after after aft ' r

after that she speak lover's mouth
south of her grinning
we'd speak its weeping eyes to nothin' doin'
roun the unkempts faculties
you'd hear the cafe

fter that she speak lover's mouth

south of her grinning
we'd speak its weeping eyes to nothin' doin'
roun the unkempts faculties
you'd hear the cafe

she speak lover's mouth

south of her grinning

speak its weeping eyes to nothin' doin'

roun the unkempts faculties
you'd hear the cafe


how long

how long did it take the earth to find its name?
a million years neighbourly names were naming names

poets werent having a day in court and the soft pedallers of
something and another werent lending credit cards nor were captive women
hung in prison nor the stockade and the yanked rope
clean but the block powered its ruth

yet the blood and

the others were there someoff in the spare part
we warlocked wracked on the fortune of death hanging on the universe we
were outer spaced farther than the eight black balled by boring despotry

and we rang opening doors that looked invisible yet we knew something tapped
was there not language and its 'deep dark' rule or its principle of navigation and power

and there were more etcetera as the i m not sure you follow you see? our heir
was wrong and more like we had seen the upside and no earth was hanging us back

the earth gone belly up we moved the space vehicles on charging the mate in
the first cabin heading out heading heading out we

dictator god and despot complying compulsive not invited

27 of rain pearl

in the infinite hanging of the earth

there are no prayers

just a pure space

thank goodness


one does not need prayers to wreck the scenery

the infinite endless


dance their martrydom

but man is free

is the

catch of catch alls

here the dumb godlets
and the other murderers of ancient

aren't buried
they never were

here the forces


in the 27th rain pearl

guided by space's infinite breath

you are beyond those parities

their blackmail
and earthly


man's gone past his body

here the pearl's a mircale

but we'll forage a better term

of begotting &


this splendour of newness

its ragged harmony

perfect and unblessed

and we 've moved out of those old whorish harmonies


not the word
nor fishy loaves

or kissing king being

but whoosh of wind
cosmic howl

and its difference of indifference




the rain's expensive or denuding it offers carries a miracle

there are harbingers of language in its elusive ever running substance

it speeds along like an article pacing past mud and earth
penetrating the core


on the 27th day of rain there were miracles in the earth


looking in the rain

its the rain rain rain and

looking in the rain
I don't seem to remember any squirrels in Wordsworth


has there not been

has there not been sex in love

my friend
then let us find a body
weeping at its criminal ending

no, we wont go stop t(here) its clinging apostrophe of leaden baloon
and th e word
hanging like Ferlinghetti's moustache

(papapa T wldnt agreewith the punctuation mark s and so he wrote its the hear thing spelled made its need)

What moustache he doesn't have one!

I am thinking no yer not its Charlie Chaplin
No, its
(unless you had in mind a lady's one, a lady's moustache
nothing smoother in world, her tache he r touche her tuche
its very yes, very as a an ass )

he has a canal past his navel

no he has amnesia aphasiac
its Zorro the rebellion of thunder Mexico the
truant knight holding the 'true' horn

(you mean Zapatista! __ hmm we dont know what he mean)
some faith that was


this there then ~

he calls her across the time zones to a cell that echoes
to read her a poemit's a poem that goes over the air 'winged words' isn't that Homer he thinks,
with what he calls thinking
which is more like gutting gutting a simile of the poem
he wishes to send her to her body
as his blindness is a mask for death
well he calls
and reads into the machine this pome
he wanted to give her and
he does but his voice
isn't so hot hot so hot hot so hot it burns
the cradle
she works works works
healing hunting her wolves canter he thinks
no wolves don't canter
her voice through the lines of seizure
around the planet
our connected and connected bodies
a birth giving berth to walk up in her body

her womb the sage shell of her desire eye and ear encountering hands over clatter not chatter messenger breaking down their bodies fantasms over the electronic capitalist cable words are money
he had told a professor words are phone calls

kiss-o-grams dialgrams
Oh woman of wolves and mist
misting over gerunds & space

your eyes into hands
we seek the transcendental
O also the kiss of bodies the sweep of our bodies

even the title

the name of night and trees

it spins the top of noun and naming place

now in the middle of night
the deep place of no face
he longs for her
absent one
of far off spaces

where wolves howl
chunky waves hurl
by the pediment of song
and he is her lover the unseen one
yearns his stomach
speaks for his desire

the far off one
by stones and places
pebbles crushed by the sea long place
where he imagines her body and
her words all flowing over him
a song of honey

how say to the
how twist
in the churning of absence?

