hey paul check out giovanni carmazzi

collapse

it's the thought she left there or
when
beginning again with the eyes
was easy, see her
in hundreds of small towns
to return to,
because i found her there once
half-way gone as i reached out
& said
a small gust to carry away.

squallor

wheres the candle or the money
to pay for the gas bill
or the stove
i drink water sometimes when i'm hungry
which doesn't always make sense
but it works sometimes
though it's hard to want something
that you hear all night
dripping from the part of the ceiling
that peels away
& you're afraid that the animals
in the attic might scratch through
the rotten wood
& fall on top of you
in the middle of the night.

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
the sun reflecting off brown grass
near yuma
where the spine of some america
shades my face,
lonely as a tunnel train.

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
have kissed
your fathers neck leaving
him feeling much nearer
to heaven
or what heaven might feel like
if he would have gone there.

v.

i wanted to say something before i left
either to you or this or you
about the stars & the city
how i wasn't sure which
one i was above or below
knowing neither were
other plains
of existence & your face lit up--
but
god had been absent
from this rocky
purgatory
for some time.

o' city lights
o' city lights you crack my side
walk you show
my beauty to the endless suburb of hunters
& those who gather the writing bones

o' city lights are the late night owls
looming over fields
& every corner the mice scatter--

o' city lights you
knew me before i ever sparkled or
when i
slapped pavement w/ my face

labor day

we fool them w/
our smiling faces
women in a pigeon age
knees knock in difining
moon from moon
says moon repeatedly
every night repeatly
behind the stars, she loves the diving hawks
who kill.
but you forgot the actual time you
swallowed all of the tramadol
& made your fingers
smoke even after there was no more smoke to give--
a wiked smell thickened the air
somewhere near your
home
or maybe think this is
my house for now.

shake

i am broke because
the sun is filtered by what i see
or i can stand in a river
where it goes up past my ankles or
to my knees
that sometimes shake &
hit themselves together
bones that make music
but don't break
though i am here
where you put me
& this is why

slow

where the hangman's hand hold you
tell him to let go
the sound of a dead horse beaten
forgets you
where the gates are left open
& all the animals leave
for the ocean
because that is where things go

the temptation of

the night when you are beautiful,
& i saw.
a stranger for penny; change where you like
to put it.
around here somehwere is a picture
that i keep.
treasure is not something i do,
but i dig deeper
to find a weapon from childhood--
dull.
you look at me like i am a bird,
feathered & falling.

beach

walk half naked
dune the sands
of the florida gulf
littered w/ teeth
of sharks so small
they will never
eat you whole.

nomadic

unsure where ultra-marine melts
in your hand
hold the big sky, a pink piece
of your face on the cheek--
a thousand or so natives build camp here,
& taste the plants of warning
so they might see god or
become her & dance around the eyes,
peacock feathers nest
in their hair
as if it was supposed to look like that.

millions of if's

he writes down every step, things he might do
by day & hour in a spiral note book
that he leaves on the floor where he sleeps.
lists who he might tell & in what order
chooses his wife: first
because he should love her & maybe does
but she doesn't know that,
she doesn't know about any of this.

prey

woke with a sleep-hawk; up
slay pigeons where i lie.
tallon from one corner to the next
where towered stone scrapes their sky.

the temptation of

the night when you are beautiful
a stranger for penny; change where you like
to put it.
around here somehwere is a picture
that i keep,
treasure is not something i do--
but i dig deeper
to find a weapon from childhood--
dull.
you look at me like i am an angel,
cloaked & falling.

happen light on the slipping drift
fog not where your eyes stare
makes me lonely in a pretty way
writing with your finger through my hair
shed the forest from the field
w/ each breath of winter's dry air
feel the warmth of death linger
cold as hell but not quite there

drift

steady in the lungs, fox fur mixes in
because she likes it there.
a finger, a space, a finger, a space etc.
fuss across.
do you really listen,
or is it the voice that leads--
breathing smoke whether its cold outside or not.
she tells everything to hold still
while she does this to you.

billowing

nimble the night sky thins where you don’t see shadow
grow.
naked as your bird call on the western plain of cherry highland,
silhouette of fleeing pheasant:
the winter cannot hold.
hawks in the growth of coarse rope
tight beneath my clattered chin,
broken when the ice melt
& no-one saw it go--
flush, a nice red face
bark up the wrong &
bite the sickle off these bent trees
spindle, through some three dog night
& still growing older--
a motion that keeps us & holds us
until we weigh nothing
then it drops our paper frames from clouds high up there,
where we never saw before.

walk home

flush, a nice red face
bite the sickle off these bent trees
spindle, through some three dog night
& still growing older--
a motion that keeps us
& holds us until we weigh nothing
then it drops our paper frames from clouds
high up there.
where we never saw before.

a color

polka-dot riddle eyes so vast
the sea sees what you sink--
words inside of my mouth;
lost,
but where the moon leaves,
you understand what space to fill--
circling
until im dizzy, irises
point inward at what makes me go
this way.

un-plowed

when i'm crazy but not broken
as the wendigo shrill wind
through walls & windows soft
porous sea-grated stone
skulk along smoked streets laid
hand by hand, i know
the route guided by silk-worm spindle
steams off the fault-rock
of rust-giving salt & sap
not realizing this is too far north
or how sane it will take me to leave,
but i can go on like this for some time
i think. walking still,
walking.

king size

separate rooms they snore
w/ pillows over heads
so they cannot hear each other
or anything
when they touch bodies
each discovers something
they miss the skin & friction for
wait on lips to touch it
but none of this when they dream
none of this is there.

c

dangle there cigarette, said lip
fitting where i kiss you
let me
but i won’t, he says again
love you more than the next
a puff where you exit
& warms the throat
smell of organic
smolder slowly towards
me, as a moment
let me
go.

around

don’t step so loud he
hears you coming, with those ears
wrap of wind & no trees stand stoic
by the banks of so many rivers.
your neck casts shadow
across the great circumference of his belly
that reminds you of hills in central-nebraska
where all you have to do is breathe
& someone else might know you’re there
even if they can’t see you.
even if they never actually see you.

