shit rains but
you think it's silly when
there's a pause
remembering what actually hit the fan
you tell them again
about the shit
thinking this time maybe
they will understand
& you will be interrupted
less frequently

forgetting or
i was
a plan & knowing
something contrary to belief
she said
she looked
like a sixteen year old
woman
it was simple to be
but far from the truth
you take this
wall
for instance
say maybe it's no berlin
but she built it
& it's gonna take
one hell of a
hammer

forgetting or
i was
a plan & knowing
something contrary to belief
she said
she looked
like a sixteen year old

i have been friends with anthony vandenberg since i was in the 6th grade. thats what... a long time ago. i was thinking about friends a few... days ago or so and thought that i couldnt really see losing the friends that i have. i mean like losing touch or whatever. not seeing them and not really thinking about it. right now it just seems like everyone is gone because of christmas, but theres a pretty good chance i wont see anthony for a few years. possible. i really miss ellen right now, but i also feel ok i guess. im trying to build up my solitary stamina.

theres this girl at the bar of my coffee shop talking to her grandma i assume and they are talking about boondock saints and how its a good movie and the grandma agreed. she may not be a grandma. actually she may be a boss or... just an older woman. this is strange.

theres this girl at the bar of my coffee shop talking to her grandma i assume and they are talking about boondock saints and how its a good movie and the grandma agreed. she may not be a grandma. actually she may be a boss or... just an older woman. this is strange.

i am losing count
of all the cars that drive through
my drive thru


STOP DRIVING THROUGH MY DRIVE THRU
THIS IS NOT A STREET
THIS IS NOT YOUR TURN AROUND BULLSHIT ROUTE

GO DRIVE THRU SOME OTHER DRIVE THRU

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH QUIT MAKING
THE BELL GO OFF!!!!!!!!!!

i am losing count
of all the cars that drive through
my drive thru


STOP DRIVING THROUGH MY DRIVE THRU
THIS IS NOT A STREET
THIS IS NOT YOUR TURN AROUND BULLSHIT ROUTE

GO DRIVE THRU SOME OTHER DRIVE THRU

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH QUIT MAKING
THE BELL GO OFF!!!!!!!!!!

several dog—
night sledding by
bob or squeal a pattern
frigid foresting
steams under
what is called a ground
&
a line so agreeing
her hawkish
features tell me
to shake these geese
i vibrating—
a pattern now lost
more than a disaster
she speaks to me
saying things
softly

i draw too much
touching
& or roughing up
go down & a-
round
someones lines
forgot to re-
hearse
walking deadlike because
the sun
smells less like breakfast
tonight
saying the time is irrelevant
or perhaps
a watch
was lost

take one
breath & it's over

one exit &
the way is small

you believe
& that is enough

you forget why there
was ever a question

& you take
one breath before it's over

i dont edit these enough

creation
god's head was resting
forever
on frozen lakes—
seven if she counted correctly
but doubtful
where i
bending trees to me
with the weight of my
winterous core
sometimes alone in st paul
looming in impotent shade
skate wild
chiseled circles around her face
pressed to the ice
eyes like moons
pocked pale children faced moons
that die
every morning

a snow
we were questioning snow
of its' cold
with our faces planted
firmly to the ground
legs up in the air
being dangled by moon
& its' arms of tree shadows

you still new me then
when my face was a blue jay
pecking through the nests
of children
in the freezing depths
of a worthless february

spicer
that marvelous finger
he gave it
after being asked
to take back
comments made on ted
williams' contribution
to the bosox
i was there
he said i was there
when he gave it
but it wasn't worth
a goddamn thing
if you want to win the pennant
and my poetry
does

midwest-voodoo-physics
never ending
sky
not so much the bison
both can be
killed to borderline extinction
i
drive faster the further
things grow apart
between potter/dix
in back country pan—
handles where
rain is a whitewashed
wall never seeming
to fill up this dry bed
who can sleep—
when there is no wind break
& the howling is mistaken
for hungry coyotes
nipping at
your feet all
because there are
no more bison
to kill

new york (state)
oh god
where the buffalo roam
and remind me
again
& again
how bruce
smith never won
a super—
bowl
no relation
i always thought
my grandpa smith
was from cuba
like the missile
crisis

i dont think i have ever worked on a poem this much before - it taxes

not hymn

i
deafness of one is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
although debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds i
am
makes when supplication—
a possible answer or
hitting coolly laid
pavement another—
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

ii
be a colossus of
parallel
tracks
& or rumble
of prone steel
reminds a bend
some say tunnel
who is truly coming
by
& by
but still remains un—
proven what
lies
ahead

iii
standing up
for several hours &
then kneeling
to taste sour wine
on the sponge
before standing up once
more
maybe the last
all while denying
effort transcends
triumvirate bodies in
the name
of the etcetera


iv
cannot remember face
or fact by calling
out to nameless
robes in vain
to vine
though names were never
necessary
all under breath
of rib
gnostic &
believable
when darkness was
a lovely man
silhouetted by pale
horse &
my mouth rang
with swords

v
on rocks made of skulls
you & i
sit fist-tight
against stubbled chins
waiting
for sheepskin to soak
up what is not there
or never was
some firmament
of voices
choir leering with
their omniscient
bald
beards
only watching to count
pentamerous
mistakes we make
in forgiveness
an act
of refusal to take back
all that is
set into wooden
stone by
cock crow’d motion
in lyrical disconnected
dissonance

rationalizing

& it reminds me to write
about the sexual
inadequacy of starling men
darlings
in sheets when they cant
break even

she is not the season—
ginger for tops
but a follicle & freckle
who know each other
as home—
made sin

youre telling me this
was never a joke
& it reminds me to push through

i take breaks now
between circumstances
hoping to please
every bone in
your universe

but when one end is
the only out—
come we can find
the monotony of pleasure
bleeds together
of days too long
and dry

officially the graduate schools im applying to

university of minnesota in minneapolis
university of oregon in eugene
boise state university in boise idaho
georgia college and state in millridge georgia
louisiana state university in baton rouge
university of montana in missoula

minnesota, oregon, and lsu all have the opportunity for full tuition waiver
lsu (i think) pays the greatest teaching stipend of (16k or so)

boise state, montana, and georgia college and state all waive most of the tuition and have meager stipends. 9k or so.

