1. |
3 Meals
02:36
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ubiquitous american sandwiches
with a single inexplicable pickle
wolfed down by friends
who fear feeling fickle
(or)
for the sake of slipping
back into the puddle they've been hanging out in
these past few days
cooking dinner in the strawberry haze of high-afternoon
some wonderful cats
& friends who say, 'fck the old ways of using coins forluck'
i'll finish the gin that you've been working on
again / again / again
with the grin you successfully
mailed & sent
sitting in narrow halls
gritty by inevitable sand
(it snuck into yr shoes
& stuck onto yr hands)
bathtubs filled with liquor
sprawling expanse &
getting higher quicker
wishing for apricot jam
with
tomato green shoes
& poison ivy hands
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2. |
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it's too humid
to go outside today
those
hydrangeas are
coming in with a
weird sashay
her
rabbit eyes
rapidly
descend the stairs
marmalade skin
cinnamon toast hair
........................just go home & sniff some glue
i'll be here
waiting fouryou
then.................we'll all go out to eat but
you won't come
will you?
( oh. my only friend is chipmunk.)
haphazardly graze
the face of some summer air
vapors of water
collect then disappear
lazily follow the carpet trail along
to the spot by the window
where i notice that yr car is gone...
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3. |
All My Bummin'
03:05
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the girth of the fish
traveled boorish
& lagged in the middle of her throat
the soon decay
of those perfect parfaits
distracted everyone on the boat
while we were in our rooms
picking words to include
in our goodbye speeches
the soon decay,
our last consolidated day
before we retreat to our separate niches
...the opulence (?) of evening....
fleetingness fawning
fate foaming
over sea-shades &
drooooooooooling on the promenade
ambrosial
botanical
hum of beach-rose
covered in saltiness & dew
led me to say,
"while I'm away, I'll write
home everyday &
I'll send all my loving to you"
(you know...like the song.)
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4. |
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Ionian Mermaids
In My Bathtub
Braiding Each Other's Hair
& Drinking Rum
The Silver Apples
Are Spinning Around
& i've Got my Clothes On
Reading Ezra Pound
the Tub is Filled With Olives & Cold Sea Water,
Ares Arrives, He's Looking
For His Daughter...
Sicilian Bakers
In My Living Room
Argue Over Soccer
& MF Doom
Back In The bathroom
I Lock the Door
Harmonia Feeds me
a Cluster of Concords
before i plunge into the cold bathwater...
with all of my clothes on, grapes, &&&Ares' Daughter
thenTheRoomstartsGlowing
&Idon't know when to fall asleep
Soon
myStomachsAching
&I'minthis tubtooooooodeep
then
i'm Alone
oceans swell over islands
noise at the door?
barely move my eyelids
i stay put
but
they
perpetuate Knocking
fall back Asleep
towards their
ticking
&
tocking
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5. |
Naval Orange Gazing
02:57
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death is only alright if you say its ok i'm
eating watermelon
with a jalepeno puree
dressing up like pictures i've
seen of lou reed
playing viennese oboe
a-a-b-d
and seeing people do things and thinking,
i wish that was me
from this mote where i've been
steeping
in dandelion tea
when i'm alone
i don't have time
to be
sitting around and brooding
because i'm
so occupied
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6. |
Pistols & Pills
02:34
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you left yr
pistols & pills on the table,
next to some
stale basil bagel.
yr hare was
perfectly post-coital
as you
breathlessly blew out the candle
&
put on my top-coat
&
you gave me strep throat.
i guess death is just a footnote?
you said,
"I'll just go sleep out in the U-Haul."
barely connecting with my eyeballs but
with excruciating clarity, while,
slow dancing bawdily, yr
drab commanding chronically.
moved by the wake of the boat that yuve acquired
drunk in the bathtub near the campfire
you put on my topcoat using
death as a scapegoat
& now I have strep-throat...
I'm eating paint for the rest of the day.
while
yr passed out in the truck in the driveway &
I think I'll swim across Narragansett Bay before
I too pass out in some velvet ashtray.
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7. |
Erdbeer Daze
03:40
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icy cargo
a pantheon / a siren song
swallowing words
with sahti / milkweed
pills & arrows
of malleable fortune
fades towards
parisian green & baltic queens
like sunsets & handholders on boulders on
finger grass we slurp gaelic froth / picking moss
then sojourn
in a boggy loch / for a dozen epochs
staying warm
with ham hock
in clam broth
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8. |
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The Floridian haze hums and condenses on my forehead, the sun pulsing brilliantly and without relent. Feeling dizzy from the heat, I notice my companion acting strangely. I'm in Ft. Lauderdale with a dog named Philly. He's been eating ativan and ketamine cookies all day. Coughing a foamy laughter, like some chill'd out pastor, he announces his passion for existence, languidly through an at-ease yawn, saying, "eternity is eternity and I am one with god. The earth isn't like...some collard green and I'm not like....some cog? Yom sayin'?"
Archie Shepp's scratchy saxophone whines while Philly, in absence of love, yearns for an avant-garde poem regarding this very subject. Alternatively, he adds, he'd settle for a "cacophonous irish jingle-jangle"...or...a trans-european vision of a virgin rebirth on an express train towards LSD and arpeggio machines. He continues, "eternity is eternity and I am one with god, by the way, what's eternity? I am just a foggin' dog...but! I'd like to keep waxing as a religious pedagogue, at least until all these drugs start wearing off."
Suddenly, Philly falls to the ground, where he stares at the flashing primary colors of the spherical LED light, before he asks the DJ to play Kraftwerk. "I'll be takin' requests at the end of my s-s-s-s-s-set!" The DJ responds in rhythm with the 80's Detroit House track blaring through the infinite PA system: the same set of dual 18-inch speakers they probably have in heaven.
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9. |
Coastal Stuff
08:30
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returning east after a long summer
heading to brooklyn with a bottle of wine
almost my third sunrise with no slumber
sandy bones & all the cars are on fire
my passenger's the shabby poetry of tumblr
holding my breath & eating cemetery cake
making stops for some root beer runners
throwing sticks in front of their roller blades
considering death in iambic pentameter
crawling slowly towards the coast
to the rooftop where I'll avoid everybody
and change from guest to ghost
atop some precipice there
callously recite some forlorn verse
as if it were all so severe
/ couldn't get much worse
queu all the subsequent sneers
echoing through the cavernous universe
crossing state lines cutting through the morning fog
laura's walrus is dancing on the side of the road
driving as languidly as a polliwog
parking my car is a reptilian episode
yet, I'm still feeling too real
too real to mingle
no sleep has made my senses dull but
I want to be invisible.
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