Poetry Archives Bio
March 9, 2012
2:53 PM
four minutes thirty-three seconds of noise

mmm da-da
                    n          n

mmm da-da
                    n          n

mmm da-da
                    i set up the stage

mmm da-da
                    i mimic the sage

mmm da-da
                    i deliver my rage

mmm da-da
                    i take home my wage

mmm da-da
                    i open the page

mmm da-da
                    i open the page

mmm da-da
                    i open the cage
                                               [beat]

when i was three there was a sound that i learned how to make when no other sound could be made the terrible noise of the noose loose of the restraints of rows of boys and the terrible smell of green i set to the extreme the hues i lose on the plane and the air does not line the design i am bored to my core with the laws of the land and the landing path atop the wrath of khan of the sitting stand of the mmm da-da

so i type with hype and style a mile a minute it's time for wine but my mind and rhyme are not in it why do forty four boys multiply dance in the twilight of the nude sky who am i asks the parrot the man with the hat pen in hand without merit don't delay the day to the grass but do kiss my rotfront because that is where words come from hey you in the back what is your favourite orifice through which to convey words

this is my dilemma i wake up in the morning and i go to work (woo hoo make words into lemmas how many worlds' worth will you destroy wordsworth for the sake of the monkey brain anagram that tastes so deliciously on the tongue the problem here is that these letters make so much sense that the only recourse is to make sound because this (this this this word (word word word is (is is is mine (mine mine mine

reverse the reverb to the verb to the transitive interpenetrations between transitional phrase and the electricians of the soul who can say when a word can come if a word is even permitted a climax anymore all that's left is to put down the little whore in fishnets with which it catches its kameraden and in high heels that remind me that the poet is an escaped goat the poet is a wandering jew why does allen get to speak to angels in leather butt chaps and i open the page and the page frankly says לך תזדין יא בן זונה

everything fits together cat bird democracy the perpetual overdetermined detour of signification the long division of thought we used to have typewriters to abuse with our hands mighty oaks and men in shirttails who would give us sap we thought we were clever but now what do we have with the exception of the 0.05 blood alcohol level there was a poem in here somewhere the word fills me but i have no worlds

there are schools for poetry and schools of thought there are books made for eyes and books in the shape of pistols watch the colours run down the walls watch me connect subjects to the foils of predicates name myself the king absolute of hermeneutics doppelgangbanger if you will if i kill you can i have your eye blazej sounds it says finished to me but i can barely tell the bottle from the glass

italiciz the chai knees! invest in tormulent colonic catasphony! whatever i think multiply by three disentangle my think in aleph betical order the soop buy all beards half price from invisible mustache machines what's this letter got to do with false teeth skeletons spiders and the embraces of octopi the president eats his tie oh melpomene daj dupy kurwo pourquoi such variegated thought за что отдашь разноречие

what is the secret of long life certainly not composition my work is done i diagnose and retreat to resolution of thought with a thick black beard i paint the kata and the kana of love with liquids extracted from the myelin sheath say hello to the kids rent cats with steering wheels all on the same side the ephemeral beauty of tzar fa tit and bilabial baba babel she's got a thicket to ride and she don't care

сытые волки бегают по полке thought pursues the asymptotic form of dreams pourquoi ne puis-je enseigner la scansion de mon frère mort eye returns to the invisible worm of thought (почему вы так на меня смотрите? ты хочешь умереть или просто убить всю мысль? [beat] is that right? да ну что ж и это неплохо