Monday, October 30, 2017

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
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


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

Friday, October 27, 2017

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

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

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


sting and grin
or what


the BLOB
nasal vacuum
tore it off


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

Friday, October 20, 2017

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”


stunned sleep
a fork
keep chewing


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

Tuesday, October 17, 2017


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


off er soon
a bellum
dead salad


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

Friday, October 13, 2017

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 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


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

Monday, October 9, 2017