Daring criticism of plastic and support of sloppy metaphor

Monsoon wrote:

"...in the sea with the planktonic swimmers
among the flagellum and jellyfish nerve nets
is an anti-bone death camp called PLASTIC INC.
reaping quarterly profits by the boatload,
the trashbag, the discarded packaging, bottles,
cartons, wrappers, decals, coatings and trimmings
and covering of all synthetic varietals
blooming detritus plastic unborn
and born again in a most unnatural soup
soup of the lakefish
steermeat of steermeat (registered trademark)
plastic of the dumpfish degraded, dead."

Months later, the media found this in their dredging of all portals interweb, and used to is show how Monsoon was an anti-plastic, anti-corporate loon. Forever lionized in the effete wooden salons of elitist scions like Georgetown. Forever vilified in the hard-working, God-fearing hubs of American paradise like Lowell, Mass. and Canton, Ohio. 

I'm a Snowy Owl

Birds can't broadcast, so we growl
and hoot about days past
perching on a porch, porching on perch
my biggest vice versa is candles.

Averse to vices like pudding pie
such as: protons and negatrons
or Megatron - Calvin Johnson
his name is Yon Yonson
he's from Detroit, Wisconsin
he was a lumberjack
now he's just black
face it, that's racist.
Fuck it, erase it
My poetry's not going over well today

Birds Are Texting Each Other

Exactly at this moment
birds are texting each other.
They've mastered our technology;
They're just waiting to take over.
Waiting for the opportune moment.
This has been going on throughout human history.
Why do you think we killed the passenger pigeons?
You think they were so plentiful they blotted out the sun, and then, one day, just like that, they were gone?
Ha ha, you. You probably believe in continental drift or "software."

(In this symphony inspired by Superman
which I'm listening to
there are whistles.
They are strangely appealing.)

The worst are the red-winged. I dare not utter their full name.
Birds called them the "black hope."
They are first in line to begin the attack and enslavement of humans. 
That's how's come [sic] we had to kill a bunch of 'em in Arkansas the other day.

You think it's a coincidence that Arkansas lost to Ohio State a couple days later? In football? C'mon. Don't tell me you believe everything you hear over the radio. You think birds can't broadcast? What do you think their plumage is for?  Why do they fly around all willy-nilly? You think they don't have PLANS for us, after all? Don't you realize they CAN FLY??? CAN YOU FLY??? How hollow are your bones? You think osteoporosis is a disease? WAKE UP, America. Your country is being stolen from you and replaced by a flighty menace: bird-people.

If birds can't broadcast I'm a snowy owl.
It's strangely appealing in this dark hollowed out tree
and I think I'll sleep, since it's daytime... in Hawaii.

Condor

Your eyes are guns. Don't look at me. Okay, look.
Can't shoot me. I'm to fun to hate. To fun to date. To grown
to be a plate, platter-ware doesn't unshine itself any longer
the fad is to BE CLEAN these days.
Ovenware. Cladmits. I believe in the
supreme power of Friends Park. Porn is nihilism. Just
move the blossom. Gross over the park bore
bore? well, a boar's cynicism. A tough world for
a young pig anyway, growing up, dodging humans,
eating snails, collards, dust-shovels, earthworms,
micro/macrotopes, topes, topes, topes . . .
I mean torpedoes and ropes and Gandalf
hope lasers spearmint gourds gourds gourds
this is a prayer or a lament
this is a prayer or a mint
the latter will help you breathe
the former will save your life
Praise Jesus
palaise de Jesus
John's house
a clover ceiling
a lung a clueless dog a home-weird falcon a cock a handsome devil
your girlfriend comparing you to an egg
your money becoming insects
your penis enlarging its skeleton
your hands become butterflies
your snake dicing itself
the same splicing weirdos
the AV club
spice
extra-terrestrials
legal highs
David Nichols
Purdue researchers
naked weirdos
slipshod wankers
British hairdos
growing out bangs
growing out hashmarks
harvesting wet dads, clad? are we? is this real life?
the snake / the hard / the water / the clobe
madeup words
half-hard caves of snakepit snowballs melted,
now water, are hardcore lies not lies polls not polls
lies i'm serious i'm joking i'm
not listening you cannot
can't end your candor accountant
a condor
a fountain
birds are texting
what's next

