Poetry Archives Bio
July 9, 2007
11:01 PM
three glasses
an experiment in creative intoxication in three movements


To the ¥399 bottle of red wine.
glass the first

starting one minute late starting one minute late i approach the flight path to adobe installer pleading with a leaden voice please mr. postman please repeat the installation remembering the ophelia on davie street who came to photocopy flowers when i was thinking of masturbating to same sex or not clipboard clipart cubbyhole bullshit and cutting off the sausage link with the paper cutting knife nothing has changed in the world of perfect forms nothing seeks to solution of another gulp hold on mister gullible intangible control of key removal from the cigarette burns of the night sky i cannot think fast enough to eschew correct of predestination of voice what ends up where i return to send the meagre letters a b c f for fucking elephant that i teach every day to the sound of nazi marches to little children march march right might might left alone apart reticulating splines in the sincity of my dreams yesterday keanu reaves comes to me in my dream at a symposium on nuclear death of my brother seeps through the pores of my skin and the red wine is not enough to stem all the bullshit in which i wash my hands to make them septic so everything i touch truly dies beautiful and poetic unlike my real hands that fail to kill with their touch do you notice the care with which i type reader do you notice the shiver of the second red blood coursing theough my veins as i am letting go punctuation and repunctuation of the punctillious and i dont care how you spell and integrated grammar of the intangible man madman man man man man man mananbananananana man changing man to the tangle of webs of fingers and derelict magnification of malefecation what do you mean another sup sip settles the nerves and the shout awakening the hard working neighbours proceeds from my throat to my fingers where an innocent calm is remembering the triangles of a snake or the grains of sand through which i walked every morning to you what is left what left is what left is of word order and anger and righteous anger at the arrangement of letters in a word and words in a sentence i sing the body electric i raise my praise in my voice towards what no one can call theirs towards something which only i can call my one own owne i type one and the kyeboard does not listen to me as the keyboard does not listen to my the heartrate elevated the voice the past the verb tenses obfuscated by sound and light and magic of the fingerling of the mandelbrodt set there is time for everything above all things there is time for letting go the memory of flesh and stretch marks on neck and unrequited love and idiocy of the same fingers which bear ink and lack of precision to the tent that something equal to the other something within wishing the ink would dry and dry and that i would be able to eat ink to stay alive for who who whowho why who howooooo who who is my brother open your manus for anus for anus for my stars the red marks markers of another song of macaques of monkeys drying their tired bones in onsens and other delightful dreck dere derelictitudes why don't you talk to me derek what volvo cherry i speak in code and i laugh laugh laugh as you will enever with your since or since science or math understabnd my laughter give me crutches to eat give me immense magical powers for which i will not tease in my genital vapour calamity for which i will not demand any return or demand the next time i drink i will drink not with you friend but but but with the hand of your body and the leaves of your glass the last swallow reminds me of the stork that brings children to those people that believe that the universe is just that the universe receives pleasure and takes no pain from the plants and nimals i believe that the mantra is clean man calming terios garden dander and you will never understand you scientists you will never understand because i eat langue and i eat science i eat sicen science and i eat chemistry i eat the body and the soul and the soul eats me becauseb the soul cannot die the soul sweats under dreary lives in xanadu did kubla khan a stately pleasure dome decree where alph the sacred river ran in caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea eat my cock romantic poets says the ant that i eat with my fingers for animals eat with their fingers; it is time for another glass


glass the second

this time i drink as old father tells us to drink and i moderate my pace and i taste my sweat and i taste the sweat of the earth and the body of the earth and the body of the sky for to find control in wine is to find control in the letter of god and the letter of god betrays the mind and the letter of god is not mine to hold and the letter of emancipation of letters of old says only one thing; enter new paragraph

in the beginning god created the heaven and earth and chaos reigned upon the waters and out of that chaos came an english teacher for english teachers (as we all know close bracket are the progenitors of all that there is and all that there ever will be and the english teacher said to god