from what ive seen all of these schools are fairly well respected for creative writing and poetry. minnesota montana and oregon are among the top 30ish programs i guess.

mostly i care about where they are and how much they pay for my school. lsu is looking pretty king right now, but id be happy to go to any of these. i guess my rankings right now would be:

LSU
OREGON
MONTANA

this is just to say

the children are gone
& i have caused supplies
of whisky & morphine
to dry up the same

knowing full well
you would
walk in
at any moment
to catch me lying
shirtless on the floor

forgive me but
the lonely road
to sleep
looked so sweet
& so cold

going

wide by the sky
a terrain i walk casually
your eyes
says a one
but there are so many—
none or
a relentless nothing
that takes a getting used to
for the sake
of feeling alone or
underbundled
while solitude is always under—
watch behind lines
of trees
& sentimental shadowy
figures we call out
to when fingertips
twinge in the cold
empty night
yearning for—

a naked death

essentially i or
just being that
a letter
never meant to be
later
& alligator you
more spelling
where words are—
nt being
so have seen
between the lines
i again
laying in the bath
three inches of water
maybe less
& more
cooling quicker
than i can clean
saying these are teeth
beautiful white
jaws around
me in porcelain
begging me to slip
every time

telling them

even christ—
ians tell bad jokes
bad as bad
& see the mistakes
in the mud
where our heads
get smaller
over millions
of years
trying to rationalize
the coming
& going
of a sun

were all wearing leather
jackets
carrying switchblades & broken
bottles we drank
them to death i
lend my ear to honesty
but you only dream in sequence
of heat to no
heat
giving more pressure to whos
on top
who is on
bottom
& why the summer is so far away
when you need it
the most
when you needed it to warm up
the wounds
of these

capricorn

never feeling naked
is why
i sleep here
smooth whitening coverage
froth
& baying ocean
dipping my pelican
hands
where the salt line
ends
& life flourishes
warm off the southern
tropic
still north of your ambitious
pride
safe from the archers
volley
nook'd in the uplands
far from a longing moons
tide

my life just took a drastic turn for the worse.

i missed a credit card payment, not because i didnt have money, well maybe i didnt, but mostly because i just forgot and now my credit limit dropped drastically by about 700 dollars so now what i was planning on using to apply for graduate school was just eliminated.

this after my previous plan of using medical study money for a medical study that i was
"sure to get into" failed because of BILIRUBIN. which is a waste product in your blood that doesnt really do anything except it can make your skin turn yellow when you bruise.

i am going to die. poor. hungry. cold. stupid. bruised.

because i am not up
tempo be
cause &
effect of broken home
or less
being on cold cement
street cracked
where i
bleed gas
or barrel warmth
to smoke &
cloud off in addiction
hide from space
in the sky

love poem

logically i maneuver back
solid hands
or was it subtle soft
not a mans
stubble lost by coarse
demands
confusing cowboy law
too much drinking - horses
trough
free to survey or wander
all the land
your nipples thighs
your soft hands
the grass of unclaimed prairie
where wild fur stands

new list

university of montana 51$ jan 5
boise state university 55$ jan 15
cornell 70$ dec 15
iowa 60$ jan 3
virginia 60$ jan 2
umass 65$ jan 15
oregon 50$ jan 15
minnesota ?$ dec 20

all this editing and re-reading of my own poetry-
im starting to feel like im losing
some sort of (thing)
some part of myself in the poems
i feel like im looking at them
and not writing them or
not feeling them and that
is very frustrating sometimes i
just start talking/writing from a voice
and im not really sure where its from
or whats going on
its not even so much just in this
the editing and re-reading but
its all over in everything that i do
i feel like im not me sometimes
but im not really sure where i went

not hymn
(re-writ again)

i
the deafness of one is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
although debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds i
am
makes when prayer
is a possible
answer or
hitting coolly laid
pavement another—
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

ii
to be a collossus of
parallel tracks
& or ruble
of prone steal
reminds a bend
or some say tunnel
who is truly coming
by
& by
but still remains un—
proven what
lies
ahead

iii
standing up
for several hours &
then kneeling
before standing up once more
all the while denying
effort transcends
triumvirate bodies in
the name
of the etcetera

iv
cannot remember face
or fact by calling
out to nameless robes
in vain
though names were never
necessary
all under breath
of rib
gnostic &
believable
when darkness was
a lovely man
silhouetted by pale
hourse &
my mouth rang
with swords

v
on rocks made of skulls
you & i
sit fist-tight
against stubbled chins
waiting
for sheepskin to soak
up what is not there
or never was
some firmament
of voices
choir leering with
their omniscient
bald
beards
only watching to count
pentamerous
mistakes we make
in forgiveness
refusing to take back
all that is
set into wooden
stone by
motion
in lyrical disconnected
dissonance
they

peregrine
for ellen

beaming beat
heart wrapped tight
in powerful breast
muscles
leading eyes noting sky
drops high altitude
toward wings of
babel duck you
yell from towers of heaven
dust on my lips
lingering run—
way by o'hare
keeping owls
& owls from
finding plain or
feeble mouse walk
scaring my elephant arms
from holding on
to the memory
in your fragile shells
& graceful glide

forgetting brontosaurus

magik is
not an option
before ice plains
erase
my meteor— a drop
sewing life
buckets a dinosaur
after dinosaur
they do not clash
thundership noah-boats
clap
metaphor—
beyond the heavenly
death and again
it reminds that you
die
in several different ways
before you
ever become extinct
to hells
invention

more editing

not hymn

i.
the deafness of god is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
though debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds one makes
when prayer is a
possible answer
or hitting coolly laid
pavement another—
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

