It seems to be assumed man is independent of his privates

once poured tequila on a fire pit to prove a point to teenagers

this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a gargle

what kind of high does a poetic line offer  

It seems to be assumed two nuclei form one derives two

It seems to be assumed two new beings are equal products of the first

It seems to be assumed equality

the kind of high a poetic line offers lovingly tears the nasal cavity

bloody boogers for days for weeks for all is fair in love

toss gorgeous when all is blown away it goes away

It seems to be assumed a drug metaphor is apparent

when we forget kindness is not how I met your mother

It seems to be assumed your mother has disappeared

as if nothing more than a baby bell pepper or headed cabbage

or a very dense central region of an atom

Usually we regard loneliness as an enemy

when there’s no reference point it is difficult to say I love you

years and years of swiping left make it all the more impossible

Usually we regard loneliness as an absorbing case study for the treatment of deviance

a genesis     wantable unloveable    a river

I just want to relax and die in a detox centre from too much health

Usually we regard loneliness as not knowing what to do with yourself

we cannot, of course, determine what is at stake when knowing

Usually we regard loneliness as cold food

when it pukes its insides soft it is difficult to leave throw up behind without lapping it

Usually we regard loneliness as that which to run away from

I yearn to nurture it in my bear hands if it will let me

No man as wise as when you’re ready to listen to him

thank you, scholar, for adventures in repetition compulsion

No man as wise as his repairs

just leave is not an option for individuals exposed to the bachelor

zinc phosphide disturbs bowels enough to take a walk outside

you may not like rats but they want to like you

No man as wise as ulterior gains

No man as wise as his last attempt at self-defence

ethical and legal strikes strike your subjecthood's back side

the grass is greener on the other cheek

No man as wise as the language of the oppressed

study a bruise long enough    insatiate the nerve

sympathetic fusion and all that jazz

your body   following your head

bite harder next time  no time next

After the revolution you broke my heart

I am shit poor at flirting now without you

this is how I speak to you now I speak to what is

yes I do yes I speak to what is now unaccounted for

After the revolution your feelings for me changed

as mine did not for you but did for you

lovers follow each other   you and I had torches    friends

After the revolution you can never text me again

After the revolution text messages no longer exist

nor do books instruct you and I to love   communicate 

After the revolution my self-concept was your concept

all your far-fetched childhood dreams came true

After the revolution you never call me sweetie

After the revolution what else do you and I have

can you ask? You and I loved, and that was it

The culture has an abstract idea of culture

imagine the mechanism of copulation   twist it 180 degrees

it doesn’t exactly make me want to have sex in one motion

The culture has an abstract idea of approval ratings

The culture has an abstract idea of advanced artistic practices

I like pornography but does pornography like me

every time I watch it irritates my mucous membranes

The culture has an abstract idea of finger fucking

The culture has an abstract idea of sexual fantasies

a cluster of giant pandas encircle my behind  puff huff

most women approach estrus mid March through mid April

women go to the outskirts of their ranges    rub their anal areas

on trees    rocks   deposit smelly tangential secretaries

typing as quick as thought so as to not miss this one day for hating

they do these barks  like a dog   they do lunges and they do squats

The culture has an abstract idea of physical altercations

they have just this one day with a day or two on either side

it all depends on who moves first when the door opens

when the smallest penis in the animal kingdom discloses

In the business of punishment a chokehold either kills or pleases

o musk of gentle Juniper     let's go thank and encourage him

In the business of punishment the cosmo guy is the only guy

an adulterous bigot marries and impregnates in protest

a boring fool who stays at home adorned with a laurel wreath

makes love even madder and names his pets a pet name

In the business of punishment a couple in love picks a bay sprig

forbids the other say hello to anyone other than the other

In the business of punishment areas of interest act the past

bees and butterflies seldom visit that which contains no nectar

In the business of punishment crops whipped with elder will save blight

In the business of punishment a child beat with elder will fade away

a child believed to have been made of wood and lies but the truth is

consent is mandatory and, with me, so is Shakespeare

It girl punk come in through the kitchen window

she got a good job with the Cadillac of pensions

It girl no feel good scraped knees carrot blades

hanging by the seat of her panties half the time

other half she sucking off the devil’s tail’s tall tales

and all shining together prettily sobbing sweet bb Jesus

blessed be the fruit praised be the Lord all Mighty

It girl passes her time in a passive delirium of satisfaction

learns to trust never has to say no which is good

It girl kaleidoscopes consent delivered in a cum sock

patterns of similar heartbeat blood pressure breathing

after a man rapes there is always a refractory period

in which he cannot rape again though is this true for most

It girl capable of great expansion and many more

This one is about spiritual homesickness

as soon as I lay them down it is not helpful for the working classes

This one is about a dumb show on a slow clock and this one

is directly related to their question about penis variations

in its normal state it hangs down lonely

This one is really on spot and this one refuses Dr. Phil

look over their knitting of little red squares of selfishness

This one echoes risk by taking the universe a part

one little red square at a time

This one is a dirty limerick and goes out to

ze zailors I’ve zomething to zell

This one seems to go well I started crying and it was tomorrow

if I were Leonard Cohen I would have died too

isn’t there a way to prevent all this terrible suffering?

only if they clap their hands and mean it yes

I cannot jump rope off these ropes

This way




Blood suffering

Dolls introduce to more beauties


Dust to side chicks






I forget the words 

The ones which make it right




Was one


I want to say Life of Brain Hole




I gather a small army

A line, this time, frequented by so many


In so many and too many


I tell Honey, die as you must

I respect their life’s limitations




When the body is no good

When the words not even


As we love ourselves

As we kiss ourselves

Fuck ourselves


What is the mind’s eye if not a hippie tool

And if God Hates Hippies 

She must hate us most of all for the permission




POEM # 24

Eventing it, I see many fine things that are not true.

