O Height Dispersed and Head in Sometimes Joining These Sleeps

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Yes, another new jeffhead. Some of you see this, some of you can't, I accidentally turned off https:// (which I was authorized to do in blogger) but can't turn it back on, I'm logged in but unauthorized (though I can post), there is no one on the planet who seems willing to help fix, blogger forums are dead, blogger help pages useless, google refuses to provide a human to help, more fart here

Will be fixed or not. I can see it via access from the dashboard so the poetry and music anthologies I build and keep are accessible to me, my first concern. I'm not going to start a new blog (though I may build a new private blog to back up the songs I play and poems I post here as safe house) nor do what I do here re: link/music/other poets' poems at pOj, that's not what pOj is for, found my collected Ceravolo last night looking for something else, woke up with Human Switchboard in my head





HAPPINESS IN THE TREES

Joseph Ceravolo

O height dispersed and head
in sometimes joining
these sleeps. O primitive touch
between fingers and dawn
on the back

You are no more
simple than a cedar tree
whose children change
the interesting earth
and promise to shake her
before the wind blows
away from you
in the velocity of rest

as if a cherry pit were stuck in the throat

When I hit lull here I look at what posted here same time every year 
my lulls have seasons. Wise some to calendar's whys my feints don't not work
I am typing this poem for example re: this is me each late June
Haiku standard sign seventeen by seventeen sheeyit seventeen?
my square rectangled on digital tablet bray, this is how I mope

               
My wife and daughter teachers, my parents teachers, aunts, uncles, teachers 
me, mite, thirty years at a university servicing teachers
Academic Years your junior year your senior year universes
wormholed but quadrant apart, it's hard on teachers all I want to say
this mostest late June since the last most June until next year's moster June






HIDDEN BIRD

Joseph Ceravolo

Song birds enter the morning
the pre-dawn before the fires,
you know, when the night floats away
like vapor on a lake,
or like kisses in the woods.
Songs that even creation
might not remember.
           
Continuous, threaded, as if
a cherry pit were stuck
in the throat
to produce the trumpet of the branches.
So varies, yet never, changing
through all the days, since
reptiles fell to earth.
             
I give up the reason for the sound
I give up the creature of sound
and the creator of the creatures
and of us and of dawn and
air and of vacuum
and human inhumanity.
I give up the song.
I give up the place.

Sacred Drops

• Eleventh photo new camera, everything set to whatever came out of the box,
• bigger, with baggage, at other place.
• 34 years ago, promoted to Crown Books 817, I met an assistant manager and asked her out months later when she resigned to get her teaching degree and all I want to do is hike with her, and Crown Books 817 was in this building that had a bomb threat yesterday.
• A week ago today the woman I met 34 years ago in the building that had a bomb threat yesterday and me flew to Michigan to see our daughter,
• a week ago, eight centuries ago, the week ago.

NIGHT FLASH

Joseph Ceravolo

Mothers and fathers
sons and daughters
are sacred drops
   
An abandoned auto
glints in the light.
The path is abrupt.
The path is alright.

A Bird to His Mathematics and Song Memory

• 
  
• Forgive me, I jones The Sarah and Red Hen Show.
• When professional Democrats call this a win for Trump, they are not wrong.
• Everything is a win for Trump. Everything.
•  
• I don't know there *is* a Trump brake, 
• (by "Trump brake" I certainly don't mean Motherfucking Democrats
• I mean billionaires planning to get the half-penny on my dead body).
•  
• Verily, I've never eaten at a Waffle House and never will. 
• Trump broke Kayfabe, he owns Kayfabe, he can say anyfuckingthing he wants,
•  
• Professional Democrats will eat your FUCK YOUS like they slap gnats.
• Bipartisanship - harass motherfucking Democrats too.