hofstra drops football program after 69 years

not w/o a punchers chance, giovanni carmazzi cried
all of colonial pride
& by god, is it not, criminal to leave the american sport
to long island buzzards
holding no grudge over the flying dutch
or the nostalgic down they touch
waiting for the whistle of city towers
counting back clock time
for when we can play away the hours
& forget this deviled crime.

three dogs

bark up the wrong,
nimble, the night sky
thins where you don’t see shadow
grow.
naked as your bird call on the western plain
of cherry highland,
the silhouette of fleeing pheasant—
hawks in the growth of coarse rope
tight beneath my clattered chin,
broken when the ice melt,
& no-one saw it go.

what he says

i’m sorry about the moving truck
outside of our home
but i’m leaving you, going to chicago
there is no one else
there is no one at all for me
that’s why i’m leaving; this will be better for us both
don’t say anything you might regret
& who knows
by the time our only child is older
maybe i’ll be back
maybe things will have changed by then
something this backwards has to turn right
at some point.

flying dutchmen

i’m learning how to improve my sky-hook
w/ jeff malone
the nephew of moses malone.
bang that ball on the garage door—
& the neighbors hate me,
but who needs ‘em
i say to all the neeighbors’s kids
that i’m learning how to improve my sky-hook
w/ jeff malone
the nephew of moses malone,
who played @ hofstra as a sophmore
& averaged 2.4 points & 1.4 rebounds per game,
but the neighbors’s kids say who
who is moses malone
& i say he is the uncle of jeff malone
but they still don’t get it
they just don’t understand who he is.

comb

honey comes slow from you,
golden hairs mingle, a toe curl—
makes it difficult to walk
away.
feeling folksy in my fingers
to tell you where i’ve been
& why
it hasn’t been w/ you.
because i hibernate
deep in the mountain
where trees never change &
my words come in spring to bloom,
places that rarely see enough sun,
suddenly do.

fingers

deviled boys grease each other
their hands
dip
nothing watches them; always talks to them,
pale doldrums, a wave of wheat--
floats above, at attention. grabbing
out-stretched pink arms licked by fat
take it all.

untitled

we are no longer women; straining our necks with the weight of our breasts
long slender necks that pursuade to the chin,
hold out our heads as bulbed-white gods.
every beat, a momentum in continuous form,
every call, a light-house directing the point,
barking vees arrow the parallel ground,
some surface that knew us until we learned how to do this.


down

knee deep in your daily beast
funny is the way i hear.
holding your egg in the cave of my chest,
i am comfortable beneath the phoenix down
& even the wind that drives me naked
across the desert i was born,
a mattress of cattle-stamp wheat
& heralds hark, beauty under bluffed cloud.

alzheimers

i've had apples
i've had good apples
i've had all kinds of apples
my sister, shes 93, she lives in a nursing home
i visit her every day
except yesterday when it rained
her name is elizibeth taylor, shes 93
i hope i never get alzheimers
i hope i can live as long as my sister
& you might call me a religious fanatic
but when god calls you
you gotta go

failed attempt @ ampersand in multiple fonts

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my fourth year

the apple tree that fell on my sister
the car that talked
until the bank took it back
my father standing on the porch while the rest of us hid from the tornado
my giraffe pajamas
i found out what professional wrestling was— and loved it
scraping my leg on the concrete wall
losing my tonsils
telling my mom i hated her for making me take that disgusting orange medicine
eating sugar out of the cupboard
dreaming of women
i would ride my babyblue rocking horse for weeks
rolling the grain of my bedroom floor
the purple light-bulb my mother would put in the bathroom
i would get so excited to see that way

i have friends who wrestled in aurora
(for paul clark)

horses
something you don’t think about
as a defining a man
horses as they should be
where he’s from
but can’t remember
he rides these horses & can’t remember
their names but
he rides horses & i almost s'd
my mother rides horses
but not the same
no mustache
no fist on chin
all bruised up
no kids
or at least ones that can be remembered
they have names
all horses have names
something like
but he can’t remember
& he s'd he feels really bad
i agree
it’s all fists on chins
trying to remember where y’re from
& what you named yr kids

i have friends who wrestled in aurora
(for paul clark)

horses, something you don’t think about as a defining point
in a man
horses as they should be
where he’s from, but he can’t remember
he rides these horses & can’t remember their names
but he rides horses & i almost said my mother rides horses
but not the same
no mustache, no fist on chin-- all bruised up
no kids, or at least ones that can be remembered
they have names,
all horses have names,
something like, but he can’t remember
& he said he feels really bad.
i agree.
it’s all fists on chins
trying to remember where you’re from
& what you named your kids.

boat house



crumble to find sparrow nest adjacent to us
splinters where we’re told not to be children
my hand moves between the deck grain
small brown pears smooth the floor
keep my head level as the structure sways
focused on your naked feet

last night i was downtown for a birthday party. at one point i was fairly intoxicated by various things when i was getting berated for playing dungeons and dragons. so i went to a different part of the bar 10 feet away or so to talk to someone else. the conversation turned to me explaining my position on why star wars is more real than star trek. when i was finished, this angry asshole said to me, what if i picked you up and threw you on the fire and burned you alive. explain that to me. and i said, that has nothing to do with star wars. (unless he was talking about burning vader, which he wasn't because this angry asshole probably knows nothing of star wars). so i, being a friendly drunkard, make a friendly bet, saying i bet you 10,000$ you couldn't burn me alive on that fire pit, and then i was about to say something else to clarify that point when the angry asshole picked me up and threw me on the fire pit and held me down on top of the fire. he then pulled me off and said you owe me 10,000$ and i said no because i'm still alive and not burned alive. thinking he was still... kind of joking, and then he said, do you think i'm joking and i was confused. because yes i thought he was joking. what kind of crazy mother fucker tries to burn a complete stranger on a fire for talking about star wars? i assumed he was just a trek fan because he looked like a total douchebag. anyway so he grabs me again and at this point i get serious and im like what the fuck man, what the fuck are you doing you crazy cunt, or something like that. and then hes like im gonna go and i said yeah you better go and then he left and i smoked a cigarette to calm down. on my way out i told the bar tender and he gave me a free drink and told me that if i ever see him let the bartenders know and they will kick him out. FOREVER. i hope i see that angry crazy trekkie cuntbag. not that i would really do anything because im a big nerdy wiener, but i relish in my power of being able to get him kicked out.

