fall along

fall along
traintracks
wheels turn
in the grips
of gravity
& motion
& the warm embrace
of friction
over the bridge
as the sun
on my black coat
& brwn hat
& scarf o many colors
made by an old lady
in texas i never met--
each wheel
is heavy & round
& bears us down
the incline
further decline of light
in predictable circles.

fronds, rummies & country ladies

with some coworkers and cohorts talkie21 produced a commercial for peer1.

it's up on the mighty internet and twould benefit the likes of me and further commercials and all those involved if ye stopt by and hadda looksee.

http://www.viddler.com/explore/rsodhi/videos/3/





many thankings and suchlinesses...

good morning morning

good morning morning--

sometimes i wake up
feeling left out in
the waking world.

i liked the idea
of morning
when it ws dark
& cold
& i ws outside
alone & walking.

i felt okay then
on my way
in no ex

now
it's morning
with light & bustle
traffic, pain & people

the glare and gare
of walking for hopeful waking
mumble & fumble
bumble for change

i'll take the warmth of sunlight

& if i have to choose
btw laughter & violence

i'll laugh til it just aint funny.

with wonder at what
is in a day.

in lefthanded diligence,

yr constituent

facile validity; valid facility

i'm lefthanded still
& sick of not doing things

warm day in the sun
over a steady bridge
not to burn
when ye come to it

an example
of forward motion
on valid architecture
& facile engineering

of a descent
below the bricks
to hit

you walk the same
no matter
which hand ye have
to write with.

edgar oliver reading

edgar oliver read his new book of poems: summer.

8pm october 23

rapture cafe & books
200 avenue A btw. 12 & 13

oilcanpress.org

come. buy books.

jersey city, a new chapbook & edgar oliver reads

you'll find me & pressings there saturday at 4pm.

jersey city is fully full of art all wknd long. oh joy to joizie city.

i'll have my new chapbook. 'ursus horribilis'. or 'ernest vs. the demon bear' an illustrated long poem about fighting a giant bear. jeff burns contributed art in addition to the drawings i did. first thing i've made of mine. oilcan press presents #3. yippy. i'll do a run of 25 to start. 5 bucks.

upcoming are a couple dalachinsky chapbooks, me blogging here more, eye socket, an edgar oliver reading @ rapture cafe & books on ave A (btw 12 & 13) october 23 at 8pm. for his new chapbook 'Summer'...

for the sake of the sound

for the sake of the skunk. in the shape of the thunk. for the sake of the thunk. chunk chunk. for the sake of the thunk of chunks of kathunk. bedunk the gunk. for the sake of the thunk for the sake of kachunk kachunk kathunk for the sake of the sound of the striped devil called the ornery skunk for the sake for the sound. for the sake of the skunk. for the thunk of the hunk of plunk. for the strunk of the monk. for the sake of the sound. the thunk, the voluminous thunking thwacking & tapping & tippeta-rapping for the sake of the sound. best listen in on the outward blooming machinery. for the sake of the speed of the sound which we wish to hear a loud sound. louder than evry holler. louder than louder. for the sake of the sound. the motion of filling another line or page & pursuing another ding across the margins of time carriage of time and frenetic movement and all these ideas calling out and over upon each other. these thoughts pursue. it's definite for the sake of the sound. any really will suffice. though there is the aesthetic reckoning. do i enjoy it? because i enjoy some things who are unlistenable but other things much more appreciated i can't abide. but to try is something right? forth & for'ard. this'n was for the sake of the sound. the sound of the thunk. the sunk of the monk. the bunk of the chunk. for the sake of the sound. for the sake of the shake. for the shake of the sound the shake of the sake of the sound. the sound of the lost and the sound to be found in mounds of thick thunk and clinkclunk. the guts in the cut. the sake of the sound. thinkthunk clinkclunk. for the sake of the sound. for the make of the mound. the sound of the mound. the moan of the crown. the moan of the mound the sound of the mound. the quake of the sake. or the sake of the sound. the motion of the count... the account of the words of the weird found in a dark box. for the sake of the sound. the sought of the wrought. for the sake of the squeak. for the real of the squeal. for the screech of the scream for the sake of the mound for the sound of the mound for sounds come from the mound. for the moan of the mound. the scrapes and screams. for the sake of the rake of the sake of the sound for the sake of the ground below the mound. for the sound of the mound. for the sake of the sound of the mound. fro the competition. for the restitution. for the imposition. for the rumination. for the sake of the sound. for the real of the deal. for the sake of the squeal of the real. for the sake of the sound of the thunk of the skunk. for the sake of the sound. for the age of the page and the wage of the mage. for the magic of the tragic. for the fool. for the sake of the sound. for the sound of the mound. for the sake of the sound. for the sake of me. for the sound of the ground growling below. for the sake of the deep growl. for the depth of the sound. sure sound for the sake of the mound. for the sound of the mound the quiver and slurp. for the sake of the sound of her mound. for the sake of the sound. for the mound of sound. moundsounds. for the sake of the sound bellsounds. moundsounds. bellsounds. for the sake of the ground below the sound you hear. for the make of the now sound from what's that sound? for the sake of the question. for the asking's sake. for the sake of the sound of the mound. for the mound. for digits or ribbons o glowing pink orbs. for the sake of the sound of the mound. for the sound of the mound. for the sake of waking pleasures. for the sake of the sound of the mound. for the mound. for the thunk of the chunk. for the hunk of the monk. for the sake of the sound. for the light of the lantern. for the sound of the mound ground into the sake of the sound. for the sake of the sound ground into the mound. for the sake of the found. for the sound of the astounding hurtling mound. for the sake of the confusion. for the confusion of the sound. for the sound. for the sake of the for the sake. for the sake of the sound around the mound. sound surrounds the mound as the mound surrounds. for the sake of the sound for the hound of the ground. for the sake of the sound of the ground mound. for the sake of the sound of the mound of sound. for the sake of the molehill to mount 'pon the mounting. for the sake of the sound of the mound of sound. for the sake of the wake of the make of the sound of the mound for the sake of the sound of the mound.