& with that I like it as a site for convergence. Fear

that "it" all, like when a button is pressed, would start filling

the room with movements & sounds. Living it. Kinging 

it that I might drag it out. Yoked tears flow both

for it & for this unhappy IKEA shelf. Preparing it. This liver I will

fain fasten, devouring it. According it. Rosy-fingering it.

What succeeds where the poet fails. I don’t have a monopoly

on it. I lift my hair, and there it is, the last servicio. 

Dragging it. Mentioning it. Fanning it with a thick moustache,

 “I’m just – I can’t do it, I’m sorry,  I’d like to, but I  

can’t it’s not up to me.” I give it the best years of my life.

& all I get is this lousy T-shirt.  Daily nostrum.    

Cunning it. Biopoliticing it.  Cutting it. Squeezing it. Being it.

O my like, O my like, I'm too hurt to be clear   concise

& fair. When it believes to be free, I light a stinky bean & go home.

























IN ITS […]








POEM # 23

After the car crash, this hole on  my face  listens to me

recite the  evening’s  menu. A fridge,  a television set,

laundry  detergent,  patio  furniture,  a zucchini,  a lobster,

a jar of  olives,  my wardrobe,  magenta,  & turquoise.  At the

table, I  flambé this hole on my face atomized  books. Wonder

bread helps build  strong bodies  twenty-three ways. This hole drinks less

than its usual gas fare. I want  to go through  it again  with a quail  

egg on top. Balloon  into an  unhealthy  weight class as  to savour the

taste of herds.  A single  wafer-thin  mint sheets  this hole with viscera.

After the car crash, this hole on  my face  is amazingly still alive.

This hole on my face blasted open, reveals spread ribs & this intact,

nagging heart. Do not renounce the glamour of evil, do not refuse the

mastery of holes.  EAT PREY FUCK THE CHEQUE, MADAME.

POEM # 22

In poem twenty-two, what plays Hector & Achilles if not

highway voices impaled on either side of this Pontiac

Bonville’s twenty-two volt bull horn. They look at each other,

look back at the wall of police cars, & then look back at me. 

They smile, & say, “If capitalism drives off a cliff, it will

do so without any help.” I am a man in a dream who

fails to lay hands upon another whom he is pursuing. The one

cannot escape nor the other overtake. In such wise did I

cry aloud amid tears, & the police join in my lament.

POEM #20

Formerly,  the Gods  used to  go to  war with one  another,

then they  became  united,  formed cults.  In poem  twenty

Zeus will be  played by  Professor  Xavier  in blackface.


Victims  bring down  the uni  before  its stated  time. Zeus

reads tone in  email, wishes  to speak back  calmly,  “GRAB EM

BY THAT GRATUITOUS WORD.”  Old men make  me sad.  Too warm a  

piss for  the like  like tea.  I've always  wanted  to see

EM beaten to a shit  bloody pulp  with a  high-heeled shoe  stuffed up EMS

mouth, sort of  the pig with  the apple. It would be  good to

put EM  on a serving  plate but  you'd need  good silver.

Poem # 19

Start with  the perfect  omelette which  is made  with two eggs  not three.

Amateurs  often add ambrosia for density. This is a

mistake.  Let it  go hungry.  Tears for  food while  horses

taunt it, neighing “You read about  Taurus &  Gemini.  How they  

only came  here to leave  retrograde.  Neigh, us  neither.  Leave the

poetry to the pandas, the pandas to the poachers.  Neigh, call

us crazy we snorted  a fleck  of the  blue paint to  avoid

having to  listen. Neigh, come back  here you  glum schmuck &  crop us.

You can’t  make an  omelette  without  breaking a  few eggs.”

Poem # 17

I do not work without armour.  No bare stomach saves this body

from my bosses.  Today’s delusions brought to it by parasitosis.

Picking at what’s there,  stupid.  Immune this skin. Dare it, bitch.

Itch when my boss is near.  Dare dare,  little one. Skin thickens post

scratch. Cottage cheese build up.  O Muses,  before this body inurns,

Athena reforms Phoenix.  Miley so hood, she my bosses best

friend. Gregor reconciles toe jam on Maundy.  Scrubs post polished

feet fit for housing. Feminist men really know when their talking

about me.  Got hoes in different area codes.  My librarian

goes rogue. She says, “this space don’t fit your addy,  please leave

Robert Borden  at the  door.” I say  to her  “Librarian,

though you fall  besidethis body,  let none shrink from fighting.”