Hey Bo Diddley

Sup? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKYSAfbOCPc

Your breath smells like guns
moo-shoo chicken
lazy-eyed truckers over-hyphenate
de-hydrated apricots
taste like rainbows

Skittles are the truth
would I lie to you?
My favorite cheese is Fluglehornn

"Luck is everything" -- Maniac Magee

Myriad Vocabulary

Bleary-eyed apothecary
Happy January
I'm eleven
Don't know what galvanize means
but I wish I did
I don't do hard drugs
I just fish and stuff

redacts

everybody r e d a c t s
   them; selves; anyway--
that is not as it / how it / as it would be
awe     shucks     her own corn
   a big     ger
   basket hangs
[in the west song
of her encyclopedia.]

Intertopz ridiculous "stake-back" offer

Preamble: 
"With all due respect to the Niners and the Cardinals, this is the sort of game we want to see on Monday night! The Jets and the Patriots get it on at Gillette Stadium in what is arguably the biggest game of the season so far and Intertops.com celebrates this battle of the 9-2 teams with a stake-back offer for all its customers."


Stake-back (!!!):
"We will refund all losing wagers on our “Exact Number of Points scored in the 1st Quarter” bet offer if a field goal attempt is unsuccessful in the first quarter!"

That's right, folks. If you guess the wrong amount of points scored AND a field goal is missed, you get your money back! Who wouldn't hop on a this train to tinsel-town? One would think a stake-back offer would at least TRY to lure in bettors, but then again they are all about this bad. 

A post entitled "Norway" but should be called "China"

One time I went to Norway. I could tell you this. This is something that's possible. Like moroseness is an emotion, or people have lunch.

One time I went to Norway. I could honestly tell you this, but I'd be lying. Deep in my heart I am a terrible coward, and nobody will ever really love me. I've been to Norway. I have went there, okay? I didn't.

I am an unrecognizable sea-species dying in a Chinatown fish store. Why do Chinese people (They exist, O.K.?) like slimy flotsam from the insipid sea? Living living livid, I tell you. Dirt would be too clean a smell. FISHY is too poor a way to describe a putrid potpie of fish innards grossing.

[NOW I SHIFT GEARS]
Oil from the fires of yesteryear paintings of the everglade. Beneath the mention is

the lynchpin to freedom--free doom. Doom for one and all;
after glade and the misery up cometh
down the grotto to the blade
with her mystery, & so forth.

Yes, I believe in Red and Blue (&white)
stripes the halls the decks of glory.
Why can't I write like I want to? Like
A canvas is white at first I hate when people say they're blank.
They're only blank if white canvas surface a surface is not white white
not a surface not white not a surface.

Can you see what I'm saying? Words
written into a machine appearing
on a screen--Meaning Can you see
what I'm saying? Pent valves of
spry cigarettes these Chinese smoke
every goddam alleyway, every shopcorner
every moment is a cigarette waiting to be drawled
dolled about longing children fawning talking
don't know what they are saying.

They cannot spell like me.

isn't

can't
say whom

can't
say when

i can swim in the light
though
float in the darkwater
everywhere

how isn't it?
you think we're really breathing?

how isn't it.
that is not a question.

he never wanted to be,
for example.
we.
that's a noun.
this a statement:
it's something i make when
i'm not making something else.

Bathless anything; Breakfast everything (PS I don't take the word "slut" lightly)

never  anything
less than the rain west
([the train north, Mest?])
more  never   anything
(...w/less rules than)
the less   always   everything
([we are our town's best]).

f r i e n d s

Benefit: (-less?)
less than that which the rain than wet; &, It's 
still what I grab that makes me a man.
(Niet!)

the
Anways
article, eh?:
 even a slut
  has got to wake up. 

It's Physics

we are prolific
we read heiros--Terrific
got a radio in my ear--Quiet down
The Navy's telling me they're gonna dive, clown,
I have whale ears; sonic testing; ow!!!
(no joke)
Yeah that's how your ears feel
(I poke)
painful under pressure
(Facebook pose)
at least it's real
the pressure of water
(but I can't even feel). 

v i c o d i n f i s h (Klonopinish)

Prologue:

Do we ever know     how a smile appears

 --maybe in distant cold, somewhere lonely, like deers--

i've erected battles before, left, right & here. 

