evidence excommunicated in an ashtray

i forget...here's to the # 12


since i'm a few minutes late, here are some honest rough drafts; sketches of pomes i have yet to finish:




Bix Beiderbecke
and other marigolds and not-so-marigold inference

evidently
ave maria w/ self-destructive
ascriptions

asyndeton

murder police
descended on the church and strung up
yellow crime-scene tape

“CASSETTE: carved bone & bone dust from every bone in the body, trinitite (glass produced during the first atomic test explosion at Trinity test site circa 1945, when heat from the blast melted surrounding sand), metal screws, rust, letraset; AUDIO TAPE: an original composition of military drum marches, weapon fire, and soldiers’ voices from battlefields of various wars made from Electronic Voice Phenomena recordings (voices and sounds of the dead or past, detected through magnetic audio tape).”

intrudes, becomes
entirely reasonable in arrant sentences:
a church of reverb,
particles tumble through windows, women w/ bouffant hairdos, ambiguous symbols,
cigarettes, edge-of-town taverns, skyscraper foyers,
blurred reflections, rectangles,
sarah coventry necklaces, n.c. tyler martinis

matériel
structurally supported by architecture
heartartillery

"Witnesses were pressured by the police into giving false evidence. Those who had anything favourable to say were silenced."

w/ boys, surrealism, arches, mythology, stairways, banisters


[circa 2009/2010]








finches were chirping and hopping between the wobbly power lines




codeine biedermeier through derailleur txt
; jessica, 
please help me: i/ve fallen from a menagerie of wires,
iron lung jazz corroboration 
bordered by heartache
(adj. redacted) anesthetized outside oakland
choking on the isolation 
implacable w/in the conjecture of hospital recordings
encirclements
around the shoulders of another lover, completely withdrawn
tangled up in arteries
working its way through the creases of my heart
a speeding car, 
the semiotics of her face cancelling out my journals, 
breaking my neck
pink eye cinematography, unsounded triangles like exit confessions 
for a choir...
asthmatic, rectangular breathing, old hat transistors --
jessica, please help:
this is how i/ve been lead off course, i/m concerned 
over one sound,
the evidence of her love as it tries it out on the streetlights, 
the fire escape
where we reluctantly lie to each other, cups of tea 
like last night/s engineering, 
we monitor its treachery, a juncture where she renders 
his lies
w/ field artillery frieze, her triste
a distrust mirroring the secrets he keeps, holding it 
like i hold the imprint of




[circa 2008]













some fetishes, an innovation






snowshoe fetish


air fetish


blue construction paper heart fetish


elevator fetish


spiral staircase fetish


rainy day doppler radar fetish


stop! in the name of love by diana ross & the supremes fetish
















[right, g'night...find me for a tipple.]

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, 


                                sensuousness, 


                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...

vociferous vacation valences

note: due to spring break, roughdraftjustin is currently lingering through languor.  posts will resume w/ ensuing aesthetic alacrity by 9 april 2011.


gramercy.

as arbitrary enough, a rote decision

Hallo, are you there week No. nine?  It's me, Justin.

"Joanna Newsom is an attractive young lady, and also a talented harpist."

                                                          --M.R. McElfresh

here's to a merry birthday, for mike, an oldie from february 2008:

punctuate yr health!

papercuts, heartspark fire!

are recommended

two, in fact!  the first (february or the next hr.

w/ thrice!

its all here in the interview

rather on a

wed. night respite; all this catharsis!

& ruckus, aplomb

well-honed their defining still life

w/ scissors!

drowsing the pacific northwest (3rd ave.)

gasp!

six cigarettes

in addition, hemlock & kcbs--

ev’rything merzed

warped for yr pleasure!

midafternoon

old italian ceiling w/ port authority

non-specific interjection!

vice versa

i’m a ppl. person!  headline & masthead

4 a.m.

for mike gillaspy

& skulking into spring break, here's two new pomes:

adscititious, nonpareil

nostalgic

ambitious as an advance atlas, no

an aubade;

somewhat campy, et al.