the park

you are not the fog i describe, warm these vents as events arrive;
a holiday garish though, woman laughs--
you recognize it’s gold-leaf rasp
watch in fall as they glide over the dead grass.

right before getting kicked out of o’rourkes


splitting hairs, here, my honeyed hands,
glued to the glide of autumn hustle.

she makes more bird calls than i care to say,
i say,

& respond, writing words in the stalls,
intimately attached to my wrist, & elbow.

when it’s not gift-wrapped as cats & dogs,
barrels by barrels,

everything sits still, & the smoke saunters,
teetering on the edge of a gutter.

a whole family of farmers finds water

they speak to the stars & know the weather
years before or after
grow soy beans between their dirty fingernails cleaned
burrying them in blue-jean gardens.
whether bending down over or creeking back up,
their pockets loaded w/ soil,
reaping the maize, fall fields golden ablaze,
they toil, they toil, they toil.

hybrid animal

fuzz tucked under arm, sleeping moon.
a milk line goes, spittle,
she smiles, you think.
feasting from forested phoenetics
& caught drooling down dimples.
not what you were expecting, say to yourself,
mirror, mirror.
her legs gazelle, lark in throat,
repeating everything you say
as if you never said it.
leaving wing beats in your belly, only.

duck killers

being afraid of loneliness,
or attempts to stay that way.
your hand reaching for summer, etc.
asking questions & not answering them
as a note
of depth
line dragging further away from shore line,
wondering where you draw it, a radius of hands
between spirituality & unkempt beard, involuntary fasting.
something goes awkward into the deep end,
where the un-cut-six-pack-plastic-rings—
forgetting the line, taut.
then noticing.

duck killers

being afraid of loneliness,
or attempts to stay that way.
your hand reaching for summer, etc.
asking questions & not answering them
as a note
of depth
line dragging further away from shore line,
wondering where you draw it, a radius of hands
between spirituality & unkempt beard, involuntary fasting.
something goes awkward into the deep end,
where the un-cut-six-pack-plastic-rings—
forgetting the line, taut.
then noticing.

silent

autumned ribs fold in percussion,
extend drum, nipple from brittle cage.
fingers prod shards of glass, imbedded to make sound,
echoes from mouth toward impending fall
drop scales shed over us
until we are burried above ground.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH I ACCIDENTLY DOUBLE PAID BOTH OF MY CREDIT CARDS FOR A TOTAL OF ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS SO NOW I HAVE NO MONEY BUT ONE OF THOSE CREDIT CARD PAYMENTS WAS OVER THE BALANCE SO THEY ARE SENDING ME A CHECK BUT I WONT GET IT FOR 30 DAYS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 >:o

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH I ACCIDENTLY DOUBLE PAID BOTH OF MY CREDIT CARDS FOR A TOTAL OF ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS SO NOW I HAVE NO MONEY BUT ONE OF THOSE CREDIT CARD PAYMENTS WAS OVER THE BALANCE SO THEY ARE SENDING ME A CHECK BUT I WONT GET IT FOR 30 DAYS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 >:o

drank, drank. ate, drank, ran into a fence. drank drank. yes there was this fence across the street of some street. ten feet high. there were no signs that said, "BEWARE, FENCE!" and so i ran right into the fence at full speed on my bicycle. my head hurts now that i think about it, and not just because what we drank. its the second time that i ran full speed into a chain link fence. the other time was when i was riding my bike away from cops when i was a sophmore in highschool. i hadn't done anything illegal but it was late and the cops were chasing. it is not a good thing to run full speed into a chain link fence on a bike. it is a bad thing. this ten foot high chain link fence. at least they give. at least it wasn't a stone wall or a bus.

mississippi

haft headed i shan’t dance, decked.
o’ jolly, she battle hymns of unmarked graves,
prairie college dunce for more medicine, to cure,
to leave & come back, knows
where they bury them all. ‘in hell,’ she says.
barge sail by arm toward the south, rising
down beneath the gulf of mexico’s,
where earth, pools her words,
pelican belly gathering in hattiesburg,
& siphons the sludge of your somber prayers
say:
dream to me in drawl, boy,
wandering beyond moon or tide, sulfur stench in the sky,
& i will take you with me, again, ‘to hell,’ she says.
tip-toe from the mouth, through & through.


american wildlife

peaking when we pine
porous as the wind leaves,
needles we drink until we poke.
restless on the edge of indian statue,
he points
at the wine inside us, abandoning
broken body on the plains
near the caged bison, caribou. wandering.
they whisper into our ears
with their thick whiskered tongues,
but we cannot understand their words.
only the cud grinding
& the pant of boredom, where the flies
feast on manna in each eye, beast to naming beast,
reflecting the disaster inside us;
a swelling thing easily ignored.


after

he comes out of the room, one room the other wasn’t in,
with a towel around his neck
& his hair slicked back, looking ghastly ill.
he comes
dark rings around the eyes,
& the other sits on the sofa, but doesn’t
look up,
pouring a drink into a glass. slow.
inside something is changing their minds.
he hears the ice move, but keeps walking towards it.


the basic horn

whimpers in white, louder than song,
but you disagree, listening
in the darkness as the cat cries, & cries
& we never know when to say:
do not do this
or just do this, “scram,”.
left or right,
correcting my neckline, strangling tie, loosely drawn
so the loop of thigh echoes by nipple, down arm,
agreeing to clench at the same time
claw clinging to all the furniture
we bought together, flea markets, something, etc.,
before everything is blown,
again this is louder than we can hold between
small apartment walls,
out of proportion a second too late
knocking on the unlatched door
to find me there.

