I love to watch the butcher wipe the sharp blade on his apron stained with fresh blood. I’m going to marry him WHAM the side of beef split open he tenderly spreads it like a woman’s legs between smeared fingers stroking the cold smoothness from his fingertips bloody red drops on the floor spotting…
We sat hunchbacked in the town cafe, elbows propped on grainy wood tables over our coffee. Listening to the recent news a story bloomed of a ghost seen at Badger Swamp. A local made us a map and talked of crops and weather. Seeing myself it was inevitable I had no money, my friend reached…
It’s all because the round man with the pumpkin neck was teaching no one in particular macadam composition, and because a lady giggled like dry fire when the bartender who liked lighting his lighter and looking at it said a fellow wanted to be a vampire to get the inside story but he had bad…
1. The bottoms of her feet were tatooed Fear on Demand. 2. I’m sucking her magic stones from Puerto Escondido. 3. The islands on my wrists were dread. You have, she groaned, to persevere. 4. She found a homemade triangular scarf and laughed a map of blood deposits. 5. A drool chain dips along her…
It is startling now how sexual the poems of 15, 16 were – not surprising, closet ached, but the almost classic images of bells and candles, apples hair and bridges came completely without calculation mixed with vague communistic slogans this obviousness of compulsive wildass lack crapola still carries the mysteries I must learn * * *…
I The morning train arrives at two. Be there. I’ll be carrying a briefcase, wearing heavy face lotion. If you get there before I do I’ll be in the second coach, compartment 5. I’ll be sitting in seat 3 facing a fat man. He’s following me. After the briefcase. Discretion. If I don’t descend the…
An Interpretation of the Paintings of Robert Rauschenberg for Ray Kass There is a bird in a box, the wildlife caged but all around, the life of the painting, wild wild, painting with disordered letters, the ordering the dis ordering,…
I wanted to begin with perfectly simple things, things that were indivisible, safe from analysis. Without knowing it, I tried for years to write protocol sentences. My mistake was to think that such dregs, even had I reached them, were what I had to say, its "true" form, my "real" meaning. "John joy now." "John…
So there he perched, a poor sad slob of a young failure, Marvin Gardens, Ph.D., pondering in the deadest center of his ambiguities. Two years past, to the day, he had assessed his life from that identical spot – the large stuffed chair in his small study (not yet, then, had greyish stuffing begun to…
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