her hands imagined in the other air
her hands stick in
his mouth
her sex a desire for her to burn his insides out
becoming her
born into her again
the mist and sky the broom
simple mouth of greeting and kiss

gnarled mouth
of her word sigh song
and his body thrown around
by her
in the midnight middle of the night

her name to say his lips
to say breast lip and langour

lip tongue
how can I long for
O tongue speak!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ sum say ~

okay you are the dada ? is that the the the way?

they say you are writer

kay you are the dada ? is that the the the way?

they say you are writer

` some say ~ ya

okay you are the dada ? is that the the the way?

they say you are writer

kay you are the ad ?a i that t the way?

they say you are writer


music deux fois one after 909

this old rooftop version of

after 909 ~

i lov e the ticket s
being handed about

the unrestrained nonviolent
the sheer
joy of their music

the London bobbies running around har r ied

but what were they gonna


run to the station
railman sez you got the wrong location
run right home ~

I find the number wrong

come on baby dont be cold as ice

the guitars are tighter
listen to harrison's rolling leads
in and around them curlicues of rock n roll

it was the B e a tle s downtown
London (the Apple studio rooftop
their last big concert ~

and that resounding echo through the streets of

London right by the abbey studios

London ~

__________________ and here the same song in rehearsal in the Cavern ~

begging on mah bended knees
you'r e only fooling around withme ~
the images are not interesting but the difference in music is sheer delight ~

_____________________ the later version is livelier
of course

Im being dumb
they are way more accomplished

in the 69

take ~


this sneeze

this sneeze burst the page
& chuckled all the way to heaven and back
its night a flittering glittering star_t jewel rising rose its' heckled brown mate a singular thought on the deity of sound this is the way it was done . round lover's bait.



your blog is a book

not a prize


hhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm O I< ___________________>

i, fucked again

There are those who will maintain that the schizo is incapable of uttering the word I, and that we must restore his ability to pronounce this hallowed word. All of which the schizo sums up by saying: they're fucking me over again.

Anti-Oedipus (p.23)_______________________>> go ahead
read the bloody book

or sleep with it ~

be a lover
not an agonized academic

getting unfucked is easy
for art is marriage
in this posting ~

how ~ not howizter

ove me?


how i live and die, a vowel change

unchanged sheets
masturbatory organs
(did you say this Mister D? is that your masturbatory fit fiction?)

denied by god and woman
(gogo god women and hairdressers
this is the salon of desire)

tawny sheets untied in the bed
masturbated lies
ribbed like stupors
un becomings become her

how you live a bed of unmade sheets
stripes of goat
band of sheep
tobaccao king
of the road

unpublished author
seeks unpublished readers

a whore author alone
her solitude sand pubic
sans public
sans head
sans neck

what stage is the bed at now?
what bed is the stage
do you sleep with another man?
a woman a melee avenue of blithesome
shall literal be metaphorical?

did I ask you to write to me?
do you know

what its done

yer body is free
i praise it as I praise the highways
bloggin is real
because its messy

it ought to stay this
a news sheet on the rips of eternity
on the whips of time
the lash of feet
against my unmade bed
mastubation perturbation
your love

I live in the dirt of feeble loves

impossible lies wishes, hopes and haunts
you did this
you did this

it was done already
by the others

the rebellious ones
attacking an angel

So you write I verses catchy things that dont rhyme or whoop. Buta return a refrain continues the hedge work of vowel. and not the real butthe persona of I. A fictive of I. as it s weary nest lingres self.