Inaudible:

extend beyond

 rappers have seized on our short

attention             span;

i mean;                                 man;

who in-gods-name do we

tell ourselves anything other than

this is what i do: I DO WELL

me strong, more potent, more GREEDY

I’ll wipe out the police, reclaim the NEEDY

i’m here! motherfuckers! shout for joy

i look out the window like i’m opening a toy

fuck what they say I am the greatest Paloi  

put next to the Fawkes I'm next most Guy-oi

don’t gotta much sense ever glib time like Kanye

I just chill with my AP stylebook and light up

snakes on my shoulders, bitches thighs up,

fire in the corner, this shit is going down,

man is on fire like Jason has Argonauts

(amazing invisible spiders! giant yellow pots!)

I can’t see where I’m going, the future is my past

Can’t see where I going the future licks my bass

Caught fresh just like you like it hon

Caught fresh like a vicodin fish

Not even trying anymore, Good post T

insect
rosewood
melodrama
snood
lynchpin
siamese kittens
the lame pup McGonagall
snow rabbit's slippers
a little milk lost, maybe
something part electric
all the snow
rainbows beyond rainbows
grass
stone
a man named Erotic
blazing deals

Conversation (in French)

"Do I make too much social commentary?"
I asked her, fully expecting a "no".
In fact, she leaned across the table and unleashed:
"Well, on our first date you said you weren't going to ask me any questions, because you thought that q&a was the lowest form of conversation. And then on our second date, you walked across the street when the light was red, because you 'don't need baby pictures to tell you when to cross'. And how you always say that people just conform to norms without a second thought to what's best for them. So in that sense, yes, you do make too much social commentary."
"What kind of questions should I ask you?" I replied, with a wan smile.
"Not that one" she deadpanned. "And you're too sarcastic, while I'm at it. How about you ask me: how was your day?"
"Can't you just tell me how your day is? Why do I need to ask you about it? I figure, if there's something interesting, you'll tell me. If you didn't that would be weird."
"You've never asked about my family."
"Sure, I have. Your brother, whatshisname, he's in school. And your dad's a culinary artist, your mom is retired, and your cat Fredo has been dying for the last 2 years"
"None of that is right!"
"Oh. Ok, Well, I'll ask you more questions. Here's one: when's our anniversary?"
"You can't be serious. I thought you planned this dinner for a reason? Tonight is our 10-year anniversary!"
"Yes of course, I was just kidding. I'll stop being sarcastic as of now."

Caper

"If I wrote my life story on a piece of toilet paper, it wouldn't amount to shit," Antonio said, staring off into space.

"No shit, Burqaman." That was Felipe, always hanging around to throw the cauldron on. Like a witch with a hot temper but less restraint. More hate.

Felipe with his felts hats on, always asking, blunt ashing on. Burnt ham to my Burnham charm.

EXTRA STOVEPIPE !!!

All I really need
are extra pipestoves.
And gloss for the girl,
her lips that is.
Also some striped bass
for the stream yonder,
come spring. While
we're on this topic,
though, nails would be nice,
for the saplings
I intend on fashioning
into a new hamper.

Professors love having middle age students!!!

If you ask most college professors about middle age college students, they can tell you a lot of reasons why they love having them in their class!

Such as:
--They take shits!!!
--They may have had babies!
--They might know how to bake!!!
--Some of them are French spies (exclusively female)!
--Some of them are huge opinionated bitches thanks to hours in a menial position all day, with passive-aggressive tendencies to boot!!! (Not you, Cheryl!!!)
--They are hard-working!
--They take Lipitor but Pfizer doesn't see that money because their patent protection ran out!!!
--Their favorite Shakespeare might be Taming of the Shrew!!!
--Professors love a great debate with their students--it keeps them from getting bored!!!
--I'm getting bored!!! You're so meta!
--They actually show up to class!!!!!!!

