Local Man Arrested For Blogging

Champaign, Ill. -- A Champaign man was arrested today for "excessively reckless and senseless blogging," according to a statement from the police department.

Though the police declined to release the man's information, the police chief was quoted as saying, "At no point in this individual's insane, foul, disturbing commentary did he make one iota of sense, and we are all stupider for having to had to endure it. May God have mercy on his soul." 

because it's also a plant,

she says, with a sly little fuck-me grin,
sly american soda this girl sips,
tell me about your mexican trip,
i say, no thank you, i'd rather not

so she says
how's about we go in the back

i say
sure, can i bring my friends?

then they all pop out of the woodwork
and speechify their disaster, saying thus
"OH OH OH OH OH OH YEAH!!!"
making appalling noises,
right,
so, he says
begone ye spirits of the netherlands,
then Ronald Reagan appears, says,
THEY AREN'T DUTCH, I AM
him, you can barely hear him finish,
as his voice and face disappear into the
dying past where he lays
& dreams of secret collonades of grass
wherein the ketchup farmers stow their lotto
& invest in the fruit of the future,
just over that-a-way in the near east.

i meant holly

i meant holly, like the jingle jangle
of your speedbump balls a-wiggle

(((transfer the blur
quickly, noise)))

cohesion deploys insane
matterific verbs of hot damn
kids these days::::::The boys!
& the girls

two creepy stanzas, dedicated to heather (the plant)

my eyes cannibalize the sound
from the creatures coming
growing out, becoming dense
as boughs full of holly.

my eyes cannibalize the sound
from the creatures coming
I see the ground, the footsteps too
we hear the spirits humming.

band names pt. 8

The Crableg Sisters
Me & Spider
Ankle Kids
Snow Youth
The Barely Here (tight, bro)
You Will Like Us
Always Ogling
The Snoogs
T.W.I.N.E.
The Holy Smoot Society
The Asheville Dangercats
Bowling For Murder
Soup Cancer
Gangrene Pete and the Specialists
Bobby Pins
Lost in the Tress
Pinewood Derby Pussy
Sno-Caps (possible trademark issues)
Glitter!
Actual Killers
The Drunk Motorcycle Fags
Lil' Miss Michigan and the fang-proof blinders
Glass (so indie)
The Welfare Twins 
Stay Away!
Scared Girls
Snakebite

drab cornish, obvi

a drab Cornish
is a hen nonetheless.

as in, "I ate yer
crab sandwich, mister,

and by the way, you've got a
Cornish up the ass."

Doesn't matter
where it falls,
it's still shit.

Strange paths

(Note to self: look up the word “wroth”)

((Note to reader: This is about a walk and random
corner-store encounter...
it's significance may be elevated beyond discovery))

(((wroth)))

moffed (meaning lowered) brow
or certain picayune discovery
walking from ledge to ledge along the uncertain
delivery of phrases: here’s a block, here’s a house,
herein the home OF A CENTRAL MAROON’S CHEERLEADER
like an advertisement for unwanted? loitering, malingering…

squirrels, their houses clumps of leaves-in-tree, sparring
with the world, saying: skkkkkkkrriiiiiiiittttttt! squeak!
and so forth.

past the old savings & loan to the corner store, where we meet
a florid youth, quite out of his head, acting as if he were on
a high dose of amphetamines, but that’s only how I could understand it,
because I cannot understand it—Tim is clearly insane, says he’s
23, picks up a hair tie off the ground and says, “I could need this,”
and then, “Oh, that’s my hair.” I ask him how he ended up here (says he’s from New York, been here 10 years) and he only replies, “Yes, I wash my hair everyday.”

And “good god, there’s no advantage in it, good gawd, working their asses off, student, worker, good gawd…”

I try to understand him, share a smoke, cut a heater, and he compares me to somebody he knows. A smartass, probably. Either listens and gives his opinion like he doesn’t give a shit, or just stands there, smoking (you know, wistful wafts of smoke out the mouth, like) and doesn’t listen, just seems to, but doesn’t, doesn’t acknowledge.

And that ain’t the worst of it, just hanging around, my friend don’t even have a place, probably just sitting under a bridge a long ways that way toward downtown, not givin’ a shit! Good gawd!”

Hair—bad—day! Understand? Hair—bad—day, Good god, that’s not a good thing. Understand?”

He said most of these things. I observed him, long hair with random too-many hair ties, hair stringy, long, maybe dirty, puffy, he looks like a crazy man up a bridge sheering…

but then he is just himself, a self-acclaimed crazy bum, not a bum but somebody like a bum, bumming for smokes, lights, chastising, elaborating, proclaiming, waiting, spitting, smoking.

He crouches in the parking lot, hawks a good one, and spits.

“That’s my brain.”

I cannot disagree. When I leave he shakes my hand (I don’t like this, but I do it anyway).

“Nice to meet you,” he says. I never tell him my name... just one part of the strangeness.

w i d o w s p e a k

After several days without words,
I find them again, not by magic, but instead
with the deliberate clomp of heels on march
the deliberate cold the widows catch
because, why not? they seek a reason for sleep,
a reason to seize upon bedrest and the covers
covering them, of course, a cold widowed hand
grasping another, the sound of one hand
being silent.

