Seven Twenty Three

that water
morning We drink
on -- I love the
to the ocean Come
back all the way
a baby on her
Sacajawea carried
on your breath
taste of liquor
doesn't I love the
changes So much
a cowboy So much
conditioner Like
It has an air
needs our water
on route nine
Some industrial park
on route nine
needs our water
It has an air
conditioner Like
a cowboy So much
changes So much
doesn't I love the
taste of liquor
on your breath
Sacajawea carried
a baby on her
back all the way
to the ocean Come
on -- I love the
morning We drink
that water

Guy walks into an advertising agency

When you wake up in the
middle of the night and
wonder what you forgot?

• There's no such thing as ghosts.
• Babies get fairies to do things.
• There are snakes that go months without eating.
• One day she just started judging people.
• I know everything about you,
  
• you're very impressive.
  
• Yes. Go bang your head against a wall.
  
• You sound like Burl Ives.
• He had his fourth coronary behind the wheel.
• Shhh.
  
• Japan.
  

Folgier's in My Cup

"Folger's in My Cup"

I came with your face on my laptop
after plugging the operating system,
flagging data fields under partly-cloudy skies
of high atmospheric particle levels.

A pop-up ad interrupted everything.
I lit a cigarette and linked into a saturated fat.
Clicking on the Lotus position, I fixed my tie
and downloaded a new app-organizing app.

I once heard a sound at the shore of a lake.
A massive object cast a malignant shadow.
It was the Storm -- the new BlackBerry Storm
available only on the world's largest 3-G network

I signed the family contract. On bad nights,
red with unlimited text, I fled
from the high-resolution display, screaming,
in a loop: the best part of waking up is

a warm toilet seat, a distant memory
of you, doused in flour,
ironing my shirt with a rolling pin
or scanning the Times with an insidious grin.

The Legend of Foreign and Local Crafts

Ambiguity is a fantastic monster.
All proposals must have the right
to enhance the city's precious
moments. The hills are overtaking
each other under the influence of
the wave, increasing the miles of
horses expressing indifference to
conversion. Beyond all hope
of this moment, results are tense.
Because there are no rules, we
are bound to have good manners.
Slowly and accurately,the physical
part of the cut could not be
determined. Once the individual
is large enough, the idea
is to group together in the future,
where they are looking for ideas:
and I think the idea is considering
the idea of hope? That is, if I
understand the type, we are all
his idea. This morning, I can get air travel
cheap I think. What is permissible?
We can feel the heat that is generated
by the ritual: to talk about the fact
of falsity. Some were scattered.
You should have any questions,
enough to force the rotation
of the wheel. The government is in
the back of my gut -- I feel the itch.
Everyone has been arrested
or is in hiding. I still say I do not
think or feel. On both sides of
the bone around the joints of the
fingers, the market is open
to mistakes. Please see
the related crack. Your body
is a sophisticated e-mail from A to B.
Recover your losses. This
is a very big sea. You can switch
to other methods. So far no one
has been broken like the unspoken
rule. Please correct the errors:
disbelief in the idle memory of
other clients, a sharp left hand,
the slow transport of waste.

今日はどんな感じですか？

Please obtain more information.
Yes, they are looking for people
in other places. You can maintain
the supports around me. This, of
course, is for individuals only. I want
you to know so that it is longer than
the night. I must have loved you.
I wave, I extend a helping hand.
Sensitive to the pollen. And style.
Bones and time-shares. Distinguish
the characteristics of the song
without breaking the lead. It is
meant to hack the sweat from
the dead, to heat the vessel and all
the growth, the wet leaves in the knee
joint capsules, rashes, fevers. Please
refer to me, yes to the ground, and then
print a solid base of strong legs. The print
appears to fill a really powerful sound
just before you stop for some other reason.
We are aware of the first ear now. Form
exploded in my hand. You will begin
to perform a transplant. That dream is
still there waiting for the subway. We
fully understand. It's the same. For us,
this is unified. However, character
is how we please get hard. Immediately,
providing a network of participating
organizations, feel comfortable more
than anything. Please come. Please refer
to them. Maybe. There are men who will
gather. The nerve of some drug addicts
on the ground in the garden! We have to
check the wound. We can hear the burst
of pine trees. Here, to pump blood in the
underwear, you will need to slide the hair
aside. This is because the dead drive, in
principle, to avoid the risk of breast cancer.

If they refuse, it may delay the air in the criminal trial of the case.

