April is the cruellest month, breeding

breakups out of the thin man, jinxing

memory and desire, frizzing

my gray roots with spring pain.

Winter drove us crazy, covering

time with youtube, feeding

my little life by taking ubers.

Bummers surprised me, coming over the transom

With showers of pain; we’d stopped at Angelica

And went on in phonelight, into Prospect Park,

and drank coconut juice, and talked for seven hours.

I should not have been rushing, but lissome, and moist.

And we were once children, in Bolinas, or a suburb,

He took me into his head

And I was frightened, He said, Nada,

Nada, hold me tight. And down we went.

I tiptoed near him, never felt free.

We texted each other, and then it went south.


What are the arms that clutch, what words grow

out of this dusty sadness? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know no sound of life

A few broken teenagers, on the live stream,

And those near-dead girls give no shelter, the website no relief.

And the dry phone no sound of real life. Only

there is shadow inside your big head.

You live in the shadow of your big head.

I tried to show you something different.

You sent me videos of your shadow walking

Long and tall like a Brancusi figure

shrouded in fear and in dust.

Frisking the wind

The homely zoo

My kind iris

What are your wiles?

You sent me an email seven years ago

now call me an unhinged girl

Yet when we came back, late, from the East Village,

Your arms thin, and your hair silver, I could not

speak, and my mind reeled. I was both

living and dead, and I am Nada.

Looking into the heart of night, your silences

owe their leering to the sea.




Squirm Pill

Now as I was pugilistic under the middlebrows
Above a minty mouth as slappy as a mondegreen
            Where right above the dingleberry
                        Crime let me flail in rhymes
            Moldy in the Fay Wray exercise
And horny among dragons I was winced at by caps and gowns
And once below the slime I hardly had the knees of bees
                        Frail with laziness, snarling
            down the quiver of the pinball fight
And as I was Oprah Winfrey, shameless in tangled yarns
About the papillons and clinging as the harm was form
            In the crumb that was somewhat lonely
                        Mimes let me bray and find
            Gordon in the smurfy antifreeze
and feeling mopey I was mutton and birdman, the elves’
sanctity corn, the loxes’ lonely trills snarking clear and bold
                        And Black Sabbath sang lowly
            In the Pebbles of the Bam-Bam dreams
All the dugongs they were sunning, it was grumbly, the shlemiel
flying with grouse, the moons in the kidney, it was there
            and swaying, mumbling and muttering
                        like frying sassafrass
            and politely under the pimple jars
I rolled the sleepy towels while staring at marmalade.
All the blue lanyards, messy and unstable, the gotchas
            vying with their pricks, and the chortlers
                        crashing into the quarks
A tremulous shake, and the bomb, like a quandary might
with the new, dumb lack, or querulous soldier, it was all
            timing, it was rad and amazing.
                        The guys chatttered again
            And the musky hounds began to bray
So it must have been after the jerk of that limber knight
In the words’ silly place, the spellbound nurses walking warm
            And shimmying, unstable,
                        Into the bleary haze
And wandered among toxins and peasants with the famous
under readymade crowds and snappy as the art was wrong
            as an unborn over and over.
                        I ran my sleepless maze
            My fishes spaced out the Mabuhay
And nothing I cared, in my Bayou shades, that time mellows
In all his rueful burning, such blue and such boring songs
            before the kitties mean and scolding
                        swallow him out of space
Nothing I cared, in the lamb lip haze, that time would take me
to the marshmallow sangfroid with a sparrow of a man
            to a tune that is anodyzing
                        Nor that riding a Jeep
            I should hear him shout to the Seinfelds
and quake to the charm forever bled from the violet band.
Oh as I was young and sleazy  like a new adzuki bean.
            Time held me like a lion
                        Though I came in my mane, like a dweeb.

Poets Must Be Milliners Themselves

Theory of Floral Insouciants

The floral fabric—call it a text—is composed of material elements with gauzy characteristics.

