white whistle why

the white whistle
spelled past me --
a bone of continent --
a bore of contentment --
and examined the room.

the sound was
(where?)

this part of tomorrow

remembering how you lost a suit

Chicago

that which cleaves apart
and that which cleaves together.
that party that you
now don't remember.

your friend's brother's friend's
place. with some saucy blonde.

bet they don't have to worry
about rude Koreans without carpets
living above them.

the white whistle. but this wasn't
a race thing. just a phrase that came
to me in the park. the white wistful-
ness plague. the white-whale-pursuit-
problem.

"gotta find that girl and make her
mine," goes that refrain in the
eye of man. graduation speeches,

basketball games. bedtime.

'no reason to despair'

This book is called "no reason to 

despair." Look at the clouds, the 

persimmons in the corner of the 

yard. Who is this moloch casting 

eyes at faces? Who is this weath-

ered man sitting on the edge of the windowsill 

waiting for the baby to let go of her welt 

i've been born before

i shall be borne again

from here to where? 

here to wherever 

alacrity, amongst us, 

a peering boy crawling toward the rain. 

i don't have any hope for myself.

i've been in the dust too long. 

time to lick myself clean. there was a 

time when i wrote things that made it 

sound like there was a deep ferment 

inside of me and maybe there was. 

wrote about shit and puss. but there's 

a newness, a phantom, a miasma. 

i've attained a level of playing, a field

with weapons on it. grass and stuff, 

cured meats and grappling hooks. 

look out of every window in the gardenshed, 

do what you will with your money. i don't 

care where you park your raincoat. 

but i do care where 

we have today begun

insisting upon this 

task-at-hand. believe. 

what happens in the small 

yellow house by the train tracks

or what happens to the black man

walking past, 

toward me, toward the crook of this 

particular streambed, angled left 

and west, out of spoonbill territory and 

headed east, further out of the continent

where men rest in beds with sand 

in their mouths and bless, bless, bless 

themselves for these gifts, non-ordinary, 

given and granted ad hominem, forever. 

(Train from Chicago to Champaign, IL. 04 April 2015)

The roar at the end of the world

The roar at the end of the world 

is the road at the edge of the cliff

is the calming warmth of a mother 

packing her belongings up, and leaving. 

Yes, I've heard you do it before. That 

was many years ago when the road heaved

up from the lowlands to become highlands. 

The muck descended, the hard warm 

rock strata rose. There is no alarm,

no chalice. This is ancient land, ancient 

feelings. People without electronic means 

of communication. Analog aliens. Primates

with bones and throes and hands. Wringing? 

I'm crouching in the bush waiting for a clear

shot at an animal I'd like to eat. This is the 

way of our ancestors. The animal lives 

in the open, in the forest, eating fish, 

and it is part of life. To take other life. 

To make a living. To dart and to hide, to 

love and to beget kin. To be sexual. To 

love asunder, to fight and climb and 

endure sunburns. To know the plants 

and all of their charms. To help yourself 

to the (      ) embrace of the world.


[Champaign, IL. 06 April 2015]

insane tripe / painkillers

to speak is
more difficult
than putting words

on a screen
(where?)
nobody might anyway

see this what --
them heard words or
something goddam, who
cares? pass these please-
believing-sweeties, plz

remind us of our cold-
cut crops regard us crops,
rebreed us foodthings,
make us wayward, make us
hum again

with threads and threams
of memory like wheening
sky memorizing deens, these
krebbed believers doaning,
like Doaning Pipers feared
the wrath was snurg, the
coop was fledge, the corp-
oration done, the bankrupt
bridged. 'twas started. the

men in their suits were here,
where, i couldn't say why?
could i!? the men were here
in gray charcoal suits like
ooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooor was it Tomlinson,

nee Bakersfield, with his
thumb up his ass and his
Megan (his wiferight?yeah
youknow) or Colleen in the
background like Grimace,
this motion verbing and

I don't believe this
means what you
think it does

- - -

meeting, wow ; unthought regrets ; what is past

in the edith
i met a woman
named forest

and like wow
her face smiled   or   the room

TURNed,  ;  in some fashion  ;

"things" weren't        as they say
t h e  s a m e  a          n y m o re

whichisn't tosay i'vebeen waitin
g foranother chanceto makeright
whatwas wrongand iknow aswel
l asyou i'vedone thingsthat didn't

