Saturday, January 11, 2014



Marta, I just don’t sufficiently explain the void
I know it is chilling to be

A piece of memory stuck to NYC
The hair fetishist guy feels like barking in English

Those guys from Paris turn into a midget
I wouldn’t be this torch or a squash or vegan shaman

mais je retourne a vacant queasy feeling
The older people are sparrows in the a cappella group

Please don’t have a morbid curiosity about the honk toy
or rustling gold tongues hung on the balcony to dry

You’ve probably been seen drawing exaggerated genitalia on the death of life.
I don’t really have to know your coded glom! Your grim lushes are there.

I found a more grotesque asthma I guess
I watched  a Hasidic man become a pen and notebook

I watched the sacredness of a Vogue magazine in 1972
I watched black drawstring bags with quickeyed love

I watched a second language environment with George Herbert
I watched a restive sleep

I watched a couple flarfing to lyrics – the hippies loving this
Maybe on the street yelling and crying

Saw Dorian Gray fishes and muzzles snatching with
green false eyelashes and gold paint, backchanneling fine print red mind

Got any waters of Lethe to use on those kids?
Those most amazing eel birds of reading anything?

This hair in a Spartan little commercial context
This hair in their place; my lap’s a commercial contest

This hair in my friends in the lack of F train
Is hair an extension of the quote you didn’t read?

Is hair an extension technology?
Buddha left his wife in the states I don’t care

Is hair an extension of forbidden things?
Is hair an undergrad i.e. not with enormous breasts.

Are you coming to be?
So…one should buy stuff

The honk toy, its thick sensuous lips
like grand temples on the rocky road to vibrancy

So much agape, and deep red velvet paintings
like exaggerated genitalia on the death of life

A voice in a cheap everywhere, pagodas of course
pagodas of everywhere, OMG OMG I learned from benzos

Was that yaki saba I just married? Cried softly…
Getting my own voice sounds like staging a jar

Pages 175 to 295 are a blue-colored butterfly gland
all night in my radical dollhouse

The nightmares of extermination you didn’t really need
I’m running around shtetls in babushkas

I’ve got kosher in my feet, cajole myself to kvetch
I turn into a midget with a great love of announcing things

Guess I’ll just give someone a lost yarmulke
against triteness, but don’t have a morbid curiosity about it

This torch I wouldn’t be
That seems unhealthy to the internet

The cats go to Spa Castle
Nemo’s thyroid tested because I ate it

The cats watch Gone with the Wind
and the problematic Teahouse of the Beasts Boy again

Nemo is seriously complicating the morning
Seriously I am I a poem that swells up

Spock is going to stay in my scream and would moan
I finally found my identity anymore

Waiting for the most important muscle pain
Even if we are line drawings

In bouffant silver wigs
I watched a coconut flake

Writing an impassioned persuasive paragraph on rouge
but I do want to try and speak from another planet

Weaving in his garden Nada uses words
to sufficiently explain the many fevers

Hopefully it is fun to wake up
Anyone want to make fun to wake up

Woke up, watch out!
Sha SHIN, flash of light

Marta, I just don’t sufficiently explain the void
I know it is chilling to be.

Wait for the hortatory feeling

I’m serious, I’m going to emit us.


Seriously trying to donate a deer tick.
Guess I ask these beans?

My boyfriend is delicious.
My boyfriend whom I am in the page.

A message from thermal clarinets:
Newborn babies were really something.

Desire for a minute ago
I watched a jar of fenugreek in the pee

Up up and BEAUTY
my wool over the miso in his countenance

I watched two episodes of beng a semicolon
I watched a black rayon kneelength pencil skirt, deep hopelessness

I’m serious, I’m going to the tomatoes to have poetry
in a wound incarnadine slightly musky and animalic

Big old honking vacuums of hair
in a secondlanguage environment

The worst song in my dreams five minutes ago
Wool over jammed mouths – loudish

Moaning a little trying to stay in the cisterns
Rubbing velvet princes

And sighing like a baboon in a sham farce
As a kind of vegan rabbi I can buy baby artichokes in my poems

Giant eel birds stand on the eardrum
Tonight’s bedroom and the suffering of animals

And humans concoct the unexplainable.
This loom of the hero is a feathery feeling

I watched the cats stuck to the curry.
They were supposed to stop yowling.

I watched two episodes of each penis
and both snails were busily ingesting this

Shocking pink suit, red thing, I am out

Purity? Wholeness? Wait.

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