inroads, byways & gravel driveways

inroads, byways & gravel driveways


mas,

wondering what it is about these paths
makes us think we've got to map & measure
what we're sure changes even evry time we pass

but i'll find something soft enough
to lay my head on
in the driveway, dust is the pillow btwn stones
and above the onrush of celestial unreason
stoneage teevee, meaningful pinpricks
all sorts of bewildering wilderness confusions
lead naked apes down all possible paths
by foot or cycle; propeller or paddle.

pine needle carpet; a cold swampy mess.
a hot hot long parking lot; traintracks that end.
highways that connect to highways
that connecto to highways... divert
divert to the twisting two-lanes & discover
it's hard to be efficient following
the tight contours of the countryside.
topography of riverrun and water fall.
evry dim meander is a road.
evry atlas an encyclopedia
of misdirection.

how can you be right to go
to that strange and distant place?
what'd you ever lose there?

if evry doubtful byway is another
to get there
and the atlas has never held enough detail.

there's that unknown thing with infinite names
that never name it
this desire, that desire.
question. that question demands an answer
& that answer was the question in the first place.

if a highway exit is a sortie
the french for an outing
american for a fighter pilot's mission.

the bourgeosie ride a gilded carriage
to a small hillock (miss muffet's nearby)
for a picnic with a view of battle.
they look out over crumbcake
at something they dont even realize
is happening in front of them.

if a farmer come by and tole em
would they care or listen? if a gypsy
come along and sung the song of battle
could they hear above the din
of slurping curds & whey?

if a highway exit is a mission
a sortie into the unknowable suburbs
of the upper middle nowhere
that looks reamarkably like
the lower leftern somewhere

even though the climactic difference
really only has to do with the weather.

leave the geography alone.
quit askin so many kweshtuns.
somebody with opinions like yrs
best know when to keep his mouth shut.

if a highway exit is a mission
if a sortie is a picnic
if an atlas is an exit
evry exit is an in.

dint find my road
so i took em all.

they skirt round the mountains there
and come back to the circle
while others head off yondah.

well, i guess it wasnt this exit
i knew i shoulda...

if a book is an exit
you know the way in
off a cloverleaf
on luckynumbered highways

let bygones be
& keep yr ear to the rail
nose to the bone
shoulder to the stone.

put yr back into it man
cant just leave it
in the ditch like this
that's noway nowhere.

*
expatiate: (L expatiari) to go out of one's course
wander; 1) originally to roam or wander freely; hence, 2)
to speak or write at length; elaborate or enlarge (on
or upon).
*

what i thumbed across while i lookt for the definition
or inroad. where does an inroad go? in geography? on a map?
an inroad is a sudden invasion or raid
like a sortie, a mission, an inrush
more direct than a byway or gone
an unmappable mission
thru not completely hostile
but completely confused
territory.

we expatiate (as opposed to expatRiate)
push our feet
on thru the heavy pavement;
elaborate our shoes
til they stay on.
there is no need
to enlarge or enlengthen the roads
they are interminable, incorrigible, imperturbable.
they call and crawl to each other
they are the constraints
webbing & netting
themselves about the many tangled limbs of entropy.

and we walk the ley lines of empathy & forgetting.

what'd you ever lose there? as though to say
you better oughta lose somethin
afore you go lookin round for more.
never ask a question
til there's no other way.

you need to lose things
to find things.
seems like something
a simp or philosopher would say.
even if it's a lot more true
than 'what'd you ever lose there?'