HOLD  UP  in  the  light of day
Q  U  I  T  E as well as i'd hoped

(there is a mouse in the house.
be it cute--no matter--the rodent
shall die.                           ahem)

which isto say
that she smiled
and everything changed

Ciñamon

Return of the Mexican
fresh out of mescaline
booze from the mezzanine
don't mess with him

Dream of the pauper
Proud papa to Cyndi Lauper
dropped her as a baby
but she was (more than) fine

For what purpose is this nonsense?
Is nonsense ever for a purpose (yes).

the most compelling tribes

the most compelling tribes 

are the ones we haven't found 

yet, can only guess about, or

so it seems. i mean i think i've

got enough to figure out, it 

seems i already know a way 

around it, i know garden paths

etc. to walk down. round about, 

cold winds, down the alley in 

the place you wish you grew 

up. strange winds, strange thoughts

about what could have been, 

too much to consider, too unsafe 

a mental habit. mental habitations, 

rental computers, barking dogs

in the alley my dad grew up 

next to. we drove them in our 

memories, we drove them as lovers

collect each other's belongings 

to give them back. meaning we 

haven't. they're still here. 

recently

like a man in bed with

maybe a cold speaks up 

when the thermostat falters, 

eventually, he'll have to

do something about it. 

i know, i am that man, just

laying here, just breathing 

in the snow, the golden glow

of every piece 

of every known love. i went

to her house when I was ten

or so. I didn't really ever see

her again. I didn't know that 

love was something more than

feelings. she called me. in 

the morning. she wanted to 

talk. i was 

in the basement. nine years old. 

i held back the urge to 

ask her why, like, 

"is this about an assignment?"

but even then 

i was savvy enough to reign 

it in. still full of wonder that she

called in the morning, though. 

"hey doug," she said. me: "who?"
she called in the morning 

in her yellow sweater and her

lacy black 

don't-tell-me-what    I have, 

uh, already discovered. this isn't

a graveyard, or no seminar. 

i've caved in less than ever 

recently; a new era begins. 

Heated Swimming Ways

There are ways to do this
thing where we move through
the water with our bodies

less coldly. Modern tech,
modern institutions surround
us like gauzy fakeclouds

that you can ignore but
not really avoid, nor outrun,
for their shadows are every-

where. "That's okay, that's
alright," we repeat, society's
ubiquitous refrain & salve

for any pain, we are still
here, we still have eyes to
see the light, obscured though

it may be, we say. "Everything
will be okay." Sure, but that's
like agreeing upon staring

straight ahead when terrible
things are happening in
the periphery. "That's just

life, man." And, to be fair, this
pool--in the middle of a damn-
ingly cold winter--feels great.

(New York, 08 February 2015)

super b0wl sunday poems #1 and #2

1.
At the intersection
of is this happening?
and isn't it
I have a reason, I think,
for stopping---
this or that wind
has eloped again
woken up for the moment
sent its regards
asked for affection
found it wanting,
traveled,
studied Scops owls, gone to Lombok,
done that whole "indonesia" thing
found women to whom to make love
with / this / and / or
had an idea
wrote it down
burned the paper
scattered it seaside
took a pill
woke up,
did it again.

2.
And like the buried animal's pigments
are secreted no more--a white mole rat,
a colorless worm, a grub to whom hue doesn't exist
--the whiteness befalls us all,
gets in our teeth, in our affect,
drains into the cracks in our earthenware
seeps into our transmissions
leaves us stained and breathless,
with reason, for once, to stand there
silently thanking the spirits
for what has us befallen.

my life's work

it's cold
and a man must sleep
but first
but pause, but because
as these limbs carry me
they acknowledge their pact
with the ground with the round
world green giving,
world i've given giving, in it,
living--

this space this place perfect
like a hand with a red dirt \wish
with red with blue yarnward
thoughts of barns laymen
& cold, now warm blankets
i'm old but young living
and young but old given,
in years I'll become (in it),
until then enjoy written
words, my life's working
words, my life's work, fin.

