Wednesday, October 7, 2009


is life and love and sex and war
all quick
things that wear down
replaced with food and
horticulture and TV and peace

letters poems and novels read aloud
caress your ears
you are so far away that all these words aloud are
out of reach

i read them thinking of the other ears you possess
that send you out of a late night
to gaze at something lost in the patterns of the sky
that makes things you see and hear, here and there, remind you
of me

only language tells me all is well

you you you you you you you
you language are my faerie princess
quiet aloud

sparse eating
reading books quickly
murmuring poems aloud
shouting them out for the bored walls and stacks of books and paper
to listen intently
watching the keys fly to paper
i strike
in the sequence they call upon me- clip clip clip quicker than i
can count or call which flew from its friendly rest last
the smack or click or clip or clap sound that cant be spelled proves
beyond the movement that i am doing something- that maybe the keys
arent selfcontrolled- typewriter isnt guiding my hands- lacking
the muscles and motor control to drive itself to type and then to
drink even more than me as it has written more and loved more and
carries more weight than my soft footsteps


thank you Roget
thank you Mr. Webster
thank you Whitman greybeardbard
thank you Ginsberg
thank you poet
thank you Muses
thank you Calliope
thank you language
thank you pain

fuck you landlubbers
fuck you wordless
all that do not strive in the
steel stubborn
hard hurtful
pain that is


we are language
latenight spells of masturbation
poetry shouted out to surrounding bored white quiet walls
lamplight novels

all things
beyond the metric system
not empirical evidence
but truth
which is
and pain

pith helmets
"Dr. Ginsberg i presume"
the veldt--
Oh My!

snows of kilimanjaro
cities of the red night
masque of the red death
heart of darkness

stories by hemingway no one will ever read
poems by whitman no one will ever read
unfinished novels of bulgakov
unwritten words

unthoughtof ideas

it's a jungle in here-- my mind
or yours

perfection is language
is pain
is eventual death

wichita vortex sutra's sad argument for language

22 pages of poem that was not a "bad guess"
a prophetic expression of thentimes and nowtimes and futuretimes

"Sorcerer’s Apprentices who lost control
of the simplest broomstick in the world:

somewhere overtherainbow
way up high

sung of kansas escape
dorothy gale
windynamed escapist
who HAD to get back
poor girl who changed her mind
still had language- no place like home
no fumbling falsewizard
but glinda the good witch
and perfect rubyredslippers
kansas return
escape from the escape of OZ

ginsberg flew into that vortex welcoming the escape to the west
and farther still each day

that is the language
is why
is love
is fuck
is the selfguided safari


my favorite character


jeremiad- exhalation of woe and pain and sorrow for a lost love
jerusalem or new york or people or love

language, even of God, is pain
a lesson of pain (beautiful)
a lesson of language (beautiful)

you you you you you you you

i lament you
i cry you
i exhale woe for you
who are not lost to me
nor yet found to me
i must cross the rainbow
enter the vortex
love more pain
live more language


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