was a skirt was
trailing a wood was there
woodbine nickered to it
?
to [its] [love]
she trailed [and] trailed
holding the leaf
~~ leaf
holding a book
varia~
chisler to four covered sewn bookmarks
[ comment leaf, book, look, alliterations ? hmm repetitions? in this case,
as chords to note? note to ford, river, to strea m, rire to laugh?]
__________________________________________________________
Sloggin' via the dromos Me came over a myth
T H E
PO E
M
dromos
(for her)
1.
As I was bloggin through the incalculable bog of blogs
me came on this wending my ways past age
and pain of forsook and forsake
knowing love's shaft was hung!
What a bung was I!
my tormented lovers a pest of night
and the words I forgot between
my amnesias and senilities of
cost and my nose
unsniffed the silent air of roses
raggletaggle body haired by the night
repetition my song don't be long
stiffing regulations and cattling cabooses
I told her I was no Rimbaud
__I was Rimbaud
flapping scarf around my head-piece
romantic poet was I
now age has paid his visit
I'm choking at the end
my tumultuous temper is filling me,
I can hardly wait for death,
like some apocalyptic St. Paul you pray
(now in a typical verse like this
it'd say "I")
(but we know what is worth__ so
let's just go on)
for the end
the end of the world,
"we" pray for the end of the world
(a little too much __ very dramatic __
who do you think you are ?)
Now that's not
a very G_Deleuzian thing is it?
[who gives a fuck! like he'd care! who do you think
he was, my father?]
(well, you'd think so, from the Fictions)
([but then again ___ here the voices amalgamate__
they mate. the 'author' as such get's twisted.
prob. needs
flesh and blood
but flesh and blood
is weak])
Deleuze jumped November 95,
near ten years gone,
Felix 2 years before dead
of a heart attack,
Love died too,
killed itself
tied up loose ends
left town
beat the night (beat the night! what is that jerking off? or what?)
hit the road (there's nothing new here, CLiff)
broke the barrage (interesting __is that Wilfred
Owen in the background?)
(sounds like your second book and some
stuff from that Album__ Desires or Something before night:
see: the Bluedogplus
Big Bertha __ love is like Big Bertha,
a calling down,
and my
bones ache but
I'm the same guy I always was,
less fearful of language and lens
less fearful of the flyin' body by legs
((really does read like a song
but I can't really see if it's in yer head or
on the page: [what t he fuck are you
talking about? there is no page!!
it's ablog space)))
more dead than a nail
heart took out too
too many times
what clochard is that?
what cliche is that? ___ I am forbidden to write a poem!
(this is better)
(do you really think you love her? jeezus!you haven't
seen this in yearss!) [look it buddy I cant make out
what you're referring to] [(who is speaking)]
the dumb gods have decreed I am screed and seed mistloe to my toe around the cracked seeds of buskin dawn_ Like some Shakespearian actor I peddle my bike backwards,
regret talking my name
tripped and trapped by every name
Once a pretty face was your hope
but pretty faces, as we know
are like dames, they lie to deceive
and open to conceive
bear to rear
___ Oh shit what is he saying? is she saying anything
with her body and blooms, her bones tickle thighs?
O come now , please lend me a hand,
reach in while I pay.
Pray.
Pray? now pray tell, what literary theory
are you harking on?
pray, pray that Man dies.
and all his esteems.
Stay? stay with me.
no, no, no, no, never __ .
Go away, go away
Away .
My body was oil for yer intent,
a tense space of language for your downsize.
Love? love was too much
in your buckles and shoes
and the money was not there,
and the girls were alright
and the hookers played hooky
lacy skirts & frilly tops
their gay hearts a movie trick
cheap whore they got you now!
exclamanation point
yes, I mean what I wrote
an accident spelled a new point
Covered by rackets and ruins
sonnets and fair rooms dear farandolas
and dainties I challenge the accordian
they laugh at surrealist aromas
Is this the way to piss?
in a dream she shambled me
shamed my reckonings twisted
the curlicues of love's best met friend
keep talking, doctor, doctor unconscious
stage the set, keep the door
My amble pie is get ready and set
Like the shores of stiff dead ones
And marketed fees
I shall wear each downy cape of nonsense to the end
what can she know of this door,
where making predators wait and sunk
beneath the treasured floor
are men in ruins
like a naked mercedes I send your kiss
so wait for the noun trouble to ruin itself
making inside language its broken jet
the spoken rhythm a set
for harps and caves
natural ointments and broken days
come my lovelies I am your seaman
tawny around your legs
busted at your feet
well she said learning into me
heavy shade of her head pressed close
to my eyes sex throbbing
many years
the language not limited by your ideas
of intention or retention
a body in space muled by the target of love
he thinks of a face
tortured asks
why are women's faces so tortured
why does their beauty hurt?
Now that’s a hell of a question to ask me
she whispers hummed into my
elf ears nibbling the edges of astrology, desire,
interruption and congestion
Wait now, is that a lyric poem you’re speaking about Doctor Duffy,
Doctor Arel? Roxanne, come to the front desk please, Mister Duffy is gagging over your breasts, the heave of your sigh has him crying ,
the cleave of your light glowing breast
is roseate as aube
a dawn only for provencal mint
minstrels
abbeys
battlements
fair ladies
crippled canes
arthritic
conation
of your lip
your lip
covered
over
mine
a
year
Now is that any question to ask a lady?
[thank god he made no more of his bloody editorial snipes!
is that a word? snipes, shit I can never remember my
words. Im getting as bad as Artaud _ Aphasia!!
God! what will I do!???)
3.
3 was for thee
simple fiddle player
shoe-horned dancer
of the lover
(that stanza is totally lost __ no
wonder all of your words are on parole .)
and her glove
she held him
point high in the air
so proud
her name
was his
As I came over the blog shaped wave
All yours
All mine
_____________
Author's machine comments . I like th rest go. Incomplete page. fragment on a taggle. no time. meet to bust. some machines work some tipple topple and bust. what? I thought desiring-machines only work when they break down? well __ It did! I love you So relax.
Shoosh come the veils of dawn
a dharma shadow walking across her cape
her shoulders
are my sweet nothing
pains come
she's the red ship at noon
____________________
No doubt to be continued!
Comic Sans MS
you see what I mean
how it wiggles down
the page
unlike a body
in space
bounded by Word
Word daddio is the anti-desiremachine.
Ok, it's alove poem, alright. What? another one. This might as well be the fictions. That sort of other poetry, is private.
Cantbe blogged
cant be seen.
(there he goes againyou think seeing her again 'seeing her' wel, if you can call that seeing makes a difference?
and what about that shit about Artaud? you think that's true?) (( Not sure__ after all look at his letters to others __ perfectly fine)) (indeed__ if you wnat ot call that perfection)
life is short / one must do the best to love
The End.
As it were