Tam dam spat

in the town of Tam
preachers speak of a scam
they don't like the dam
but the preacher be damned!

frankly, i don't give a dam
said the dam-man, goddam
he don't have a pencil, he
don't have a plan, but his
man do -- does -- to stop-up
and ran -- meaning run -- to
get the fuck out of Tam.

mom was a muslim

mom was a muslim 

daddy washed towels 

ground glass on the ground 

gravel in the atrium 

i pooled my assets 

into a clay bowl 

i drank blood, 

i fought strangers

my name is Mishek;

i arrange graves 

for talented Christians

and Frenchman too

the question is the answer

the question is 

would anybody read 

a catalogue of your sins

of your dumb pleasures and conceits 

your mistakes and odd passions 

years after you pass

the question is 

does it matter to record

the sad passings of the heart 

to put them down 

to let them go 

of course letting them 

vanish is 

as important

as any task -- 

the question is not who we want to win but who we care about 

the question is how to become black again 

what happens when you don't back up your claims?

the question is how, why, whom… the question 

remains there like a lingering antibody 

the question is: to have sin? Or escape from it 

the question is the answer 

in a fervor, hands clutching gold, one wants heartbeat

one wants fame, wants reason, wants glory 

wants simple heartburn, wants reason 

the heart wants what it wants which is to go 

to remove oneself from here 

to reach out, to climb, to grow 

the vine is a master, the slave is a cold-calling coward 

the man is a master, here and now, strong and roaring, alive and 

livid, ripening, growing 

the man can mend himself, the man can grow, the man can do 

whatever it is he sets his mind to 

The man is self-talk therapy, the man is 

getting better, indeed 

freestyle poem #791

put your feet 

into cleats 

take a name and number 

put it on a list 

burn it

buy boy's books 

look at the sky 

go crazy with 

whatever who 

knows / cares / 

is willing to, 

did't know 

didn't want to 

i've done everything 

i've discounted all

this band

is bland white fury 

kill Craig's-List- 

Internet-selves not 

tapped into a rhythm 

disruptive 

like "kill all men"

said the feminist 

on Twitter but 

fuck that 

The Catholic Re-Organization Pyre of 1846

"How couldst a fire help us reorganize?" Little William
asked the County Deacon, at the Feast of St. Spadersburg.

"Our Father of Infinite Opportunity & Justice For All
hath made it so. Now go along and sow some oats!"
said Deacon John Jacob Justice, virtuous friar.

Preparation for the conflagration continued. Zachary
put on his trousers and lit his stove; mother was not
yet up and he wanted to impress her with his heft
and forbearance. He lit some pipe tobacco while he
was at it. He thought of the blaze to be, and smiled.

Across the marsh, Marcia was just waking up, and
threw a few hooves into the pot. The glue wasn't going
to make itself, after all. Glue was part of it, too. Glue.

But how many lashings doth a big fire entail! Dove,
and her tag-a-long Zoe had been doing commercials
in the Capitol for weeks, but now come back to Fred-
ricksburg for the big event. They had been lashing
together lengths of yew for days, and Corvus had
helped them pile the fescues in the plaza center.

Elephants & birthdays (07 July 2014)

1.
(swimmer bitten. The winner with swimmers on)

the swimmer was bitten at the entrance to the path
up the mountain. he whom detailed the corn in the
rose paths has led himself nowhere
it feels good to get all uppity
about begin downtrodden.

the bedraggled boy was bitten
by a god on sunday. he was
third in runs allowed on thursday,
but on friday he said he would
by god allow this all to take place
it was good, God's doing.

It was God's doing--it was good.

2.
the humble origins of the cave cricket

Owls Top Bankers, 1-0

The Sante Fe Banking Commission--

God, what an institution! I mean--

the pageantry! The depth of actuarial 

prowess! Ardent men with white pressed

shirts who return day after day--

except Fridays, often, and the four 

weeks vacation they take--and many Mondays

during football season--

…but I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Where was I? 

The SFBC! Oh Dear Jesus, Thank You

for God's Bankers, these men--their 

love for burgers, the love of clean-

liness and slavery, to one's 

passions--banking, that is--

Where am I? 

God help me. I'm weeping. I'm 

really weeping. 

2nd Field

Not the first field, okay? 