______________________ This was a verse you wrote when you were Rimbaud and Genet, and this was personae 82 ~ not the necessary wheel in the card of fortune but a disaster looking backward. that made love count.I held your arms. Pinnioned to the stole of love.

So saith Mona and her unbecomed jewels ` . Her fur of hearth ~ .

call display ~

A pyrrhic lyre between eyes that peek
what she whispered over the hull of the ship
was that?

a dart plucked your heart your eyes c
hildren aloft between the middles of her embraces
braces she holds the middle card something like that first lover of day dog and night bodies wrapped around it's versing and prosing says she of being broke as hold you hail comedy up

up see daisys__

goes mending

close to the forest




this is yer death

you've become

this character

too much

death's your dying day

like some long lost movie

soda pop drink in all the Americas of your soul

you are American and white and

bending down near the river boat

Oh come on now it's not that hard

to find

language squeezed between the pins

she says holding my arm

faraway she holds it

touches it

from the distance of


I say a Princess?

not some squeezed down

boat in your soul

of America

which is what you anywhere

what you were

what you are






What is Canada?

but the forests' blur

it's America's other brother

in her damp down ways


doesn't matter Rimbaud

no one' ll read this

ghost of the cold

snapped back by the pages of cold and intent

the internaut of love

the nautical of image trying

burst the broken pane of window

be a sinner

you are American


It's a radio space ship calling you back

calling you back sweetie

darling you know these words

are your lips

eyes speaking across time

some pediment of flesh?

is that it darling dagger of

your feisted off body that

marks off a trail

then radios in

come take me now

you foolish boy

all these waxes yes or no

make the thimble weak

radio stereo car of

that abomindable word

the love clap

the love clasp

you know it

and I know it too

see it doesn't break

the secret that is your name


O the capacity capturing machine?

___________________________ this from
Multitudes Samizdat

an essay about gmail and google which permits this very blog and process

posté le 28 mai 2009
Comprendre Google et l’importance qu’il a pris dans notre vie quotidienne suppose un regard allant au-delà du moteur de recherche lui-même et de ses services. L’usage de Gmail et de ses publicités contextuelles comme de Google Street View et de ses rues filmées via un objectif à 360° (comme si nous y étions) n’est évidemment pas neutre. Et c’est l’un des sujets que traite cette Majeure. Mais en amont de Google, il y a nos désirs. Il y a nos sources d’information et de connaissance, chaque jour en nombre plus démentiel, et moins fiables que jamais du côté des médias classiques… En aval, alors qu’Internet entre dans un monde « post-PC (...)
_____________________________ Of If Google were and Google were its
combinatinatory of the laboring dance of future we shall see `
t o
s ee
if we can see
the creators of desire


the k e y

is to keep working. as play becomes it s name.a s snip snap to repair is erased as the spontaneous osprey shakes her hair. in the harem the bodies wore night as veils. besides vellum what was there? one asks pretending an old answer

olde r
than the question the ancient day of antique

dear heart your gramaphonetic is breaking to the duel of its antiphony silent

as the lure repatriating its love

and the dance and the dance the dance
its the stripled hearing mating its friend careened by french

_______________________One thinks of the You

predicated to its long squeezed lover her diction pressed tight to her breast
open mouthed to her baby milk
suckled by the dry heat of pride