No submissions or poems that have been previously published. We consider “published” is published. This includes small, private editions, and even poems previously posted on blogs and personal web sites. - orange and sardines publication

canoe #1

lewis &
clarked my way from indian
caves
to cherry county,
swindling along the big dirty missouri
stay
as far away from the iowan banks as possible
catfish salt, bottom feeder
under the nose when i hear those riverboats whistle
come hither
dear gambler
the pearly gates are open wide

canoe #2

bending my near broken buffalo collar
bone down the winding
niobrara
she lays lady finger
between each western rib.
my skin ripples
in pond
telling me which water snake will bite
my face sweet & lonesome
beneath an other-
worldly sun tanning my hide
naked in a boat

im finally out of the medical study for good. next sunday im going to host a writers group at my house. 7pm. 1121 D st. everyone will be there!

pale horse

when i want him he will come
to my door,
my eye.
i will look at him with all of my hands, holy
to trust.
never forget
the face of a complete stranger
when his sword strikes me down
& burns within me.
when there is nothing left but his love,
or hell below.

-------------------------------

hubris

the sun does not shine for lowly me
the moon is but a mirror for thee
raising tides along a darkened sea
tricking all to think there may be three

-------------------------------

no hibernate

wind doesn’t even move
so swift
when moisture becomes wicked

it hangs thick on branches
or on the roof top shingles of homes

& at night everything lights up.

you close your eyes,
take graying images in freeze frame
while molecules of empty noise expand.

a shiver moves past you from somewhere off
while you think about sleeping,
tired from several months of digging
with your numb hands.

i just spoke to an incredibly stupid woman. first she asked me if i was a spy for obama because obama is listening to everyones phonecalls and doing survelience on people. i said no. later in the survey when i asked her about health care she said that she didn't have health care because she was unemployed and couldn't afford it. obama you evil man, trying to give this woman health care. she told me her blood pressure was high because he son went to iraq to defend his country. TO DEFEND HIS COUNTRY. defense. she said she was a pentacostal christian and i asked if she wanted me to put down protestant and she said no im a pentacostal. so, like MOST ignorant christians, i had to put down that she was an OTHER christian religion. apparently there are SEVERAL different christian religions. she then said she was a republican but that she didnt know if she was a conservative or a liberal. she asked her daughter, who apparenlty didnt know what her mother was. she said i think im a conservative but i dont believe in all that hooha.

it is because she is undeducated. all of it. oh and she also has been living off of unemployment for OVER A YEAR. 1500 DOLLARS A MONTH. THAT IS MORE THAN I MAKE AT MY JOB. DOING A JOB. AND SHE IS A REPUBLICAN MY ASS. get this damn liberal out of the white house god dammit so we can WORK FOR OUR SHIT. go fuck yourself republicans.

i wrote a bunch of poems this morning. my mom yelled at me when i asked for a ride to work. im applying to be a liquor store manager. i finally trimmed off the long section of hair on the back of my head that stuck up all the time. im at work right now. i trimmed my mustache. i will have to shave my beard if i get this job. i really dont like that. i like my beard. i miss ellen and i hope she misses me too. im going to buy a bus ticket to see her next week. the ticket will be 21 days after i buy it though because thats how long i have to buy in advance to get the best price. which is essential. im seriously considering this portland thing. though i will have to see what ellen is doing, and if people are actually moving to colorado. i think i would like to live in portland. or somewhere. i dont like that i have so many relatives on facebook. i dont like that my relatives are politically irrational morons. religious mostly. i dont like that my dad said god spoke to him about being a bad parent and now hes going to try harder. that really pissed me off.

evergreen

i’m sentimental
where you touch the space
in between
one rib and two
fingers walking down piano tickles
light whiting from the closet moon
sneaking face
through the forest around me
who say:
where you are going
we are shadow.
so i open my hands
feeling the sap stay.

PUPPIES DRESSED AS CATS

whisky

i cannot tell them.
my father
who walks too,
feel the rash of corn leaf
running along your thigh,
romantic rows of undaunting nudity,
fat on the bone.
you mark notches by nibbles
to see how tall you grow
& again
back in the pivot;
as you once were before the seeds took root
smelling poison from the lips
& still kissing them.

-----------------------------

bath

there in the claw-foot tub
my body
folds over itself, curling
carnival mirror
to you
fresh with soap suds
suckling where i rest my eyes

-----------------------------

snow tires

you whisper in the passenger seat
nearly asleep
about disliking the cold

as i keep driving over the
permafrost of distant hells

knowing it's so much easier
to drive south

god being
an omnipotent weight

-----------------------------

white

watching boy swim albino bellied
narwhal
tooth jutting from his face
he nibbles
at the shimmers of sun
reflecting on crests of sea
biding his time
until he learns
to fly towards the light

----------------------------

the forms of midnight

there are times
when arms
lay down under the dark skin
of the night
peeling each bottle that rescues me
out of my hands –
silencing venomous lips
rest over my headless
face
saying things
that sleep into the afternoon
& never realize
that last night
i said the same words
only with less thought
saying; the moon,
it hangs
even when the sun is on us.

camp

woodcutter girl who listens
awake she dives
through the deep sea noise
approaching pit-pat
on the one-man tent
reminding her
of a nothing
keeping the portal closed
from when she was
so much younger
& couldnt afford to be alone

looking

standing naked in front
of my bedroom window
i feel
the cowlick on the back
of my head
running all the way down
my spine
& tail
the never ending list
of skeletons in me

the basic horn

she whimpers in white
you disagree
i cry
& we never know when to say
do not do this
or just do this
a knife & a gun surgically
placed between each butt-cheek
left or right
your neckline strangling tie
agreeing to clench
at the same time
before everything is blown
out of proportion a second
too late
she knocks on the unlatched door

tonight i was drunk off of old style, watching falling/shooting stars out in the country. we started talking. or i did. about religion/evolution/everything in between bla bla bla. and i thought. what the hell is the point. of anything.

