Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Science gets into the body.
Davinci drew from death.Though his drawings
were beautiful, they were not always anatomically
he always drew a hole near the heart where
the soul could escape.
These are the limbs.
How wonderful our brain is.
Some lift it out of the body,
cut into the skin and have a look:
Some hover over shoulders of cadavers.
There is a lot of light, an antiseptic smell.
We ask them: take us to the body:
with flaps, parts of the body lift out.
There is a bin marked hands and arms. You open it,
and the hands and shoulders
are soaking in preserving fluid.
You reach in and grab whichever
There are heads cut in half, --half-faces on a table look
just like meat. After you warm up, they are just heads on a table.
They are assymetrically cut to keep the teeth and jaw bone.
The dental schools usually get the heads.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
yes, blue please
Oh that blue I am all of it, feverish, they are talking about eating a tongue/ they are saying it is rude to eat a tongue
In the corner is a smooth blue creature I want to touch,certainly.
now they are recalling how they once covered their elbows because it was civil
I am feverish, the sound of the word blue
how much is improvised versus composed
A creatures smooth blue hands, my blue veins--
the see-throughable-ness of my thigh in the light
I hear a blue sax in the background
it happened in the middle of a hiphop song
Now they are talking about beautfiul blue brains/ the old oak is the beautiful thing
its rough skin on my face, a textured blue
It all lasts forty minutes: this blue
conversation. A man on the radio is grateful for all of it--
her fingers along the wettened blue clay.
She is feverish, blue-spined
dare I say ascending
to holy, blue, sainted
There is a smooth
blue creature in the corner
she wants to touch
its bald, blue head
Friday, August 23, 2013
This is not that poem.
I remember the room where he saw my head
at the end of the barrel. This is how it feels
to be seemingly powerless, to know life is in the hands
of a man's finger on a trigger and
crazy thoughts inside him walking a tightrope.
Haha I said so he'd have a way out,
if he wanted. (I was
walking through a blackwashed
room. Sensing. No one
could see my eyes
were peeled open moons. They couldnt have
been more open.)
Thursday, August 22, 2013
I want to touch
the inside of a pumpkin with my eyes closed. Let there be thunderstorms.
Let the operation be outdoors all day and let it be
consentual, or else there is no hand.
I know there is no other way
to become again clean. As in viscera clean.
As in I am dirty through and through.
It is holy to want to
clean one's self this way. It is holy to want
to enter a thing and leave, covered
in what it knows.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The hummingbird purrs concurrently, flies
to my eye-level and stares. 5-6 seconds. Pleased to make
your acquaintance, Ms. Hummingpsychic.
Last night I dreamt my lover's reason-to-stay-awake memory. It somehow soaked
through like blood : the fear-humidity in which it is difficult to breathe.
I once knew how to say hello to a stranger in a language I'd never heard.
I didnt know the stranger spoke this language.
I didnt know the stranger spoke this language.
As a child I held an egg and asked is it possible
to have 2 yolks inside? I cracked the eggand saw
Sads in my Happy. Spread through
like smoke through a vent
beneath a bed in which
a child is sleeping
at night. I can feel them
in my eyes. --A thickness, a paint mixed in
with the wets that gloss my iris
when I smile:
Dont be sad she said be happy
I am I said, I was trying to smile from my liver
I was smiling : feeling
the Sads in my true Happy, eyes and crinkled
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
To the cab driver who said he’d buy me a car
if I’d have sex with him:
Exactly how many times humming
with your dick in my mouth
does it take to buy me a hybrid/ Can 5
missionaries be traded
for 1 ass fucking/ What is the going rate exactly
for a ride I am not propositioned
Later on the subway 2 girls
in thighhigh skirts/ A man touches
them in ways 3 times their age/ Pinches the youngest
who smiles/ Says stop/
50 tongueless watch
the dog is filling his time with God it is how
it wants to live the dog is howling in the field:
heard, recorded and understood for its pain by
the woman on whose feet is cut-grass, inside
the woman is herself howling
Every number has a meaning. I am an eleven ( 9 +1+9+1+9+8+1) I have devised
a language through which Universe speaks to me in numbers,
or did the Universe devise the mathematics? Who/what comes first is
a truthless way to ask. --There are no poles here,
no bipoles, no messages on the radio.
Every color has a meaning-- it is either good or bad or untrustworthy
Imagine a sky of another color-- a green sky, clear weather
is, can you imagine how the grass would feel plating
such a sky green sky? Blue is more
the color my soul always has been.
The way a dog can seem like a deer is the way I can feel like
a tree that knows the hammock beneath it is now my writing place. I am
making myself into a pedestal where things that sparkle
honey or blood may be stacked.
It is time to leave World 1 and 2 behind. World 3 has begun I am equipped
with guards-- in fact 3 armies wont let you through
w/o the encrypted p*ss*o*d after which you think you're in, but it's a phis sad
to keep the real world safe.
I am growing cabbage. I am less afraid.
I am less everything.
It has everything to do with my cycle
and what I dreamed/ran from. I already know
because of what's happened that every thing/body
is a springboard into God the same.
My colors may clash today but that's okay.
I'll keep waving at planes.
What do a double shot glass, a piece of driftwood, a bottle, the stem of a martini glass have in common:
What do a double shot glass, a piece of driftwood, a bottle, the stem
of a martini glass have in common:
the monster left his footprint stamps in the mud
inside me, but if you could somehow
crawl in with the other objects, please, then repeteadly
bash your head on the soft rocks inside me,
that'd be great thanks
of course you may get dizzy of course
you may need more air, but let's pretend
that you aren't/dont need
and somehow the Stegossauraus ache inside me
is alleviated with no aftershock
Friday, August 9, 2013
Remove items from mind and sink in
to hammock it is sad/breathes you in
and out of itself like it is alive
in that hurtplace, drink from the
cold glass bottle your heart
is a great engine
pulling you into
dreams of her,
to that time her beloved strings went missing
you dont play/you loved her/you didn't have keys
but all she could do was fear you,
but still, she was all you could dream for yourself