Yes, silence. The pale spit of words
fires no more upon the galleys, staid,
forlorn, a white mist rising out of the sea.
How many pains can a body catalogue?
The body politic, the warmth rushing out of her tongue
and into a cold cup of tea, its heat now gone.

But what of her ferry delivers?
She’s alone now on this island
for how long? nobody knows. That usual rogue state
wherein the mist howls fully aware of its ignorance
about matters of war and taste.

That’s how we veil ourselves, anyway, as languish
covered by a pall. We are
outside ourselves once more. In tune
with the turning seasons and the trumpets
(forlorn) about which the captain wrote.

Another stop: the captain. The constant shrine
around which you revolve, revolved, still
yet you chase him. But with weariness,
now. He isn’t in the boat
any longer. He’s far off to sea – you know
that, now – and yet, you keep looking
every morning
toward the bright gray dawn.

Band Names part 7

Partial Nudity
Fresh Fish
Scared of the Sun
John Willis and the Schmucks
GUN
The Gun Club
The Black Smiths
Freebasing Skittles
The Muffintops
Bad Sandwich
Rick Shaw
The Kingfish
Bulbous Fixtures
Doctor Gravy and the Soup Kitchens

Stay off the grass

That's what my mom told me
Not talking about our lawn
after all, what are lawns for?

Stay off the crack
in the sidewalk
Grandma will appreciate it

Stay away from fables
and old wives' tales
old wives are liars

Aesop was a vampire
a bloodsucking killer
morals like Gilgamesh

quarrels like a quarry
talk show host Maury
Florals. Epic Story.

Grass: First Take

and that, father, is why I take tea:
to set the grasses sweetly a-rustle
in my balm-shop mind; home of
hopeless impediments and even more
struggles that aren’t struggles, but diversions
and there’s a reason I won awards for hustle

I am a gambit; a maven; a practicing
witch-doctor; my friends and I build
mazes for hire and stun doctors with
flavored oils: here, smell my cinnamon, dads,
become an ocean again, from here to Sandusky.

Gray Soap

Gray soap can be
fun to play with. Like tomatoes
or sweaters on the new boys.

Brain soap. This is a weirdly
afflicted bath. Brain soap. Brain rope.
The stain between the stain between the
strained dopes
casting about for drugs like pirate fishermen
angered.

love, or whatever

i used to be touched by every type of
love. the fossil, the functional, the alien
like the curling embrace of a foxglove
in the spring moonlight entertains again
thoughts of rebellion.

her tender horn of trailed-out suffrage
pointed, like an argument, to her plot,
where bulls run through weeds, & oilrags
litter the gulley beneath the gunwale.

There we raged the night away,
not as one might later fret, on standby,
like an old refrigerator chugs 
at last in the backyard,  disassembled.

& all this slowly fades away, like thoughts,
a slow drink of something that tastes
the way perfume smells: American.
That’s not what this is about.

Brain Soap

we yeasayers, yeah.
And no -
we don't want no scrubs

we wash our brain in tubs
loamy lobes delousing
sinning synapses

Alice's dialysis
the perils of paralysis
blistering mind callouses

dilly-dalliance
malicious parliaments
kingly jackalopes
drinking lemonade

now I've gone insane
feel no pain
I have a discman
but no headphones

take a risk, man
use the red phones
dial 9 to get out
then 911

Don't let the saucer
bother you
we're on good terms
like a glossary

Do not confide in cute animals

WANTED:

Bunny. Indicted by Federal Grand Jury on 50 counts of mail fraud; wanted for his alleged role in money laundering in the late '90s. Thought to be fleet of foot and fond of grass. Prefers meadows over tussy hillocks; may hop unpredictably. "Bunny" is an avid reader with an interest in history. He is known to frequent libraries and historic sites. Approach with caution.

This has nothing to do with Jessica

sometimes ::::: we ::: have ::: been ::::: known
to unlock each other's doors at night
taking a bath with candles at each other's throats
(our hands at) (who's looking here?) (only descend once)

throbbing cursory censor: once denuded some
but lived on. made the most of the fabric
as the chairmen say. made the most of all
the quilts at hand.  we really did.

but of course, says the thankless mind again,
you know what i mean: the aspirin tablets.
thankless ankles. a response to a spooned question
dolloped: here's the answer: WE HAD TO

the wind blows | my dreads sway
he had hair like war | like "wait!"
please slow down hurricane

as a vast melting of words has been a stove
--recently as today-- 
was a melt water cooler now a well
then a candy now a chocolate
first a lover; later, a cantilever

& don't i just have it all up the
ass & so forth daddy. i'm a day-glo
bratty kid with sunscreen and a kiss
to give to you whether you like it or not.

i've known some kids, and some of them were nice kids
i've known some shins, and most of them were skinned
at some point, god knows. i can't even keep lower case
without offending heaven -- moreover,

i cannot keep kosher because i'm not Jewish.

Promising start

Here are the brains washed.
Beside the basin, in the bin.

(I don't care what nobody says
we gonna have a baby

taking off in a Coupe deVille
buckled up all navy)