moving past us

the bloody turn of his moon halved arm
coos me back into the den—
a cockatoo rimmed with rice feathers,
holy black eyes
smoking rolled cigarettes
tight
in a chain with it’s lizard toes
reminding me of when i kissed you
we both
tasting stale fire,
overpriced indian food in
our teeth.
he leaves trails of himself on the wood floor
making sure not to disturb the line of air
from the oscillating fan

numb

round those boots through the snow
leaves me angel trails
where i swallow the cold
their little heads
say we fall
our faces bright as strawberries
mention who i love
behind the blue shadow of a carless garage
where the season sits still
hidden from windows and streets
so we can bite
the necks of each other
feeling nothing at all

utility

we take our flashlights with us
to the bathroom
when we pee

not because we’re scared—
i’m not anyway

are you

a question i should have asked
before venturing into the dark alone

bladder full
oh this madness

we being children
we being poor

so, last night i bought chaplain (cat) some cat liter. i was too drunk/tired to change out his liter box at 2am so i waited til this morning. which was a mistake. he tore the bag open, apparently knowing the contents, and shat multiple times in the pile of liter on the floor. then when he was finished slept on top of me until i woke up, then he jumped up and started meowing very loudly until i followed him downstairs so he could show me what he had done.

two other points to note about chaplains recent adventures. one, he threw up in one of my shoes. two, he knocked down some boxes out of a closet in the storage room. i went in to clean up after him when i heard it to find a sevenish inch purple vibrating dildo on the ground. complete with wrinkly nut sack. i suppose it might have been larger than seven inches. either way it was a strange find. i think the first dildo i have ever seen in person, not in a sex store. maybe. i think so.

since i dont have internet at my house, and usually write my poetry on my laptop and then go use internet on other computers elsewhere, it becomes somewhat difficult to post poetry on the internet. i know that is not really going to matter though.

when are people going to realize that taxes are a good thing. maybe when the government starts using them with intelligence i guess. spending billions of dollars on national defense when people dont have jobs or health care or a proper education is pretty smart.

the power in my house has apparently been shut-off.

i should remember to write smaller. or think smaller. neater. think neater and small. and to write small neat things.

indian pale ale

ivory she sells
my mind
burying everything in a slow way
warm red clay
working into every groove of your body
mine
child of the caste
untouchable from this god or that
one
she whispers to me
with rings dangling from everywhere
turquoise drops from
chestnuts
this is for this
& that
is for that
& i
believed her with every touch

saying things

an exhale white as the corners of her knifing eyes
lingered here
she can smell the sin in the air
i
mention to myself
smoky warm breath still floating from her lips
ghost of a sinking ship i kiss
it moves inside of me i
fantasize of the young pink of her lung
wrapped around my fetal frame
it sits there
visible spirit
danging as pearls
not because it is so damn cold
not because of that

saying things

an exhale white as the corners of her knifing eyes
lingered here
she can smell the sin in the air
i
mention to myself

still not six a.m. &
i'm going
probably home but at the moment
it's debatable
i see others, jogging
or riding their bikes like i am
all exercising i
see people drive by &
wonder if they think i am
exercising as well
but i have hardly slept
& still a little drunk
riding home to my bed
carrying a bottle
of seagrams seven
in a plastic sack
hiding the fact that i am not
as healthy as i seem

i saw an owl

i was sitting on my bike
in the drive-
thru
of a 24-
7 mexican
restaurant when i saw an owl
swoop from a tree &
land on the roof of a church
i wanted
to get a closer look
but i
went home instead to see
nothing

a goodnight poem

tangled in
brought up to believe—
afraid of some other.
she kisses
you.
& the other
is put away
behind the things we forget to
remember,
underneath a dusty fear aging in reason
from the comfort
she
makes in a kiss.

it's pretty ridiculous that sotomayor is being grilled about her background and how it might affect her decisions.

Anti—

she does not deny her role
even if one cannot be read
in words
though the word do not always mean
mystery
they secretly yell
non-exclamatory cries across that face
her
ear to another ear
she whispers
& small notes are sparkled from golden skin
drunk off the blood of a lover
a saint
who walks with me
in my Babylon beyond
a shadow she
of walls
hiding some great city that is &
is
not
she pretends to hear me from outside it’s defense
i lean on them by stone & horn hand
as the babe leaves her
& another after
another
they are all mine she whispers into their lips
brothers of Gomorrah
kissing each other on the eye — defiled they love
deep into wells of each other
children of Cain
& staff
arched out over the backs of the willing rams
to bleed us
kissing our young Abel bodies that yearn for seed
or soiled blood
we whet them as prodigals
though we meet them as sin
&
in the confusion we endlessly suffer
our brothers death

july is a

hurray for you, bulldog

she startles at night
whirr of wing beats wild
ignites
where bombs are laid beneath
old hay wasted
& limbs
will be lost beneath
the big gray bay
you
only wish for the small
& regular things
sounds of rain on the roof—
the old stone wall,
calling birds in the courtyard,
just enough
wine to rinse out the taste

so those previous 3 posts are poems that i previously wrote and rewrote/edited and submitted for publication the other day. see if that works. i wish we still had writers group so there could be at least some sort of feedback somewhere. plus i liked reading what other people wrote. that doesn't seem to happen as much these days. what the hell.

eragrostis trichodes

logically i maneuver back
roughing hands
or was it subtle soft
not a man’s
stubble lost by coarse
demands
confusing cowboy law
too much drinking – horses
trough
free to survey & wander
all the land
your nipples thighs
rolling sands
the grass of unclaimed prairie
where wild fur stands

chinese highlands west of broken bow

one million of these deer
w/elephant—like
snubbed
or
stubbed
see things she hides in these trunks
for swimming
i decide who
reels in—
horror, the catfish kisser
what
mass genocide by water-hole beach
sandhills & where
thinking empty prairie no
matter when
is an eerie ocean though driving
non-stop
& stopping
each time an oasis
each time
a swim
everywhere we don’t go
a sound
empty as it may-be
for the awkward ghosts to migrate

pioneers

counting bruises
oh
are we
apples
sail upon trampled fields
of water wheat
you grow
gold
w/ your soiled hands
she
drinks &
i drink
strawberry wine
cold
forgotten behind trails of bison bur
&
indian grass
smelling in barberry
or may-apple maybe
we wait
for it to get dark
for our skin to hide

just wanted to point out that ken griffey jr is batting .222 - 23 rbis - 8 home runs and a .405 slugging. making 2 million a year

david ortiz is batting .216 - 34 rbis - 7 home runs and .381 slugging making 13 million

but the really amazing stat is that david ortiz is listed at 6'4 230lbs and griffey is listed as 6'3 230. is griffey actually fatter than ortiz?

he's the 'bron i'm the brains

shaq traded to the cavaliers. seems pretty desperate to me. then again it is a better offense for shaq to be in than the suns run 'n gun.

farrah fawcett died.