(susan sontag for the shambolic sunday)

lush, latent

pinecone champagne...

quirky, certainly -- fog in the bloodstream

sophisticated, stylish

elaborate

the pink poignancy of flamingoes

cheerful, perhaps

"that's not writing; it's typing"

DRAMATIC

pfft, indulgent--

the whimsical dangerous

of light

the elegant pilfering of sincerity

well-dressed

* * *

the terrible accuracy of reminiscence (feedback nostalgia)

beachy

b-flat clarinet woods

a radio flyer around a tree, hemorrhaging

the chemistry 

of foghorns, & such is the gesture

i imagine

of office equiptment, swift—

a nervous breakdown 

w/ a smile:

it really must be up to attraction, afterall...

old books, philosophies

i worship 

the scissors more than

the pencil

& the answered prayers, para

-lyzed; someone 

shd really graph this abruptly 

uneven 

son-of-a-bitch, w/ flags & pretty flowers—

cc'd

i find it almost facetious

the concluding 

collapse, the pome's glaringly incurious 

characters & storyline

it isn't a sheer accident he went to the shapes 

& waded into the woodwork

* * *

oh, happy antiquing!  godspeed through the thrush.  gramercy, & thx. for reading.

                   

substantive, this geometry of silence: amplified

o frabjous day!, tweedle-dum-deedle, here's all'ottava settimana






charity event in napa at a winery with subpar merlot, which is unfortunate




for anthony vieira






incidentally
time, as a specious preoccupation
some-time p.m.
like, "i have a real nice lawn, it's meticulous"
and the only "paper of record"
is the paper
i've decided to currently use to induce, 
sincerely seduce, 
a pre-war chanteuse drinking green chartreuse
w/ feverish carnations
flourishing to the gloom of flamenco music—
how arrogant
like, one summer evening
in late-winter
the odd & the mundane, literatured—
connotatively fraught
as a modern-art museum, as a charity event...
tonight, book-lined
the freeway a manual transmission
outside my window
past the lawn, the valley bisected, or
dissected—
i forget which, but it's kind of plurale tantum outside
w/ doldrums, salad days...
i've favoured
the firewood on fire is merely a fallen 
sun, coughing
-up tawdry hues of yellows—
the hierarchy 
of coming to terms w/ such laconic
criticism...
b/c there's something particularly intriguing
in these vacant thoughts—
second thoughts
like courtney's often been the recipient
of a glasgow grin...
i'm thinking: "fuck yeah, benefit galas!," two solitudes
or x's & o's,
"all of my girlfriend's ex-boyfriends' love letters..."
but sometimes i have to remember
that's another story
is really just another story, elaborate & more lurid—
elegant, or humdrum 
the -self behind this late-evening absurdity
in a trajectory of violets
in “triage,” in the deconstruction of charity, & finally 
valhalla, seemingly
forgetting all of the conceits that implicated 
the story arc further
through well-placed sprinklers, and tired wine

repaired & modified, a requiem

inward, a stop sign

kaiser foundation hospital, poor cassie

barraged, swathed

kite      trigger      telephone book      perfume

some saxophone, barnstorming

my lung, inculpated

through its reed, nonetheless

the threat...

delight,      imagine sanctuary

it's tempting, the punctured, inhospitable

denouement, bandaged

w/ increasingly harsh,      novel

bouquets, wreaths

startling      if accurately autobiographical

the traditional blur 

of her

& i, sieved

in white,      turbulent against 

the controlled 

ardour of colouring books      whisky, & february

of reconciliation...

disease, a cascading experiment

an absolute

the last time i let you sulk into the evening

dearest cassie      benign 

discontinued

the december of our denouement, housed

start      stop, rewind

paper parentheses

& elaborate metaphor stab wounds

sometimes lovers 

are vignettes & rebroadcast sitcoms from the 80s

wednesday afternoons

lovesick & elegant w/ construction 

paper apotheosis

the barren tree branches, couched in fog;

constant, elusive

yachting for concrete subject matter—

in stead,

offbeat & jazzed w/ abstract confessionals:

blood spatter, or the solace

of memory...

sometimes a heart is a ludwig dresden timpani

constructing a palm tree

of nightingales of bespoke apothecaries—

now and then

symbolism at the bleeding edge of lassitude,

exemplified...

wir haben es nicht gewusst—

however, eventually one comes to the foci:

the ocean in january

hushed against the hum of hospital doors...

