Tuesday, February 09, 2010

"Signed, the Human Fly"

Dunst & Durkin Porter & Stout
green balloon
in the heart of America
stolen from Africa
the boarded-up storefronts
& a tumbleweed rolling through
the courage to hope
for a less than desiccated roadkill
i hold up a sign
exactly who is reading this
either you already know it
or you won't want to go on
to the second letter
brake for me motherfucker
almost painless
two mugs against ten ineluctable commands
or maybe only one
as the pale cerulean wends

klama fu le karce
rudimentary A/C
cluster of conical
the moment of projection
a terrapin
the color
of the sun

vertical windows
through which my unbelonging
made black sense of it

when a block was as
far as the world extended
the damp story glowed

too many hungers,
and becalmed under a bush
time stood still for me

cold dark of a bus
window deep as any lake,
with a lake's secrets

the gradual loss of
dreaming awake, the sudden
onset of numbers

patterns paced off, then
retraced exactly, then left
alone without me

a poem is a word
remembered out of a dream
still one with the dream

so many names of
power, so many wrong turns
on the old straight track

in fifty-foot trees
a treehouse, then a hammock,
then just the circle

don't call it a crash
call it an incident; not
a flaw, concern

drums in the desert
i climb a tiny mountain,
slide all the way down

cataract upon
cataract, each effacing
the route i took there

by the cold blue dawns that came
like final derby

the word "syzygy"
spoken on television,
the word "autochthon"

tornados of soot
nothing else moving where the
author's hand trembled


and we made love
and only the sea was watching

the Golden Blitzkrieg
Earth versus the gray cephalopods

"That said, there's still a giant talking toad who is introduced as one of the main new villains and goes completely unexplained..."

I just found out Joe Christ has died.

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