Shifting dues
O Scribbly head, whiten the marker
With a secant all the way through just once
Urge a formula for the outer-head muscle
O, fine, unraveling not shifting due
Shift a point all the way through once
All-Over
A cloud of efficiency
Gets itself All-Overed
In the glass book of constraint
Scribble the sigh
It is so marked
//
False Modesty
All the innnocents announce:
"just harmless lil me"
Echoes yelling, droning on
doing active lil go-getting
Recycling scat
Mousy little pinholes
Strains to make looks to the past
Faking meek, the king of rats
As yet no backgrounds or foregrounds
As yet no contrast or low-contrast
As yet no figure or anti-figure
As yet no needs to be met or unmet
//
Abstraction C
Last night immense vault
An arc spoked with concrete
Flags planted on baited breaths
Flags ungrown, skyscrapers of salt
A vault for children to hurl from,
Plunging to their lawsuit deaths
Tiny splinter,
big round vault
Zillions, lights were orgies up high
Orgie is short for organization
Stiff lil splinter
Ill lil splinter
Glom of many faceless things tacked a-wall
Brown-occluded blue planes: right
Melted bells, automated sighs,
Faint mauve splints
Cylinders: fine
Spokes the paragon of cutting-out
curbs: pastels
Skulking goes the revel rout
//
Pigeons
Two pigeons wobble on the burning asphalt,
warbling and bouncing in the road at the intersection of two city streets.
Pecking at fallen bread, two throbbing stray points in a grid.
Suddenly and expectedly a car turns the corner and squashes one, drives on.
Reduced to a stain in the road.
The other pigeon grayly pecks along the bend,
It’s share of bread has just been doubled,
And it can also eat it’s pancaked friend
In a distant world an automaton learns to ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
//
The Future
Sitting alone in a solemn room
Listening to artificial music
Waiting to be dragged to prison
For something you didn’t do
Decades ago
A premonition
Not to be seen until
The day I die
//
Pedestal Life
Life has emigrated to the gallery
Life can no longer support life
Life must be funded
Hauled into the clinical viewing rooms of the galleries
The living have no interest in analysis
More interested in watching or mere witnessing
Entertaining how life behaves,
when brought into the realm of dead reflection
//
Exaction
To write the vaguest of sentiments with rational precision
*exists* No gradation of inexactness
If they must be inexact,
intensively inexact
Nothing wants to be exactly what it is
//
Peerless Care
The poets friend: Do you know anyone who writes poetry?
The poets partner: No
The limbless poets peck trash fed through moire prison bars
The limbs of the feeders expressively contorted
And regurgitate to themselves in landfills of prisons
//
'Momentum'
The so-called momentum of a century
cant bear the weight because it is just a dumb number
All bow before the big dumb numbers!
If the numbers count higher
The progress grow higher
And so the idiots build their spire
//
The Litterers
Soon the process will be complete
the transformation into a statue
What will be the final pose
or have all the decades and centuries been the long pose
it will not be pretty, graceful, or tortured
the inward awareness of the process will make it ugly
the times littered with ugly life poses
Litterers of themselves
//
Mass Psychologists
The need to disappear before one ever appeared
Mass psychology mutters, ‘leave me alone to my corner’
But all the curators have removed the corners
To remain unformed for as long as possible
//
Delayed Appointment
An appointment with the sublime later this fall
When all things wither and die
It is fall all year,
Preventing fall’s wishes to hasten death
Even Fall dysfunctions
To look forward to something
bred in an environment which dreams backwards
A vent for the undead
Blocked with tarbrains
//
Abortion at the Milennium
Wait harder
All the deformed heads crawl out of their basements
deformed and over-formed
Big baby heads advanced and readied
trawling streets grafted on stolen kinetic limbs
Drifting over the landscape
Scratching land, barnacled with hope
Quilled with positivity
Covered in the ash of their making
Snouting out all the colors in the grey din
that if denatured and isolated would effloresce
as its always wanted to
Aborters of the unformed
//
The Missing