You will get nothing
beyond this and that.
And no one will fly
you to the moon. How
will you respond to this?
You will maintain that
the moon will fly to you.
And then when the moon
comes crashing into the
earth, drunk and angry,
you will believe that you
willed it by being so
charming. And when they
bring you to trial for just
such a crime, you will
deny it while the moon
looks on, dejected and
wondering what happened.
You jerk.

Re-arrival

You can hear the falconer vortex Hawk. It's
widely used. He has been reduced to hold
the center. Passion, in the worst
case, is the strength of the state of anarchy
of our convicted criminals, and, in a ritual of
blood, the whole world is loosed. It
certainly is a real revelation, for a few seconds.
2 of 2 features! These words are some of
the problems with ethanol. It is in the images
of some of the most massive wastes of desert sand.
Lion, sun, empty body, the human head,
thigh, and, slowly in the desert air, a cruel
shadow of the movement of birds.
At the end of the set of animals and rocks and
stones: the dark. Bethlehem Slouches. Beds are filled.
With frustrating rounds. Do you know of a
nearby waterfall? If you are near the waterfall,
do you know?

À unidade do lucro bruto e à fricção da impressão aprecie

Rather than bonds of love,
the feeling of closeness.
Rather, people will know,
like sleep, nutrition is
the only parasite that can
be eaten in the evening. You
will get a pain in your body
across the sky -- if one can infer
from the equation and
elsewhere -- but the film is
moving in reverse. We are,
too, in terms of others.
Of course food is displayed.
You can connect the phone line,
imparting all the movies in
large numbers of experience
is a string of problems. Pause
without any discrimination -- or,
like the ability to sink below the
curve of the tiles, wash all
of the abnormal values for all
residents. You can make your
own abstraction. However, for
all types of time lost in this film,
more people will identify the
exact location of the first in
your life. Arm, arm and teeth,
cooking, spurt, disease, music,
dance design, waiting for the cry
of the smile: vultures, you can.
Flashing banner ads: you can
calm the light of true love, only
to find the bell has requested
a hearing. And old blood? However
many movie theaters, please
contact me. The only longing
expresses a lack of numbers.
Addition is a form of lying, but
sums are necessary. We will edit
our mathematics, please check
the reels. Eat in the evening and
eat all night. I'm not sure I can
eat raw vegetables on a regular
basis. Food is not only the film,
but it is eating the same thing
in reverse. Something is coming
out the other end. Rather, the
feeling of closeness.

The Mountain King

We wanted something with the
word love in it. I always felt that
we met so that both of our lives
could be better. I keep scratching
at it, trying to get into it. I'm sorry
I don't know all the things you want.
I bought you some clothes. I'm in the
living room. Someday you'll want
something and I won't be able to
give it to you. I know it's hard to
understand, but everything is going
to be okay. The only thing keeping
you from being happy is the belief
that you are alone. People don't
change. I don't care if it's snowing
or hailing or a hundred degrees.
Please don't tell. I almost called
the police.

The Jet Set

We're nomads together. Our
souls are the same age. And
you know what? We've been
miserable for years. The
humiliations have been
spectacular. The nauseating
upholstery on a couch.
Strangers who drop by. Trying
to speculate who you are and
what you do. New organs. Super
strength. Chinese. The spoils of
victory. How do I know I'm not
going to just eat another
mushroom and this room will
disappear and I'll be back on a
train to Trenton? Will they fill it
with my things? Then it splits off
into fourteen different warheads.
Cuernavaca. Amalfi. Irwin. Naples.
Stockholm. Athens. Oslo. Odessa.
Osaka. Oakland. Kabul. London.
Essen. Nairobi. Let them open the
kimono.

The Inheritance

Stop counting other people's money.
You're pulling from the discards.
We had to liquidate your holdings to
ensure your future comfort. It's
someone else's child. It changed. We
are ideal candidates. We're not
related by blood and you love me.
Astronauts love golf. You know, I've
been dreaming about a suitcase.
Everything's perfect. The doctors
say it's not serious. We're supposed
to keep it dim, I don't know why. Ice
blue, white top. Don't pretend like it's
not scary. We've tried. I'm not allowed
to talk about it. It's a convention. This
was all supposed to be ours. The smell.
Time to put something else in that mouth.
People do that. Do I have to go around
and write my name on all the things I want?
We were halfway to the hospital before
I noticed I was in my nightie. Nothing's
changed -- we were just pretending.

Six Month Leave

I keep thinking about Joe DiMaggio.

You're not doing him any favors
keeping him around. It goes without
saying that this is personal. You'll
know what that means soon enough.

