SNAIL

Reading the brail of the world beneath your belly.
Translate the tale of woe.
Go unnoticed but notice all.
Slink along an inch at a time.
But leave a trail for others to fallow.
Blind and hiding among a fragile shell.
Your only noise will be the end.

Who-what-where

The best part about being completely confused and then utterly ok with being confused, in regard to reading these books, is that I actually come out of the pages thinking of something else. Now that sounds really confusing so here is a quick example of what it is that I think I am trying to say. I step into the book expecting something, someone told me this is poetry and I read it with the idea of "this is poetry" floating about in my head. Then about half way through the third or forth "poem" the voice that says "this is poetry" starts to change its tune and all of a sudden the confidence in the voice is lost and all of a sudden its this squeaky nervous and confused voice sort of saying and asking "this is poetry??!!??"Then by the end of it the confidence comes back because I am starting to "get it" what ever the hell that means, but I don't "get it" because "it" isn't anything but I just come to this acceptance that thats ok, and "this is poetry" and the idea of "poetry" is so crazy and over examined, but completely undermined, that it portrays this casual appeal of anybody can write poetry while still teasing such writers to try and go where they (the poets) have gone because such confusing and, cutting and pasting, translating, loosing one's mind, and then finding it in words on paper takes time, energy, and guts.

Her Season

I find myself at the Holiday Inn soaping in the shower, shes covered up, what a withered old hag. Hope Preaching Network plays in the background and the conniving devil commences in herding around his religion. The grapes were good and the glasses stand in rows upon rows. A young boy is outside picking apples, shes in here, and I, awaiting to fill ourselves, but cordial Sanders, whose been waiting on a thought keeps going.

Shes a sticky hand and I am her blind shopkeeper. Her legs spread open in her mini and I with my newly conditioned head, listen to her whining air and see her out. I'll fix her hounding for smack. She'll store away her tourniquet and bath among the eaves of her contorted Eden. She will be the breeder of her enslavement and I shall tax her about her course. There she stares dismally at the mackuling of time.

I ask where youth has gone and she answers me back the question. Then she says don't think, just be, as the Rein of her fog kills her off slowly. I kiss her cheek and the silence eases her away. She'll float awhile but make her final peace at the bottom of a wet bed. About her slumber the garden will be toiled and her laughter found again in song.

Shapes of Autumn

There clammy cells never cease.
Warm days later flower.
Still, more sweet kernel with a gourd to swell all.
To bend with the conspiring friend and mellow the maturing load.
The plump set budding.
Later flowers, they think for summer.

Sitting by a sometimes steady fur,
a cross reaped a book and it lifted.
The patient's oozing look,
who hath not seen thou,
watch thee sometimes laid by a cyder.

Swallow the light,
Soft and hilly garden skies,
We will not touch!

Process for poem of care

I used a number of different methods. I began the poem by just listing out the things that I "care" about and what I care about and what "care" means to me. To care for something is to have an emotion for something or in regard to something or someone, caring can have mixed feelings you can care nicely and you can care unkindly. But, to care for something implies an effort is being made. The mixed feelings idea sparked the recipe section, the list remains throughout the poem, the repetition of feeling and feeling in a particular way is ironic in that the feeling is lost when continually repeating feeling like, feeling so. And there is a sense of hysteria in the intensity of the feeling which is expressed through the repetition. Some sections are moments or memories of others that I have overheard in conversation. There are comments and segments of conversations that have had an impact on me and found their way out in my list of what I care about. All of this is thrown onto the page in no particular order or arrangement other than sandwiching the quotes and segments of conversations around the list.

The Polished Turd

Share the Pants!
Burn the Pants!

What Pants?

Be my garden car and drive me away.

Fight for the Ultimate...
and swear when you don't get intimate with...
you'll sell fried fish but never make enough to keep you happy.

Youth in mischief.
Stop Reasoning Tears.
Continue Ridiculous Growth mischievous.

Get little and buy one.

Watching you kiss me.

Make a list.
Share my feelings without
Pressure
Harassment
Pressure

Feel small next to the ocean.

Stop feeling so insecure
Stop feeling and to stop feeling, stop feeling.

Stop feeling like
Stop feeling so
Stop feeling like
Stop feeling so
Stop feeling like
Stop feeling so

I care

This time I care.

Let it be

This time

Change no difference but stay the change.
Remember when and just remember.

In fall the leaves change their color.

Those leaves remind me.
These leaves remind me.

Find yourself Find yourself find yourself fi nd your self

find yourself find your

find your self FIND YOURSELF.

Get yard for Picket fence but don't get picket fence.

1 English bulldog (whole)
1 weeping willow (aged and large)
5,000 trips around the world (crushed)

find a locket with someone else in it.
Create a dream.
Live.
Maintain my thrown as the pop-off queen.

Lame knot turd

Of Elton taint the innocent lament.

Her rotten Reverend flew for a trumpet.

propane the vial self cockless with a brain.

The Parkless cunt nut on the ABBA Mommy.