i've never known what it was i lost
when i ws never there before
just because i ws never there before
doesnt mean i wasnt.

best know when to keep yr mouth shut.
that's good advice.
hide & watch.

best know when to keep yr mouth shut
timing is evrything
& some things are better left unsaid.

if you know when to shut yr mouth
it should be easy to talk.

taking the lay of the land
you got to have a way

if an atlas is an exit
evry exit is an in

didnt find my road
so i took em all

if a book is an exit
you know the way in

you got to have a way of seeing & saying
evry way out is another way in
when all you remember is what evryone else forgets.

bridging burning breaths,
a

oilcan press

hi.

this is what will stand in for oilcanpress whilst i wait for a new computing machine. my adding machine is working only slightly. odd numbers only.

but, i have a typewriter.

if you would like a chapbook by edgar oliver. drop me an email oilcanpress[@]gmail.com


there are two by now: 'summer' is 5 bucks & 'a portrait of new york by a wanderer there' will set ye back 10 clams.

next will be a book of steve dalachinsky collages. 'christ among the fishes' it'll prolly cost a fortune b.c we're using real christs.

behind the beet

i have an enormous beet
the size of a small head

it feels deeply red
a fine crust of field dirt
barely tints the water
in the washing bowl.

this small head
of a beet? (is roots more like feet?)

an almost recognizable visage
could come to life
if it ws paired
with the burled and gnarled piece
of heavy driftwood
i've always thought looked
like little otik.

it would produce
a dire circumstance
should the beethead find its way
into the aquarium

& this plantly pair
thread itselves together
combine into
a burgeoning new lifeform
in the amniotic fishtank.

that little ecosystem
wouldnt hold out long
in the face of a being
that big.

this teakbeet
would easily escape
& live its myth
devouring all.

pets & people & passersby

the roots of the apocalypse
rest in an enormous beethead
on a precipice.

the daisy says the days the same

evry morning it's the same day. same thing evry morning. same thing evry day. same. same thing evry morning. another day. another not her day. same morning it's evry day comes same thing again. it's the same thing evry mornin. sun comesup. sun comes in and shines a shrine thru vines. same thing evry morning. some sun shines thru me til i'm awake or confused enough to get up for the same evry thing. it's the same thing evry day. oh it's the same day we ate yesterday. to say to slay the same say of yesterday. to say the day same side. evy morning it's the same side of the sun shines on the same side of my sleeping face. the same face always on the same side as when the sun shone the other way. the same sun sears confused flesh. stains the rain. evry morning it's the same rain steamed aside by the same sun sears my sleeping skin. same shame screams the same day game says the same thing evry morning. day plays grey frays of same. name the same game in frames of blame... it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same thing thing evry morning. it's the same. it's vines climb & wind the morningshine. it's the same vine and shine and pickle brine. the same say breaks the day against the hard reign of a granite rain. it's the same rate of rain. it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same same. same frame in the same name's forgetless game of shame. it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same morning evry flame plays the same game. samegame plays the shameframe mainsane. sameframe. it's the same thing evry morning. sameskin glows in sameglim. it's the same thing evry morning it's the same thing in breaking day. it's the sameskin in sunsear's glow. it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same. same. light same day. it's the same thing evry morning. the very same morning the very same sun shined bright like samenight sameframe. the same same sames same same, same. soma seema same-ah. soma seemah same-ah. the same damn thing the same damn place the same damn players. it's gettin fuckin monotonous. same damn dame inna same damn game. same damn thing. evry morning it's the same damn thing. another damn day. shrineshine samegame. it's the same thing evry morning. the samegame blamed on the same light from the same clean sun. it's the same thing evry mawnin. it's teh same to say evry day. it's the same name. it's the same thing evry way to prey on day. same prey plays the way the sane flame of shame in a game of twain. sametrain flames sleeping skin. it's the same damn thing evry morning. it's the same damn thing evry day. it's the same same evry same. same damn thingg evry morning. in the same englamed grime of morning sweat & unfocused light it's still the same damn logarhythmic or utterly illogical loopings of the same units of same. same damn same damn same damn same. sooth the same damn way. same damn thing same damn day same damn players. same. same sayers say the same dame sooth the same damn way. it's the same thing evry morning. i say it's the same damn day the same damn way. securing change in the same damn stray lighyt whether there's light to show the way or just a guess based on what seems consistent: same damn thing. it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same thing evry morning. it's the same damn thing. it's the same thing evry morning.

M train over the williamsburg bridge

there's a birdcage
in a plastic wrapper
that says thank you backwards
in front of an expressionless
little old man
sitting next to an expressionless
little old woman

each stares at a particular
portion of the floor
of the train.

the bird tells a story
that asks
what the hell is going on?

shadows thru superstructure
thru windows
flash bars on the floor.