ii.
to be a colossus of
parallel tracks
& or rumble
of prone steal
reminds a bend or
some say tunnel
who is truly coming
by
& by
but still remains un—
proven what
lies
ahead

iii.
standing up
for several hours &
then kneeling
before standing up once more
all the while
denying
effort transcends
triumvirate bodies in
the name
of the etcetera

iv.
cannot remember face
or fact by calling
out to nameless robes
in vain
though names were never
necessary
all under
breath of rib
gnostic &
believable
when darkness was
a lovely
man

v.
on rocks made of skulls
you & i
sit fist tight
against stubbled chins
waiting for
sheepskin to soak
up what is not there
or never was
some firmament
of voices
leering with
their omniscient
bald beards
only watching to count
pentamerous
mistakes
we make in
forgiveness

somtimes i rewrite things

creation
gods head was resting
forever
on frozen lakes—
seven if she counted correctly
but doubtful

where i
bending trees to me
with the weight of my
winterous core

sometimes alone in st paul
looming in impotent shade

skate wild
chiseled circles
around her face
pressed to the ice

eyes like moons
pocked pale children faced moons
that die
every morning

not hymn
the deafness of god is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
though debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds one makes
when prayer is a
possible answer
or hitting coolly laid
pavement another—
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

titled
over the great plains of your back
roaming bison avoid railroads
in a sense of the plague that
moses never dreamed of despite all the burning
bushes & golden calves he could find
in forty years of searching out there
on the wild of a womans body

haiku two
a voice coming from each of your false teeth
its true
you stare at the television set for hours & hours
at close range
& go blind

a shoot
sure am— or once had
to be a bison
but not a buffa—
long so many
train rides i dont really
take though should
eventually i
might stampede or just
shout past the horns
& the hairy hairy
backs of dakota
not nearly a place to
raise
not even a voice
but whimper land—
ho for hours & hours
at the tops of topped
off lungs i bellow
as only a bison
would roam if it
couldnt go home

new york (state)
oh god
where the buffalo roam
and remind me
again & again
how bruce
smith never won
a super—
bowl
no relation
i always thought
my grandpa smith
was from cuba
like the missile
crisis

a snow
we were questioning snow
of its cold
with our faces planted
firmly to the ground
legs up in the air
being dangled by moon
& its arms of tree shadows

you still new me then
when my face was a blue jay
pecking through the nests
of children
in the freezing depths
of a worthless february

(twelve) a natural progression
wasp just wouldnt leave
the wasp wouldnt leave just
would—not
im choking—im choking
im going to the grand canyon
this is bad for you
dont go where i cant follow
illegally climbing fences
irresponsibly mending
from one end to the far
state of mind
telling me savannah is
gorgeous in the fall
& it leaves
the leaves
i believe
you
killing the grass—
breathing in
smoke i
forgive everyone
when i am invisible
i forgave
everyone for everything
when invincible
& leaving the believing
the leaves
mending & the wasp
naked when in georgia
forgetting canyons
i once saw
on the other side of past—
yours so green
spend not enough time
explaining why
i felt too much
& eternity is south
possibly in winter
i will show you
but nothing dies anymore

spicer
that marvelous finger
he gave it
after being asked
to take back
comments made on ted
williams' contribution
to the bosox
i was there
he said i was there
when he gave it
but it wasnt worth
a goddamn thing
if you want to win the pennant
and my poetry
does

midwest-voodoo-physics
never ending
sky
not so much the bison
both can be
killed to borderline extinction
i
drive faster the further
things grow apart
between potter/dix
in back country pan—
handles where
rain is only a whitewashed
wall never seeming
to fill up this dry bed
who can sleep—
when there is no wind break
& the howling is
mistaken for hungry coyotes
nipping at
your feet all
because there are
no more
bison to kill

field of waste
gulls look
at the gulls
where have they been
these past few
hours
while the garbage
is ripe collecting
on earth as it is in heaven
cawing over winged
decay i
never smelled
such a feast
where the devil
knew
who would betray
me for
chump change

creation
gods head was resting
forever
on frozen lakes—
seven if she counted correctly
but doubtful

where i
bending trees to me
with the weight of my
winterous core

sometimes alone in st paul
looming in impotent shade

skate wild
chiseled circles
around her face
pressed to the ice

eyes like moons
pocked pale children faced moons
that die
every morning

offended young bohemians

not surprise-
zing
how these bleedy
hearts used every
gosh dang
part of their friends
buffaloes
oh they so clever
seemingly naked beside
each &
every cold
month you wait for
to hide deep in woven
cotton accessories or
full body nylon nude suits
finding them
strewn about on the floor
next to the bed
of the one who came
after something
that almost
meant something
_____________________________

golden gate

knife in hand you
jabbed
the gulls neck royal tar
ooze

in the back seat
wrapped her up in news-
paper
en route

she soaked through
bloody thing
so you
double wrapped
sundays new
york times

we rolled down
the windows

because death is
unbearable
to the
nose
_____________________

honest mother fucker
wondering if
it was
true
the way words can be
so drunk
& stupid-
its pretty rare
when its tow and or
three in the morning
long after
we say some friendship
is lasting or
has lasted long enough
but to tease say
run me over
and know how easy it
can be
to go
to hell
_________________________

bum
for paul
on black top keen
to blood suckers

dreaming inches in straws
and malaria i take

deep puffy breaths
of my one last cigarette

because i left the rest
inside the faux-cabin

i wouldnt ask you for another
i wouldnt do that
___________________________

aurua
the only suburb of chicago
i can think of
and its you

i promise if i
take you there
not to tell you about
all the forty year
old women im dating

or crash my volvo
leaving you unharmed
and scared
_________________________
the discovery and conquest of mexico
for my friends
there were all but two men
in high
spirits- you say they are cross-
eyed but i
knew them by their
baptismal names
indians of our
savior
with a virgins bloated belly
carved into the chest
of all their
native lovers
and discovered enemies
leaving us to believe
cortez would be
proud &
our lord might reward
us with more
brown gold