Bowl Championship Series presidents have rejected the Mountain West Conference's playoff plan.

big surprise.

warren buffet says economic "worst" is yet to come. awesome. i need to drive up to omaha and see of good ol' warren will hook me up with some odd jobs.

so last night i thought i would try my luck at some texas hold 'em. unfortunately i forgot that i have no luck. in anything. it wasn't terrible, but i lost $20, which is a lot of money for me right now. i could have turned that $20 into about 300, so the draw was pretty big. anyway i busted once, and did a re-buy ($10&$10). i forget the first bust but it was something like: he had a pair of 6's on the flop, i had K10 suited and nothing on the flop except one suited card for a flush. then the turn and he put me all in. i landed another club (my suit) and liked my chances so i went all in, which wasn't much at this time. lost. the second hand, much worse, i had pocket kings; raised preflop. flop comes down, i go all in with an ACE a six and a three down. its me and one other dude. he calls me. he has POCKET ACES. good grief. so i rode my bike to shane/mike/flowers house and drank the rest of my wild turkey i left over there, smoked all my cigarettes, and drank gin/lime and water until 5am. came home. slept five hours.

feel great.

U.S. soccer team beats Spain 2-nil

u.s. uses military to convert muslims

in May, Al-Jazeera broadcast clips filmed in 2008 showing stacks of Bibles translated into Pashto and Dari at the U.S. air base in Bagram and featuring the chief of U.S. military chaplains in Afghanistan, Lt. Col. Gary Hensley, telling soldiers to “hunt people for Jesus.”

he who brings the fleet
by foot
of your empty hand
fluting the creek
nearing seasick reindeer
do not know the tundra of summer
kissing my hot sweet neck
where the work & travel
follow death
to doors of medicine
she watches
the stragglers fall in through the back door
greeting them with burning smiles

miracle

old crow she is
eyes on the moss
always
her north jaw glances my southern jaw
the friction of beard
over feather
whispers to me about the rareness
of Appalachian mountain wine
trickling down from green peaks
where
Bacchus dances around the jesus leaf
sickle in hand
to trim the fat from my liver

tenants

the noise from our dishes being washed
our whispers

disturb the man downstairs
& his dogs—

the fact that I am from Pakistan
his generalizations

disturb the man downstairs
& his dogs—

that i love you i love you
with my foreign tongue

disturbs the man downstairs
& his dogs—

that I listen with wild ears
as you play guitar

disturbs the man downstairs
& his dogs—

i whisper to boys in the street
that i’m leaving

telling them of stacks
of bicycles in the basement

& how the last time i saw snow
was in north Pakistan when i was five

disturbs the man downstairs
& his dogs—

crop circles

baby blue dakota
corn maize
for wandering
or
holding questions towards some
nothing
for whom you meet every time
you go there
sioux falls, further north
where moose—
mosquito blend
spending more &
more time thinking
about fields of soy bean children
palm readers of outer
space
cell phone satellites
read you off
by number & name— say
there are too many of you
to count

couch’d

we fool’
writers of a pigeon age
cannot tell
moon from ism’s
say ‘i’
repeatedly but do not jot
down the specific
time
you took all of these
pills
that make your fingers
smoke after
lightning may have struck
somewhere near your
home
when last you cleaned
it &
found what you were looking for
in between the cushions

trip

one eye on the road, too
eyes
on the feet because you have them
she groans
why does the sun shine so
me whistling as if
i could
grow
i sing by note un—
noted
fluting around lakes that smell
like beautiful cow—
excitement
is in heel or skip
she waits at the other end of
the bridge
more winding &
long gravel paths up ahead
for our knees
to kiss

mississippi

onion footed i shan’t
dance
o’ jolly
prairie college dunce for
more medicine
to leave
&
ship sail by foot
toward the moon rising
down
beneath the gulf of mexico
where earth
she pools her words
& drinks
your somber prayers say
dream to me
tearful dancer boy
&
i will take
you with me

spotted

cornered in by her
warmth
she reminds you with her eyes
acorns floating
small nutty clouds
that hold you down
&
kiss your chest
until
the trees grow

i was just reading a facebook group about "stopping tiller" or whatever the title of the group was. it was pretty absurd. i mean sure there are points to be made with the abortion debate. people take sides. but only one side ever acts out in violence. imo. i guess they could argue that abortion is acting out in violence. this is too wavy of a subject. is abortion wrong? im some situations maybe. but that doesnt mean it should be illegal. in many situations abortion is a reasonably preferable alternative. abortion would also be less of a problem if other issues were handled better such as free pregancy/std prevention centers. i dont know much about the planned parenthood and how free/cheap/easy it is to get help there but i do know that it is nearly impossible to find a "free" place for males to get tested for stds. i had to go through other sources and have them "bully" the clinic i went to to let me test for free and the clinic still sent me a bill. i didnt pay it of course. now, this might not be directly associated with abortion but i really think it is. i think that there are issues that desperately need to be addressed in our society/world. std/pregnancy prevention. granted this wont solve the issue/debate on abortion but it would definitely help as well as help in a lot of other issues, namely the spreading of stds. down to the point, i am against violence, though i see its merit in self defense/other defense, and even in some cases revenge, though there are clearly better alternatives to violence when dealing with revenge. so abortion is still a touchy subject. i am more for personal rights than i am against violence. so i think abortion should be legal, always. i dislike this discussion though. but i rarely hear anyones opinion.

also i would very much enjoy scheduled lunches.