It's just a man's name. He's having a
great time. Turns out, before that,
he was in charge of killing people.
I can be completely in control. What
do you have that's generous? One
day you'll lose someone that's
important to you. Congratulations. And
don't fool yourself -- there are other
things.

No matter what he says,
take him there.

A Night to Remember

Alright, the evening show is over. The Russians
are still our enemy. There is only one book
about Moby Dick. Holland is Paris. My father
had a boat -- it almost killed him. And the
copy machine? What an interesting experiment. An
excuse to get closer. This is a very impressive
operation. You never say you love me. It's
completely automatic. I just leave it. Let me
ask you something. They wouldn't make it
up completely, right?

The Gold Violin

Would you agree that I know
a little bit about you? No boiling,
no diaper service, no plastic
pants. All you have to do is look
at my file. I'm just here to make
sure you don't shake his hands
and take his fingers. It's what you
wanted. Every maternity ward will
get a visit from a registered nurse
and a doll. Isn't that from West
Side Story? It's delicious, and it's hot,
and it's brown -- we don't need more
than that. The eye is drawn to it. It
squeezes my head. There's no problem
at all -- it's very clear. ABC did research.
If you are trying to blend into the wall,
you can't. A lot of people find me very
interesting, you know. Ride the horse in
like Lady Godiva. Slide over. Unfurl the
sales please. It's time for the horse to
catch the carrot. Behind the tree there,
no one is looking. Come, come -- taste
the sauce. Pull back the curtain and take
your seat.

We should only do this.

Three Sundays

Somewhere there's a pregnant
girl floating in a lake. No, we're
not going anywhere. We have to
meet her. I'd love to continue doing
so. It's so horrible to put girls that
fat in a leotard. You've never
opened one of these, have you?
There's nothing wrong -- I'm just so
happy. Remember when I said I
wanted to be a part of your life?
This is what I meant.

Maiden Form

I think about the summer
they executed the Rosenbergs.
It's a tradition that we have our ribs
and fashion show every year on this day.
Coordinated sabotage and rebellion.
Everybody's happy. I'm building
a bomb shelter. Let me know
if you need a reference. I see her crossing
the widow's walk with an eye to the sea. I'm
very important to the agency. Call me from
the emergency room where she loves to
do the watusi. It goes along for a while, then
it takes a turn and ends up exactly where you
thought it was going. John Wayne shot him.
Apparently I've already signed off on it. Two
sides of one woman. What, you didn't think I
had a mother? It's okay. People start giving
you things -- they think it's cute.

No one told me about this.
I'm taking pictures.

A Change of Heart

Good Friday at my sister's condo in River Peak.
Salty fish brought out the worst in us.
Under the table, you removed your hand
to curl two Xanax between your lips.

The children inverted themselves in the den
and the dull pains in my arm began.
I considered our basement of childhood ghosts
who pinned my forehead as I slept.

Eons ago, I failed St. Francis elementary
but climbed the restricted staircase
to the green yard, cool with the breeze of your face.
Now, before the resurrection, I've drooled.

Have I made the right decisions? A hair fell
from my head to your halibut and blurred.
I clutched my chest and sank, singing
for "aspirin, four aspirin, please..."

You placed the doctor-recommended Bayer inside me.
I crushed it to receive the vascular release,
a new brand of ghostly fingers. Today, I learned
effective relief, damage reduction, to expect wonders.

HIP

Spring fools the rushes
in slow deliberate thrusts
of bird through stone:

a single crane and
a thousand paper pebbles
casting off wearisome battles
for the snow.

While marbled tigers net
bull profits and bare markets,
NASDAQ's photosynthetic finish
and blood-green veneer slides

into the roots and garlands
of an old woman's rosary
hiked thin up her thigh,
exhausting arthritic teeth.

Molars bend in the wind,
incisors break, pollinating
the subtle real estate of age
and need, bone-brittle reeds of poverty.

In The Room

British colonists cauterize the asphalt
lashes of the hands we've held,
the fingernail irises crossing
hairy retinas in the sand:

a humid sign-language that reads you,
some semiautomatic carpal-tunnel
diem, wiggling fingers pointed
backwards beyond the blind triggers
and sloshing at the surf of our genitals' fist.

