"Je suis Chinois"

I told her, to prove that I could speak French.
"Je m'appelle Tal et je suis Chinois"
"Oh vraiment?" she replied, frenchly, "c'est magnifique!"
"Yeah, that was a joke," I blandly conceded, "I figured you could tell I'm not Chinese."
"Ce n'est pas sympathique." She was crying.

French people are idiots, arrogant cockatoos.
All for none and none for all.
Strippers and benzene users. Chlorophyll.
Why does she want me to be Asian?

I pressed on: "Je veux un croque-monsieur, s'il vous plait"
"What, just because I am from France you think I will cook you up a fucking croque-monsieur? Get real, Chinaman." She was angry.
You could fry an egg on her forehead, and I wanted to.
It had been hours since I last ate.

Cereal is for morning people.
Eggs, however, are for men of Jesus.
Disjointed conversations are for losers

Noble savage on boardwalk

The place I choose to slumber
is a bed of weathered boards
who awaits like heaven
my sleeping form tonight.

There aren't shadows (Riverside picnic)

There aren't shadows, oh, SNOWMASTER...
would that I could... ...FITZGIBBON ( - - - - )
a snatch a pearl a hand a grab agent
Oreano, Carlotto, there are [ you? ]
(how can I say this? you're pregnant)
oregano
i have nutmeg
i have nutmint
we will understand someday
the ways of our ancestors
in time for us to burn


there are hands
big white black brown white hands
big black white huge smallstrong
the same hands
hands of tomorrow, hands of
some distant future. hands of
the ruminant; hands of the
small, belabored, the small, the chapped,
the skin overcoming the wilt; the ham
being simmered in the kitchen. We are
all just lovers here. This is our stream.

Alert the admin (Fuck you, webmaster)

Gosh if you're
listening I hope it's
morning. My terms
are always better felt
in the succulent
a.m. At Purdue News
Service, they make babies
like news stories:
the old-fashioned way,
they snake and fuck and
crook, snakes in the grass,
woodlands in piles,
I have no business saying anything.

Yeah, baby: Designed.

I have been desired
desired in a theatre.

I have been designed,
designed in a Plexiglas
mold you snagged from that
aeronautical engineering
student you slept with.

Yeah, baby: Designed.
I've slept with less necklaces,
believe me honey.
I've slept with the less-than-freckleless.
I've tangled with barbers and felons
and all kinds of strange men.
Most importantly, I know a unicorn
when I see one.

Onward, friends. A warm bright tomorrow
beckons and everything
is bound to be just
excellent.

Bound.

Love in France (oooh! fantastique!! ahhhhh!!!! merde) [a morality play]

There is no love in France
There is no love in the Highlands
There is no love in the Lowlands
There is no love in Canberra
There is no love in Tibet
There is a prophet named Yeshua,
There is no love anymore.

Every bed you've ever / Bonfire

Every bed you have ever seen
from the eyes of the back of the door to the beginning of the sheen
on her lips the quips the quickness to her kiss the quickness shaped like this
the quickness of every hip
the tender heart attack of eternal bliss
earth like shattered furniture
on the lawn, the enemy's lawn
and the bible is on the furniture
and the bible is on the furniture

glowing like rainbow lightning HUNG
a pedestal a pinch of mesacline a hunting tin

a box of chocolates a box of shockpits
humming like lecticorn bumblebees
made up cool running ram
bumble bumble where?
bumble bumble doo,
how are yooooouuuuuuuu?
Dirty Danny, Where are
yoooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuu?

Bigfin reef squid

(Sepioteuthis lessoniana)

New to Mahler

It is written. Thus noted, so told.
Believe in the less ordinary
is probably good advice.
But what do I know? I'm just a novice,
listening to Mahler for the first time.
Was a Jew, than a Fish. Opposite of me.

I swear to God I'm going to play a trumpet
louder than any man ever has.

Just as I know a man more Pegasus than me
shall one day inherit the wondrous paths to truth.
So it is written, / So I am told.

Make no mistake then, that I will burn down the gates
strip the ivy puppets to their limbs and rend asunder
all vertical, horizontal, cylindrical elements that hereby hold
me from getting to the other side

(I won't say... the promised land...)
this: the land of our fathers.

So They inherit the path. I take the plans: burned.
I make the path. I find the roots. I sow the seed.
I plow the land. It is the land of my fathers. Grandfathers.
Great grandfathers. & so forth.

