American Sentence, No. 3

White whirring fan blades, waves of passing cars, then one idiot whistling.

American Sentence, No. 2

Foolish not to sleep when God is watching like Kilroy out in the bush.

American Sentence, No. 1

Keep out from under the bed — dust, spiders — wonderful to hide, really.

sense memory no. 1 [revision, 082120121512]

suddenly the sweetness of some fruit 

i can't recall 

memory's maw models some flowery drupe, 

a mango

spread across a lisp thin wheat

the saccharine spear implacable 

i heave on repeat, breathe 

in hopes of dislodging the pneumonic 

of seeds, split and juice — an unmistaken

missing flame

[for Matthew Rohrer, 062120121546]

Interrobang — Page 11, Line 11, Part 1

So many lovers loved

built up into careful

bedside stacks — which to read

first, which to repeat

"According to what has ended up inside it," Kim said.

What and why, indeed?

When the cushions call who 

can resist? Clever, diabolical, 

it's a reaction, always to you, forgive me

"I reacted subjectively, assuming they wanted me to show off," Lenny said.

I resist, I resist, and I do not resist — forgive me

but leave me here, endless fingers fondling

his timing belt

again

"The wrong kind of difficulties and ambiguities," Charles said.

these lips — there are dreams to be drunk

as something shadows up my keep — like 

life keeps calling me back to sleep. that settles it;

and i check the size on her hardcover sleeve.



[follow me on twitter, tumblr, and facebook]

uproariously disappointing

why i wondrously't

i canonicalize't lethe your winnipeg

youthfully'll lettering it go to youngstown hearsay

it mightiest raincoats

i'm justices tiredly of talking

i'd feeds siciliana instituted

i'm justness tiresomeness of talmudization to yourselves

i've gottfried taking a shivered

i'm justice tire of tallness to yours andrews thawing smitten

yourselves've heavers it allstate already

anything, neighboring of us canning propagating anybody.

[previous post run thru The Eater of Meaning]

why i won't

i can't let you win

you'll let it go to your head

it might rain

i'm just tired of talking

i'd feel sick inside

i'm just tired of talking to you

i've gotta take a shit

i'm just tired of talking to you and that smile

you've heard it all already

anyway, neither of us can prove anything.

lenny bruce tattoo v5 [08062012]

I

time fogs

a feather in her handwriting faintly 

beneath the surface of the mirror

...

secondhand smiles dribble down my chin

but the look into her eyes is our first mistake

sun swirling across her pepperbright skin

sin on an extant coffeeshop couch

II

time flashes

x

x

x

x

x

x

III

time glows

x

x

x

x

x

x

IV

time sinks

x

x

x

x

x

x

V

time swells

x

x

x

x

x

x

...

"what do you mean he kissed a leper?

"what's the point in that? you kiss them

"and they fall apart."

lenny bruce tattoo [draft no. 4]

torn; 

a failing feather in her handwriting 

faintly hidden under the mirror

secondhand smiles dribble down my chin

convince, looking into her eyes is my first mistake

sun swirling across her pepperbright skin

sin on this surely extant coffeeshop couch

remind me of how her wrist, peachly thin 

x
recalls mad machinations and I must begin

x

...

floating, the breeze breaks when we 

i can't blame anyone but myself

or maybe my mother, who first floated the thing, 

saying, "i can't blame anyone but myself." but 

i'm convinced: this is a good idea, sold to a lioness

before waking beside her 

her new sweat massaged into the mattress 

in the aura of whatever, is sold without much sell 

then buyer's remorse: this sweet thing cannot smile back.

...

"what do you mean he kissed a leper?

"what's the point in that? you kiss them

"and they fall apart."