Inroads and ice break ships and trucks
across palms and cheeks, a steamy sweat
hacking tangles of eczema fronds,
follicles grown from our jointed knuckle
speaking a deader Latin:

Dr. Livingstone, I presume?
Ujiji and Mary Tyler Moore come on
the face of the same mountain with one knife
tied behind the other's back,
locked fingers ending slavery

and the triangle trade between you, me,
and the elephants

*Summer, Winter: Squash, Machine*

The chugging motion
of the seasons
forms an egg, cracks inside
jokes
outwitting us all.

"One way to beat
this system is to join
the army!"
he railed, fingers
snapping. And that's how

we clipped the topic, dropping scissor
explosives, reviewing
the internal designs of the land.

Blame us and we will fill
the cracks with cement.
Lips close
heavy with burden: the concept

of time, enormous
apples, odd thoughts,
grunts
with blacked-out faces
plucking the dead
skin of summer
squash upon our neon highway.

Protected identities
blossom in salt and ice.
Wordless whispers
follow the borders
of four territories
with unique code names:

Winter, Spring, Fall and Summer.
Only not exactly in that order.

The process does not change --
it simply repeats.
Again. And again. And again.

Eventually we may run out
of raw sources, cell
numbers, complex
thoughts, small potatoes.
Eventually
we might just leave it
to the living
room around us,
'cause there's always time,
time to leave and let

the automatic system
of 100% natural bodies
quell the verbal riot, eternal
complaint of the innate
ability to do ourselves in
right,
right in the nick of time.

*Before the end of the beginning*

In the ear
lips move
no words
if I
could ask
I would
ask how
we escape
your father
who knew
from bulbs
heads hung
in gardens
we dug
naked
before
and will
when they
bring us up
to speed
I buried
my nose
inside
your neck
you buried
your mouth
inside
my ear
as we
buried
your father
inside
your head
you said
this must be
the end
but I heard it
and I said it
simply
never began

*An toll-free number appeared on the screen*

We sat down to a hot cup of decaf
at the winged oak table in the kitchen
of our modest colonial three-bedroom.
The children were frozen on the lawn.

We felt our toaster produce
the two slices of machine-cut bread
you bought at a Stop 'n Shop
perched by the entrance to highway 9.

The omega-3-rich margarine on my toast
reminded me of the way you spread your legs
that night in Atlantic City;
you were watching my cholesterol.

I signed my name on the 'X'
of the AARP supplemental life insurance form
framed on the Martha Stewart place mat
your mother once glued to her television set.

Steam rose from the coffee,
scattering the lines of your Libran figure.
The gym membership paid off after all.
All of it will.

Landscape w/ the Fall of Somebody

I woke to the windowpane, licked
by rain. Busied in the tedious exit of dreams,
I first failed to separate his noises from
the spattering of weather and walls.

But I could taste thirst -
air worn thin like the inside of a balloon.
In my dumb coarseness
I felt a trembling from the formless above,
And then knew the panting of a shrunken mouth carried
through faint and quieter seconds.

Why was it born
here in the belly outside of its desire -
Pissing blood and swollen
against the floor, dry heaving
in the eyes, senseless from a dead gain?
Hungry ghost

one hundred ears made
For drips not drunk,
For water spent over my roof
under the spell of his old itch -
The moon-burnt and skinned old thing
it hurts to pity.

Detectives

Gritting our teeth
with guns, down to the gums -
we're spat mouthfuls of crumbles,
fully loaded.

There were long trial periods
between our investigations,
legs. Let's just say
every place became somewhere
to shove something into.

The organization was arduous;
We could barely keep track of each other,
let alone the insipid things below, and

I ain't allowed to keep innocents,
according to God - But I've seen him
spew forth our own flesh
and make a big mess of the selves.
I've seen him gnaw on his tale
as if it were our tale and then
throw 'em a bone.

We had once, with great efforts,
tried to explain what lies
under there - in sight and shame,
plus love and pain and all the other
blah blah blah that was popular
(and against the law) last year.

All ears!
I said, then,

but it’s no use - they want
themselves and don’t
need to hear or see or be
any of us, unhappy.

As a compromise
we kill their sympathizers
and, together, have a good nod.

*Apoptosis Today, Odysseus!*

“A life in the postal system
is not a life worth living,”
said the man in the postal system.
The stars are many. Come
address them, then dress them
before they turn cold.
They should wear sewing machines
made from clothes mailed from China.
My lover's vagina is an envelope
and my penis has been mailed
back to my brain. It’s a new form
of cell suicide, just another way
to be mailed to the cross. One head
crawls into another, two and then one,
imprisoned inside a program
of sad returns post-marked
direct mail marketing,
fragmentation of the nucleus, sad clowns,
a warm feeling when she seals your flap.
I want to leave again.

