- I am small and ungracious and spoke ill of motherfucking Billy Graham and his imaginary friend White Jesus at news of the motherfucker Graham's death.
- I told Bill Clinton to fuck off to the sea (and take the motherfucker's imaginary friend White Jesus with him) when Clinton took an ex-POTUS platitude dump.
- I typed I. Hate. Motherfucking. Democrats. when Obama dumped his.
- Enough already.
- I lost a hand playing Swans
- my Kind tonguing splice
- a nut selfing kick
- for this seven syllable
- alibi? If I
- believe my direst
- Cassandra, trust canary
- suicides, hermit,
- dammit, and be kind
- to animal mineral
- holy kind back ghost.
- So many flavors of hate (though always just more variations on the elemental flavors), I am telling you three times, the corporate spewers don't know what's chum, what's fart, but we are being reprogrammed.
- Bill Graham versus Billy Graham.
- Foolhardy, reckless, and afraid.
- Celebrity philosopher explains the populist insurgency.
- The poor have no privacy.
- Rentier capitalism.
- Privatizing water.
- Witnessing the collapse of the global elite?
- Will robots set us free?
- Gravitational waves.
- On being there.
- Reason 7,844 I don't watch television.
- Russian Bells.
- Bohdi and Soul.
- I was just given a beautiful new copy of a new translation of Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment and urged to read is asap by a trusted friend, I haven't read it in at least 30 years, does this constitute a reread and would reading it be a violation of my promise to read five new things (now down to four - more on that later, or not) before rereading anything again?
HOW SPRING COMES
Toys and rose The zoo body zigzagsI think fish too
but I'm a polite
social being, I'm a Ladle Lady or purple
and blue I write green letters and gold
editorials for the Krystal Oxygen Company
I have one hip as far as I can see, that
I see as I write say
turn em around
& put them on
is blue window
is that a haiku? I fly over San Diego in some one or
another real despair and ask you to comfort me. You
more or less do, you aren't even here
my best me my worldly me
my taste of spring my continuance my
comfort will you comfort me?
I offer you my heart over Tucson
I can't use it
take it to comfort me
me be it take it take it to
which apparently you don't or take you help provide
me it I think, that
happens among true people, that poem I was writing
no good poem
but Moment framed the Pleiades
The garnets ring more beautiful the longer you
are waiting for me in them,
where Deity makes me friendly there.
But who put on all the tee-shirts in Hunter's
Point? Well we're all good boys my son said so.
A semi-colon is a semi-precious garnet cluster
telegram; what we love are such depths between all
the messages. Pass the salt; Ladies of the Tang,
bubble of night; this book about Harry Truman is wonderful.
I see the Gulf Moon Rising every night. I'm familiar
with the zonked starfish. I've the sheen on under
the fire-escape railing all streetlight-lit. The
hollow suddenly appeared to enlarge and fill with a
bright light. Wild with the taste of wine it does not
remember the despair of an hour ago, which was true
that is of a true woman. She was somehow hating her
position on the round earth in the dusky sky on a
harsh Sunday. On the ground forgotten flowerlike
firmaments. She addressed in uneloquent hatred
the one who soothes one's foolishness the
Great Face Construct who loves you for your kinks child
anyway, the Guru God:
Oh I will come back a knockout tomorrow
Useless to you!
You're not it you smug face
I'm not doing your yoga not wearing
Your moondrops using your cream
Rinse letting you fuck me Exquisite
Like I was one of the Ones With Brains Too!
Intelligence in panties with peekaboo
No I'm coming back raw
I'm getting drenched in the rain
It's rain and it's wet I'm soaked I'm
Chilled and I'm coughing the air's raw
To my throat, which is raw from
Coughing, coughing so strong
Coughing and laughing
So strong from killing you!
She didn't kill nothing.
& I don't get to share
no secrets with the stars. I make chow. I contemplate
semi-colons. I despair as a mother. I scream at that
kid I'm gonna crack open your big walnut if you don't
go to sleep. Theories of grace, that it implies no
surprise no shock. Ukrainians sudden on Sunday speaking
Ukrainian, the cross not Christian but Gracious
and when I want to cry or cough violently
it must diffuse back into my embassy; hard, that takes
hard. And if it weren't for you . . . not you smug life
face, but real you. Please play cribbage.
Pass the salt.
Think of a garnet-black cabbage, a
Ukrainian is selling it on 7th Street in honor of our
marriage. A Spanish fan opens in my abdomen
I have Spanish dancers in my stomach
they're my arching striving in dance where it's black
red flowers darken to be huge pleasuring the
severe, tried Angel who meets transition,
transport, as abruptly as necessary
for everyone's are apt
Says the Unassuming Graceful
Is that window
The dancers' sensuous flaw
That admits Spring,
Contingent upon our personality
Spring is for the worldly
just like the HaHa Room
Just like dearest rockbottom
suddenly gone buoyant
To be black geese to be
is not to dignify a passion but to
Not saints but always pupils
pupils dilated fully black in full achievement of