____________________________________ You wanted to hold this danza?
______________________________________You of all people matched
_____________________________________by the steeple of forgetful hands

helding yours cupped by its run of strength

_______________________________________________ sang genius as the pane____________

didnt you know the
incomplete has always been fair
game to love
open your coffin
letting the turtle out

love your heart a big brained skipping thing
but between your ass your thighs not the marrying kind
as human distress signals milk's been your baby
lifted by the rush of your angry err


does this reckon its melody?
capture its tear
come again
midget to the forest
of barrier
and complete


hush ugly one
keep going
the keel's drifted over your soft
bay your rage
at loving
what can only conclude
with fairness
not weather
say two and four
a bloc
of time
hammered to pressed makings


wasnt it a case of the kettle calling the coal balanced white? or not balconied black?
you see now how working is play hangared over biplanes lifting their silver sovereign feet


a cheap skate_ say this was you

a rubber tube_ this the me supposed

a hose for lady hamlet's thigh

its girth well bred

midnight's flown

come home


I know secrets only you can conceal

_________________________thus the cinnabar collates

_________________________ painting our face with lacquer

___________________________the brush fine as a detailed comb ~
__________________________________ for your lips
these between things
or the other ones crushed by your laminated thighs ~

as lovers do
they do ~




a fitting passion

grasping its yard and narrow

measuring its tape

by extent ~



of the roses

knowing poets are selfcentred eases the burden of levity. its maxim a code working axiom to brillaint the poacher. the page. a lifted thing rink round dare night and kiss. between thigh and shoulder blade the taste of skin. the crying wreck of love, not war.

peace is between these thing. between radiant importance the crystal bed. she lifted her eye findingheaven's become here between her s and ours.

not I was the sender's stuff. as dreaming worked the pen playing cloud its amber nape the deluxe delight of love.

not inhibtion and its terrible anarchy. nor chains of chaos in the believer's ring.

these and thos e was ring to her very sent.

she heard these things in between the lines .


anything but

perfect love in its coming .

not judgement or refinement .


felled 2

summer __ you're a cheap date or tawdry partner undanceable bane

(bawdry as the bering strait)

(strait is the fate of
elm and polar poplars)

withered by the hour

guarded by the sunset wrapped by the quota buried by the

(her comment is iconic lovers
clunked in the ornate)

boondocks whizzed by prose knackered by cherry-trees

(over the side
over the

a sunset galloped


living room with no itinerant intent to cleave

them'd be

breezy tunes

hefted by walks
merry chase

and every daily geese


after that she speak lover's mouth
south of her grinning
we'd speak its weeping eyes to nothin' doin'
roun the unkempts faculties
you'd hear the cafe

in our room

our room


in the mouth all sorts of things lodge. is that reside? no preside its residual swamp.comfort. of lovers past tense. bodies huddled in quilt. not guilt. or the messy shame many've tried. a dozen and more will go no . weeping as it say. some to this.s undown none ~ come to bear ~ .



picture this in dowtown dublin yer selling mussels and


only them. that. cann't reed. see the soonet extended . as liegitimate. one hastotakethings to the turf. the loud outland. the dry dirty territory. its when it happen. one aint fool by the obssessive descartes inc. of genealogies
okay  yer there it's time Molly. Or was hat rickshaw blending in belles-lettres.


and other ....

between midnight promise
excavators love's trouble harrying its coat
abrupt halting instant it's nervy that way isn't it?

yet when you sing the song it becomes conversation the words

lifting their weight melody

drafted by the hour you're strung with witching

tradure wordsworth

Traduire Wordsworth, la tentation de la prose, le défi du vers - Notes sur le Prélude, III

------------------ In wordsworth's unconscious you find lovers. and ...

“Dans l’inconscient de la lumière”, Bonnefoy, Wordsworth


now but then

_________now not done was yesterday

the blank you desired met the starting sphinx its key

husting a pell mell gush_____ to logging the boated fray


Now see don't get any of this wrong
eye was the moon
that broke
not you I was the one
with a half a head
to run
and three years and change is not so bad

it's that simple rule
the caretaker's simplicity
silence the rule of love it's
hitching feet

scrambles the dust
round a player who knows her name better

war is not victory it's the last ditch
the battle bust is not breast its cutting maxims

arrive hourly you summered loves breastfast


Nota:unpunctual commas

the foot of the artist

the floor of the artist Posted by Hello



No _?