• Thread.
• This is true.
• school's out in the city of the dead.
• Materialism and superstition (and unrelated to post, bleggal redesign).
• Never gonna happen.
• Reminder: Bernie sucks too.
• This turd, who published Charles Krauthammer, explains what's important.
• Maggie's weekly links.
• I'm not going to type it all out again or even link to it here, but I need mention RIP Donald Hall, my brother-in-laws godfather, best friend of my father-in-law (who died before I met Earthgirl), who was Kind to me, and I'll skip the rest....
• This will be used to tell you to shut the fuck up.
• Mrs Spat has no idea where the dead rat came from.
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links.
• Sheerness-on-Sea.

SOUL IN MIGRATION

Joseph Ceravolo

How many sights
do I have that I'm
       against?
    A body and even the blesses are
a nuisance of man's
                   glory. It is transitory;
a bird to
his mathematics and
song memory. My song's
had enough. My song is
enough plow courage;
against my soda is loud and
cares like a stable horse
out of a thunderbolt.
We're crazy men.

Out of a she
       I come to
you, shot or clubbed like
a fisherman without a fish.
Without a desperation to sing.
I want to be a servant
even though I try,
but this is backed
up for man's life, backed up.

Are these the high schools
     in our drinks?
To take us
          in a school of fish


              oh the sea, sea


                       we feel


Ah like a fish.


And we could be born
irrevocable, testament, poverty


in the garden: Then
    only then will
I hear my my son
    change toys
    at the beginning of a new day:
                                 a wave,
                                               splash.

Doesn't Change My Ideas of the Buildings

• I have Dr Sevrin ears.
• Hillaryite Colleague insists the Democrats, Citizens United and consequences etc...... 
• she reiterated, half-heartedly, to me again yesterday.
• I saw, I said, a tweet from Chris Van Hollen (the junior Senator from my state, Maryland, a first-termer, was my Congressperson once) saying he and Jeff Merkley (the junior Senator from Oregon) are "headed to the border to focus on the inhumanity of separating kids from their moms and dads when families are legally seeking asylum and get a first-hand look at what is happening."
• Sometime give or take an hour of the conversation Trump again tweeted out that he doesn't want to separate families but is forced to because of something Democrats.
• I know, Hillaryite Colleague said, you gonna say Call me when Obama Clintons Biden throw shitfits...,
• and while I wasn't going to say that just at that moment, Hillaryite Colleague's certainly in fair territory to expect me to say just that then, and who knows, I might have in the next minute if not detoured into not.
• I was going to say (truly), I said, I followed Van Hollen's twitter for the weekend (because otherwise I'd forget), am curious the amount of noise he makes versus the amount of that noise is heard. I'm stupidly hoping he's not the tool Cardin and Hoyer are. 
• (Hillaryite Colleague lives in MOCO - Cloverly - so she's knows who I reference).
• Me too, Hillaryite colleague said despondently in (I interpreted) Hopelessness Stage 2.
• (Cloverly is on a different continent in MOCO than Kensington, a different universe than Barnesville.)
• (Bleggalgaze (and Gass' boxes)).
• Motherfucking Democrats (in which there is silence about motherfucking Democratic silence, or....), Hillaryite Colleague said, god fuck us all.
• Hillaryite Colleague got there by HC's own route. Wasn't me.

Joseph Ceravolo

Chinning Against a Dark Sky

• The world as mediation.
• Bernie Sanders announces plans for a new left party: a thought experiment.
• Here is why I am not pro-Bernie Sanders. He is me. Angrier that he's not taken more seriously than what he barks he is angry about. He is not demanding a new paradigm, he is demanding more status in the existing paradigm. Me - and fuck me - too.
• Still, today in motherfucking Democrats.
• Gentlemen's thumbsucking agreement.
• Just sharing.
• What's essential is form, the rest is silence.
• How do you eat the world's biggest pizza.
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links.
• In praise of the long sentence.
• Look at the blogrolls. Deader Blegsylvania, and now the Blog Days of Summer here.
• So, Sunday bleggalgazing in Deader Blegsylvania in the Blog Days of Summer: my uniball pens, the ones that bleed into the washes I make, almost empty of ink, especially the cherry red and rose red and orange, I bought four packs of the current model. Not one, four. The package said New! Improved! Smudge-proof! Fuck me.