An entire army has gone missing
It's not that people are needed
ain’t no shortage of people
people are a nuisance to the people
Alarms and search crews are exhausted
Never wanting to look or be seeded
compelled by some drive or curiosity weeping
the means to train new expeditions not sought after
besides, the only ones who could have taught such an expedition
are the missing
//
Play
Quarantined to hacking play
A wolves’ rehearsal with teeth and nails
From out the den moaning-mocks
their right to play with teeth and nails
To persectued ignore austerity
always playing the infant
with poor old joints
always also the plaything
Bitter fang the wolves
//
transfusion 1
Reenactments seizing footage
designed for the elements
Vague news of squatters and cardboard
exclusive artworks revealed daily
Some people will perform on the runways
every citizen looks good while they look
Celebrations when people get new limbs
Vaguer tears strung still and waver
//
Transfusion 2
Ponies shiver beds of carrots
Clocks wrapped around exiles
An ancient symbol organizing
and disorganizing the masses
Photos of crushed bicycles
People sneaking around
Hatching plans
to vacate premises
To relocate
unsure where to
//
Baited not the Baiter
On violet days it mouths notes to itself
Ensnared in ashy boxes
On high porches from the distance
Weeping in the sun the heretics’s mock king
is spilling out, the wasps are on patrol beneath
The loudness wars continue
In mirrors drunk who agonizes loudest
Who can be the most bombastic
Mouthing persecution’s cankers
But yelling doesn't kill the eagles
Odd whims leaking inmates thoughts
//
Accident
There is only one glass eye
A point that absorbs the total, incinerated carnival
And refracts carousels into its own somber emptiness
This glass point doesn't just receive light
But emits it in the process of reception
And throws the carnival’s abyssal image back
//
Program of Deletion
The curator’s office is where the master archive is kept
Stripped of food, the swarms try to get in there,
to scrawl their name in scrolling books
And they will do anything to just put their name in there, anything at all
Orphaned names etched in granite girdled by mute eons
A name confirms complicty
Rather people should sneak into the office latenights,
to erase their name from the recursed archive
When the redeemers glance upon this ugly book with disdain
The legend of the guilty bedridden
Ribbons the breadth of written history,
Scratched with mocking names ghostbait freedom
//
Lint
Disappeared,
Reduced to filaments by
Abrading winds from all sides
Stray particles accumulate
Unnervingly
Unnatural filaments of
Wind-wizened subjects
Allied with history?
We really love its lint
Pilled in the pockets of barbarians
Scenting something beyond
Maybe spun: things, homes, new words, elevators to space,
A mockery of people.
The smell of lint itself is coveted,
Its look placed in vitrines
dissected and studied.
Dissevered is lint everywhere
Synthetic fibers produced in immaterial factories,
In the glass minds of men it is caught
In the lungs cooly incinerates
Volatility!
Only to pill up again in the coat pockets of the young
And no one knows what to do with it, so everything is tried, lacking criteria, yearning for criteria,
The Judge is appealed to in sultry intimate tones
Or wanderers are choked by the pluming dust of possibility
Unperishable, surceasing excretions
Malingering in the infrastructure of experience
Brittly remains the gordian knot
Tongue-tied in the pockets by
Anxiously fidgeting fingers
Smudged and canceled heretics
Cockroach
The desert suddenly receives surges of rain, monsoons catalysis for sunburnt starfields of teeming grasshoppers otherwise out of sight underground, swarms lapping at your feet like a critical mass of cockroaches pilgrimaging to the center of a room to die. Connected by signals they emerge from eons of living woodwork, fall from the ceiling, into the public domain. Crawling into sight for the first time, mechanically activity awakened, they are not visible until they are dead, existent only by virtue of their trace. En masse, sacrifice for the sake of transparency. Mass means to send away, evacuated contortions of their husks sub specie aeternitatis. The cockroach in the middle of the basement floor is already dead, a husk of life.
