face off

sot mask pries cloud yr

bandage off ,meats and

mist los más soberbios fri

joles one's age of none yr

r ending nnear in fact a

poultice huh ,gnatty air

polenta falling out my sh

orts .economista del

humo ingrávido ,c hock

it up SQUALID BOOM

trembles on yr g ritty

sills a stone restless

in yr hat )dog cloud(

inmensurable tu lente

infarcto ,inf farctas

las men

tiras reverdaderas

...qué poros dan salida solamente,

y cuáles dan entrada?

- César Vallejo

lo de ella

d rip a do

or ,que

me pus e

mu do mu

ét her

fronterizo

from the border an im

mense mirror rises t

urns its wind was hair

your deflective light a

hand presses yr face

thru whispered blood

your distant bed sunk

in mud and ash a tree

thrashing at dawn an

empty lake drained was

oil from yr eyes were

gargled clouds and b

urning trucks ,senators

grub through Devonian

seas' frozen worms ||at

the gate a wall of ice and

toilet paper

itching ,can't reach the knob

shoot it

cough my face off's s

hadow fit the spray sw

irled through glass f

rost stiffs YR NOS

TRIL SINKS in thready

floor strewn with meat

y p ages eloquensive, f

ortiturned ,clouder w hen

shoe's lake's quaffed down

the grin inside my feet y

se espulgan pesadillas in

sectiles )César Vallejo( )EAT

YR SOCKS( a phone gar

bles in the toilet an ex

truded beak ,you floating

,insulation scatters in the

ththundnder waking in yr ear

.my p lace spl it snores here

and chattering here the teeth

s ink

runn y f lag

son g pol e

whiz zing

inter face

Lay dead earth upon the earth

)P. B. Shelley( your nasal coins

,imbricate ,shuttered in a

wall llaw redefraction srorrim

cracked and shimmer a mouth

spews stately sewage what

ghastly birth spatters your

screens stutter instead of a

face )an uttered storm from

south's low mutter rettum

sloshes in yr shoe ry eohs

combactive seizures climb

the doors( or mask of

shifting place its eye

unpeeled thoughtless

gnats spell your namE or

cloudy frame crashing to

the floor

the winded blood

“wind in the blood” 's hah

“time” infarction stray hairs

waver in's last breath's br

eezey voice “internal dropsy

of the brain” congeals yr

skull )was ants climb a tower(

“dead earth upon the earth” )P.B.

Shelley( I sprayed a deed and

cowered in my dusty mouth it's

wrinkled fog peed and crawled

“all was empty air” )P.B.S.( was

a sandwiched knife will be the

bed of frogs and stones “their

brains knocked out” )P.B.S.(

my blowing silence “le mot

fenêtre un mur le bouche”

)Paul Éluard(

''...ídiot-like he stands...

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

was

borbotear

sting and grin

or what

shudders

the BLOB

nasal vacuum

tore it off

soil

stream of sleeves your

crusty place's stark

natter at a text u r

e gressed beneath the

turf worm forgot his

mind ruined water

tine's grease tr

embled before yr

mouth before the sp

inal ear conceived

in porch light's

swirling ' gnats ' ' ' ' '' ' '' '' ' '

Groggy in Ivan Argüelles'

Joe Reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead

get dressed

craw led inna dirt yr

flag rent jack et xtended

I was burned of course

tonatiuh pan metztli mar

eado en | une tradition du

goût d'autrui )M. Boinvilliers( a

vacuum roars a sore thro at

was yr cloudy pool forms

the page you wiped yr

face on ¿ cómo diré ? l'homme

n'est-il que la poche fourre-tout

d'un inconnu... ? )René Char( a

hose thrashing in my sleeve ; '

, ; ; , , ! . , ' ; : .. ,

“ , ; ; ; ; fencing cross

the face ollin estático ,en los 6

sentidos circulares )Qu'elle

école que celle de la révolution !

- M.B.( f all inside yr shirt yr

tongue and mud submerged

“hangers and meat”

flagger

stunned sleep

a fork

keep chewing

ok

chopper news

and gore to open

better nod

outer head

in the heap your shorts de

tailed ,detained 'n frogged

uh bottled air yr half hat re

played a fork a fork your

damp shed's puzzles and

gnats retained in sleep .I

melt and lept redoubled ,tr

oubled a watered hour ,it

a stumbling was ,a last short

regurgitation in your hair

drip and freeze ,your

wetness

il y a des fleuves que j'ai tourné

et retourné cinq ou six nuits dans

ma tête )M. Boinvilliers( streaked

out my pants a leg égale ,a bank's

shiny weeds el desayuno que ya

echará espuma is yr dental

superstructure ,lunch and fog

)fog ahead behind( a he ad be

hind er gone the window cr

acking shut SPELT A RINGING

PHONE is was the crown yr shoe a

wave ≈ toward uh ba ckw ash≈ “my

arms held you” mud sweeps across

your sidewalk )more than six the

nights not yet ends( a can of beans

glinting on the windowsill ll ll ll ll ll

La rivière que j'ai sous la langue,

L'eau qu'on n'imagine pas...

- Paul Éluard

col

off er soon

a bellum

lapse

dead salad

eats

your shirt I drilled it when

a grub doubled in the sink your

foot a cloud returns was

faucet leak again next Tuesday

loss of buttons and a headache

was a red pill a blue a hollow

pill – your head of state -

sodden clump drowning in the

shallows your leg it was

bent straight down no we

there no pastel towel mono

grammed with toothpaste I

slept inside your pocket

dreamed a runny fork that

dream the dream of starting

dinner over

was squirming in your cheek

the wall

brick hymn ,after schlock

,torture pit brims with filthy

air deep cloud cough your

tripping up yr steps there

ain't no softserve in the

mirror was shelves of books

crashing in their sleep off

walls .wrinkled dust be

neath your shirt and shoes

,c c aky c c oughing up a

screw and nnumbered shoot my

shit cacompaction ease and

slumber sing the ththick

ness hopping in the crawlspace

...ne sachant comment il ne s'y était trouvé...

- Samuel Beckett

camino huevón

nek kid s warm ha

lf lig ht thi ck yr

h and AU BOUT DE

)s pat f lag b urns( was

shoe in tripas boi ls yr

LEG SAGS dust giggling

in the mattress is yr chil

dren rounded up for soup

what's drooling in the wall's

inrespiration gag a fork a

cloud (or eye) ssinks inner

wwind yr boots wit h e

ggs filled

menudo

shape of crack 's it's off i

t's table snored with s and

& bowls of gr ease before a

burning door .oil and fork

yr outer c lock sp its sp arks y

me vestí de una bolsa de ba

sura .escondermehe ,del bufoon

con sus cuchillos rápidos sus

dedos de longaniza podrida

,una máscara de tripas es la

tierra ,sismo es y una clocloaca

ascendente como sol con su

luna al revés ,no veo nada

mas veo lo todo ése

xa ewal uwach ilol re

but hidden is the face of the reader

- Popol Wuj