Thislandismyland
thislandisyourland

said the great fountain
the lips of the teachers ordinary
praised by position extraordinary
what I mean is they were adults
and we were children.
Even the 8th graders seemed full-grown.

We aren't cephalopods, e.g.

I think it’s easy to believe
that mice kill men; it’s easier,
still, to find the converse true.

True like the wintermints, your
girlfriend, or the sly octopus,
judging the southern African lineup
(here from the the whole world coming)
to choose eight straight winners.
Incredible, really.
And to whose grave establishment,
has the party created,
a vague sense of irony,
or a corpuscle of raw iron turnip
coasting out like the murky pump of
buttresses, lunches.
That’s right world, cephalopoda
have heads too. Hearts, also, and
tentacles from here to Tuesday to tomorrow
to Monday. Again—the day of the sun.

If I had to believe in some type of man
to set the bar for others, it would be a lectitorn
a goldfinch in a Petrarchan sonnet, the kind
that fill your eyes with tears. Or used to,
at least: we haven’t all been to Bunker Hill,
but I have. I’d seen the casino there, tasted
the Indians yams and medium-cooked stripsteak.
It was all much better than Squanto could have
imagined: which is a heartless, spineless way of
admitting the unfathomable horror of the old way
of life, upon knowing ours; of the old guard hearing
our new petulant girls, pornstars faking orgiastic
sentiment, just gross poor women sluts like slots like
poker tables dirty, depressed, naked with skulls with
iron pots with dirty hayseed mannequins with liquor
cigarette potty stains,
dirty red pretty lipstick fucking until they’re sick, five minutes
at a time, time for 5, time for lunch, time for the threesome,
time for the breathmint, time for the aftershave, time for
the shower, time to eat breakfast, time to commute home,
time to review the mortgage, time to gauge the amount of
resin in the tires, resin in the pipe the only flute to tomorrow,
the only tulip for the brain the only way to stay same the only
curse fucking curse like a furnace like a cat like a kitten like a cat
revisited: a fucked up cat a golf course a wizard a dead wizard a
new man a new plan a canal Panama

a desert a whelp a kid a soccer tourney
a mother driving a mother
wiving a mother bringing her son a sandwich
when there’s already fruit rollups
it’s the dusty then the clean
the cloudy then the sheen I mean the clear
the dirty the milky the rainy the feared
men, the clasping dirty re-trained brains
the minds of many, the clans, the kooks,
the verily verb missing the man with his lantern
keeps returning being so meta being too thin
getting into drugs getting into Vogue getting into
the club getting into kids things getting pregnant getting fucked
getting new shoes getting chewed out getting cheated on getting
killed getting new getting knowledge getting dome getting head
getting gravy at the gravy store (who has heard of this?
who has heard of that? who has planted this?)

another parenthetical needed—nobody plants anything, anymore!
the real sweet moments overlooked
or turned into something “sweetheart” or “downhome” or “authentic”
the real parts turned out the real parts turned in the man in the mannequin
posing as a mannequin
the man named Quinn
the Black Man loving to rhyme again
just listen to rap and hear me grin
hear me run hear me bunch hear me yipes hear me yanks year me yet
hear me left

Hall & Song

1. Hall

There is a hall of mysteries
in the brain
more changed than main
more grain than grain
more blood / more guns / more fame.

In the blood is the sugar gone
from the flesh apparatus to the stone.

The herenow wish of tomorrow
is to never feel the same.
Look at my fetish puppets!
Look at their halls of whey!


2. (To Be Sung)

Empty the river kitchen
her halls made full of foam! (Oh!)

Empty the river kitchen
everywhere I roam. (Ho!)

Somebody Delete This (3)

1.
halfdraked corner of my life
the i's always wanting

frience blue blood inheritance
waiting on the wings

a side of beef,
a porridge for example,
that slut Virginia's gonna git stuffed.

I'm sorry to break this to you, mister, but
your daughter Kaley, the Bulldog--
she's already become an ingratiating slut;
her pussy will be well regarded in the halls
at Bowling Green. In fact I've heard

she enjoys interacting with a guy
and a girl at the same time. Says
it "gets her fucking clit off so hard,"
in other words.

2.
popular mechanics
popular antics
popular dryboard
popular screed
popular meta-animation stint
popular feet cruise

Go-Parts

<>
Go-Parts Dairy-Creme Convertibles.
I suck, at the small nibbly nub on the coin
of my opinion.