But the next one, 

behind the third, 

where the snakes are 

eating mushrooms, clouds

grow in the clown's belly 

and vroom the Macaws shake 

lose folds of laughter like 

crackling thunder underneath 

the moon startling! wow! 

sinister briefly bits of 

brain-spun cold wound home this

bit of tomorrow's feeling,

a man kneeling and homeless by the side

of the robe 

the cold heart where the worm turns 

tomorrow into tomorrow and tomorrow 

is today. 

Absurdist transcription derivation, since you asked (the gushing world)

1.
there are no signs of the gushing world.
it appears rag-beat.

this crashing of paper, completely negative --
this is a person minus belief, soon.

anyway i'd like to solve the knee-bow problem
crack faith, yah? crack some books?

so my idea is to explain:
it not feasible. you've already
knelt. you've already written.

i imagine the origami way
to solve this.
fold your wings together;
make yourself a valley.

if you could see inside,
it's peak & where?
lauded & high, right here,
waiting for a pattern to appear.

This computer has no idea.

2.
cold wine, grape; it's ok.
i was patient at some time.

at first the holes were small.
but hills become mountains.
the solution is perfect, right?
the model says good things,
& bad things too.

...is a crack portable?

Transcription 1 (95% real)

there are no signs of the gushing world. it appears rag-beat
this crashing of paper completely negative--cannot do you
grind home. this is a person minus belief soon.

anyway i'd like to solve the knee-bow problem
crack faith, yah? so my idea is explain it not feasible
so i imagine the origami way to solve this.
Yoshimura sector, for each side this is a cue and valley.

if you could see inside, it's valley and valley,
so our problem is in-between plus and minus zero
(tarrow-meter)

in jurticle. sorry. for joining to some kind of pattern can be appeared.
the is not interest. interest material. you can see the positive.
to explain this, computer has no idea.

The origami solution cannot be the science proof.
...

cold wine, grape, 's ok. patient at some time.
 Initially small deformations, this is more commonly known,
this is valley, mountain. Like 'ddicted. To pick cowl.
Some kind bigger pattern appear. This solution is perfect. But this is a fold line.
…pour it in, okay. if you're adding...

The model say good thing and bad thing too.

...Is a crack portable?

[Literal transcription of what a talk sounded like, from a Japanese scientist who I couldn't understand]

Mush

Seven readily available folk singers at your service
Three left-handed, two dyslexic/ambidextrous. Two with no arms.
Army of one, carnival sun --> prodigal nun.

Refired beams of mushed potatoes
Globetrotters waiting for the Rupture at the Potomac
"Major Announcement to come:
Decaffeinated = hard to spell"
Coffee with the coffee smell

"Yell and scream and shout" is redundant
a sentence unfit for public consumption
simultaneous humming with sumptuous gumption

This makes Harold hungry
famished for parsnips
of the garden variety.

Aphids!

Magic

Men and women are magic,
not meant for ordinary lives.

not on this day

There are people involved, in the, incident. There are mouths and women to feed. Babies. There are mannequins to stand up. There are

There are

whole countries. Dilapidation. Depr
ivation.

Departments. Whole bodies of

code & words

there are countries

there are women
with brown, flat bellies
there are children

there, ah, mud,
there's a mudslide

there is a 17-year-old named J------ wrestling in Ohio mud
still a v-----

there is a 17-year-old named D--- running around a track
soon to learn about the planes hitting the World Trade Center

there is a 17-year-old named S------- doing cartwheels
on a thin, elevated beam. She will be your girlfriend.
You will be her first. She will teach you how to love
again.

There are

winds, currents in the ocean, there are mud-beams,

there is no light in places.
there is cod, there are cold dark places
and desperate men who fish,
there is love, there is sun
but not on this day.

some words on friday

sprouts of a new fresh day
the uncollected people looking toward each other
are we a bundle?
a microcosm of violence,
a virus in a penguin's blood

damn stanchion of a nation's poor,
belittling your demand
for your own satisfaction.

i believe in longevity.
i believe in freedom. I
believe in everything you've
already taught me. come to the
boathouse, nude, and i'll
give you a robe.