CROSSFIRE

Joseph Ceravolo

This is the second day without anyone.
I am chinning against a dark sky
to strengthen my arms.
A picture of everyone I love passes through me.

No clear light streams through this cell.
There's no dawn.
What have I gained
by lying in this abyss,
waiting for this masonry
to show a little slit
for my soul to get through?

A Silent Plow on a Destroyed Farm

I forgot to buy catfood on Sunday, we'd finished the last bag Sunday morning. They were without food for almost 36 hours. The howling in anguish. I did not put my book down early yesterday morning to run to the 24 hour grocery to pick up a rescue bag of Purina Crap Food before work, so fuck me. When I went to PetDumb after work yesterday they were out of Science Diet Fatty-Cat Blend, I bought the next level of calories up (Adult Indoor) meaning a higher level of flavor. Threw out a handful as soon as I got it home, these motherfucking hoovers hoovered as if starving. The howling in pleasure.

Front-to-backed Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans in past 24 hours rather than sleep or buy my starving cats catfood. Howl. I'm better now. I've two extra paperbacks. You know the drill.

• War.
• World War III.
• Control which guns?
• American piehole v whoever.
• To be a Liberal is a many-splintered thing.
• The Motherfucking Nobel Prize in Motherfucking Literature.
• The Motherfucking Nobel Prize in Motherfucking Literature.
• Meticulous intimacy.
• Jacob's Room.
• The Nightengales.
• Glenn Branca is 67 today!

APOLOGY

Joseph Ceravolo

Everything is out of me,
a sonnet, a ballad
like a silent plow
on a destroyed farm,
while poets sing dooms of element bombs
and man's slow destruction of fluid earth,
I can only focus on an ant, a bud
a look in someone's eye
while the external order of things
declines... The snows fall
by some instantaneous structure,
but God, where is your blood
so that centuries from now
our lips, our tongues might still
sing the flames of the past
and among metals
and electronics dissolving in water,
we might still be stubborn enough,
fuse with the flesh, burn with the soul
and rise in vaporous light.

