Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Tom Cassidy & John M. Bennett





(suit fog)

b ack filler lettuce Fordist
pi ano automobile graveyard
montado sobre un asno wobb
ler on the pattern floor a
s hoe una som bra de már
mol the pass age b ones su
canto fugitivo toot h and ver
bal was te the headless cher
ubim del limb o de mis sueños
against the s tale b read and
bumper col lapse do minan el
horizonte talking b rains de
un río ser eno ,copy shops ,sal
tos de los mori bundos walking
in the abra sions c oil no
home but Tenochtitlan ,ca mino
del re torno ,variables eat Chop
in knocking la es finge de
ojos oblicuos where the sleep
goes the snake map go es the
carburator’s milk dying in a
r ash dying en la azo tea
red onda ,mortecina ,traum
a deficient but looking for
the lights’ obsolescence in’s
dense entity of death
mod ular void de faz inmóvil
with the other frenetic
p eel the other dendritic
m ask l umbre de vol
átil orifl ama in the
ideological r oar
the digital offensive just
seemed poetry or a cow
afloat a cr eatic fish de
boca sellada f lipping the
pedals or capital see page
in an immense incommensurate
toxic s oil y mon te descor tezado
de la in finite inch of break fast
breath spasm and plumbing
de m anos de un ser invisible
the lamp trajectory the defensive
f light fusion artificios
destituidos de ejes bur den of
c loudwork ,secret de un naipe
falaz written in the cent
rifugal smoke of time’s
sm all wind ow ,shrouded Library
del agua estan cada


A Hack of José Antonio Ramos Sucre,
El Cielo de Esmalte, 1929; Jim Leftwich,
Six Months Aint No Sentence, Book 93, 2014;
& Ivan Argüelles, “rochester”, 46 & 47, 2014.

Thursday, November 20, 2014


  
take off yr shoes

c hew the b lack
loladder out my fr
flagging nest s pit and
s ticks a twtwisted
pplastic bagg the age
of moon ,south of
h ear mouth or here’s
the c racking ww ind

your gravel walks far be
lo w for you


 



last foot

boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil  SOCK boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil
boil boil boil boil boil

                                                                                    tooof tsaal





remember what never happened

mi grain e ntry h alf
the s oft mot mot el
evation’s limb o fro
zen rope f lossing
in the crim son st
ream through 5 thro
ugh 5 hemisp heres gr
own the hainted stars t
he hainted bathtub bo
dy sfunctions in the
back seat in the b
ack s peaks the
species dims the
mote l drowns be
neath the water tow
er o cir cularity in the
former library falls f
rom yr burning hair !
- black inside the box a
bilingual blur defocused
in the drowning water


Static shocks from Ivan Argüelles’
“rochester 44”, 2014

Wednesday, November 19, 2014


mutt er flood

bleeding dog ,in the ,hoisted
park’s ddink fflag arf
ff fff ffff  the tire
closed its hole and slept
)your rounder foot and sev
ered( where the rope once
choked\\  clock in its
dust turns yr sav age
- soap and thought ,if th
ought could washedoff be -
:save the canine clittered a
cross the floor oh barker
barker cross the street
your illness churns cross
the street a hole conceals
  

...se llevaba en su rabo el poco
fuego sagrado que allí había.
- José Lezama Lima


  

itztli

met last night the green s
tone s evered will my T
ongueless speech drips be
side the sliced tomatoes p
late I dropped my jaw the
caved in door spongy in its
mildew nests of ants and
bees THE DYING FOG
wallet drying on the
windowsill metastasized the
drunk clock stone  j
utting from its face

  
Cette morte apparente, en qui revient la vie,
Frémit, rouvre les yeux, m’illumine et me mord...
                                        - Paul Valéry




itching

cheese and lint ,frag
rant cloud the storm’s
rat raft my neck core
you sh adowwoda  air
the mice contained
where yr laundry driz
zled wrapped around yr
spinal hose  ~ ~  ~   ~
breathe ,rodentia ,teeth
,flag rant sock twists be
fore yr eyes rain cl
imbs the wall your ch
ewing your che wing your
chchewing mud risen in the
basement like yr ggristled neck
  

Tout ce que l’homme pouvait gagner
au jeu de la peste et de la vie, c’etait la
connaissance et la mémoire.
                                        - Albert Camus

 



is it?

lovely ants the towels
fold in dawn stains
the window where her
fortress opens was a
cloud laundered up
the steps and turns
the air

dreams a lawn
                                        shouldered with a dick

Sunday, November 16, 2014