Tidal or Laundry

twitter is illiterati
twice as naughty
as pants on laundry
neoNazi
James Cameron started a parade
to the Titanic facade
always receding like Ahmad
Bradshaw his dad saw
how fly he be (aw)
staring at the stars (draws)
looking at they tree (s drawls)
smoking mad cigars
smoking mad beers

I smoke so much laundry
ima take a shower
a showa
i'm my plowers
big naked muscles bitches!
i came to rhyme, snitches!
i cook you like a crab
i found in dey tidal flatz
smoking mad crab weed
smoking mad buds
then i put in my pot and cook you
bitches

Skinema

Whoa, says somebody
(as somebody wears)
a grin thin a homebody

a white horse
in the field of daisies
whiter still (Kofalk)

or more moroseness
white, the whiteness
of being, white politeness
and blackness in my
morning joe, this mud pit
of staunch white cinema
staunch bright grinema
(the grinning of a can
dleabra)

What a blanket looks like (notepad, glanced)

A.
the tomb of the dinosaur codes
like magic filaments of paper dentists
imaginary salamanders folding their chairs
and clamoring off to work.

B.
"options that would involve large-scale engineering of our environment in order to combat or counteract the effects of changes in atmospheric chemistry"

C.
really neat idea (subtle and ingenious) that definitely merits further study. It's anybody's guess whether it'll prove to be feasible in practice, but well worth exploring. And the paper is really well written and well-balanced too (David is one of the most sensible and knowledgeable people in the world on these issues)

1.
"I believe in baths,"
she said. "Mostly for birds,
but also cameras. You know,
to put things in." She relaxed,
just barely, and managed to shrug
her shoulders. "What I'm saying
is there must be a way, to end
it all, without an ending."
Inhaled. "I'm really quite insane,
aren't I?"

2.
I believe in second chances
holidays in Branson (Richard, not Missouri)
and staunch NO CANDY APPLES rules
for those without teeth.

3.
October was for black flags,
flying them,
anointing them like altars,
one by one by one
or take a second look, a good
look and a shudder and a meat pie
just eat it up, hey? look into
my eyes and see that i'm just spiriting
about the room about to peruse some
fatal elemental crabshack wondering
"Are we there yet? No." But a taco
stand, halfway to the moondrake.

Freestyle part I

What's the etymology of entomology?
Willy Wallaby.
Wannabe
like a Spice Girl.
Spice World nice girl, nice
pearl necklace.
Sexist mexicans and blacks,
attack all of em,
black olive em,
I track Taliban - Osama, Obama
Tally me banana
smoothies, strawberry
Harry Belafonte - Stephon Marbury
I'm a star so bury me
Marry me, I the wed
Day of the Dead
De los Muertos
Los Puertos
The Doors are closing- Jim Morrison
mind the gap not the chorus, son
Freestyle like a Ford Taurus: done

I'm not going anywhere!

My Letter to Posterity (Though I Still Live)

Something: is fundamentally wrong with the world.
I have always felt this.
There are things that still belong.
Love, family, friends, nature,
music, love the least among these
and at once the greatest. Our
mothers and fathers are our sweetest
reminders of where we are from
a place where elkhorns weren't put
on the wall for show, or as some
capitulation to excess, they weren't
worn as a trophy of "what-i-killed,"
they were there because
they didn't need to be, because we are
all alive, after all, just across the field
is a bighorn sheep
and in the attic
is our imagination,
bordering on the riparian.

What I see in visions is electric
like God's face being shaved or
a minstrel microwaving popcorn
for the first time. Please just us,

just this once, she urged us,
legs up on the shore, toiling
as only a mermaid can: at once
sad and happy, part of the earth,
a piece of a chapel, say: not
earthly but swimmingly, you
know, marine... that's the word,

flash!...straight out of the sunbelt
some love like the sun melts,
and all around, everything's extraordinary
in its ability to be profoundly powerless
or at once it's bright opposite: a revision.
A big apple with (too many) seeds of excess.

In Love, of the River

Have I
been through
the fire
enough times
that still
it rings
my ears
hints of a bell
chords of mountains
chiming their death away
mountains unto mountains into
a bleaker beginning, itself fried
these down-low curmudgeons
can't help retreating
looking in the mirror
reacting, saying, "More, should
have done,
more!" Or something similar
slices of throats and lozenges
culls of enamored bridesmaids aloft
"Look mother! An Owl!" & so on
the kid cameras clacking on, chirping,
chiming, clicking. Everybody's alive now,
after all, half of time's ancestors,
piled about, spitting in boxes
careening down alleyways disaster on the dial
motives unscented like a scene from a movie
on breakaway, in love, of the river.

