I In learning a foreign language Leave a red mark by each word You look up in the dictionary When you look up a word And find a red mark by it Cut off one joint of your finger With the dullest possible knife II In mathematics try to remember That the answer is always…
Nous five-o’clockerons àminuit. “Will you have aspirin in your ink?” “Thank you. I prefer it black.” I bled a little into the milk to give it a character of my own. “I see you have a character of your own.” “I like the taste of my own overripe fruit.” We were silent while he sipped…
it’s lonely in here loneliness is hard it’s frightening to think one might always be alone. One be alone forever there are the window sounds wall sounds neighbors how can we be close together and not in one another’s arms? the lucky people who have found lovers grow spoiled & demanding
no wrong but to harm others? * * * what harms others? * * * there is nothing but your (my) naked being. anyone can put his hand on my cock or her tongue up my ass. * * * if it feels good, it is good? it might feel good to crack someone’s sky. * * * then…
I keep going to my own funeral with a spade to help the gravedigger and a transistor radio playing pop and rock to put on the side of the grave because I might get down among the dead and I am afraid of the bones. What if they should get up and squeak No room…
We were learning How to live Out here, Out of nothing. Our claim On this raw country Was simply having Nowhere else to go. We found These lands Could destroy The nerves we lived on: The sick ironic harmonica Playing on the fire at night. The immensity of those nights. The tired roseate Spectacular That…
1. A loutish lummox lay a-dozing, Flat on his face, his arse exposing Unto the sun, with cheeks spread wide; When lo! a beetle crawled inside The grandly gaping aperture. Needless to say, the brutish boor Awoke at once, in pain, and hied him Straight to the doctor, who, to chide him Told him he…
Beneath this city, lies a city, nine stone repetitions of the Rise and Fall in vertical complexity. One wall, its roots in layer one, depicts the line of ancestries. Nine masons hewed a vine of stone which bloomed nine times. Each blooming, small in minutes, is repeated, and appalling centuries of stone leave us their…
It is Because I am Obsessed with This thing. . . . It overtakes me. Do I conjure it Out of space, Scratching its Sound on paper In the tilted gazebo? I only know I Do hear it — there. I am brushed by The precise flit Of its shadow, Enervated by Each visitation. Like…
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