also i really want to download bill callahans new album and also grizzly bears new album. or at least hear them. i havent really had a chance to listen to new/good music in a long ass time.

there is a guy in the computer lab with a mustache & he is wearing ear plugs. there is an odd smirk on his face and his arms are crossed. he must be watching that video of the deer jumping over the police car in iowa. good ol' iowa.

i am nearly 100% moved in to my new apt/house/room/thing. sure its a house but it feels more like im renting a room. because thats basically what i am doing. thats what ellen is doing too, but shes paying roughly 2-300 more a month to be close to horses and mountains. i guess i would pay more to be near horses and mountains too. lincoln needs some mountains. anyway, my room doesnt have screens on the windows. this isnt a huge issue, though i dislike bugs to be sure, its mostly a problem because chaplain is constantly in escape/adventure mode even if it is a 2nd story window. my calf on my left leg is in considerable pain after the moving this weekend. i also hit my/ scratch that its my right calf/ anyway i also hit my left index finger with a hammer and it still hurts though it hasnt bruised. apostrophes. i often worry about my ability to spell words correctly. i think generally i am a fairly learned speller of words but i often think of words that i have heard and never/rarely seen and think i know how to spell them. sometimes i think this isnt a big deal but sometimes i feel insecure about it. my grammar is also shoddy at best. i think. though i may know more than i actually think i know, i know. its all tangents and cosines. commas. & i still think capital letters are ugly. the lowercase i is much more (something) than the I. anyway this was supposed to be about my new place. since i dont really get the internet and all i wanted to say a few things. i am living in a house on 11th and D. 1121 D st i believe. it is a very old woody dusty house. i dont think the gas is on. i tried to turn on the stove today to see and i couldnt figure it out because the stove seems to have been made in 1915. rough guess. i had to remove several things from my new room before i could officially feel as if it were mine. namely seven pairs of womens high heel'd shoes. also a shoe box full of crayons and a separate shoe box full of postcards/letters to someone who previously lived in my room from a girl i had a class with one time. they may or may not both previously been in the band papers. i think my current roommate was in the band papers. eric says he thinks so.

here are poems that i have been writing for you

one of them

lewis &
clarked my way
from indian
caves
to cherry county
swindling along the big
dirty
missouri stay
as far away from the iowan
banks as possible
because my pull
to lose everything all of the time
becomes fresh in my mind
catfish salt
under the nose
when i hear
those riverboat whistles
come hither
dear gambler
the pearly gates are open wide

canoe #2

bending my near broken
buffalo collar
bone
down the winding
niobrara she
lays lady finger
between
each western rib
my skin moves
a
map
telling me which water snake
will bite
my face sweet &
gentle
beneath an other-
worldly sun tanning my
hide
naked in a boat

new moon

you forget the small
things
maybe it's tree covered hills
or the blue
eyes
roaming
probably because you never
saw
them before or
really looked hard enough
&
her skin
reflecting light
from distances keeps you
safe
on warm summer nights

mapped


she draws
maps
with a small hand that holds
you
a grid to remember how far
point a to point
b
really is
though it lies
with the stretch of finger &
thumb
across great distances
pretending to be
there
held in
those hands that clench
your back
fingers dancing

beards

grown men don't
release
their beards to wind
they cry-
out at the moon "damn-
you!"
stealer of sun-
shine to hell
where you will find
endless body heat
& enough
long faces
fully
sad white
beards
all looking like gods

pioneers

counting bruises
oh
are we
apples
sail out upon fields
of water you
grow
w/ your soiled hands
she
drinks &
i drink
strawberry wine cold
laying w/ the low
forgotten
behind trails of bison
&
pine weave
smelling in sulfur
or mulberry maybe
we wait
for it to get dark
for our skin to hide

i started smoking again. though i may quit again.
i think this is a thing.

after

he comes
out of the room
one room the other was
nt
in & with a towel around his neck
his hair slicked
back
looking quite ill
he comes
& the other sits on the sofa
but does
nt
look up because outside
something is headed
right for them

my gardener

a witness to
your fragile knit frame on white cloth
spring
as a cucumber
the thistles will shriek
their tiny voices
&
the stand-out yellow ones
may
be weeds
but no-one really notices
when the sky
melodies into your eyes
dew
lit up your soft leafed neck
my skinny hand
finds
the smallness of your back
as if
i can heal you

nervous of tables

watching you eat
on neutral ground i can see
each eye—
lash
falling in
or around where i put my hands
i swear
up & down the wind won’t
take me away from my vision
of you
devouring

my mom asked me what year i was born

last night was a good example of whisky being a bad idea

pastel on construction paper

when i was
in third grade other boys
would pay me fifty
cents
to draw birds of prey
&
one february i made a fantastic
likeness of
the sixteenth president

snow, a

you can never stop this
my voice sounds
as if the spring came
but
the uncertainty of noise
mixed in with the sentimentality
of a nobody
she says it hasn't come yet
maybe never will &
it doesn't matter anymore

destruction

chew with your mouth
so open
it leads a dozen o—
more for
say can we spee—
a
language you once knew because
didn’t
i am
become a reinvention
shelling over tortoise
&
each branch of the hare tree
fee—
a family or
light shine by leaves who own
not the land but!
the dawn
a dirt
who she keeps to rib me while i creep in the back
naming
all of you

i just saw the dragon ball trailer. even though it looks absolutely terrible i really couldnt get over the fact that chow yun fat was master roshi. this is sadly a step down from bullet proof monk. even still, i just cant understand why he is master roshi. master roshi is a bald old man with a large white mustache and a turtle shell who looks at porn and lives on an island. i mean, this trailer makes MK2 look like it should be at sundance.