<> [THIS BULLET HAS NO TITLE]
You can be wrong when you're high. When you're blessed as such, it seems impossible. Lo -- It is not. Your comrades might set you at ease with their cannabis-as-lambent smiles, but they do not point out that you are wrong. Mistakes happen, after all.

<>
"Excuse Me, Mister Main."
"Yes."
It would appear that you have been posting on a site called "Absurdists Inc." Is that right?
Yes.
[Pause.] Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?
Yes.
[Long pause as sheriff-type slowly realizes you aren't talking.] You don't say. You know, a man of your age and complexion ought to be assshamed of hisself for writing that gollllddamn slander on that thurr website.

<> BRASS!!!
Today I put all of my money into brass. Simultaneously launching "Brass is f-cking awesome" ad-campaign.

Somebody Delete This (2)

Somebody delete this,
that is, whoever has a heart.

If you cannot read this then turn it
upside down and believe in it. This is the special
day of forest luncheons and speakeasy
hideaways. I have to tell you -- I think you are
amazing; you're almost special; you always
have been--

I squeeze together my ass at the thought of
you'm him we'm them she'm

whoom
whoom
w-hoom
who-om
men
men
danger

men
men in danger
men

men
menin
Lenin
menin
meninges
meninges
meal
meningitis

home-flog
home-flot

repetition
repetition
college
repetition
repetition
college

Somebody Delete This (1)

Every movie has a prison. Just like
every slough has a heart. In its weedy
rye innards are the calves whom slough
off their toil; they are frozen; we are here;
I am talking about a winter's marsh.

Oh look, potheads absconding with ideas
hiding them in trainplanes
cars with galactic signatures
sometimes i don't know if i'm funny or just
really funny. Erotic sinecures
aren't erotic anymore, and the word
is overused. The refreshing thing about being
off: you are going to blink on at some point
(first I said "turn" but opted out).

Eat nutmeg in small amounts, as with
turnip & parsley.

ROMBUS

"ARIGHT" -- DEFINITION -- BULLETIN
MALE PARTS
SMILES

    4. Right, on the square: cf. A-WRY. Obs.

1571 DIGGES Pantom. I. Biijb, If all the sides be equall, and no angle aright, then is it called Rombus.

 

Rombus, I tell you. 

Rombus and the busline kids. 

Green sparrow and the green adventure. 

Mellow side of 

the opium pipe 

(in a) Peshawar province. 

CNN kills every day.

Pasta?

Everybody hates my music. But who could blame me? I just ate pasta, with a heaping of bright mushrooms and zucchinis in a darkrick tomato sauce. My Nana used to grow tomatoes back in Italy. Vine-ripened. One of my neighbors always went on & on about the merits of the vine-ripened variety. "None of that store ripened crap," he'd say. This was a guy who liked to visit volcanoes around the world. A vulcanologist.

I just played basketball. Ended up 2-3. Pretty frat. Once I start saying something meaningful, it's already erased. Motley daily strikes are like rum; but they don't taste good. I swear if I ever pitch in the majors I'm only going to throw balls.

Most day are like this. Morning with the mothballs. Screwy fountains of powdery fungus balls and snakebites.

Blasted newt scorched wings; I saw two beetles die today.

Go-Bear.

1.
I want
to go there.
Go where?
Go-bear.

2.
hey, stencil.
how are we?
doing, in God
we trust.

3.
maroon

Thereby the Zeta bandloom

Bedbars and a whole tub full of Kentucky swill. I want this to hurt so much you'll never want to read again, Missy. She looked at me like I was crazy, like I had come from Paducah with a gun in my shirt and a camera up my sleeve. Listen here, I ain't no jack-rabbit! I'm a trooper

and with those words left the hotel, took a cab to the aerospace museum. I was feeling a little woozy from one too many smokeless cigarettes.

joined the bandwagon, then. all the circuitous paths had erupted like flames or men and the fix was in. they stole the gold and hid it in the pyramids.

that's what happens anyway when the mind wanders
you say you want a sandwich? well, how's about a
leaflet about a sonnet about a television show
about somebody's diamond problem
showering like leafy lopsided dublooms
cowering in a corner of melonhusk misery
the intentional cow eyes
like silence ignored.

(Just another sandwich movie.)