//
Untitled
The ejaculation of critical people spilled upon the streets
With bright discussion and mental erections
An abyss where mocking genitals used to gloam
But discussion was ghostbaited by a virus
A thought experiment mouthing insufficient necklaces
Blue yokes on barking dogs
Insane staring into mocking light
A panoply of white noise eyes
Diamonds sedimented into pockmarked skulls
Drunkly sigh
//
Arco
A volunteer in the desert
Dipped in thousands of rugged bronze bells
Maddened by years of violent wind
Slicing through the glassy
Trauma minds of sun-dried men
//
Genre of silence
For some, society deserves the Silent treatment
To be stonewalled to death
For life
The first writers in the Genre of Silence
The primal scream was a scream of silence
Realists terrified and gawking in a ring around
The accidental reconstruction of Dionysus
Protesting against inessential life
Quietism was heretical to the Catholic church
A painter said “Silence is so accurate"
Strike:
Unnatural Hesychia
A lamed beast which must be fought for
A public task
Burdened by necessity, an anxiousness
The opposite of tranquil reflection
//
Puputan
There is one amongst us that makes no sense
but we can’t help loving him
He is a player of games
But that is where the similarity ends,
for he plays only to lose
He merrily joins gambling tournaments
with the explicit drive to lose
He is an artist of loss
And everyone hates him for spoiling the game
And the game has never been more popular
There was once a King who led his army into committing mass suicide
He knew when to die
And everyone around him stood under the drive to perish
True leaders are dead
//
Ship of Theseus
Insert them into whatever systems
A little tweaking
Nothing substantial
Minor ruminations on strange techniques
After a decade of incremental changes
The iterative adding of new elements, like
The Ship of Theseus.
Constructive distortion, or
An example of self-cancelation
Recreations from memory of files lost amidst the expiration and transferring of computers, moving etc.
Approximated with abstract interpretations
Interpretive practice contingent upon the precarity of memory
Fixated on an aesthetic of porosity
//
Untitled
Atomic vapor
Blackhole watchparties
Neuro-vapor
Pulsar borings
In your attic runs the Thanat.osx
Cascading permutations
Bitter self-righteous grunge
Emptying or self-canceling:
"Your brain is a computer “: a fried circuit
Bleached Zips
No one vapes modular mind
Transmission deadstocking
Vaping Void in brittle winter
Windchapped deadstock piling up
Shadowy country folk
Autotuning their pulsars
Confined to their shadows
An alterego yawns
And inhales eternity
Anomaly in science has the ocean sitting
in a fragment of upper right of brain
Sponge babies cry in the
Circuit basement of modular jungle mazes
Curators curating:
Alarm decays,
Pulse sexes,
Time trolls,
Chaos inflations,
Slot machine mazes,
Models of custom drones,
How long will it go on?
//
Emergencies
Movements etched in silicon
A thing embodying pattern matching
Or backtracking
Mind parser of discretion
SPEED!
A Chronoplex
Faster than The West
Chaos or entropy:
The beholder’s choice
Stochastic limbo
Post-oscillation
Redo Zero crossings
Stochastic Resonance
Open to all
Signup in retrospect
With your spectral fingerprint
Calculations,
trigger warnings,
tersity,
algo mazes,
strung out discretion
Fizzing effervescence
It was
Floating in sound moving thru time
Alarms added to
Warm digital distortion
Delete = Return-Delete
Info scatology
Polytopical Byzantium
Synaptic River
Entropic Paradise
Listener:talker
Parallel processes
The ancient lyricist of Exformation
Switching between hundreds of processes
With the blink of a skull
Exuberant expressions
In iridescent colors
That contain no color at all
Fibrations in exile
Elevator music in glib apocalypse
Unsynced dancers spidering in the atmosphere
Aerial arts
There is a programming language called Oracle
Novagems fibrate in exile
Polytopes of dotted diamonds
Rot in desert basements
//
Resume
People's resumes are convoluted
because their lives are convoluted
Their Curriculum Vitae’s are unformed heaps of activity
Because their lives are unformed heaps of activity
You're gonna die someday soon.
Then what will you do?