the eternal wasps/nest
of debt i
drown baby in water
young girl trapped
at the bottom of west
virginia well min-
ding my own lack
of business you
say to be a man
to be but i
am naked to worth
my pockets are sieves
save nothing
and midas will touch my
enemies until
they are fat and dead
________________________

who cries wolf when
grown men remove
crusted snot from
each nostril
by finger
by finger
we point-out
our own flaws
and die as
everyone does
_______________________

funeral poem i

there is only one
thing that is not
fiction &
hemingway knew
_______________________

love poem
for nebraska

your women are big
boned they
sit at home
they sit at home and pray
your men are red
nosed and big
bellied they
drink away
they drink away
_______________________

you can stare at
them until they look
you can stare
& stare
thinking about what
you think
about them
you stare at
& stare
they look
______________________

i love repetition
love it
because its
easy and important
bust mostly easy
and mostly important
like a god
like a god
like a god
_____________________

dinosaurs once had
cards in their sleeves
to put your name
on them you took
them home with you
and
now they sit in museums
dusty
hoping to be loved
and
forgotten by
shotguns from idaho
____________________

you cringe &
cringe from writing so
damn much that your
paper cringes & pen
cringes
your computer cringes
and each finger to hand
to arm cringes
as a crumbling metal plane
crash
____________________

english
i went to school
to rob people of
what they dont know
and what doesnt
hurt them
_____________________
smith
i told you i would
be in ithica in one
year i told the cotton
wood be in ithica in
one year ithica in one
year leaves fall in
ithica in one year
i will write and die
in ithica its all the
same to me and you
and ithica
_____________________

love letter to my face
you are a beard i want
to be more vulgar like my
favorites dirty and more
queer and man drink more
like they do to have more
beard and be queer for them
because we drink too much
more than we should and
enjoy our beards as queers
______________________

o' city lights you
crack my side
walk you show my beau-
ty to the endless suburb
of hunters and those
who gather the writing bones
my city lights are
angels shining on mangers
of every corner
o' city lights you
knew me before edison ever
twinkled or i
ever slapped pavement w/
my face

colorado

i.

the closer &
closer i
get to denver
the more &
more i
wish i had bought you breakfast this morning

ii.

hot ash stings the
eyes as
the sun reflecting off
brown grass near yuma
where the spine
of some america no
longer shades my
back

iii.

driving past dairy
farms on i 76
my mind
lactates you
wonder what i mean
without me ever saying
a word

iv.

there is nothing
more empty than
your bones
eastern colorado
knowing past glaciers
who have kissed
your fathers neck
leaving him feeling
much nearer
to heaven

v.

i wanted to say
something
about the stars
and the city how
i wasn/t sure which
one i was above
or below
knowing neither were
holy plains
of existence &
god has been absent
from this rocky
purgatory
for some time

when i speak in
german i
do it
in all caps
unlike the way
i write
in no caps
because i do
not write
in german

a dead brown tooth

you wake up earlier than normal
again & a
gain is met but she is
still there
albeit a test or ex—
cuse for moral molars
in size
but not of stain quality
i break things such as
my face
in fascist ways locating
hemispheres or cracks in
the crust calling them
fault lines
thought no fault of mine
taking blurry paintings
& always
forgetting stories
of why im less beautiful
than i should seem

haiku 29

feds asked to put wolves
back on the endangered list
"we definitely - have a lot of wolves out there" - wildlife spokesman

an epic

when written this space
will need to be
much larger

the previous gap will say
epic things
telling tales
tall as a man can throw

his weight or
in his own weight
divided by

bush league poem
for bob

nobody goes
without signals
though
management spies
corn close for basil bunting
i feign low and inside
sometimes i am
high
and popped
in the fields
placing seeds between
cleat'd men
who drop
their women - four
boys and long walks

sticking to the plan - standing up
in five parts

i.
the deafness of god is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
though debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds one makes
when prayer is one
possible answer
or hitting coolly laid
pavement another-
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

ii.
to be a giant
of tracks
and/or one rumble
of steal
reminds a bend
or tunnel
who is truly coming
by

iii.
standing up for one
hour
and then resting for another
before standing up once more

iv.
you don/t know'
he reminds and re-
mind isn/t what it used
to be
though names were never
necessary
all un-
der the breath
gnostic and believable
for when darkness is
a lovely
man

v.
on rocks made of skulls
you or i
sit with our fist
tight against our chins
waiting for
sheepskin to soak
up what is not there
or never was
some firmament
of voice/s
leering at us with
their omniscient
bald beards
only waiting for

im pretty sure im regressing into the neanderthal stage of existence.

i have decided to get things in gear towards graduate school.

im not really sure what that means though.

speaking from
an unknown place
deep in the woods

although there were no
trees within
the sound
falling by the darkness

forgetting to remark willow
or talking fire

i smell of lake
though you call me sun god
knowing once there were
fathers big enough
to be men

deafness is questionable
always
as are the hands that draw
dirt from small stones
shaped like teeth

i juggle the morning
cast smoky spells
throwing glass
that doesnt shatter

and you remember
to cocoon
bending into memory

still no phone.

i opened my canned nut loaf today and had a sandwich.

it was decent.

