Spoken Word

This reading is not going to go well.

Guild rezhboosted: applying lube then forgetting about it and then falling asleep in below freezing and then sodomizing church boys, forgetting our dicks are icicles and then accidentally breaking our dongs off in their asschivs and then going to court with the undeniable evidence of our pornises in their buttoces and then being firethrown by the judge and then having star sumo wrestlers skydive metric-ton asses first into every church and cathedral and then freeing the religious populus ideologically for socialist policies and then nurturing a loving society that embraces peace and kindness and then making art our major export and then uniting humanity in harmony and then using that power to fuel genetics to sentientize each organism and then extending that even to non-living matter and then throwing a party with cake that swishes down our gongs. That’s what we’re about.

The other day I was in the street

Hearkening to a wonderous beak

Hearkening to a trundlesome peep

Flying above to roost in a tree.

I stopped in my place and continued to peak

Marvelous birds in a marvelous stream

Washing the sky and washing my e'e

Migrating south for the sun and iced tea.

Regardless. You were

Sitting in your room

Doing homework or texting friends

You might have even seen the birds

And just walked by to do your duties

Not tilting your head skywards.

And then Gwendolyn Brooks you angel I was gonna write in good essay prose and I was gonna sit patiently and read to the end of the reading and meditate on what was before me but you have done it and you have said the word. My pain my suffering my violence I ask the futon-ridden parents and they get slothy angry fat drunk and stop having sex and thank God for the internet at this point for all the free porn why gee whiz it’ll make it easier to send the kids to college and they do not answer and I walk through crowds and ask why they walk by coldly when birds of every color fly above and blacks still churn for them down below and I do not know but I’m on the cusp. Today the maestra speaks and she will cry and I will cry and I will have my pen in my hand and there will be a poem dotted with tears, because, Gwendolyn Brooks, you said it, you delicious piece of Earth you called this the time of detachment the time of the cold when we gotta do what necessity calls and we forget the speaker of those hard words is Satan and we lose the vaccine from death and the draining of hot blood from the soul and we get the vaccine from the black, the reborn, the new-eyed in the New World and we lose the vaccine smashing it on the floor and letting it blow in the wind Gwendolyn you are my sister and I love you, the mud is coursing through my veins and I am on fire with life I’ve just got to move and shout at someone I almost kicked my hot tea all over the place and there’s a stark bland penis called the stacks I’m in the ballsack of and I want to kick it and its sterility and I want to raid its Arabic Islamic texts in gold leaf and speak بسم الرحمان الراحيم and teach all my friends how to say it, not how to pronounce the letters but how to eat them, live them, and let them fuse with every gory second of your tongue and teeth and throat and the crazy hormones that shoot off with good art. I want to get them to old school black nationalists and brim them with hope and take the Confucius books to look up the critics who sit relaxing and compare him to Aristotle and how Confucius would have spent years training them to stand up, to never cease, to approach the CEO himself when he does not obey tian, the order of heaven, the cry that goes off instinctually in our hearts when we find our funds are going to factory owners’ AK’s keeping their workers at a single meal a day sixteen hours of six days a week and you wonder if it’s just for the hell of it they didn’t get a machine you wonder if they’re conducting medical studies on decay or if Satan really exists and has got them wrapped around his cute little god-damned finger. The maestra is going to cry tonight because her people’s art was sold and they went up and slaughtered Tupac Shakur the unbuyable, whoa is big-ahr so when crosses burned on your lawn no one gave a damn but she sees the power and the hope in the possibilities if we would just fight the academy and come together and we can and we may and long before that point we’ll be crying because art does not pass by your eye and you don’t grade it objectively you grade it with call and response and if you’re not yelling then nothing is happening. There were few abolitionists in the Union’s army and there never really will be any anywhere if we keep just obeying but when our spilled ink goes to the shelves it goes down the drain. The rich drink it as sweetening their tea and piss it with the tea, too, insidious great circle becomes so pointed it’s nothing, pretending to be stuck in beginning and ending but it’s in the loophole; on its way out.

It’s Praetorius when I come through

Blowin bubbles in my wine, what do you do?

Oh, it’s glorious when I come nuzz you

You see I’ve got this big bag

Uh-uh it ain’t full of boulders

It’s full of old hags who ain’t got any shoulders

It’s ripe to feed them meats of cactuses I eat

It’s ripe, dance with those strangers you meet

Ginger crackin’ in my lies, I, taste, my, veins

It’s want who needs you

Cause you know the relay of your brains

Neurons fused up to bombs inside the city of the dead

As catacombs crackle you see the corpses who fled

You fed 12 billion now I’m takin’ it back for the 6.5

Snappin on pentagrams cracking great pyramids

It’s ripe to be alive

About Noses

"You built me from ground zero"

I said on the phone, for information,

And inhaled unscented air.

You poked my nose repeatedly

To show your great affection

Each poke a hammerstroke

On my mind's new addition:

An adolescence spent

Weighing beliefs by extremity

Using words as puppet-strings

For giggles, wonder, and dance.

Smelling like Earth and Woman

You moved with the intentions of wind.

I had to glance down at times as we walked

Nose tipped by your primordial-smelling groin.

Years later, I ruined you,

Always blindly talking for information

As my nostrils imbibed heavily of unscented air.

I ruined you with all of the vows I had made,

Especially about never shutting the hell up.

For deconstructing me, and asking for the parts back,

You found ancient Indian wisdom:

Sever the nose.

No point on the body is as essential to the identity;

Inhaling causes the chakras to blow up and buzz.