red giant

half a galaxy away
solar-pan
system x or another being
creature-some are telling tales
forty-foot mechs
flying through space to defend
your moon
europa III a ghastly
gas giant ghost
take notes
of which laser sounds louder
mine
or not mine
you fool with physics and sense
making too much of this
too few of that
i say atmosphere
before bureaucratic alien life
forms say
she's coming
&
she will consume us all

i know its overdone to say you're quitting
smoking
after a night of too much smoking
but i'm quitting smoking
this is what i say
to myself
& it's rational
for someone who is young with lungs
that are needed
or will be
& for not having the gold bars required
to purchase ridiculously priced
dried leaves in paper
that coat my throat
in tars and scars
so you think rhyming might help you remember
that smoking
though it makes you look cool
also
kind of sucks

hung-over wednesday morning
& the sirens in the middle of town
whisper of destructive wind or is it lies
lies you said
but i still believe them
run scurrying towards shelter
see-
ing the bird legs
creeping from the baseline of the clouds
calling her nimbus witch
teasing us with her song of wholly
terror
you try to convince me that it isn't real
that they're only testing us
but
i've heard that before

when i say things like
stop biting
me
you should listen
& the sirens in the middle of town
whisper of

tower

out of eden
the animals we love
&
eat
with our teeth
you smell smoke better
than i smell smoke
alarmed
they go running
further or deeper
not into
temptation but
delivering from the confusion of words
saying
i can speak these
& still
not a thing
will understand any of it
because we
are all so damn scared of each other

what i meant
before was that i am a liar
not that i am lying
or around
but when a serious moment arises
realizing this is not actually serious
but you think it is
then i think it is
then it is
but still is
not
& you forget i told you i am a liar

you find yourself in an empty
box
though this contradicts
all aha's
& need i remind that
money is no object
no so
there you are in this empty
box
ticking away time
gradually you are thin
but
most likely filling up the
box

see you, space cowboy

a non-existent season

oh my-
goodness grace
us
you i say but
didn't or don't
does your hair
dance
wild i think
holding on to mane
for fear or
not
you are &
beautiful-
a piece of oak skin
in the lake
a whole
season
fishing for
everything in its' own
time &
releasing by the same touch

love poem

somedays move in-
buoyant on standing lawns
who say green pastures
lie
over there you smell the necks
of taller trees
fir or birch always
nutty
with seed
i enter scene &
remove
your shoes at my doorstep
touch your feet
& kiss them
with all of my face

lions, you're not sure &
it types
or there are some sort of differences between
i said i'm listening
& there was a pause
the lions she says
pride or
in a cave like dwelling less inter-rock
cave,
more dugout mud cave

brow furrows
& things start to blend together
who is lion
or
where is this pride
question marks form themselves in eyes
or on lips
wet with wanting
to understand that this is a pointless presentation

chinese highlands west of broken bow

one million of these deer
w/
elephant-like snubbed or
stubbed
what she hides in these
trunks
for swimming
i decide
who reels in horror from
what mass genocide
& where
thinking empty prairie no
matter when
is an eerie plain though driving
non-stop
& stopping
each time an oasis
each time
a swim
everywhere we dont go
a sound
empty as it may-be for the
awkward ghosts to migrate

tigers on the moon, well, well.

a small scale
mission to empty reaches of cold heaven
you note
there are fewer & fewer life-
forms
or dust is filling ice cubed arks say
i know
a
cat warm & deadly
fangs in the neck of many gazelle
she says
she loves me
she tells me she will come
two by
two
& i lead her on
with a heavy heart

which came first, the god or the man? this explains who fucked up.

greens
for kyle


on the other side
of the fence you
sit or i do

we listen when theres
nothing
cough or a-
choo when people ask

godlike maybe
not seeing a road home
with sectioned off fields
on either side
a cow

he says he go
because he got to
knows
no where else to be

drink in a habit
for the circle drawn
from one rib to another
expands
as a family does

shes early you say &
know this is either
a good
or terrible thing
for the both

writing down a first
for letters
vowels from the mouth
spelling a calm
wicked note for dancing

whose stamps she licks
whose envelopes
are you in
as ears

a ghost you remember
says to you
i glow
i glow &
you thank him

why arent there more doors
& windows
less rooms to hide
old words

i find it easy to
say you
not with out
remembering gin
or an icy neck in length

swan forms from
the in-
side names you
chickenhawk
& likes you

i write this down
you
rewrite it
&
we rhyme with smoke
signals

i forget you
february
where you own
more holidays than the actual
days
for as time goes
you know more about leaps less
about work
or logic
or love: a copy-
right
which none are in common boats
but
mostly february i hold you
in firm disdain
for the rent i pay despite a lacking

farewell color

nuts butter than squash
soup for cent
of
where she left a ghost right in the middle
sheets are cover
trick oder
treat sich-
no im fine she keeps saying this
recall without
writing down what happened &
possibly what you missed
a penchant for film noir
& bad tom waits
you say
they all are
you say nuts
but you-
question poor taste
orange broth only by color
feeling sentimental to another page

sometimes i realize that im a pretty dumb person
masturbating on the interstate
& what nots
say remember that one time
so you nod
trying to forget how much of an idiot
even idiots can be

i.

a small bird not on my
resume tells me
in one ear— perhaps out another
that she will fix my
economy
comes as a surprise—
not words
not ever a bird speaking
to bail me out
more of this in poem & the science of a thing
questioning the big

ii.

birdbath she says she’s in
over her head
again the winging eye to eye
draws me sleeplike
in danger of wavering off the banks
of road river
which likes to make you think
ice is rarer
than it looks

iii.

white car in the ditch
she wheels back
around to say important words
more poems &
i told you sos
it goes
on like this for a few minutes
the mud is here
or there
& the bird baths

iv.

mud as a language
its dirty
& where you wear it
smudges up what is already smudged
runs rump or makes
you look like an ass

v.

trips too short smell poetic
& filthy white
notice:
the birds aren’t even
hear
silence of running a muck &
the non-bird whispering about forgetting travelers
czech(s)
drives you out of the preverbal
ditch the mud!
only here
you find yourself still
mind numbingly trudging through a pretty
nice day

my computer is basically dead

carnivorous never
meant to be
me—
aning on
a branch far from prague
slipping gingerly or apples
among
so many others
bruised by bite
she clings to me as a leaf
knowing the seasons
stay

rick

somebody dies & it's not
a new occurrence to
say
the least come
&
forget when everyone
died before
or why
probably because nobody ever
told you
or you never asked
thinking it happens
& we
don't need to know why