Monsieur Fryynta

Lunch and freckles

Lunch and freckles
neckless munchkin heckles
punch you for a shekel
reckless.

Sheffield-colored maize
and bleu cheese (solid)
all the buffalo on the ranch
say moo.

Cows so emo
short on emotions, but big
on emoticons.

For once

1.
Failed, pale, carved-out canvas of a man that relents, and in so relenting, does not suppress what he ought to--

...& the intellectuals said--Hey son, look down, look up, look around--but they never spoke. They weren't close. That isn't love!

Love by what I mean by words I mean
love, a thing like a lantern in the dark, drake
that mourns the moonlight fading, an arc
of being discovered once discovered again
something you'll call a cliche
a niche a mismatch a clan a calm breeze
a canal, a mode of mysticism
a way of matching like with like
a way of being
a way of living.
You already know.

2.
That isn't what I meant. I know the answer I know
how to live. Sometimes. I know
the way of the arrow, how it flies
and in so flying does. It hasn't been
sent by anybody. Which is the same as saying
it has been. Shot thus, landing here. What
a way of putting words together, you'll
say. What a way of siphoning sand. I had
hands and I lost them, by way of the sleeve,
by way of the bands of color that stripe
my dusty dark forehead my
time for lingering my time
for hungering the minute
is now.

Come closer. He isn't here yet.
You are listening to yourself.

Wasted sweetness

I am surrounded by nothing on all sides.
I am running toward the fire.
The fire runs from me.
Mountains beyond mountains.

Please cut the lights.
Somebody's god is untamed.
Please somebody... explain yourself.
Why you are here, for example,
or maybe something like: Why am
I here? But that becomes trite, becomes a hold full of water,
and all the good and the bad that entails.
On the one hand: water something like fresh.
On the other: possible disease.
Between my hands there is air
between my hands there is sweat
between my hands there is sweet.

NOLY (Like holy but with an N)

If there's one thing I want to say to the Microsoft Corp., it's definitely this:
Side-by-side windows
are chill to the point of whiskerless.
(That is, as chill as being whiskerless
is in the cat community.)

Feels like I have to get out
all my weird shit now, not
"before it's too late," but more like
"before I quit being so afraid to
get down to the stolid business
of living responsibly and applying
myself."

Then again, I can still write really weird
(newly adverbed) things once I get
used to really being serious about my
present life. The point is
maybe this unloading kind of helps
somebody. I guess it's okay if it
only helps me. But I hope it (or
some of it) can one day help somebody
else. That's my gay little goal. 

Blowhard foolish prose

It's kind of sad to say, I think, but everything you have ever done has become allergic. Becoming your own reflection. It's called, for example, "having to take down the mirror on the vanity you are using as a desk," or whatever. What I'm saying is that I'm into symbolism. Yesterday I met this guy at the cinema. Somebody is looking at somebody else. What I'm reading might as well be Latin. My mind is a soupcon of coy meaning. There we go again. Somebody goofing. Somebody Googling the goofster next door. You know I really hate this new internet thing. Everybody has to fucking go on there every day. So many sites. So little time. So many pilgrims. Too much wine.

]] Whati'msayingisthatWhati'msayingisthatWhati'msayingisthatWhat
i'msayingisthatWhati'msayingisthatWhati'msayingisthat [[

[inscribed prose] ::::that space driveway
:::::the most kooked out uncanniness

;;;;;uncanned bliss like pumpernickle
sandwiches, Jews and glances;;;;;

:::::give way::::::

to the ethnic spellathon
over here over here we can't
even use these words anymore we
are assumed to be weird here we
are just so cautious (rear)
we just came so close (spear)
it just came, this snow!
it just came, this year!

Where's the lectern? (Hipster Ed.)

High at night; high as a flashlight
on the top shelf in the closet.

Voluminous as the quantity a whale breathes
let's say a Wright one. This is how much high.

Big as the Lenscrafters' tab for The Eyes of
Dr. T. J. Eckleburg.

As amazing as, per se, something worth
mentioning.

intelligence

I open the door for three--now four!--men
and Maybe I stay for a while.

