Friday, April 14, 2017

ex cavation

ever d itched in
hollow gazed a
shattered b owl

beneath a stone rat
tled house talking
earth untied the

mud you watch yr
hands en circle
dig what blood

beneath yr skin is left


name of shirt name of
name un crapulent de
fogger gristles in your
jaw what not says but
syas ton buttons gr
unting chewed ,name of
natters at the cur
tained door a name
ou nom vieux au cent
re du temps my s
tepsid deunderstanding
naming down my chin
says you ,forgets the
smoke you said ,burns
four ways


opposable thumb

toast the hand that
sleeps you was it aft
er birth or clouded
in a tree your seeping
? aims to seize was
let it go was clued
and forked a sticky
map you pulsing pul
sing ppul sinks b
ack yr shirty
owls dead and dried
,is tasting what the
fingered b read b led
out was curling in
your mouth

im plode
re gain
sor mount

Wednesday, April 12, 2017


drunk the horn or sandal
thought less gloved it
gape-like in the blin
ded mirror or fridge's
wall of cheese your
foot replies ,basic
hamster crawl one
side your head ,mum
bled nothing please a
blunt stone just be
hind my face .will
it wet ,or dry agaze
,will it shine without
the skin

will a wall w
ill a spoon w
ill a flood re


read the sky

nor does the chair mémoire a
hurtling toward a rug in fl
am mes ou nu ages qui dorment
they shimmer in their sssilence
wax discs curl around the
dribbled text enormous sand
or lawn's basalt was stleeped
beneath your spoke the eye be
neath yr era sure pill ow

words in thunder ,weeds

Deread in Ivan Argüelles'

Ars Scribendi”

caja de cráneo

wear the dandled rat wit
case of lupbrication cheese
or teeth rehandled wise
a soup your fauces inhale ,b
iblioboca indehabitated was
yr shirt chewed off .c
laim the trickle from yr
pants its naeme a snlumber
raggèd in your ddick ITS
FOAM A SHOE gray with
sleepdust under the bed
.must comb outside yr
swim en ggaged ,yr suit
endective of the offal mirror

Raison détone en s O n cratère ossuaire
- Lucien Suel

Sunday, April 9, 2017


porc les anées qui dorment
entières mais sans frontières
por playas de huesos y frazadas
mi petate de concrète et
sang desséché un libro de
carne transparente los
dientes visibles a penas
penca de nopal espejeante
en que veo en que me veo
el lado oscuro de mi
cráneo el lado del
moretón verde .poule
phonetique ,lámina del
sueño que dedespierto es

Ses manches blanches font vaguement par l'espace

- Paul Verlaine


r AGE of gr
ASS oline emp
tidy wwiinndd yr
POO ling sHIrT



few shshamed light a
c umbre foco'd DE
intamination n'importe
que sleeve dripping
air's reurgitation
holy p ants so's time
peeks out my flight
lumbre .fascist shorts
shat in weeds the cree
ping grit decries ,for
gets just faucets
jutted out your wall
et monnais d'eau ou
merde ,you ,shaped
clock ,montre de boue
et miroir des tripes

Tripas grueffas anchas. Xicije ròba.

- Juan De Cordoua, 1578

Wednesday, April 5, 2017


reordered gut deflaked
the guerrilla mutation I
so sequeled ,dribbling
through yr rice's spent
carpet parks ,ah seve
red plastic soup your
comb disturbs a
spoon gnashes in the
parking spot ,destruc
tion's ecology blooms
your shattered sn
ore a dance slopped
poison cooked up be
neath a bridge ,sen
sations of solvents
splashed on the screen
was sputtery like your face
in a mask of realism games
:long spare parts
suspended on the porch

After texts by Jim Leftwich

of January 10, 2017

la entrepierna

senda crepitante que me
cubre los huesos senda
inrisible que me sale de los
inflaminojos senda tragada
del ingle lechosa que me
abre la pantalona senda
abierta que me cierra la
boca porque botoneronte
soy ,soy la senda que
me deletrea el nombre olvi
dado senda rutilante de
hojas muertas y piedras
verdes tomo la senda como
refresco demasiado azucarado
escupo la senda carraspada
contra la puerta en astillas la
senda de mi camisa es una
telenovela al revés es la
senda de humo que sube al
cielo cuando llueve y es
senda senda que me llena el
bolsillo de monedas oxidadas
,ya gastadas de tanto volver de
tan to vol ver

Senda afsi efcura no hallada
y con yerua. Nèza quijzi.

- Juan de Cordoua, 1578

not the vacuum cleaner
- For Bibiana Padilla Maltos

the dream of a vacuum is the
dream of a window full of
birds .was this the dream of
hammers seeing themselves in a
mirror? or was the dream of
hammers a cloud passing
beneath the chair you ate your
eggs in? maybe the dream of a
vacuum is the dream of a st
one falling off the continental sh
elf to total darkness at the
end of the sea ? imagen pintada por la luz
en el seno de un espejo.
- José Antonio Ramos Sucre

Sunday, April 2, 2017


a cyclenstic tongue sn
ores my ear it s pill
ow a neck twists o
ver ove de mis len
guas aire que se
habre cycloseic F
ire rises in the
waters later clou
ded with a nail me
mento sounded's for
king rain

lick the facial hair a
door wet paper s
lumping on the steps
dis solves r uns
down toward
street's hot bed

s t e e p w
i n



I sw ORE
off fLAME
faucet drINK
would only


see the shirt see the sheet

your mouth mirrors white
air recedes into the
dark your foot reversed
up stair the stare
your eyeless thought di
ssolves cloudy forks spell
a table it's your book's
linguini drowned in sauce's
slivered glass yr choff
re flection ,b lundered ph one
,borrowed laundry indescribed