09 April 2011

untitled, or isacoustic bias

the 11th week, etc.  here're some pomes to peruse:

...the title of this pome is TREIBHIREAS BUNAITEACHD

what this pome needs is more accordion

                & martinis--

( OMG her décolletage is getting strangled by tulips )

        & i am in an airport

bathsheba's at the airport bar drinking scotch

                talking abt child stars w/ drug problems

w/ frightening implications, i'm thinking

                "girls with broken hearts," or

        sunlight & summertime...

but really, conceptual elegance, 


                and unashamed lust--

( merci, mademoiselle )

                "no, i  don't need help"

        the terminals swoon

what this accordion needs is a bird cage in a telephone booth

                        the illustrations, framed

                in helvetica light

                                & frustration

the rough drafts, often allow, careful observations

                        "b/c i saw her first 

        but you will probably 

                fuck her first, prick"

        ( have you ever had sex w/ a squeeze box? )

bathsheba's now discussing 

        one-night stands, deliverance

                how churchy, ennui-ish

        the turbulent materiel 

                        of becoming complaisant

the evening becoming a victim 

                of fluorescent light

        & portraits of promises in the intimacy

                        of tomorrow

even if such hearkening accelerates the aberrant milieu

* * *

ppl. i want to teach me how to dougie

1. bob fosse
2. zelda fitzgerald
3. danny reyes
4. twyla tharp
5. michael stipe

ppl. i want to fuck w/ my dougie

1. rita moreno
2. the nicholas brothers
3. dorothy parker
4. optimus prime
5. karen lustgarten

* * *

overhead projector w/ sutured images flitting by like butterflies

an armchair in a bruise of weeds
botanical sleight
a rainbow slashed into plaster, a fire axe
through a piano
rotary phones on a steel gurney
ruptured typewriter 
w/ broom, the weather & rampant greenery
against a storm 
of clinical reports, valised
on an ironing board
an old victrola, sufficiently inured 
to tragedy
w/ cardboard sleeves, filed
to the floorboards
chandeliers tangled on a banister, fraught
in a forest of f-stops
wrung through
the erasure between the semiotic
& the real
consigned to history, correspondingly
fire extinguishers 
in a padded room, long hallways screened
through & through 
w/ distance, a clock stopped in moira
often it seems

every roll of film is a mortuary table

* * *

thx. for ogling my wonderful body
of work -- until
next week, arrivederci...