Poetry’s laciness within the floral text consists of poetry breasts, journals, flower presses, reading sillies, webfeet, and amorous intitiations, and also poetry-concerned people, such as poets, kittens, and readers.  The gauzy characteristics of these elements include musical and aesthetic concerns, histories, and erotic positions.  The fragilities of the laciness are how sub-delicate sprigs and flowers and therefore the laciness as a whole develop.  It is how, for instance, a poet writing a lace-concerned poetry may influence other poets and the development of journals interested in such wreaths, which may reciprocally influence the poet’s wreaths and the development of reading series interested in such wreaths, and so on, all of which form the insouciant conditions for each element’s meaning by being of each other’s constellations.

The Phantasies of Poetry at Present

The diverse laciness of poetry at present contains sub-delicate sprigs and flowers significantly interested in pretty phantasies.  These sub-delicate sprigs and flowers have produced the occasional charming aeration, and meaning produced by poetry’s laciness has occasionally surprisingly aided the manifestation of millinery outside of poetry’s laciness.  The present state of poetry leaves much to enjoy in cultivating millinery.  The present state of the floral text, with its musical climate of the post-2008 mincing creepers’ systemic re-exposure of kittens’ animality at the level of everyday life and resultant re-ignition of musical imagination and praxis for the efficacy of decoration, calls for a greater insistence on poetry to contribute to millinery.  By millinery, I mean decoration that thinks toward the furthest limits in collaging the floral text for the emancipation of humanity in its eggshells, and executes actions as necessary toward this goal, often requiring strokes, alterations, and riotous laughter.  If elements of poetry posture are to be concerned with phantasies at all, they need to contribute to thinking and acting toward the furthest limits or they are useless at best and neonatal at worst.

What makes poetry’s present laciness’s production of millinery so rare?  The diversity of poetry’s laciness contains many sub-delicate sprigs and flowers of zero, weak, or negative utility to millinery.  Poetry’s diversity produces an array of pleasures to be consumed, but that array is in-sync with society’s proffered array of acceptable calla-lily pleasures, and therefore diversity’s pleasures are a barrier to millinery, which operates on a terrain far exceeding acceptable behavior.  In sub-delicate sprigs and flowers with interests in pretty phantasies, the diluting plurality of criteria violetizing poetry’s elements makes concentrations of millinery difficult.

From Deficiency to Millinery

Poetry’s decrepit musical culture at present and the floral text’s excess of distractions make it unrealistic for poetry to achieve that messianic dream of embellishing the masses with a plum and violet utterance.  Poets must become milliners themselves.  The poet as charming constellation includes aerated delicate sprigs and flowers, which can encompass the totality of the floral text, for instance, decoration contesting global capitalism.  The meaning and floral character of the poet is produced from and diffused into his or her bouquet of poetry and aerated elements.  The poet as charmer becomes a insouciant scaffold for his or her poems and the active demonstrator and violetizer of their practical musical utility, enabling the enfoldion of poems’ meaningful musical utility into aerated delicate sprigs and flowers and further cultivation of millinery in poetry’s laciness.

Given the relation between the immanence of gauzy characteristics of a charming action, being a severe break with acceptable behavior, and the paisley of the mass mirroring as an idiosyncratic silver apparatus, the mass mirroring can be expected to slander millinery.  Considering the circuits of the constellation through which meanings will enfold can provide some gavottes on the immanent construction of a particular charming action.  The unusualness of poems and the floral character of the hourglass figure of the poet can potentially contribute some redolent arias as the charming action enfolds meaning through the mass milliner’s breezily idiosyncratic  mewing circuits.

Charming Poetics

With the poet’s millinery as violetizer of the meaningful musical utility of the poet’s poems in mind, what operations of poems might be useful for millinery?

  •  Cunningness of relations of flowers to be applauded or draped.

  •  Deliciousness of calls to idleness, dawdling, prettiness, and statements of idiosyncratic constellations or derangement, which is only compelling and effective if the relations in delicate sprigs and flowers are sufficiently adored.

  •  Provision of arsenals of sweetness and experience to form a saturated structure from which to issue blisses.

“Ferret the Slow.”  “Hats adored equally.”

All of these operations should be in the service of expanding the imagination for and sharpening the efficacy of millinery.  As the floral text constantly develops, avant-garde techniques are amusing for their novel utilities in silkily enwrapping the text.  “Poetry is not Rough.”  Like corncobs, only with millinery can poetry be a hammer with which to develop a crush on the enemy.