Wednesday, December 3, 2014

How To Lose One's Identity

Some zombies refuse to die:  coffees
Of angels, soft machines of drift,
The guns of autumn, chaos of heart.
I wish I could move forward or go back.
Pure indifference returns
Pincered by the hands of the clock.
I study the metaphysics of Neanderthals.
I, the statement of fresh water
Disappearing, invisible.  In this ozone
The sterility of night touches the sterile robe
Of the grey sunset.  Nude calendars,
The circle of the zodiac, amethyst fingers,
It is all relative, a forest of beings
Divides the sky into houses, shuttered.
Tombs peppermint the weeds and dirt.
It makes not a ripple, not a sound
When a bird gives up paradise.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

El Desdichado

I am the Inconsolable,—the Widowed,—the Dark Sire,
The Prince of Aquitaine of the demolished Fort:
My one Star is dead,—and my constellated lyre
To the Black Sun of Melancholia pays court.

In the night of the Tomb, You who did console,
Give back Mount Pausilippe and the sea of Italy,
The flower that so pleased my desolated soul,
And the trellis with Vine and Rose in filigree.

Am I Lusignan or Biron?...  Eros or Phoebus?
My face is still red from the kiss of the Queen;
I’ve dreamed in the Grotto where the Siren swims...

And twice I’ve crossed Acheron singing hymns,
Voicing, by turns, on the strings of Orpheus,
The Fairy’s cries and the Saintly Woman’s spleen.

GĂ©rard de Nerval (1853)

Monday, September 29, 2014

Welcome to My Magazine

Another summer left us rich in bikinis
And rich in friendship. My friends
Let us toast the acres of air that separate us,
The forests of people who come between.

Indeed, we share many of the same habits:
Staring intently, listening closely,
Hiding behind curtains, even on Sunday.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

But I can! It's surprising how close
Long-range photography can bring us. I know
Your begonias are growing nicely,
And we're on opposite sides of the park!

Some day, I want to be inside the radius
Of the perfumes you apply so liberally.
Some day, we'll think of the whales,
Probably almost at the same time.

You could say we're inching closer
To intimacy. The slow creep where
Neither of us occupy the moment,
Yet the moment, like here, wants to be there.

The Boat, Drunk (in progress)

As I traveled down impassible Rivers,
I no longer felt the pull of the guides:
Loud Redskins had emptied their quivers,
And nailed to dyed posts their bare hides.

As I went down impassible Rivers,
I no more felt the pull of the guides:
Howling Braves had emptied their quivers,
And then nailed to bright posts their bare hides.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Frack This

When I pooped Detroit, I was only kidding.
The quagmires of capital have soaked the galoshes
Of future gardeners (rat poison!), I mean goddesses
Splattered with honey that burns the moth.  AOI

The furnaces in your eyes remind you of yourself—
How saintly—before you were born, raging in vitro
Like violet oyster sewage and delicious,
Like turnips in a musical.  Ovarian meat-grinder!

I won’t harvest you, fat morass, without a note
From your physician.  Please inspect the timbers
Of all strings and woodwinds prior to fellatio.
Must you refer to me as “my cabbage”?

Every third line I vomit in the solarium.
These marble stairs warbling since 1066 sag
Like the tits of an old dog, thousands of them
Arranged in a cloistered spiral ascending

To a locus amoeba, all fish in the trees, of course,
Because it’s spring and I’m in love with a shoulder blade.
Thibaut, send one down to the princess of hell.
I did some work there but the fornicators kicked me out.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

If Death Came in the Alps

If death came in the Alps I wouldn’t complain
Inter me on the silver road
The parking is free
And from beneath a slab of glass I’ll watch
Snowy atoms of fire descend all day
And every evening the dark ascent of night

There I will dream of quietness
            And I will drift alone into the wilderness
The tyranny of the human face will lift like a fog
No more listening to sloppy talk
And what must still be done will never come
When I leave it all behind
Like a bird flying straight into the sun

The lunatics were asking about you
            They wished you were still here
                        The silence of infinite space was my reply
Some things are deeper than snow
            Although right now I can’t think of any
The inviolable blue of my hands and face
            Will be for distant stars to contemplate
 And I will coolly gaze on passers-by
                         Marching into the flames of history

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Hand Sanitizer

Since when was stupidity an impediment?
We’re all equal:  one asshole, one vote.

If I sharpen my speech, will you come home?
Or did you want me to cozen you with purple?

There is nothing to say
And we like it that way

The most anticipated poem of the year
The most constipated novel of the year

Keep out of the reach of children
They are infectious and virulent zombies