Open the door for the strays
and Maybe I stray that way...
unsick beggars in the backalley
await your reconnaissance. It is not
as romantic as you believed. But you
never really could, not with a heart,
mind you? Not with a heart, that says,
(IF YOU ARE LISTENING) the life lived
in secret clay meadows from one
burned ionized distance to the past
the gray isotopes of sweet longing
fading and fading and fading...
[You know what I mean!]
Is  clearly not worth living.

Your mother could have told you that.

FlavoursOLove (Green Energy Re-Bridge)

FlavoursOLove

c a m e r a
word -- art
flash; crave;
brilliance--;
electric DerS
piegel canvas.

Electric dimo
rphous giant;
clock ditto ho
meless man-of
-war causless
bromicide alert;
tastelesswidows
& elacstatic ra
inlikeblatterbla
cameracoldflashha
rdcoldlikeplastic

illuminedsuddenlyby
F i L a M e N t
O u s algal oil ablaze
in_the_new_age_
l-a-n-tern.

Faces etc

why are faces always beautiful? they can be
tanned creased dark graced bulbous Sino
Indoeuropean Asian greasy flanked by brown language
arranged like strange lids or Chinese
vegetables the Orient sinking in sinking
in sometimes a sink like a stink
under my skin sometimes through my nose like ahhh
choooo says the train says the whistle
says the bundle
says the white Chinatown noise the hunger
the thirst of danger this thirst for power
this hunger gradient this grand switch
these bald Lebanese women grabbing for things
(Is this something you've seen? Perhaps.)
Complete honesty. Gets inbetween the layers
of sediment in the memories of the clam bake
or the minutes spent waiting in line for fresh
vegetables on Eldridge Street, when there are other
in-every-visible-way identical vegetable stands
ones seemingly exactly the same, same
cucumbers, same mashed / un-mashed melons, same
brown skin fanning flies off the plums, same muted
rebellion or pride or something like being haunted
something like just living selling the ordinary
selling the handbag, or the curtain, the
hidden-behind-glass items for retail
in the nearby shops ... shops like people
offering
slim silver cropped doorhandles, for example.

Thoughts walking around (30 Aug 2010)

Walking through Chinatown today I had some thoughts. First of all I am a minority here. It's good to feel this way. (Of course... the goddam ubiquitous qualifier) You can take everything I say with a pinch of salt but Westerners (and those Easterners who duly dwell here (there, yonder, south, fuck these labels)) get too much sodium to begin with. The point: I'm a minority at least in Chinatown, Manhattan. Since I'm a white American of European heritage I'm usually the majority. It's good to have a break from that... identity. I really don't want to be linked to what so many people like myself have done. What do I have in common with those Europeans-of-old? Does the connection mean anything at all? Walking around here it usually doesn't feel like it. More generally in NYC people don't stare at you longer than an instant (unless they have one of the usual reasons for looking longer, like you might remind them of somebody they know, they like your looks, etc... wrestling with the unknown here). So I'm basically anonymous. And I have to be honest: I can't get enough of it, at least for now. I don't really want to be known most of the time, now. Obviously I aspire to do great things and forge great relationships with amazing people, which will make me not always anonymous. But by and large there are so many people here from such different backgrounds, they have seen a lot. And one of the only "rules" that seems to be a rule here, really just a convention is what I mean, is that it is not chill to stare or single people out. The mass is just the mass, like a river, not pointing to itself, just flowing.

One exception: at least two of the cashiers at the convenience/deli/ballsack across the street call me "Boss." I don't like it. They are of some Mid East heritage (what do I know?) and it feels like they are singling me out for being "those boss," "the man," whatever. Both times so far I have been wearing my (new) glasses, so maybe that makes me look more "professional." So really I don't think it's very much racial, but is maybe economic. Whatever. More observation is obviously needed. 

During my walk I made it halfway across the Manhattan bridge. The very cement and filaments of the living bridge shudder every time the train goes by. I believe it was built in 1901 but I could be wrong. It's old. Could not help but think what would happen if the bridge broke and fell. If I was over the water, would I be okay? Assuming nothing landed on top of me, of course. My guess is that I'd be pretty hurt, almost certainly broken bones and absurd bruising, etc... but if I landed on my feet, I'd live... once again assuming I'd be intact enough to float... or swim... to shore. Chill. 