busted

when i he—
rd that i
said bitches
be lion
250 uncouth
under—
grads pouring
libations
not a chance
to du—
plex it but only
a forge & a fee
300 each

dialect

they aren’t sure
where it is they came from
some say
i am or—
once was from iron
made of cold metal by hot stone
deep in the core
of spangled dirt
possibly earth
but they only get stares
as it is no answer
say maybe im from naples
but not nearly ohio
and it all comes tumbling down
knowing nothing of
stars or where they are burning
though finding something of
purpose between the borders
of rhode island and other
actual islands who become
extra-terrestrial states
when someone noticed
there is still land under—
water

a purpose

you dont smoke anymore
and you stopped wearing hats
ever since the jfk debacle

its gross you said its all gross
the nail biting in preemptive thought
forgetting why cars are as big

as they are

suggestion

i need more humor you
know but i
just get so annoyed with
things that are
damn hilarious like this
time where
you tell me to be this way
and i laugh

splendid encounters

to take &
take too much
of
somebody told me “it was
a good thing
partially dehydrated or
you cant smoke in here
any—
more” &
i told you i
told you in warning
“at first there is
a fire”

hmmmmm

or

foods to consider eating more of:
millet, asparagus, pomegranates, pine nuts, green tea

although i really dont like tea, i may or may not have to possibly think about taking that off the list.

this has nothing to do with reality either its just a note of healthy foods that i wanted to jot down.

i fixed my fake tooth
with gorilla glue
it may or may not be toxic
but good as new

so i got a call about nebraska matters job-

apparently they got more money than they anticipated or something and they are going to get other people to do the work i was going to do? or something like that. this guy keith told me that i would be recommended for other work or something. i think he is probably full of shit.

update on the elbow

i still cant feel part of it.
i wonder what happened.

i have a goal this week starting today. right now. for one week i will not get into an argument about anything. i will not insult anyone. and i will not say i hate or dislike anyone. for one week. starting right now, 6:58 pm thursday... august... umm... 28? yeah 28.

this is a personal goal to ween myself off of being a bitter asshole. which i know i may or may not be from time to time.

i cant feel part of my elbow. im not sure if this is from sitting at this desk in the library for too long or if it has been an ongoing thing. obviously it could just be the desk, but i dont really rest my elbows when im typing or browsing and i have somewhat decent posture at the computer. im not sure. these things. i still cant feel the right side of my left knee from when i crashed mid june. which i was completely sober at the time, just hit some wet pavement etc. i wonder how much more of me will be completely numb in the next decade. often i sit on the toilet playing hearts and or solitaire until my butt cheeks go numb. anthony tells me this is not good for my colon but i still do it.

since wes has been gone i have been sleeping on the floor in the living room with all the windows open and the ac off. i really like the idea of living alone.

sometimes i hear lyrics better than other times

I have lightning
If the stars dry out to guide me
I have soft clay
To knit my bones astride
What a miracle they say
Dark clouds gather
Velvet holes
Gaping wide oh
And they pour it down
And they sing to me
Of wonders
Unseen
Like clouds that rise
From the sea, oh
And I'm sorry
I'm so sorry
That I missed the point
Of this pageantry
But I'm grateful
That you love me

shallow souls silo sift
milky west foam

easy to walk on waters
slippery 'not so solid' silty rock

'nt never raised one hand
from the dead

who smellin' of sulfur
'n tellin' me lies of

what comin' round those tracks

one ear down
to the iron
(for years and years on repeatin')

not a damn sound
(for ever and ever 'men)

i like wearing my red shorts. its enjoyable to be a person that people look at and are omg look at those tiny red shorts. im not a fan of long shorts. like my tiny red ones. i like my legs. i dont think theres really anything special about them but i enjoy them. sometimes- wait hold on

sometimes i enjoy running in to people i know and chatting. although i dont really like chatting. i do. i kind of do. it makes me feel thought about maybe. remembered. i wonder if thats really important. my main goal in life is for... oh never mind.

sure am- or once had
to be a bison
but not a buffa-
long so many
train rides i dont really
take but should
eventually i
might stampede or just
shout past the horns
and the hairy hairy
backs of dakota
not nearly a place to
raise
not even a voice
but whimper land-
ho for hours and hours
at the tops of topped
off lungs i bellow
as only a bison
would roam if it
couldnt go home

Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build,
Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work,
Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed
Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk,
Man, brute, reptile, fly,--alien of end and of aim,
Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed,--
Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name,
And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved!

Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine,
This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!
Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine,
Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!
And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell,
Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things,
Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well,
Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.

And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was,
Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest,
Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass,
Eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest:
For higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire,
When a great illumination surprises a festal night--
Outlining round and round Rome's dome from space to spire)
Up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight.

In sight? Not half! for it seemed, it was certain, to match man's birth,
Nature in turn conceived, obeying an impulse as I;
And the emulous heaven yearned down, made effort to reach the earth,
As the earth had done her best, in my passion, to scale the sky:
Novel splendours burst forth, grew familiar and dwelt with mine,
Not a point nor peak but found and fixed its wandering star;
Meteor-moons, balls of blaze: and they did not pale nor pine,
For earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far.

Nay more; for there wanted not who walked in the glare and glow,
Presences plain in the place; or, fresh from the Protoplast,
Furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow,
Lured now to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last;
Or else the wonderful Dead who have passed through the body and gone,
But were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new:
What never had been, was now; what was, as it shall be anon;
And what is,--shall I say, matched both? for I was made perfect too.

All through my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul,
All through my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth,
All through music and me! For think, had I painted the whole,
Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder-worth:
Had I written the same, made verse--still, effect proceeds from cause,
Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told;
It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws,
Painter and poet are proud in the artist-list enrolled:--

But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can,
Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are!
And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man,
That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is nought;
It is everywhere in the world--loud, soft, and all is said:
Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought:
And, there! Ye have heard and seen: consider and bow the head!

Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared;
Gone! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow;
For one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he feared,
That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go.
Never to be again! But many more of the kind
As good, nay, better, perchance: is this your comfort to me?
To me, who must be saved because I cling with my mind
To the same, same self, same love, same God: ay, what was, shall be.

Therefore to whom turn I but to thee, the ineffable Name?
Builder and maker, thou, of houses not made with hands!
What, have fear of change from thee who art ever the same?
Doubt that thy power can fill the heart that thy power expands?
There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before;
The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound;
What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more;
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.

All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist;
Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist
When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.
The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard;
Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by and by.

And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence
For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonized?
Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence?
Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?
Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear,
Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe:
But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear;
The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians know.