For it lie, Live on petty penguin fruit.

Annette molest the potties, charm the lion.

sour fruit of thick virgin pheasants lord wands

call me a twit and learn to key titTies

entreat her scent and molest spines less vial

Fondle the lowers of the pigeons past.

Salami a Billionaire

Holess! Crimes of penguin scent in her taint.
Elton Innocent of the see-saw lament her rotten.
A dude flew propane for a grand vial trumpet.
The selfless reverend cock blocks Rafaellle.
Titties, Titties, Titties, Charm Annette with brain.
Sit on no mannequin the nutless pheasant rail.
Park cunt spines ABBA event go thick.
Lie for it fruit Lion call me mommy and key.
Live agents entreat petty rent learn to vent.
Come molest virgins less vial lords of the potties.
Its no infill romp of past divulge a twit.
Knack, wand, sour lowers, pigeons fondle the gypsies.

Field Trip

So I have decided that the world is not as poetic as I thought it was. I don't even know what that means, I feel like we have talked so much about what poetry is and isn't that now I feel as though it is and isn't anything. So I guess to really confuse myself the world is poetic. I spent a day waltzing, and not in the literal sense, around town watching people. I know that sounds creepy, but I promise there was no stalking and no heavy breathing involved. Rather I just took a day to pay attention, figures that when you are paying attention nothing really happens. But I did notice alot around here that I had never noticed before, its amazing to see what is out there when you take the time to look. So, I have decided that poetry, for me, or what makes poetry, is a compiling of all the unnoticed or neglected peices of the world displayed through a medium chosen by its author. So, for some it is an emotion, or maybe a color, or even a sound or lack of. It is the possiblity of everything and nothing displayed as purpose or accident.

Jogg Off

The Chumscrubber writes the ticket.
"No whistle aboard, $90. "
You kiss your mother with that....
I got a DUI after my blind date with a Snake Milker.
Can't remember anything after that.
Lincoln had asperger didn't he?
No he got shot by a Rutabaga Missionary style.
You know... the Quokka is on top.
Wonder if they saw it as Armageddon,
Fermez le livre, le temps est en haut.

I found you Billy.

Its at the edge of the pool. Bumper stickers mean God. On the way, I need to spend more Saturdays. I sat at the gas station warmly seated in my car and thought, "this mechanical and sadly notice the gap". Put the lid back on. Why didn't anyone say there was a fever? Stop trying to touch your nose with your tongue. Seibers corner was a hole in the wall. Save highway 99? Dont forget Cinderella. Would be a funny part in the movie had he not screwed it up. Somewhere between the front door and the stop sign across the street I realized the bed. Put the penguin in the closet. Also widley referred to as ass kissing. Nothing in the cubard and nothing in the fridge, but there really is something I just don't want it. Look pretty and never opened, others collect dust.

Sentences

I find it difficult to seperate myself completely from some kind of syntax. It is almost automatic that a pattern of some kind comes out. I feel almost uncomfortable being without. Funny that when I try to make sense it seems that it doesn't and yet when I try to make sentences that do not go together all I can think about is how there is always going to be someway that I could possibly make sense out of this. But, perhaps that is different when it comes to the reader. Maybe the big problem here is that I am thinking too much and writting too little.

Little bits and pieces

I guess I have always viewed the page as a place where I can lay my brain and let its juices sink into the page. Surprisingly, I get things that I don't understand and stains I can't get rid of. But I, for the life of me, try not to throw it away because somewhere in myself I think it could be used for something. I don't consider myself great, or good because those terms are ambiguous and really don't mean anything. Rather I figure that with practice I can learn more and get the picture clearer in words than the one that pops into my head. That last part I am still struggling with.

Social Viablity

Put a basket full of dead puppies in the stuffed animal section of a toy store.
Watch the kiddes pile in to play with them.

People make the best piñatas.
Stuff them full of candy and beat them until they break.

Artificially inseminate a cat with horse semen.
Watch the baby abort its mother.

Sew together the dead carcasses found on the side of the road as a flag.
Mount the carcass flag on a pole and chant “The Pledge of Allegiance” while selling your little sister on E-bay as “used parts”.

Crucify Mother Teresa, upside down and on top of the Dodge Ram tattooed with the words “Balls Deep”.
Parade the vehicle around early Sunday morning, sporadically pressing a button which triggers a flame to shoot out of Mother Teresa’s ass.

Erect a statue of G. W. B butt-fucking the United States of America while snorting a line of coke off its back.
Have him holding an oil can in one hand and a crumbling United Nations in the other.

Place this statue in Texas.

Nuke the world, leaving only the shadows of our existence.
But, line up the people so that once the bomb is dropped our ashes will spell out
“Game Over”.

Margarida

Men gargled “gay” in a gaggle of marmalade.
Greed-Lender, “My dagger ran mad and lame!”
Mail my nerd a mind.
Garden lager in a yam!
Lend me a deed.
Rail Glenda Mad.
Lend me manner in a middle landing, and rain alien lard.

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