Dead Hand

We started by dividing the universe
into what can and cannot be named.
Me, and everything else. And
Everything happened, especially you
who believed - to a fault - the shamed
distortions of our personal spaces.

The dictionary was one of them,
once completed, and eventually worn soft by the words
we read most: Is now broke.
We fucked a bit to keep it coming,
but what? I’m not sure.
- Me neither.

On the weekends, or occasionally
after work if the mood was gamey,
I’d chase old untellable things
that we’d failed to define or crammed
into small pronouns that meant little.

Hard work,
considering the ethereal ambitions
of what moved us back then, and now backwards
towards nothing. I never found anything,
but was glad to not come home.

All at once tired - smoked and stalked by the hunted
I curled up and slept in the dead hand
of a body of what that wept,
but would never be living.

*Sunday night vigil*

During the night, a cold rain pours.

A light, on the third floor
of the fifth apartment, dims.

A gray bus drives by
with no one at the wheel.

A shadowy figure in a hood
leans against the seventh window.

The water runs down the street
into a hole and stops.

Black Friday

Dumbed by food,
my brother and I - bloated, bleating
joined others and waited for the doors
to bust open.

Sure, we understood the gravity of our numbers.
Behind the glass, we rattled the hinges
for effect. The floor buckled and
groaned in the language we spoke best.

By now, there were several of us storming.
In other words - risen, humid,
stalked by the shadows of great balloons:
perhaps weather, and gift certificates in bloom.

Our pants, let in before the rest of us,
were grown tight and tearing in the pockets.
My eyes grew bigger than my stomach
and had to be plugged in outside the sockets.

Inside the door, deep in shit,
we all grabbed all and ran with it,
taking turns down the aisles
and bored, like when we were kids,
yelling something. What he said
I can’t say, and vice-versa.

With fat thoughts left over
a small flame to crust at the edges and turn old,
I gave killer thanks and headed
home, or so was later told.

Fall-in/Fall-out

Our boots grind partial prints
in what looks like sand
but is really sounds
made so strongly, so loudly
so thickly and longly
that they become things
solid like ground,
ground enough to walk on at least
and you and me.

That's what the world
is made of I heard.

Sounds.

Like an orchestra playing
very slowly.

Every now and then
the sound stops
just for a moment
and then
we can hear something
else
not for the first time or the
last
but still
we can hear it
and we know that we do
and are surprised that we never noticed before because
it's just so loud.

But then again,
maybe we don't hear anything at all?

Whatever the case,
We don't notice
when the string section starts up again.

Instead:

Hold hands because
we are molded together
from the blast, not love.

The radiation
wave's already rolled through town.
The worst is over.

Our skin is grafted
below the wrists and some blood
starts to run between.

I don't know how it happened,
but where I used to have a
hand, now I have you.

"Is your blood going
into my body?" you ask.
I don't know, really.

We start to believe
that it is and it carries
packages of me

through you, parcels of
you through me -- under cover
of skin and muscle.

Waves of earth pulsed through
the city and carried us
like ocean liners

to a refugee
camp made of electronics
and old plaster casts.

We wait in the soup
lines for a message from the
underground network

that we still believe
exists, that we dreamt into
existence at least.

Messages don't come.
And if they do, we can't tell.
It's all just the same.

It's not here with us,
but we are united by
where it isn't. Some

strings of nothing that
we imagine are something
are holding us tight.

I've never felt so
comforted by anything
besides this nothing

that we made up for
each other and then donned like
Hawaiian flowers.

We are going to
join the underground network
as soon as we can.

Someone said agents
are running supplies from one
city to the next.

You don't see them come.
You don't see them go. They don't
do either one maybe.

"Is your blood running
into my body?" you ask.
I don't really know.

Do we still believe
that it is and it carries
packages of me

through you, parcels of
you through me? It's turning black
and we're wondering.

In either case, it's
running out just as fast as
it runs in, okay?

So let's do something
quick about this before
we go all the way
in or out.


The sky is ashed over, black and grey.
And on some days, we
gather around the General.
He has strung
out some nerves which he has collected from men
and formed
into the shape of a man
just there on the ground in the yard.

He sits us in stadium stands
and tells us to wait for it to dance.
We wait.

The nerves dimly vibrate
and emit a gentle hum,
maybe,
but they don't dance.

There is popcorn and soda
and a generally good feeling.
It's fine here and I'm starting to like you.

But I still can't hear you.