I got a filling

tonight's not gonna be good
searching for cavities
in my cavities, my skivvies
starboard skiff
spaceman spliff

"Pliff" said the onomotapoeia
"pliff, ploff"
feeble sheep, sheepish people
keebler elves ship steeples
subtly sipping beetles

Juice of the sun
ruby red greatfruit
tropical americana

Elegant as Chinatown Garbage, maybe

1.
I have already discovered
the meltwater at edge of cave

already entered
the cave I am to call home
like lost money ringing her bank
to say, "Coming home soon!"

or a man named Nickel phoning to
get his liquor license renewed
at half past midnight
in the East teens.

2.
A.
The chaos ferry
churns on empty
she has already stuggled enough
she has already
done what matters.

B.
Welcome, they say,
to the place that matters.
You have found the spoon
inside of the baby.
Found the runt
in halls of prized gerbils.
You have already... have already...
done so many things. Have concocted
potions to tantalize the masses.

Has discovered circular pathways
in abundance
that wind downward with elegant
and symbiotic ease.
What I mean is: you've arrived.

2nd Blog In The City (Crumb)

Preamble

I have already discovered
the meltwater at edge of cave
(. . .)

1st Constitution Ave.

I have already entered
the cave I am to call home
like lost money ringing her bank
saying: Herro, I emm home! Beijing
means Northern Capitol. Jing.
Not Zhing.

& Deer ([Ampersand, misunderstood])

-- it seems overwhelming to me,
MY HAVING NO
conceptualization of schema

 -- Ultimately we need to gather
our friends and settle in a glen
near our families
a shady grove
not sketchy but well-wooded
or were it sketched, well-wrought

well-wooded, populated by extremophiles who
hide, who inhabit inscrutable depths
of wood, stone and earth;

 -- with woodpeckers friendly a-thump, snakes not vicious
but yes, dangerous (we are men, after all);
wild, out-there, your kids need to know;
& deer, the great misunderstood deer, Kissinger's
useless eaters, but not useless, even if animals
could be. (Set aside
humanity, for now). Right here in the U.S.A,
God's own city,
these deer are our own natives,
Polacks of the Great American Ruminants,
drinking firewater of polluted landscapes,
but still alive. Eating tree & bush
& grass beneath the frost. [Bison with huge necks
massively heave snow aside. Who said snow
was just white and pretty; We reside.]

(Nothing more natural than electricity,
fatigue, the quest
to not be extinguished. In some ways,
we are that fragile.)

 -- The
snakes not man, you know, men unserpentine:
surreptitious but uncoiled. blasphemy without heat.
salamanders and saddled feet.
our children must know,
forest.

 -- &
tribesmen stone creeks in the evening, gathering
piles along the banks, relieving. reliving ghost
fires, the weird swift waters. something like time
gathering, fathering. uncomfortableness sure as
mother's milk, even now developing. our greatest
mistake: not knowing how this debacle nourishes
us, forces necessity upon us like a dagger and
a dangerous but absolute mission. Failure never
was an option. That's not just an idiom, but a 
truth. It's just something that happens.
We do not try
not to love, nor
would we claim to

(intentionally)

adorn hearths with rubbish or something
unwholesome   after all   love
 is more the trumpets
than the harp; more than trumpets
and less than harp-song. Lesser and more ordinary,
simpler, but less crafty. It is here &
there; it is right here. 

 -- (intentionally)

Right beneath your wings. Call it poetic
but true-- ... ... and now, becomes 
(is) the truth redacted. Nothing less perfect,
I say, then pigeons taking wing
and defecating without awareness.
These kind of accidents
are not accidents. Ashberry was right:
these accents seem their own defense.

Aboriginal Sin

This is the first original thought I've had in years
A wholly National House of Pancakes
no syrupy foreigners allowed

I'm as French as french toast
but I know my people
and come Bastille Day,
they'll huff and they'll puff
and they'll blow NHOP down.

Pancakes are flimsy
much like my business plan
potentially a chocolate chippy enterprise
but ultimately, a big mess.

Enterprisin' ain't easy.
Mo' butter mo' problems.

If this doesn't work, I'll donate my brain to charity