some people

Some people are worried, I suppose, about poetry. I'm not. Sometimes I
dot my eyes at others not. I'm not 'worried' about mastery
about being a master ~ not so as it sings to your tinctured

Really, life is short.

Contracting Verbs

Contracting verbs is not hard
you see it's like that one or its
slippery sliding slope
i cant she wont
he's hesitating the silence of her bakery bread
her silenus

it's easy she did as her hands came circled
around my waist stripping me 'naked' ass bare
to wind and it's fair weather to stripping and
besides we 're adam even Even adam's got a place to
live as I do in yer thighs these nights that carry on
like weirs do out to water

is that right? yes naked one its not so bad
to say I'm goin right there or Im shifting tears
along the pillow of yer hair
see your naked self
and those fantasies!

what wild bodes we are

As for voice who gives a shit ? eh a gothic Quasimodo like me's got no
choice in fair ones moths bees cherry tender winding
ships that'd brace around yer head

and hearing


Now you tell me.

I ask

I ask


do you remember anything
as the flit of light dies
on yer lashes
these hands around your waist
crying to be dying in your
certain loves?

these lives and days he
saunters off a cross musters a weight
intelligence of the human variety knackers
repetition its variable theme
and waited for some word
saying yes here am I am yours appearance gone
body present to your hands and tongue
O lover O Son

this was yours a sweet caterpillar designed
reborn as wolf and lion caters down her bended knees
to love her loving

Do you recall this air
between the rare stream or is yer compulsion to live
behind science silence the game of retreat
these are not your folding names
but love

Merit them and this heat
between my legs heating up for your fox
a bush where I'd be imprinted
like a tatoo forever

yes our love body
our body a mouth to maze

its stunning sweep


Tears for your alibi
unlever yer hopes
come here
its an address you've known in yer dying heart
is it dying? we're not sure.....

Come land on my mouth as we do that unspeakable sex, that unspeakable lovemaking rounding our bodies clocked into yours as you've always wanted

Yes I touch it it curls up for your name yer heated imagined voice

O what is my fantasy she asked
we spun into the death of night
she was pregnant with my blisses for how long?

Was it sexual ?
Bardesque to my lover

your bra ripped off
yer pajamas or something you wear to bed
the book s of poetry lining the bedspread like
camping fucks or lovers

we are camped lovers

camping on your thighs your knees

Svelte one

Always always

miller links thing s over at ubu


My good old Henry Miller

Telegram _ received from Maurice Chayet _1980
"Henry Miller is dying come to Paris


your friend Amadeus

Ama_ deus
Ama _ deus

its there I am a god
divine miracualting machine
immanent immaculate conception
over its hillhigh top of the Inexpressive as

saY finger points the Air of its viola
a chamber of symphony
an impossible prejudice


two of

Say its razzle dazzle afternoon sways the milk where you stoodand the banging fray marks the pace of things switching in their heatthe way you stood there talking the dark of afternoon or the

lazythings you suggest with your hips flanked that way just sono other way really to say this except with someone like thisby your side where do you expect to go off,stop trying. One day bending by her pillow she'd head off for the suncarrying a knapsack on her back. Or a halo of his nameworried he'd forget her. Or something other strongish story line,you know what I mean, why be causual when your named after a flowerwhose word we won't say_ a unique history of spacetelegraphed your name to the table. That was a flower,not a cheap mint. Purchased as they say, at a dollar store.Some clammy alcoholic holding onto your name.Saying, oh it's mine , it's mine.When we knew it was only his.Pairs go like that, don't they, pears. Pears.

Catched up

catching up on all them fictions and stuff _ other stuff burned my little pea brain out Mister Picasso, you know what I mean?

Yes. So. then I wrote them other things. Yea. You dig. Its an amazing thing , eh, poetry? an amazing grace after meals and before dinners.


why be sad when you can only be happy
I know this from somewhere _ where did you hear it?
Not sure, baby, i know it's a light in your face
brighter than ten thousand cars
or say the star bangled lanyard your tooting civilian
the hek with that. drip drip. drag.
No way Im not sure of the way abacus working
is the saltpeter of yer pepper or her bad poetry.
Bad poetry? what 'on earth' are you speaking about?
Yer butt, how people take themselves so seriously.
Yes, you'd think they were all seropositive.
Or like cancer ridden something spontaneous.
Life, you gotta do the thing. Yep, yep. I dig.
Fake sonnets you've know make merry a candid lent!

Honey! I'm home.


this machine CALLed Named PoinTed At _over there fingering

This machine called Blog called Poetry call Prose its changes . change.
post updated redated and redacted. As will and seen. To go. Add note, take away.
Recording surface reordering as seen. To fit its. will. of Change pattern.
of Glas to work its bell. Eh? Sign and form. All my poems are on parole
said the Italian poet. Whose name forgot again, was WHo? So pen, hen, then it's
patrol post bloggette, change it face. On the nomad move. AS in nomad metamorphoses
of texting . Its word made electronic fresh. Flesh_ or body am virtual. Or code.
Coding in_text. In_texted we've frayed the dais.


this name calling of thing
she 's not seen hepp'dto contract
its bliss

is this syncope


another step varies




more older

Deterritory" Add to Address Book
Tue, 17 Aug 2004 12:54:52 -0700 (PDT)
Re: [textdesiremachinesonlyworkwhentheybreakdown] I'll tell ya 'bout textmachinesbreakin' down!

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apocohipsterhashshashin wrote:I as usual apoCo is deLighFul a dancer ofthe magIc Beat of words. as for ages well some members of this grOup are way olde R than u daddIO .

Love Verlaine the 




Each is a consciousness .

velcro sack details theform. what arabesque of tonnage is this? signals
the time of day.

yer coming home.


Hurlements en faveur de Sade - Guy Debord - 1952

1952 the year I was born! wave roll of time unfurled the great dada deborderS

the Great HAUsMann