and on the first day god created the action hero the first thing that you must do is create an action hero and you shall shave his head bald and you shall give him a pistol with holy ammunition and you shall name this hero bruce willis and it was so and it was evening and it was morning the first day

and on the second day god created the pen god called the poet to his side and asked the poet poet what is your most precious part and the poet said it is my shirt for it protects my sweat from the sweat of the world for it covers me and shelters me from the evils of the world for it lets me feed the weak and defend the strong and god said fool answer me again and the poet said my pen for it drives me within old and decides upon my syntax and parataxis upon my decision to leave one imaginary sermon room and enter the other and the god shouted in anger fool what drives you what gives you life and showers your gift of creation with the beautiful faeces all made in japan by the same zaibatsu and the poety shouted eureka for it is my poenis that i must sacrifice to you my liege and it was so and it was evening and it was morning the second day

and on the third day god spoke to virgil who complained about not being able to get into christian heaven and god spoke to the greek and roman shepherds who complained about not being able to buttfuck each other and god spoke to the maidens that wove fine silk out of the flesh of unborn children's screams and he said you know what ghys you need to go to beautiful british columba and get yourself some weed you fucking assholes and it was so and it was evening and it was morning the third day

and on the fourth day god created red wine and god took the poet and god took all of the holy appendages of the poet the skin holy the head holy the muscles holy the man balls and man root holiest of all and god changed all that is holy about the poet to red wine and god went to the kigdom of nihongia and god put the bottle of red wine priced at three hundred an ninety nine yen on the shelf where the poet would buy this red wine and drink himself and know of himself for it was so and it was evening and it was morning the fourth day

and on the fifth day god created love he interceded between couples who shouting to the heavens would lie to each other beautifully screaming and whispering at the top of the blades of glass i love you i love you i love you as they come together or simuytaenously according to the rules of grammar or unsyntactical they would scream their love to white and transparent fluids they would scream their love to all that changes and to all that changes not the loves and the lovers would cringe and whimper at the fears o their own mortality they would bite the very skin of their being they would slither and slide on each other's backs until no motion motion moving would repeat the other until each motion is holy and whole until each other is nothing more or less than red wine until each lover is disappeared and gone until his lover is dead and fertilising richard the third caligola and the penis the worth of mankind the mighty penis on sale now is no battery in stock and it was so and it was evening and it was morning the fifth day

abd on the sixth day god created disposable cameras and flashlights and condoms and wine bottles and william burroughs and bears and anthony the name and a;;en ginsberg and gay sex and derek choy and friendship and love and hate and email god created email if so much you can believe and god created intermission and; gulp


glass the third

(the poet stained his shirt the poet does not care for he has worn his shirt to dirty it with the blood of christ who as it is well known is bottled at every cock cola plant at some percentage the bottle has no more wine and the poet is as empty as his sends s d f g j k f s d f f f d d d regaining regaining regaining regaling the consciousness of control to to proceed with the proceedings i now give you the sixth samaritan to tell you what abomination on the sixth day created god

watashi wa kumerunitsukii maiku desu watashi wa eego no kyoushi desu watashi no senmon wa eego no bungaku desu hajimemashite kyo wa hare desu dakara maiku wa ureshii desu kino wa ame desu dakara maiku wa samishii desu ashita wa nan demo nai desu dakara maiku wa nan demo nai desu

on the sixth day god created True Love and the world died in a glass of liquid detergent and it was evening and it was morning the sixth day

it is not a wellknown fact that on the seventh day god created the vagina and the vagina swallowed earth as we know is and gave it a new name and the new name of this beautifully despicable entity ws the letter Q and the callsign for this letter as the name tongue

you will never know what i water to do here you will fopp fop fools straight straight from the mother motherfucking engineering quarters in watercolour i will give you my coordinates; find me

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anyway back to business nothing is worth the touch of a lover nothing says i なんとか you like a hard pebus for dooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo you like this i am howling i am making the sounds of an animal the poet needs a break to dream


-INTERMISSION-

the poet takes his last swallow.........................................
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