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign:
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce.
Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again,
Sliding by semitones till I sink to the minor,--yes,
And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground,
Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the deep;
Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found,
The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.

oh and my dad has my email address now. we'll see how this works out.

and my aunt died. i dont know why.

i have made some mistakes. i think in wrong directions and dont-- well. there are things - and then there are things. i am dealing with the latter. i bought a new pair of pants. very tight. jc penny (umm whats it called) the place where you have cows. cows. i dunno. they are cow hand jeans. or some sort of pant. the my morning jacket show was pretty good. i had a really good time. too bad drinks were 6 dollars a pop. and too bad i didnt mind spending that much. and by pop i dont mean soda although there was way too much soda in the drinks so i switched to 5 dollar red stripes, which in the end was a better deal than 6 dollars for a shot and a can of pepsi. these two guys i had a class with (beat poets and such) well i started this the wrong way, i saw these two guys and approached them in between songs and talked to them for a brief moment about our class and what have you. i felt like a dumb drunk person so i walked off. after the concert they came up to our car and invited me to come to their apt above the antiquarium when ever i was in omaha again. pretty interesting. i dont recall the last time i was ever invited to hang out with anyone based on an initial meeting. maybe my

heres a good question.

why was christian laettner on the dream team?



im sitting next to these two girls in the library who are awkwardly working on a group project together and they keep awkwardly laughing at things the other one says and its making me awkward.

heres a good question.

why was christian laettner on the dream team?



im sitting next to these two girls in the library who are awkwardly working on a group project together and they keep awkwardly laughing at things the other one says and its making me awkward.

so i have been having all these thoughts on ideas of things that i think about/about disappearing with no trace or maybe traces but tricky traces. there are things like getting a new phone number and not really telling anyone what it is. changing names or changing names. im making this sound stupid so it sounds stupid. when i say i might change my name it seems the common reaction is that its a stupid idea. i dont see why. why should i feel confined to the person i am based on a name that was given to me before i could argue for something else. and the last name. family ties really dont seem all that important to anyone in my family on a surface level so why would a name as the most surface of surfaces be important. that people know i am related to my uncle bill or that i kind of look like uncle rick. his name is rick. i think. see i really dont know my own family that well. i was asked to go to a wedding for a cousin that i have no idea what his name is. ben i think. ben is not a good name, i would change it. then there is grad school which i assume i might actually go to eventually. i was thinking of getting in and not actually telling anyone and then moving. with my new name and new phone number unlisted i would virtually disappear i think. that would be pretty fascinating. but again there are people who would just say thats stupid. some people might say because so many say its stupid that its cool in some romantic disappearing act bull crap. i dont know. i just think its a good idea. but then again i rarely have good ideas especially the ideas that come to fruition, or technically never come to fruition but maybe do. hmm. the thing with the name changing is that i dont know if i want to be in full control of my name because that employs too much inward ego narcisisism and the like. plus i dont want to take up one of the many kewl names that i would like to name all of my children, some 15 bastardized mini me's.

i may or may not have deleted almost all the phone numbers from my phone whilst drunk the other night.

i really dont like blogging

places of uninterest

the isles (pub) or whatever. terrible bar. average food. overpriced beer. we stopped there after bike church yesterday and i had breaded mushrooms which were your average breaded mushrooms, not too bad, not too overpriced, that wasnt the issue. the issue was the beer pricing. all domestics, no matter bottle or can, are THREE DOLLARS A PIECE. so if you get a can (or two) of PBR they will cost you 3 dollars a pop. THREE DOLLARS FOR A CAN OF PBR. im glad i only had two but still, 6 dollars for two pbrs. you can get a 12 pack of pbrs for 6 dollars. GIVE ME A BREAK HAVELOCK. also in that same vein, i went to EL TORO recently, same place as all those other mexican restaurants in lincoln, le mexicana, mazatlan, and the other one which i forget. anyway, i like the food and everything, and the margaritas but i was charged (once again) THREE DOLLARS FOR A SIDE OF GUAC. THREE DOLLARS FOR A SIDE OF SAUCE THAT I JUST WANTED A LITTLE BIT ON MY BURRITO. good grief.

kuzma is king

this party, this poetry shindig, was arguably argue..eablybly- the greatest party i have ever been to. i spent most of the time talking to bob. bob is from norfolk and im not sure how old he is exactly but he seemed fairly old. went to college in the 60s i think. forgot which college. wayne i think. anyway bob (who is rumored to have met his wife at an orgy, which is not actually true) and i talked for a fairly long time about life, drugs, education, writing, and religion. kyle got his phone number because kyle is lucifer. this became more and more apparent over the course of the night. anyway back to bob. bobs wife barb(ara) who sounds like a fart if you dont say it all out was a pseudo understudy to allen ginsburg at the naropa b.s. academy. anyway though back to bob. bob talked about going to california and india and how he cant remember music that he listened to, but does remember the first time he smoked a joint and how that changed his life. he saw chairs and he knew music intimately, sort of like meeting his wife at an orgy which wasnt true but believed by many to be so. all the while i was consuming massive amounts of fancy beers. particularly this one called samuel smiths organic lager or ale or something. nice beer. had some others too. went inside a few times, quite a few, but never stayed very long. ate many aurerderves. derves. or. the spring rolls were pretty awesome. and the cheese. J.R. (not me) we ate a lot of cheese together and talked about the "man". this was after bob left. J.R. lives down the road and is divorced. anyway back to bob. bob had some really intense eyes and we stared at each other the entire time we talked. it was one of the better conversations ive had in awhile and it felt good. mostly i talked about the main things i think about and bob sifted through it with his worldly knowledge that i am trying to gain. i feel like the more i talk about the same things over and over again that eventually i will figure something out and change what im talking about, maybe learn something. so i try not to talk about anything knew until ive figured this stuff out. its going to take awhile but bob helped. i wonder if he thinks bob sounds like a fart the way barb does. barb and bob. barb is taller than bob. bob seems like a greatful dead sort of guy but im not so sure thats true. new paragraph.