remember the word is the poem you wrote

a thought for her to think as she holds it in her hand

a crooked pilaster a wooden bowl a jewel of substance

the transcendent singer of her heart not a coat

for summer and winter but my walking through memory and

pain which makes the face's difference a vowel separate

standing a part solitary in its quietness not noticing

the things you recalled when strolling and parked you

picked the things which meant the most to earth and other poets

radical sun worker across Nineveh and sky between the lassoed

letter S that occurred at each dot in the magnificent

earth world, the magnificent dead word back to life,

leap back like Christ might out of the grave,

Now wouldn't that be a hope, Mister proxy in the middling


A coat not a jacket where loves are gentled

a verb to hum your hallowing in not penalted

by the racket

I see her many times, her forms were manifold

still I could not reach, and were these eyes mine

were they the ones to undo a woman's cold

body repelling back suitors and eyes nine

and ten and twenty times a day saddled with hate?

I don't know dear Doctor I am not the one to know.

[notyourname] knot

________________________________ _______________________

knot your name

you see it's blind

we dont seek the track of beauty
in its death some

wont ever get this as they are literal


are not symbolisosists. nor cysts. nor brain. as body wraith its gleaming side you are the mister of lyric, not lurid like a bum deal, a tawdry pate, a weird wheel. so it go .

over blinking eyelids you chase
the ever evening evasive ~

it's how empires are built are they not?

are no

around sun

what did he say

if you hurry you might hear the sun

(between each comma and page)

(as repetition is its god

unfinished blanket of the davinci days)

as it wishes its back on everyone

near its night and day

losers everyone of them bitter in their dying fearful

of eloquence reticence and virtues of the silk pen

for this betrayal has wrappers in its packing

not like clochard or rare elements but near Grendel and

the four wolves, or the bears, say that reach for commas

tearing apart in the forest their own lemon suit .

what suit tears its heart before grass

page of never and tomatoe borne by the heart of care

wished for its vain hope not lacquered by cunning draughts

chess's only steel is its hope

stony faced as the bus terminal blues

and blue as its traversed swine

in field


in the field|| part one|text and image [1]

in his eyes, black world, intent pressure balls into there, quits, quell next, the sundown, ring sheet, awful hone, in the, the eyes, stand,
of overcoming and re, rerum of latin and slang , in this across face
perfect preface of two bodies , of when they were young, and the bell, standing the peat, cemetery where he lay, he , she walked in the room
around the , in this, his, enjoy, envy

but prior to before, across the wharf and the choir , and the shell, over the quicksand, and the never never , opinion and its fate, charmed pillow, weak at the knees, by her knees, and he stands, lifts , no she lies, he lay, the grass, the scent off the air time, bound and the, yes, the, was, the nave, as it worked, forewarned is foreordained redeemed in the room, the mercy of it, perish the nature of her , she meanders of the course,

in the field, of the collar and the crowd hour of the instant, in her tea, and the cup balanced, touching as it spread its toast , spilled over the table cloth, and her hand, was the knot, as it lay, held on the pole, the bus, the night near midnight or past, or past midnight and her body was foresworn, not so, in the world that is that, this is the business of the others, and their heralds and the picnic the day before, as he lay , but was not there, but gone, vanished, off , up in the air, as she lay horizontal cross ways over the place, was its point the oblong , as he heard, far off, in the place, had been ordained from her, ordained from the fare, and its captive in the right but it was, not, it was, not it was not as it should as she played, and her arm, and her elbow were leaned by in, toward the place, there he lay, he lay there he lay, had he lain, for so many, for how so many a moon, it lingered over the bells were gray,
sough of willow, in the , near the bay, by the , not near the cove, when she wandered, in her stray as he stood, then, no he lay by the ocean, and the water noise, when she pondered, she paced,

she paced

and wave wrangling near the heather, of the moor, and her shore, it sentenced by the nerve of her, heart and the seal there of her necklace its devotion to her

his body still at the quiet, so the spot, of the kneel and the voice its trail,

at the heel of her hand

of the hour by the moon and its stay, hanging there