<$BlogRSDUrl$>

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Untitled 5

In the middle of Atlantic Ocean stomach
Aches a pain of elucidated steel
Schools of enameled fish seen
Crossing boundaries into delicate air
Harmless to fire or the warming
Of earth into earth

We’ve seen the wishing/hoping for light
Netting ideas that float to shore like candles
To memory to paper to it seems...

Friday, February 10, 2006

Centered

We need an immediate term for
Core, don’t we?

The tugboats of days
Have suffered the price of oil

They soldiered over the Potomac
Sledded home in time for mass

The tiniest of principles
Is the wedding of leisure with state

Time to water State Street
And go public with your vision


Taking the Folks for a Ride
By Mike County


Stinking, dreaming out loud
in balloons overhead
overheard.
Handle arcade change like


peep show quarters;
ate for years, but
wouldn’t put lips to food.
Nowadays he reads from


the Collected Charles Whitman,
spray paints his own poems
to a canvas stretched
with old cinema screens.


Holes enough
to drive both parents through.

Thursday, February 09, 2006


A POEM FOR VIPERS
By John Wieners

I sit in Lees. At 11:40 PM with
Jimmy the pusher. He teaches me
Ju Ju. Hot on the table before us
shrimp foo yong, rice and mushroom
chow yuke. Up the street under the wheels
of a strange car is his stash--The ritual.
We make it. And have made it.
For months now together after midnight.
Soon I know the fuzz will
interrupt, will arrest Jimmy and
I shall be placed on probation. The poem
does not lie to us. We lie under
its law, alive in the glamour of this hour
able to enter into the sacred places
of his dark people, who carry secrets
glassed in their eyes and hide words
under the coats of their tongue.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Contact


Nobody...

pardon me...

No such thing.

No amplification of
pronunciation

No verbal to-ing
into seizure

Nothing that can’t be
molded

so

only frozen objects
need apply

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


From the archives (text by Uncle Tim):

Long time fans will of course remember her work with the Boston-based "Sippy Cup".

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Untitled 4


Concerned with
“élan”

Concerned that the
fruit vendors

will no longer
petal this street

Half concerned/amused

at the road to
democracy

Halls burnt in
left hand handshake

Tired by sports
who rise in fall

die in deep winter

Concerned that
writer-ly postcards

will divine nothing
to flatheads

or that deepened
mourning

will put us to bed

Untitled 3

The chorus of
shirts

we burnt by
columns of birch

have ashed the
settled snow

& so limit our breath

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?