i moderately enjoyed the first few readers to a point. this has to do with the fact that i was pretty drunk at the time and feel the need to like more poetry. i think the key is to like as much poetry as you can until you hate poetry and then hate as much poetry as you can so you can figure out what you actually do like and what you pretend to like so people think youre with it.

our table was covered in beer bottles. it was pretty obvious where we sat because there were roughly 30+ bottles on our table and a number of cigarette butts. kuz told us that he was going to ban smoking but he changed his mind when we showed up. the spring rolls were great. im trying to think what else was great. the guac was great. the cheese. i really really liked the cheese. it was smoked something, that J.R. and i ate a lot of together while talking about movies. Q.T. and star wars and anime. i started talking about miyazaki to a bunch of old men. cartoons you know. one girl asked me what my boba fett tattoo was and i told her boba fett and she said what the hell is that and i said star wars and she said she had never seen it. a guy who i assume was her husband knew though. he knew and i could see something going on there. she said she didnt have time to watch movies but that she had seen the exorcist roughly 30 times. maybe 40. i said you had time to watch the exorcist 40 times, maybe 30, and you dont have time to watch star wars. she was called on her bluff of being too intellectual to watch movies. J.R. and i went off on movies and cheese here. bob was gone.

the beer ran out about 9ish and kyle and kuz went on a beer run. eventually we ended up taking all the beer that they bought and putting it in kyles trunk. this is the end of the party so i might have to go back. but i wont. thats pretty much it.

there was kooser, kuz, bob, a dog, some people from ireland, a man from wayne, some more people, some doctors who were poets, some poets who were doctors, some great food and beer, some more beer, some sneaking, some bathrooms, some smoking, a lot of smoking, a lot of beer, a man with sage, a man with sage advice, a man with a hat, several men with hats, another kooser, eventually no kooser, more beer, less beer, then more beer. there was some reading and a band. kyle did not like either. it was arguably the greatest party i have ever been to. i would say. i read bob one of my poems. the poem about ants. i read him the added on ending that i dont think i have written and know i havent read to anyone or really shown to anyone. i liked it a lot after i read it to him though. it was called ants and i read it to him because he was talking about how he followed an ant for 45 minutes while it carried a bead or piece of something down his driveway. that was bob.

i cant remember if ive actually written about people in cars yelling at anyone and im too lazy to look. lazy lazy. but it does happen far too often. why? ive even had the priv... umm. well i was in a car and someone in the car yelled at another car and that car pulled up behind the car i was in and the guy got out and came up and tried to punch into the car. now, im pretty against yelling to begin with unless its for comedic value. anyway, why do people in cars feel the need to yell at walkers and bikers. that wasnt really a question. it was. but anyway, i was not yelled at but spoken to from bike to bike last night and i was too drunk and various other emotions to calculate the weight of these words until i was too far away to do anything about them. it was all pretty silly.

im listening to the new RZA (the raza) album called digi snacks

i i i i have... this d... that... (and i think) where there is nobody watching i can just eat away at (and i think) and then i feel this way and tell myself this other thing that isn't really true but is because what i thought before wasn't actually true and is. so i feel this now. (so i think). and there are all these gaps in my head that don't really allow me to let go of the things that i thought we're this way but are actually that way. the funny thing is that (and i think) if anyone actually read this i know, it doesn't really make much sense, but (i don't think) anyone actually knows what i really am talking about but might assume they know because i am a redundant redundant redundant never gets tired always gets old forget about it. but this isn't even what i think it is. it's growing.

i am in collegiate purgatory. or. something. i feel the longer i sit here and purgator the more and more my brain will rot away into a (supposedly neon green) supposedly redundant. there is no point to any of this really. i just crave attention really. i guess. im probably going to delete this soon.

holy smokes

i need to change my phone plan so i stop paying for a thing i dont use.

this was an attempt at two things, one to post garbage i write on the internet in hopes of some sort of comment/critique/etc and to do other things that im not really sure about but mostly have to do with the fact that i------- nevermind. i realize that i havent really been a good person for quite a long time. i thought i was gradually fixing that recently but i still do things that are in question i suppose and i still feel like there is this circle and i am not in this circle. i know enough people and i am vaguely friends with some of them but the people i feel the closest to i dont really see that. it seems like there is some amount of time that anyone can spend with certain people before they feel like they have had their share and need something else. not just in romantic jargon but in the idea of all around companionship. i guess im bad at that. i dont know what it is. i think about this all the time though and dont really know how to bring it up but i dont feel like keeping it in. i assume nobody really reads this anyway so its not a big deal and most people who would think this is an attempt to make people feel bad or sorry wont read it and wont feel like that because thats not what i want. i dont want anyone to feel bad or feel sorry. i just want to figure out what im doing wrong. why i dont really have any friends in a certain sense of the word. 1 thing is that i think i am easily forgettable. 2 things is that i am a pushover. 3 things is that years of being forgettable and a pushover have caused me to be bitter. 4. being bitter makes me tend to be an asshole. 5. being an asshole causes people to not like to be around me and i can use the defense of saying i dont like people anyway so i dont feel bad that nobody really likes me. but now im just making myself feel bad. i do that sometimes until i feel so bad that i start feeling stupid for feeling bad and i work my way back out of it. i dont know why i started doing that but i always have. so no i realize i have friends. i have some pretty good friends. the problem is that they all have friends too, friends that are friendlier than i am. 6. im a very shy person and i have very little confidence in myself. when i try to exude confidence i generally do something really stupid and make an ass of myself and possibly hurt someone i care about etc. 7. once i start talking its hard for me to stop. i generally dont think about what im saying until its too late. this is just a rant because im very lonely right now. not sad boo hoo lonely. not really romantically lonely, but just lonely that i dont really get to see or talk to people that often unless i go out of my way to find someone who doesnt really care if im around or not. so if someone reads this dont think aww justins lonely, and dont think justin is feeling sorry for himself and being stupid. they both might be true but mostly im just getting this out of my head because its been in there for the last couple years. i cant even really think of anyone i have really talked to about a lot of things. i guess not really a lot of things. probably as many things as most people have.