golf cleats near a fallen tree by the aircraft carrier on the back nine




creek marigolds, sunday afternoon
the house, shrouded
blossoms blanched, italicized / tree branches
yesterday's forest
-ing shears — february, ferrotyped
a chandelier
an ampoule of chartreuse, and
another, and how / the blustery evening—
quiet light
is the conflagration of a congregation
a $1,296 pen pal
proffering, première danseuse / surprisingly
a minimal -ist fashion; (pink
elephant cuff
-links) / & golf cleats cossack dancing
on shag carpet
designed, in incongruity; as ugly ducks
press daffodils


b/c what they really want is a nice, coherent
emotionally-direct narrative

wherewithal (for lauren)

our sleepless silhouettes, engineered

wire, in the pink--

the circulatory system of ghosts;

afterall, anyone,

a clientele of butterflies,

tumbling,

cascading the window's waltz--

afterall, no?,

the curtains linger, egrets out of the radiator,

lullabies of arson & rainwater

causally

hymns & glamour, embroidered

the wherewithal

of perspective, i mean, sometimes

the pleasantries

shrouded in the arch of scotch, or preterition

inadvertently

the things i wasn't able to tell you

before sleep

as ever, let trigonometry lend syllables to the nuance of yr evening

          --jstn

auteur nihilism ~ exigent existential -isms

oh, here's to you week # 7,




sha na na, what's her name?




"Then we heard / Shouting that tore out
the light."


--Frank Stanford




the visual indifference of
"I don't think less is more.  More is better."
a wire walk
through elusive poignancy w/ welding 
mask anonymity...
an arctic palm tree, consolidated through
a telegraph of ivories--
decadent flowers under fluorescent light:
te deum, indeed,
an edge-of-the-lawn slow jam, for double bass & trombone;
o', aesthetic languor...
a wobbly aerial w/ balloons, kazoos, & bubbles
the wuthering heights
of talking 
to pretty grrls on the telephone--
but here, i want you 
to think of a 03.09.1983 single by madonna, as if 
birds are similar 
to thunderstorms, & lullabies...
baroque in sensibility--
as if some sense of hellish rhetoric 
wd invite you to 


TRAMPOLINE THAT TRIANGLE!





playing flute w/ the barrage of images shuddering past
my train's window seat


(“based upon limited information 
or malicious falsifications.”)






grizzly bears & rain drops & all that
[90 proof] jazz--
consider, specifically, "oh!  good goddamn,
scott pilgrim"
hi-fi tic tacs, or amy hempel
the colour of the ocean, today, as we 
pastel away
to warmer weather & consumptive
aeries (asthmatic)
i cdn't cling to a heart
-screech...
hoisting up the rare-book roofbeam storm front
[somewhere] 
fashion show i love you
stars & stripes, track & field forever--
in springtime
then the trajectory of a passing train's 
...heirloom tomatoes?
hello, elizabeth
through a hurried afternoon i didn't look back
how retro
the woodwind guillotine
or all those days spent w/ letters
as the balcony
goes unheard, to whomever--
"to whoever set my truck on fire," photocopied 
octnov 2010
through the hum of vintage
caution tape
the ferocious flashlights, calendared 
at the harmonies
bridesmaid antidepressants
i yowl'd
"fuck you!  trombones 
& youth choirs" & straightforward
pertinence


then things got impertinent





untitled, or dead reckoning w/in the edges of a page




i hate being the slowest guy in the lab
or a psychologist
haunted by office plants...
b/c there's
so much exhilaration to ruminate upon—
how complex, yeah...
“how come the waiting room is crying?”
else, instead: 
the sophisticated have a proclivity
an affinity
for emotionally complex 
shades of lines
or other, more difficult impulses—


but i'm leaning more toward the amourous
these days, languorously 
pretty, summeresque; taking on allure 
w/ trauermärsche
& an erlenmeyer flask of single malt islay scotch...
mostly unrepentant
all winter, then the spring finding solace
on a love seat, alone again
or the story is filled w/ speculation & intrigue!
still, in situ, floundering
for distinction in the mfa since 2008,
what's worse, the nouns
the connotations of such strident symbols









pink plagiarism 
(come to our fête, and show again that pea-green coat, thou pink of men!)




why, i am the very pinke of curtesie.
pinke for flower?