Listen as the Fireflies Organize

I've no idea why Jeff Bezos bought the Washington Post nor do I know what it means. I'm guessing (a) that not much will happen short term while Bezos' management teams figure out what's broken and how they think they can fix it and (b) I doubt Bezos guillotines every fucker on Fred Hiatt's scribble page which I would pay to see. I post this particular article about it because, if you scroll to the bottom and look at the author photo, there seems to be a consistency in Andrews' face-mullets. OK, here's another one, the column's key bullet: Bezos has enormous political interests in Washington. How much will the Post’s editorial operations become a megaphone for his libertarian views and for Amazon’s business interests? Oh dear. Oh, have another theory why Bezos bought the Post, the most logical I've seen. In the meantime, Fuckface Hiatt says the Disposition Matrix and Tuesday Kill Lists prove Obama isn't serious about the War on Terror. Frank Rich has his obamapostasy? No, though he's angry, gosh darn it. He also bumps the Elizabeth Warren as savior meme. I earnestly hope Elizabeth Warren gains enough power by disobeying/fighting the Democratic establishment to seriously frightened the Democratic establishment into trying to break/demonize/demolish Warren and she continues to fight back. I can't see it happening though it would please me to be wrong, to watch the carnage. (UPDATE: Cilizza jumps on Warren train.) And Rich once bumped the Obama as savior meme too. But look, I don't have a solution. I'm told I need restate my Tug-of-War Theory: I don't buy my Tug-of-War Theory anymore, or I buy it but refuse to tug, I'm expected to tug, my tugging is built into my tugging's defeat as I'm tugging my double not the puppeteers. The blimps of Aberdeen. The vote was 6 yay, 0 nay, on the new header. I confess I like the way it seems to bleed and soften a line I never liked. Still, Momcat will return now and then, sometimes but hopefully not often when I need activate the Momcat Emergency Signal. All three ferals now are always in the yard we when pull up, there's construction in the neighborhood nearby so there are strangers and loud noises so they are often spooked, but they also need more food in the summer while they bake and sleep all day than they do in dead winter when it's below freezing, seems counter-intuitive, oh well. SeatSix sends me word that DC United is raising our ticket prices 15% for a team with three wins. United is raising prices on all LOUD SIDE! seats except for the supporters groups. United must be sure the stadium deal is sealed, it's starting before shovels hit the ground to destroy LOUD SIDE! - the supporters groups will be shunted to an end zone in a new stadium, the sections currently behind the supporters groups will be the highest priced in a new stadium, this is the beginning of the weeding out of those who won't pay. It once would have saddened me that I wasn't more anguished at how easy this choice will be. Oh, and Fuck United. Early indications from Landru and SeatSix suggest they will adopt the Fuck United. Also, I should mention MLS' contribution to my growing Fuck United sentiment. Actual drunkenposten (as opposed to this which reads as if drunkenposten but isn't). But since I'm here, in the battle between fuck it and fuck this, fuck this is pushing out to a lead (readers may concur), though the aim of this post's format is to give each equal opportunity. If you're happy and you know it kick some butt. Also, PTOOFF! A reminder that the proposed Purple Line pisses off the Columbia Country Club. Half a mile from the house I grew up in. I've read six of the books on this list of modern technology and fiction, which I post mostly to ask, has anyone heard of anything new in the pipeline from Richard Powers? An autistic perspective in novels?  Confidently inept at blackjack. And what about Sopwith Camel? No one has yet claimed my second copy of Vollmann's Fathers and Crows so those few of you who have claimed books recently can now put in your claim. American fiction's racial landscape? Hamster emailed, Bonnie Prince Billy tickets for Rams Head in Annapolis on sale today! I read he doesn't get poetry in an essay by him Poetry Magazine. Pascal Dusapin etude. I never got the Elliott Smith bug but some of you did so have some songs for his birthday. I am enraptured with the collected Ceravolo, I know myself, I know it's not an accident I write a paragraph like this in response to his spare, taut lines.

   




SPRING IN THIS WORLD OF POOR MUTTS

Joseph Ceravolo

I kiss your lips
on a grain: the forest

the fifth, how many do
you want on here?
This is the same you
I kiss, you hear
me, you help:

I'm thirty years old.
I want to think in summer now.
Here is goes, here it's summer

(A disintegrated robot)
over us.
We are mortal. We ride
the merry-go-round. A drummer like
this is together.
Let's go feel the water.
                   Here it goes!

Again and it's morning "boom"
                             autumn
"boom" autumn
and the corn is sleeping.
It is sleeping and sweating
and draws the beautiful
soft green sky.

Walk home with the
animal on my shoulder
to the river, the river gets
deeper, the Esso gets
deeper; morning,
              morning,
              cigarette,
family and animal
and parents along the river.
Oh imagination. That's how I need you.

A flying duck or an antler refrains.
The small deer at the
animal farm walks up
to us.

A waterbug comes into
the bathroom.
The north sky is frozen over
like a river.
Like a pimple a waterbug
comes into us
and our lives are full
of rivers. Heavy waterbug!

This is the robot and he
continues across the street.
Looking at a bird
his penis is hanging down;
a wind for
its emotions.
      I don't want to sleep.
The cold around my arms.
Like an iron lung.
As sleep comes closer to the robot's
emotion. Iron.

Spring. Spring. Spring....
                      Spring!
Spring down! come down!
There is goes! There it goes!
Arm belly strike.
Press friend push.
Teeth cruel arrow. I cannot
do without,
without do I cannot, Spring.

Chrome gladly press.
Between me, my wings. Listen as
the fireflies organize.
O save me, the Spring, please!
Before I hurt here
             I hurt her only life
             too much
and it carries in this
iron bug crawling all around.
             Is this Spring?
and it carries me,
iron bug, through the Spring.