back log

the strength of the drink or
quieting stampede
i believe in sandy hills
hidden by history and laughter
raucous in rye
arcane cactus speaking for me
knowing god and all the sky on fire
how every inch of it is between
the souls of my feet
though i am nothing
in weight
but a spring lying by slow gait
over ground that has layered
dust upon all the fallen

____________________________

cold war-

mth
maybe august
for all of
it/s humidity
finding
a drawn out sommer/s
hands being cleaned
by the blood of billions
of bouncing bison
who saw that happened
from one end of the plain
to the far reaching
black hills but
never spoke up over
the chugging trains
and hapless aim

_________________________

some of these are private.
they are crap.
_________________________

ants

you decide that they
vanish
its partially true
we arent sure where
they go but you say
they just go home

trying to dwindle down my portfolio thing to 10

new york (state)

oh god

where the buffalo roam

and remind me

again and again

how bruce

smith never won

a super—

bowl

no relation

i always thought

my grandpa smith

was from cuba

like the missile

crisis

_________________________

newfoundland

caught myself peeking

ov'r the green—

shadows of ancient

american wars

perhaps a viking or two

once found something

here worth loving

and it becomes

a sinister issue—

where i don't know

how i'm going to tell you

not to dream this

tonight

_________________________

a snow

we were questioning the snow

of its cold

with our faces planted

firmly to the ground

legs up in the air

being dangled by moon

and its arms of tree shadows

you still new me then

when my face was a blue jay

pecking through the nests

of children

and in the freezing depths

of a worthless february

___________________________

titled

over the great plains of your back

roaming bison avoid railroads

in a sense of the plague that

moses never dreamed of despite all the burning

bushes and golden calves he could find

in forty years of searching out there

in the wild of a woman’s body

__________________________________

spring conversation

there are pieces of it over

there on the ground

where

by the tree

the cottonwood by the shed

yes

how did they get there

i don't know

why are you telling me this

because it's getting late and

you wont be able to see them soon

don't tell me that

it's getting dark

i'm getting the axe—

go inside

__________________________________

r and r

erno rolled

down the passenger window

lit his cigarillo

in impatience

reminding us it was november

everything turning colors

and shapes

i kept my mouth shut

a square in my own right

pulled my collar up to my neck

puzzles were

twisting through my head—

candy cane arm bars

two red lights—two read lights

i've been here before

he told me how

his mom used to write poetry

and i said that i can't stop changing

run through it he demanded

nothing is coming

___________________________________

the evolution of panda thumbs—

i.e. the bone that projects—

a branch a broom stick that witch

may swing soullessly through

a field of emptiness no

the eye of one great

white and black bear—

whale all at once wash across

the eternal night ocean

to here to bay to wave

a magical piece or tool

in an up signaling style saying—

good job muhammagod but

in my late days— o’ designer of clocks

where is my gold watch

to fade away with time beneath

the shadows of bamboo

stalking high over my windless sleep

so that i may go on forever

in bed with the unzoo’d forest floors

until my day comes when

i must rise

_____________________________________

summer searching

walking

it was night out

but the summer never really

seems all that dark

i pointed at a star

knowing it was actually venus

and told you

how you can see light

long after

the source dies

nothing else was said

the entire way

_________________________________

venom dots

i notice where

there were once

bald spots on my legs

patches of skin rare to find—

now hair grows

i wonder what

i've been doing different

in my life and assume

i've quit lying—

seven spider bites

pattern up my left leg

i count them

scratching all the while

as if i knew they had always been there

to connect—

i see everything

about myself

laying out on the driveway

beneath the motion sensor lamp

four am nude in june

___________________________

haiku two

a voice coming from each of your false teeth

it's true

you stare at the television set for hours and hours

at close range

and go blind

__________________________

an orange

for carlin

forge an idea

to sit on

sounds as though

it may be

a delicious one

but isn't

he would say

things

and i can't find

the means to dis—

agree

your nose

is a telescope

means everything

to me

and i suppose that

is why

_________________________

(twelve) a natural progression

for—

wasp just wouldn/t leave

the wasp wouldn/t leave just

would—not

i/m choking—i/m choking

i/m going to the grand canyon

this is bad for you

don/t go where i can/t follow

illegally climb fences

irresponsibly mending

and it leaves

it leaves

i believe

you

killing the grass—

breathing in the smoke

i forgive everyone

when i am invisible

i forgive

everyone for everything

and the leaving

the leaving

the leaves

the mending and the

wasp

naked and georgia

forgetting the canyons

i once saw

spend not enough time

explaining why

i feel so much

and eternity is inside

possibly in winter

i will show you

but nothing dies anymore

___________________________

midwest-voodoo-physics-pentameter

for jeff

never ending

sky

not so much the bison

both can be

killed to borderline extinction

i

drive faster the further

things grow apart

between potter/dix

in back country where

the rain is only a wall

that never seems to fill up

this dry bed

who can sleep

when there's no wind break

and the howling is

mistaken for hungry coyotes

nipping at

your feet all

because there are

no more

bison to kill

______________________

circles

burdens don’t mean

they are soft in ghost weight

and spill everything

into buckets of shoulders

storing rain

of the seasons that aren’t

meaning to be

burdens

buzzing ashes take note

to ears and flaps

and underwater speaking

to a game not played

playing it over

between a death

and a death

before swimming takes

reason underneath

all the want and distraction

of where weeds go

to pull themselves

and the spinning earths

eat it up like it’s

nothing

and then it is nothing

________________________

spicer

that marvelous finger

he gave it

after being asked

to take back

comments made on ted

williams' contribution

to the bosox

i was there

he said i was there

when he gave it

but it wasn't worth

a goddamn thing

if you want to win the pennant

and my poetry

does