2
seen through new eyeballs
this classroom is a curse
a feast for eyeballs

seen through prison bars
her body is a banquet
albeit coming with a fee
like an ATM from a rival bank

3
i'm so fucking sick of sitting here

Such is life

Drinking chai tea
doing tai chi
try to remember the last time I was creative

words used to flow from my body
like music to my ears
lately it's like pulling teeth
as ears stream down my face

yes, ears. Lest I dream on, as the years
pile up
faithless and drowned, not unhappy but worried
not rushed but certainly hurried
unmarried/harried
and so on
and so forth

every floor

every floor

is as ordinary as

every other floor

a million floors

stretching out, from

here to eternity,

floors covered in

linoleum, sandalwood,

expensive linens,

birch bark, pine shavings,

floors covered in mud

floors made of earth

floors smelling of catnip

flooring supplies salesmen

leaning on their wives

after a long day at work

dancing on top of bars

tables become floors

men dancing alone,

men dying alone,

human beings crying

to touch each other, to

reach out like arms grabbing

falling money

I have a farm!

I have a horse!

I fed it poison!

there was a time

before the war

when I still believed

and now instead

I spend my nights

setting fires in alleyways

& jerking off

and now I'm done

with the hotheads,

the unbelievers

and the gentlemen brides

cool calculated birds

landing on wires

flitting between oaks,

between evergreens,

men hiding in broom closets

boys with bright eyes whistling

bright corridors leading

to darkened rooms,

women with dishpails &

cards carrying loose slots

(The Loosest in Connecticut)

...

now arm your souls & arm

your minds with nonconformity

because a new wave of manipulation

is pouring down on us, pouring

over everyone you've ever met

and it must be resisted. 

as the floor holds the feet 

holds the body & the mind 

resting regally in that head,

the beautiful head of yours. 

magic (poetry by a spiritual teen)

like the atheists think
maybe there's indeed no
magic in this world

but if there isn't
may God strike me down
because i believe

in something beyond --
beyond science, beyond
the immediacy of reason

i believe in the spirits
of trees, in the holiness
of nature, that love

for example isn't just
chemical, that bonds
don't expire in death,

that memory, moreover,
can maybe last forever
that our ancestors

are still with us,
perhaps begging for us
to be better.

short declaration

I'm the VP of Congress Avenue
and I have a shot
of winning the whole neighborhood
merely by unzipping my fly
and showing the whole world
or at least a small part of it
my above-average dong.

bejeweled fountain, applause

the first instance of many
junks plying the seas was
in japan many years ago

the first mistake was
walking to work

the man in the Ichthyosaurus
shirts is all smiles

the pure, bought briquets
were made to burn

the boy in baby blue
is priceless

the devoid penumbra
of her luncheon umbrella
smolders

your flame, on a towel
in the park

leaves no mark
but in your heart

left a note for her
at breakfast in the lobby

she didn't receive it.
denote your interest

by investing in her
dad's company.

yessir, Bryce, i think
it was, i've come

far enough to know
that i'm not going back,

and i've drunk too
many times

from the bejeweled
lip of that fountain.

Here is the monstrous myth

Here is the monstrous myth. This is the Buckley Family.
The offspring: Susan & John. A Hallow's Eve joke plan:
neighborhood children to chop a dummy's head off.

The Buckley children thought it would be hilarious to
actually  kill. Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't.
Either way somebody's been tricked. Here is the

monster: here is the myth. There is the shadow
of cold in your memory
of the real cold in your teeth. Clinching it like

a pen ready to write with. Ink, solid
soldered parts of your already-bought-car.
Night's out at the lake with her dervish

delivered as handy. Cool, cool, clear
water. She gave you what she wanted;
She gave you her hand. You shivered.

A title better than the body -- revisit

Isle of Pines (Youth)

In our youth we were pines,
all of us islands connected
underwater by archipelagos
& si, no está muerto,
está ojust comenzado. Esta
bueno.

<>
Little is known of the pre-Columbian history of the island, though a cave complex near the Punta del Este beach preserves 235 ancient drawings made by the native population.

<>
One of the biggest factors is luck.

<>
In our youth we were pines
on islands. In our youth we were
not yet how we wanted to be, we
didn't know how. I still don't
but I am no longer a youth.

<>
In our youth we were
inland, made to be another way,
in our youth we were pirates,
the long dugout canoes
of American crocodiles.

<>
In our youth we were pines,
we were pining,
blooming invisibly,
seeds that require wildfire.