//
Flee
I promised when we fled the city
that we would be reborn
rising up to confront the wilderness
I know what rise up means
but there is still much to burn
transfixed by the storm of immolation
And not everything is ash yet
//
Riches
An Embarrassment of Riches
An Embarrassment of Poverty
A Pride of Riches
A Pride of Poverty
A Poverty of Embarrassments
A Poverty of Pride
A Richness of Embarrassments
A Richness of Pride
//
Visualization
Something unimaginable
from the present standards of imagination
An infant image of a wanderer dismantling standards
Performances of trailblazing into the fogscreen of life
Clearing away a path for
Campsites of possibility
New standards beyond the hip
and deeper than the hip, buried in the pelvis
The sorts of visions incurred from a deathbed
To make the feeling of apocalypse palpable,
In blazing ruins run the frightful
And those who sing campfire songs to it
Eschewer of rations
Blind father of new humans
Cataract bard crossing the desert
An insane spectre dances on the sharp tongue of the species
Threshing into the ruined evenings
//
Neigh Said
Remember the visit
We didn't fuck
Under the trains
No guns in truck
No truck in hand
A room to blue
A pale shoulder just for you
Cold with strep
Nearly fun
And on the run
With feral friends
Blind man with glasses
For me and you
Naysaying heaven
Neighing who?
//
Inhume
When the walls are closing in on you,
you don't feel the walls directly,
instead they push in all the stuff around you,
so you are smashed by all the things you've collected
//
The Holonomic Brain
Theories projected in night skies
Holograms and memory
Interference patterns
Rebounding
Fogscreens:
Millions invested in vapor
Eera Essamenoi
Zoetropic revolutions
Brute spectral tools
Glass ball kaleidoscope projections
Borealis kids projectors
Decrepit marble factory in a small town in West Virginia
Holonomia rebounds
//
Stolen Out
Who cares about the origin of the universe?
The Clocksmith is an obsolete profession
Gravity's Floor
Or Non-Gaussianities?
The Unitarians suspect the universe is built on triangles
What a time to not be alive
And quote, corkscrew-like particles popped up in the gravitational field
Became stretched and permanently frozen into the shape of the universe
With higher-spin states, strings vibrating at an infinitely rising sequence of pitches
Toiling for more
Lazy stretching for everything
Short bursts of synchronized neural activity
Complex, cascading electrical patterns that, when recorded
Sound like an explosion
Stolen words
Put them back
No
//
Labratophilia
Labratophobia
Labratolalia
Labratology
Every article is a plant
Every argument is planted
Every idea is a plant
Every event is planted
Perception disorder
Perception of disorder
Delusion of disorder
Delusion disorder
//
Spoken Words
Reverberant
As if coming from a well
Deep under your bed
To be lifted
Buoyant
By your own voice
A feedback loop
A despaired cry out the anus!
Anal tears
Pelvic reign
Is that the smell of spring wafting through the windows
Mingling with the stench of rotting mothers guts?
On his deathbed he was writing a masterpiece about the vagus nerve
To the vagus nerve
With the vagus nerve
The day there are words in my music
Is the day I die
//
Sound Bathing
Prometheus: thief of vibration
Struck the harp slowly
Spectral orgone
Orgae
Lyre explosion
Lyre automaton
Holy cheater
River of ecstasy
Prophecy wellsprung
Nerve River
Hacking into heaven
Learning to hear
From beyond the grave does triumph
To use society like a crude tool
On the dusty staid surface of nature
Pent Up:
A leathery renderer
Synapses firing endarkenment
Into numbed isolation chambers
//
Oedipus
It is little discussed, but when Oedipus was left for dead in the cornfields, he was also eviscerated. This was to ensure his death. But the farmer who found him was a secret engineer of humans as well, & redesigned Oedipus into a cyborg god. A Cygod. Oedipus retired the Sphinx, & ruled humanity in total boredom for eons. The Farmer would check in on him periodically, as a parent does, having visited the future, knowing the familiar Oedipus story. He decided to tell him how eons would pass with his story influencing myriads of fucked up tiny oedipussies.
