Tag Archives: Poetry

ham-fisted smile

The Smellfungus The smellfungus among us complains of unpeeled bananas—he doesn’t understand bisecting lines. He lives in a network of uncluttered pages—waits for the flood and the clutch of the ham-fisted smile. Read his body language—why don’t you? You haven’t … Continue reading

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the terminal line

structure crumbles belt buckles rain downthe devils hail there are appropriate agesfor beatings oh the father of violencered skin welts meat tumescentmeet the father terminal lines pillows protect the soft underbellyurchin turned upside down cord yanked silenceradio silence papa was … Continue reading

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go go go

Walk! Walk! Go west, go east. Just go, go, go. Get up. Get out. Get moving. Peripatetic be your word. Bump! Groove. Make way and scoot along. This place will grow moss on your backside. Don’t backslide. Get moving, man. … Continue reading

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rounds to make

Work Darkness begat a childHis name was DeathHe had rounds to makeAppointments to keepAnd so he went to work “You have to act as if it were possible to readically transform the world. And you have to do it all … Continue reading

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holy by happenstance

Scything The difficult made holy by happenstance. She was delirious, but understood she’d make the first cut soon—minutes, perhaps seconds. She recoiled imagining the pain. The rain in Maine stayed mainly in her brain. She moved—graceless—in a fog. The reaper … Continue reading

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i step away (redux)

Fall Fall. Fall, I say. She doesn’t. She stays perched on her branch. Fall, I say. She does not. This ritual—the repetition is liturgical. A call and response in absentia. There is no rejoinder. There is no: and also with … Continue reading

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smattering of skulls

The Shrike Strikes The kill. The shrillShrikeStrikesCarnivorous—Tears a mouseHead from neck— Alights proudUpon his moundOf bones &A smatteringOf skulls. The thrill. “The Germans puzzled me. What a waste. Was such a destitute, cruel world worth ruling?” ― Jerzy Kosiński / … Continue reading

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of feral hair

had it with what—or the couched girl worked with a story—language angels—wet dashed door never a nobody in terms of feral hair—capitalist lizards—upward themselves let illustrations labor logical—their have is where there’s secret poorhouse—down unwholesome work—shoes in flames—free the working … Continue reading

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are called defeat

flarfish #420 (forfend albino) Three pairs of colossal white doors open and close Agent fleabag sorts ALBINO MICE the dark purple ones are called defeat Why do white people tan their skin? Is it self-hatred? One way to keep a … Continue reading

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evil winds blow

  (press play button above for my short film: coco oooaaa) scirocco haiku a mitre-less popezucchettos fly off bald patesevil winds blow cold “1. Copy somebody’s style. 2. Fuck it up. 3. Keep fucking it up. 4. Keep really, really … Continue reading

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