I Would

for you

A)Take away your lung-black red slink of
years
B)Honey-up or beadle those timeliest
of last marigolds
C)Pen safety within arteries of hard rain
on air
D)Outlink a thought’s night listening bud
slithering flush
E)Slick-wax bottomless days amidst the
blue-eyed and meaningless sea
F)Body-offer to langourous liquid slung
down ’round your new ear
G)Name off the slim chaos halting giant
pink-jug gallons
H)Lay speed the flat sheet cupola-doused
words-travelling sonorous apse

Taping Asides

I’m a throwback-to,
a cutup of,
a dead, asocial,
intermediate stage.

Grated-dead,
on a rock show
shown, in a song,
from a Bertha.

Then, I was a kid,
a twin tower,
not withstanding,
for a lot—

then, I would not
comprehend,
a lot to stand for,
back again.

I think, I sink,
in the Pepsi-cola,
in the gallon.

I choke, I coke
out red tan
Marlboros,
in white carton.

What can I do,
I can guess?

I’ve tried,
my pocket holes;

I did address,
a book,
to date.

I, once kept
monumentals,
in a junk drawer.

I was not tidily
kept, the junk drawer,
or the little junk.

Holdings on.

I found a
match,
all folded.

I liken and sense if zoning.

Everything’s
holding on,
silent now.

Just a minitaure,
just impressions
sleep,

where it
once,
they used to pour.

A black-plaited
love,
today:

a reviving,
initiating,
lust affair.

I swipe white
cookie dust,
near in my eyes,
in white magic mountains.

I haven’t had,
cooking yet,
today.

A model best,
goes to, a
particular typing,
of childish abuse.

Now my poem,
says, self-
loathing.

I word, I will,
not have a vote.

I do not dry harbor,
the infinite, or
the manuscripts,

or the poet.

Matricidal middling?

So Christiania
did defeat
him.

I swirl ointment,
over orifice,
over pre-skin,

observing particle,
of accuse, this time
in your curls.

Ay Johnny

R.
I saw a movie one time,
it starred Gregory Peck

and your fall-by-the sword
love affair with Errol Flynn,

I said “Oh, no! no! I’ve been through
this movie before.”

O.
All I really wanna do,
(sittin’ on a barbed wire fence),

singin’ love’s praises, I sung
the song slowly.

C.
I’m on the pavement (muttering small
talk at the wall), only sighing:

I can walk, around the block,
anytime.

K.
I see my light come shining,
got my back to the sun,

sick and tired of the war,
got a new pony and I’ll lie

in my bed, once again.

A.
My name it is nothing by the name
of Priest; they asked me what my name was,

(his name wasn’t Henry Porter)
I said “Captain Kidd”,

but I feel just like a Jesse James.

D.
I was young when I left home,
I’ll be a long time gone

walkin’ down the line,
that long lonesome road, babe—

I can’t help it if I’m lucky.