//
Escape
Bound and beyond
Escape from the institution
Still straight-jacketed, the freed inmate
Is dependent on others to cut him loose
Just as he was put there by others
The doors are open
And the inmates have no plan
Outmates brain-bound
Roaming in the polluted flood plains
Writhing on the dank riverbanks
Bound beyond
//
Sisyphus
The physical form that Sisyphus' torment ultimately took was not pushing a singular boulder up a mountain with his defiant musculature. After time the boulder disintegrated into countless lesser rocks, so Sisyphus' physique had to adapt to scrambling rapidly about the mountain side cobbling together all the fragments. Each time the boulder tumbled, it crumbled a bit. With each iteration it disintegrated a little bit more. With each iteration it lessened and it dispersed. It finally proved to be Time who was Sisyphus' tormentor, and who would not let him perfect his craft , but rather kept him on his toes, requiring reconceptalization of his practice, and transformation of his physique into an agile and spritely nervous system with tentacles sprawled over the hills. In the end he was an unrecognizable octopoid type creature who was also a critical historian of rocks.
//
Borer
Boring through the soil
Violent rotations
Boring and jerking to bore
Toiling into the red clay Earth
Boring for more
Displacing moar and moar
A man bores with his tool
In desolate green pasture
Into the underground
A tunnel of dispossession
Boring boring boring
//
Javelina
At a party in the riparian desert
In the Octagon
A German begged the party
To hike up a mesa
Past the parched riverbeds
Beyond the mesquite forests
Desert meditation
He said it was very important
These were his departing words
With an apple and some water
A wanderer
Past the parched riverbeds
beyond the mesquite forests
To the mesa
Radiant red rocks
Tufted with phosphorescent lichen
Scurrying upwards
Naked atop
Absorption of eons of radiation
Spewed from the Sun onto rocks
Up the wanderer’s fragile asshole
The din of snorting, pawing, and rustling,
A herd of Javelina slowly trampling its way through brush
Unaware of the wanderer
Ivory tusks with human eyes
Sunbaked hides
Impeccable noses for the hunt
Savage when in pursuit
Blind hoofing forwards
Snorting and clamoring to each other
The wanderer hurls an apple
It thuds a javelina on the belly
Rolls into the center of the herd
All snorting ceases
All pounce on it with a will to hunger
All except one, who looks up to see where this fruit comes from
The wanderer is seen.
//
History
Opening yawn
A bored god bores
Foragers and the birth of music out of
Campfire fear
Monologues of psychotic insomniacs paranoid of death
Fear & boredom sagging low from primeval trees
Campfires blown away
The world ablaze
Flooded
Formation of rivers
Brown god of peristalsis
Horses rush in a hellsnake's belly
Dried up
Worms chasing elephants
Wild neural nets
Draped over the world
The melancolia of tethered beasts
Clinging to their node with quivering limbs
And clanging chains payed for with life
Beasts born in the neural zoo
Phantom instincts
The creation of myths about infections and viruses
Hysteria mimesis
An acceleration of pattern making
To be studied
Fodder for the social scientists
//
Giantess
"Don't let it get to their head"
One of the great thought taboos
The symbolism of a compliment penetrating someone's thick skull
Furtively burrowing around inside
Things aren't supposed to get into the head
The Head is where impressions are transformed
Fear festers in ascetic fantasy
Keeping things away from heads
Maintenance of the small and powerless
Fuck that!
A race of giants lurks in the powerless
Like dehydrated foam soldiers
Waiting in fairy tales to be
immersed in the water of an idea
//
Mask
The exhibition opens tomorrow
Frantic she runs around a vaulted studio,
quiptificating bitterness in the dark
There was a sprawling museum in a mall,
A mile high
Where diamond encrusted African masks shimmered
On stretched pedestals
Last minute an artist arrives, opens a living book
And she is coated in a thick cake of green paint
And a long green nose, writhing
Another opens a book, animation of creatures
Pouring out of a traintrack mouth, sewn to the track
An ornament of popular people spill out onto the hilly lawn
Swinging from threads
//