Category: Uncategorized

Poem Talk on Wallace Stevens, with Charles Bernstein, Al Filreis, Lawrence Joseph, and meeeeeee.

Mark Wallace thinks again, this time about my Folly.

Stiff at Joytime with Auntie Lil

an unreconstructed cyberpunk’s
preternaturally cryptic

garble

My Dexadrine, I am so wistful like amber in the rumpus

O starling, say it scratchy to me,
Scratch your lowing hands out beneath the bless of love,
Were there lies on desertion?
Through the screen, I look upon the lies,
My uberman, you are so b-rated just like a raging under,
Where all the buds are bound to be humiliated,
One doubt underneath your bootsteps that flustered and fly away,
As your tears had bring the diary into lissome pretension,
I . . I will be your thoughts in goats,
Wherever pains are gone and there are smiling motors.

My Dogstar, Don’t Laugh at Me

My derangement, lumpen beneath our dumbest memories,
One torch beneath the sun in angst,
Our lip inside the brightest soma,
Shy through the beauty of the mawkishness,
I was lie down in the greedy grassland;
Stretch my hair out to seek a paradox,
Your sham – your friable patter– hold me tight in this lava,
My darkling, don’t leave me,
I am only like the worm without a burning conclusion,
A king without its cable,
In the phooey condescension of wryness.

Turkey, Greece, Italy, or France?

Is nourish a noisy quarrel?
Mature size of a foxes?
What are some dialogues that show irony?
Why grooming is important in aviation?
What is the voice of the girl the lovely?
What did Mary Wollstoncraft argue for?
How do you use being?
What is the definition of a boyfriend?
Who wrote an elegy?
What is the phobia of being nervous?
Where do clown tiger came from?
What is smooth interpersonal relations?
Pictures of different relations between living things?
How love become?

You Are Ambiguous Just Like Leeches In The Dusk

Today my head is documentary, the crowd from the house party still makes me want to dance until my body divulged.

Bird of ill omen, one more time,
Whenever the sow still dance,
Wherever virility spreads its muses,
You are the ones among angelfishes,
Can a splash of water ruining a painting of liver?
Baby, you are anhedonic just like lilies in the doctrine,
How I beg the mood to come,
And toughen my deepest hankering,
Kiss my lap, birdie, and feel the existentialism of love,
I was and always belong to you, my liar.

I’m Truly Searing, Dear

I lay my view upon a witty formalist, where only wolves and deserted playthings live,
I ask my solar plexus, ” is this a triangle within liquescence? “
Whenever the mangle shines behind clowns,
And the easterly word dancing over the roans,
I’m truly scarlet, dear,
My life only a piece of pageantry, that need words to describe a laciness,
In this turbid gaiety, I shall wait for your light intercourse,
A light which gives me your hunger,
Above other lures,
Your smell makes a wrestle of life.

Aubrey de Vere, in 1887? (according to Google Books) or 1849? (according to Christopher Ricks), writing on Keats:

Perhaps we have had no other instance of a bodily constitution so poetical. With him all things were more or less sensational; his mental faculties being, as it were, extended throughout the sensitive part of his nature—as the sense of sight, according to the theory of the Mesmerists, is diffused throughout the body on some occasions of unusual excitement. His body seemed to think; and, on the other hand, he sometimes appears hardly to have known whether he possessed aught but body. His whole nature partook of a sensational character in this respect, namely, that every thought and sentiment came upon him with the suddenness, and appealed to him with the reality of a sensation. It is not the lowest only, but also the loftiest part of our being to which this character of unconsciousness and immediateness belongs. Intuitions and aspirations are spiritual sensations; while the physical perceptions and appetites are bodily intuitions.

Big Head, Please Don’t Be Urbane Because Of Me

I know exactly what I did to you, since the beginning of torquing time, everything seems just get into wrong delectation. And now, all I am asking to you is I want to see the front matter, not those psychic energizers anymore.

Whenever reindeers calling me out,
“Can you fear me?” all just an attack to my heart,
Even though it seems only theatre can,
For I can’t reach the beautiful dramatic monologues with you again,
Baby, please don’t be unctuous because of me,
Like white seals expecting sea wine touch its outer line,
The shimmying sky during repugnancy,
And I wish the wind would bring you to the licking,
Where our joy reflects in a smirk,
A melody over vices of meadowlarks.