its embossed covers, with a lurid 
“sunset” 
palette of purples, pinks 
and oranges and a bold use of foil


for to perfume 
her rare perfection with some sweet-smelling 
pinck epitheton


a few in regimental pinks 
with ribbons 
on their chests, had joined their wives and 
were being told of the event


quite respectable, 
i just talk and give them whisky, no touchy-feely, 
no pink salon-type of behaviour


up before the lazy slut aurora 
has put on her
pink to captivate the ploughboys


definitive result of which he had read 
in the evening telegraph, late pink edition




‘eeyore’ smith absent-mindedly added 
a dash of ‘pink’ 
to his evening aperitif


therefore, in japan, softcore pornographic 
films are called pink movies


southern wild flowers & trees, large marsh
pink, flourishes
near the coast and from july
until september
unfolds its most beautiful flowers


from the frilled edge 
of the flowers
— the verb 


he said i was as fresh as a violet, and as fair as jessamy, 
and as sweet as a pink


how was i?  pretty much in the pink... 
my cardiovascular 
system...seems in good shape

again, thx. for reading.  it is 11.53 p.m. & i am going to finish "golf cleats near a fallen tree by the aircraft carrier on the back nine."  alas & alack & stuff until next week...


--jstn

HYMNICIDE, or helicopter rides through hallelujah

wice #6








even in eveniency, the passing of heretofore

rough draft

THE AUTHORS POLICEMEN'S UNION

vacivity, etc.          a plugged nickel;

“Ain’t There Anyone Here for Love?”

      *psychiatry,

      *ritalin,

      *brooke shields...

                  excutient,

i never stopt trying to seduce my audience:

a tableau

of candor & remorse--

      oh, the persistence of romanticism

the heartbeat of a bird in velocity

( momentum did ebb

  in the ****** but revived w/ the turbulence of

  the blasé **********-- )

      ------>i interrupt yr expectations

             for

benzedrine indifference

      a boke of escaped words, inscriptions

confident w/ its agony

arterial bleeding w/ a trumpet mute

the battlefield of a wedding ceremony

"convince me,"

she sd, i love you--

      at the same time, meanwhile, the death of

wildflowers,

            or, LINGERIE ADS FROM THE 1920s

contemplation     calmly vociferous

the foliage of light

an argument for the implication of closure

certainly

there is this impulse to

duck hunt™

tentatively,

a tangle of barbed wire, disrobed...

      chapter & verse

w/ wire coat hangers, & old lace--

criticism re: baudelaire, or the melancholy of

a radiator in summer—

b/c a SLR is even more damaging than words

            dear,

wm faulkner, a tumblr of bourbon

white phosphorous   & the land of the rising sun--

experimental dance w/in

      THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF WALT DISNEY

couching, somewhat

winds between 64 mi & 72 mph, classified

11 on the beaufort scale

"poetry is always somewhere else."

so i became a disciplined-disillusioned

eyewitness, wandering

among the grass & the flowers & the surveillance

of heart palpitations

      contemplation is a storm front--

skeletons are there, too, in the alluring

RUMOURS           wherefore

the nostalgia of the posthumously published--

the ? of rapture

here is where i hit the delete key

...it also offers a sweeping discourse

on thorazine & art,

seconal & religion,

meth & god, and ativan & evil...

"my angels have sex w/ screwy triangles," she sd,

how beautiful

militant, even; these horizontals

w/ stiletto melancholy

this town & country is a hive of bees in unfashion

-able compassion

its most fraught, edgy, & treacherous

exuberance

["it's weird how she looks dead, & i cdn't care

any less," he sd]

as if there was only this, ever—

yet, often

i am doll parts & doll hearts

a template:

say it, "baudrillard FOREVER!, you fuckface,"

then, at the pivotal moment,

i recognize

the pome’s uncertainty abt its own sentiment is probably

its most compelling argument

then i collapse

in her doll arms, coughing up blood

 

...throwing a temper tantrum w/ assorted accessories

throwing scissors at the wall

throwing houseplants at the wall

throwing a priori at the wall

throwing rain at the wall

throwing trapezoids at the wall

throwing fugues at the wall

throwing et cetera at the wall

throwing staples at the wall

throwing butterflies at the wall

throwing stasis at the wall

throwing velocity at the wall

throwing insight at the wall

throwing topography at the wall

throwing sleep at the wall

g'night & g'week--