The page

The page is the space where the bone is erased 

and replaced with black ink that bleeds not 

but charts a course of hard life, lived in the Earth 

by tubers & roots. I believe I believe I believe 

in the moon rocks beneath the feet -- in the 

skeletons in her house, in the monkey's 

resting place, unpretentiously hidden 

in the corner next to the palms. 

The marauders of thought are afoot 

and let's not mention that they are slowly 

falling forward, placing one foot in front of 

the other, a run to the place in the park where

the bamboo shoots grow, and everything 

is in its place, sacred and vegetable. 

Laden down like a latent frown turning 

over and into a clown's 

wedding clothes. I opened her bloom

I took note of her petals, 

I planted her rose garden. 

the reef at the edge of the world

the reef at the edge of the world
the inborn impulse to strangle one's
sexual partners. the reef at the
edge of the whorl. the finger waggling,

the hand of God. hand on a Bible
like a rifle positioned downrange.
downwind, unhinged, boxes of wheat
crackers. the joyous sound she makes

in the morning. focus on that--the
girl you haven't met yet, her beautiful
hair and her beautiful body wrapped
around you like flax becoming lace

becoming silk, maybe. everything evolves.
even sentences into paragraphs and
relationships into prisons. business
is who you know, business is ethical

in the American moonlight empirical.
"i am not curious" and i never will
be but i'm electronic like curtains
ne'er shall be. i'm online and incurable

like a virus on the website about Neptune.
you just wanted to learn about the
solar system. the whole world & its vales,
the whole world for sale, wholesale.

Caring

science vs. fiction
*shrugs*
precious little matters, litterbugs
truth vs. consequence
and being selective is tough

I wish I took fewer electives in college
and did more things I didn't enjoy
intellectual laziness is a curse
registered for classes as a nurse

Not really.
I CARRY A PURSE.

Not really. Lips sealed or worse, zipped
locked, bagged up and thrown out

grown out of my jeans
patchy memories of outfits past

loud last actions
clouded judgments
resounding failures
no buts, just move forward
from the foreword

which lasted longer than I expected.
like a bad best man's speech.
Toast with jam
too much on my plate
not too late to share
too much of a burden to think about
but not too great to bear.

Sometimes I care.

Return to Trigonometry

Doberman
it's over, man
hits and misses
hugs and kisses
permission to admit evidence of incisions - dismissed
I would be remiss if I didn't mention - I'm listless
yes, something is indeed amiss.

I miss something I never had
I want to be a dad
but am not even close to ready
diapers cost a lot, you know,
and kids wear them til they're like 10 years old.

Everything is an accident
nothing is an accident
coincidence is just love and hate at the same time
deja vu - an interesting concept
flash all the way back to a past life
so fucking rad.

I saw it already
it's familiar to me
so why is it so difficult
why does it feel new?

what do I want and what do I need?
why can't I google that?
what is "the internet?"
Argh.

14 August 2013 bits

not the Mets but the "Quick Mets"
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"Activism" is a word that's been on the tip of my tongue recently
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the stop-less pause of rain has passed
and now the living sun is out
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Writing about a Fresno arborist and I remember the time that I was at Carle Park, I think, probably with Mere, and I was playing on a pretty extensive, multi-level playhouse, which was really cool. I think we played beach volleyball after that. Definitely we went swinging. I had on a hat. One of those colorful careless hats of my youth. Maybe not though.
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hypnotic color-correction

15 August 2013

a DAY THAT WILL
live in infamy -----------
Ronny's not my friend.
<>
that's how i like 'em, Quick & Sad
<>
New York, New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware
& Virginia.
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twig & the half-moon
<>
baby black bear 40 lbs
the wolf is full-grown:

a bullet, 24 pork steak$ wrapped in paper,
& a soggy salad in shark stomach
<>
a STORY IDEA

a video as a poem

What you just said is
one of the most insanely idiotic things
I have ever heard.

At no point in your rambling, incoherent response
were you even close to anything
that could be considered a rational thought.

Everyone in this room is now dumber
for having listened to it.

I award you no points
and may God have mercy on your soul.

some stuff

land-use
pavement
mission
confederation
recognition
needed,
money,
wanted.

i want it
i need it
I've held
it in my
hands and
behold,
life again,
arisen like
palm-fronds.

Does it matter
what we're doing
to our minds?

The recognition
of the world
is not what matters
but the hope that
you are doing
what's important,
and what's important
is being done.