Thursday, April 26, 2018

the plenty comb

leak sneeze door scum
yr half thought slaw up
lit thigh razor lung your
eye slaboration “la crapule
la cocarde” - Daphné Bitchatch

)cara o tormenta( fleas and
rinse ,lunch coagulation s
pin it off yr steep shoe
Ranger avant de partir,
lier, s'abîmer” - D.B.

reason shorts yr spendless
lung tombeau ou pain de
sand tus uñas melt be
fore the grappled thyntax
useless in wind

nous nous assommerons de
ces ombres acquittés” – D.B.
mais non mais nom de l'eau
mis ondas mis labios mis
rustless seethings in the landfill

slaw o coagulation
lip o
nom o ombre


flat slug
wind mind coughs

time waits

the weight of time is the lint
burning in your pocket the weight
of time is your hand drowning in
ink the weight of time is the
absence of weight when you
climb the stairs is the spherical
air rising from a mountain
the weight of time is your formal
de-explanation of your shapeless
eyes the weight of time
is the weight of nothing holding
you fast to a chair it's the
waiting for the fog to rise it's
the nails rusting in your
doorframe the weight of time the
weight of time is a sandwich
rising through trees
,turning slowly in the light of a
rising sun

what is the weight of time?”
- Ivan Argüelles

Sunday, April 22, 2018


is issue storm shirt
calves yr wallet off
dusty knee pain
your hairy wind

unplan your thumb
street's blank bag plastic
folded lip a mask
book of dirty coins

sweat before the wall
a car burns outside
dog ticks under table
eat your spoon

wind bags
milk and sweat


fleeing stone
lake of laundry

what fell

bbreathe the ffog yr send a
c rust across the ditch the side
walk ends a tree glistens with
ice página congelada de pedidos y
rutas ,de olvidos ininexplicables
,it's the flames fistering on a
stove was shoulder glue mirrors
shattered in a stream your o
pen hand says all upstairs
outside behind garage a
st one a s tone a sto
len ineffulgent concentraction
is what never crawled next
week water rises in the
basement it's your stunning
door your blabber suit is
strings ejecting from yr mouth
fog hand
olvidos del agua

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

guante y balazo

fragr ant t humb em pieza
lo que sabes tu insnorancia
spat tered en yr chcheek
its glittered text inturbation
no me mames so chin gón
tu entrance stung ,embestida
de mhoscas ,hablahdurías
tu lungate rifle fired and
blind .is help to eat your
bullet hand ? your ton
gue's belching labor
glove a guante pu es the
darkness spelled


inner inch floor
red cloud

-El título un dibujo de Aaron Flores

)))tune of the urine? a
mouth outside time
's beastly inch yr fin
ger's smoke ~ ~ ~ ))in
yr shoulder an ear list
ens sucks the migrainless
letters mindless as a hat sp
eaks backword in a shoe
((( )forgetting Ivan Argüelles'
immortality”( ((((( pill chain
yr slab fork des
sication raised toward
dark wet clouds were eyes
thick with waving grass if
,when speaks your sphere of
itch and crawling door ,was
blammo truck ,creeps an
burning tires ,if road were s
inks if chairs were hats if fish w
ere chains if sweat uh wind if sk
in baloney were yr might have
mute have dung apes sh
ouldered in the weeds )were
weeds the B rush to E ))nor
be soggy cheetos on the steps(( (

spork condensation
can't see floor


Friday, April 13, 2018

irrig ate

grow and sting
shiny faucet
it's yr neck's a
muddy hose

left over

antacid of my funneled eye yr
outer short vests my
towel and bbriefcase ,short the
eye sites long a severed inch
yr drunken chair falls off off
,it's ham and ice ,blanket cr
usted with yr lamp was broke
next week ,stomach lined with
lint .if the voted gun thrown
in a gut ter woke if the
am munition jangled in yr
pocket if the ear enters
an eye ,tastes yr fumes
and blooded rug yr lunch
crawls down a throat yr
claw it up if if if was
n or sewer spoke below the floor

El traje que vestí mañana...
- César Vallejo

Monday, April 9, 2018

ranas que me comen los dedos
Gracias a Bibiana Padilla Maltos
Jane Flury, y Geof Huth

laundry foot redejection )el agua de
mi ser hecha cascajo – Mario Santiago
Papasquiaro( azeite de los ojos que
no ven in atl el sueño del coco es un
banco con zapatos siniestros los zap
atos un mall de américa que se llena
de agua tu clown leg drips tu libro o
pens to a bag of garbage peels bott
les oily socks tongue depressors
)“le mond'eau” - G.H.( el mar que
mondas ,mundo sin forma en el
cecentroro del lago stones smoking
on the island where yr washing burns yr
dream of a volcán es tu cara pressed a
gainst a head of lettuce es el sol a
hogándose en el mar tina en donde
se beben mis piernas mis pie
rnas que tantean su meta ultimada

eauvoir” – G.H.
multitud ahogada
meat and faucets


s pan p
lug g age
step reflection
break a hand
le leave


blip b lip
bli p n
ates an cor n

reel nobby
eck glassy
spit it out

dab ,fog ,cry
shoulder wind
slab ,wet ,fly

said dead
glue said
said sed

nno te rajes
boil my nose
luggage ,soup

it wha t t

Friday, April 6, 2018

mirror or lexicon

can part he as cold now
had man we too old one
are hand she not fast small
are fly you but bare hard
fly stop ran time start
man told walk eye taste the
leg did smell this face
walk live which lap ate came
if no us on of work
where from him the at foot
where baby them some for beast
hear which hate eye ran saw but
its soft fly a foot laugh leg

bare fly
cold foot ran

que sea descabezado
the pilot light was still on”
- Ivan Argüelles

a tunnel's twisted lips a tree f
alling from the mouth's
your pocket of stones and
green coins a hole grows d
own yr leg empties into yr
buried shoe hohle hohhle hohhhle
said “climb the border wall
kiss the bomb on top”
glove stones
burn the shoe
)mis libros son labios mis
labios lagos desbordándose
en el regazo donde se
caen mis ojos piedras
redonditas que se me
ven la ceguera ¡ qué
paisaje más bucólico más
letargado ! como el
sueño sin sueño OLVIDO
SIN OLVIDO )el sueño del
poema es un jardín de
senderos bifurcantes es
el helado de fresas y arena
con las nubes grises que se
revolotean lentas sobre la ciudad ( (

En un bosque muy espeso,
Apartado del lugar.
- Romance del Marques de Mantua

Bust of Tlaloc

dim neck yr squalid g
asoline ,if air were oil ,a
crust the road yr leg f
lops on ,or rabbit swim
ming in a ditch ,where laun
dry wavers in fallen
wwind or brreath's g rime
,when clocks re verse ,st
inking in a tree your head
's st ormed ,aimed be
hind a bb urning hat a slo
gan's corn bustion loss ,drip
ping down your shirt
or buttoned skin

ne ck
c lock g rime
e at y our s kin

Tuesday, April 3, 2018