We know a million yoga inhalation exercises at birth

That define the course of our living.

So while I was romping about,

Getting enough girls to believe in polygamy

Their plasticy perfume went up my shnozz

I thought would be filled with your human scent

To exhale whatever I'll feel like having as creed,

You simply withdrew your maintenance.

At winter's dawn, skin chaps where my nose meets my face.

A friend says, "It looks like it's trying to escape!"

Bruce Covey's Poetry blog, or "Eftenbad Acts a Damn Fool"

Alicia's Nails

Were the color of her drink.

Did they cost $3 a bottle?

To puree and drink them

Would fuck you up

Further than baking soda in vinegar veins.

You would never be focused on one thing

Everyone think your lusting eyes were on acid

(How they scream

"Put it in me!

Put it in me!")

You know how they can test your hair for your full drug history?

Alicia didn't dye her hair

That whole lock shocked

As she nibbled a pink nail

On accident

"With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, women with pink nails are getting incredible kicks from things he'll never know"

Increase the volume of O2 in your lungs by decreasing the pressure

Now increase the pressure on your oxygenated blood by decreasing the diameter of your blood vessels

Do this progressively to make an infinite circuit throughout your body.

But the energy that causes certain chemicals in the back of your eye to switch weight and pull on neurons

Sing an orchestra through your semi-randomly sequences web of neurons that you are in bliss

To see such a round nose, such a hungry looking face, CLOSE your blood vessels FAST for a moment

Change the pressure on your lungs constantly and suddenly your brain is engorged

(And then the physics class crowds in)

Ready to reprogram, to take on a collision course with her particles without first colliding

For the mind is as faceted as those tiny elements that tie our tides

And the electrons making us up aren't the only things spinning.

A sixth dimensional man weaves the four dimensional fate in which we collide

In a stark and ephemeral pink, burning us for the sake of eternity,

And our souls resonate with reality itself.

If ya getta peench

I'm popping with rocks

I can eat a feench

Freys in the socks

Ticks the tides of mind

And parachute docks

If you try the wine

Just get into the pool

I really think you're pyine

Nose cuts through the frule

Rushing too far forward

Begging at the mountain stool

Thou squishyest pud of the mortal time

Thou veinest worn athlete of my lark

No rolls in the depths, no strolls in the park

I no longer hold this messy mess mine

When will bliss stop, this surfeit of boat-limes?

There must be a way we long steer this ark

Must we mine salt from the bones of a shark?

She were madness alone who birthed our times.

Freedom is on the rise in my pants now.

The cell that enwinged the poet keeps me.

Testosterone flows loosely in these veins.

Tantra's circle is a way fuck Dao

Illusion is kept as long as I see

And what went to the sheets flows to my brains.

A Good Weekend

She sent me out onto the street

Stumbling, enraged by the lack of her face

Despite the copious amount we imbibed

I contemplated placelessness on this planet

A perfect intellectual strain

To express my drunken tiredness

to the empty air.

After that, sitting two dogs

The boy tried to mount the stronger girl

She threw him to the floor.

My brother used to joke

That I would walk up reeling

To a girl with a 1,000-page book in her lap

And tell her the size, the strength of my books

Cats developed barbs on their penises

I wonder about those who didn't

That brief species

Whose women's lib was so embraced

The female running off before the male could cum.

The vague sensation that psychology

Wouldn't be a concern for cavemen.

Cats developed their intelligence

In their native desert, right where humans did.

In Jerusalem we learned love of sevens

In Jerusalem we learned chastity

And developed the work that grows in a vacuum.

I constantly wonder

If Dr. Manhattan

Developed an endocrine system.

They call me wise

Spending all time in my mind

My mustache grays at 22

That night, the woman who spirals

My lines, and throws them to the sky.

She sent me out on the street,

Walking off the warmth and firmness

Of my relentlessly underused penis

Which now hopes for reconciliation

And an entry into my life and mind

We passed by a girl who finished

All of a to-do list

And I didn't even see her at first

I was busy talking about how

The discovery of chakras

Might have sprung forth from

prodigious surgery techniques

In India.

In prose: I want to have wholesome sexual union in my life. I want to be slightly overactive, ideally. But no bro date-rape. I want a spiritual, emotional, intellectual, and physical union.

Date-rape is eating with our molars.

Closeness is meat.

Incisors spilled.

Lord, take this face of vacuum, this hair grown that peace and art may grow among men, mere word trying to be made man, and turn it to a face of flesh. A face fresh-shaven? It doesn't follow. Then turn these Puritanical minds and back into the minds so passionate, so at one with their bodies, that scared us into Puritanism. To be honest, Lord, Christ's resurrection isn't cutting it without a follow-up through Pan's resurrection. The cross is long, it is hard, and it could do the job, but no one wants it to.

"Power hour." -Allison G. Harpohead

CNN

fuckmeintheass

CNN

fuckmeintheass

CNN

fuckmeintheass

We should have like a Coveycentered lungfull

like they're close

But we would probably do group hugs.

Covey will try his hand

To weird intros

I will timewarp him

To the lifetime where he chooses Physics

Quantum Physics! Not rolling and bowling

But being conscious and oh god I gotta rhyme bowling

Covey at the electron microscope:

A supergod, the only man who stood far back enough

to keep electrons acting anomolously when he monitored each.

And then he'd watch them reel around one another

quaking quiet loves for the unknown ones

And they'd say, "Hey, let's make like a Coveycentered lungfullium (Oh God maybe there's a real particle that's cool that the electrons admire positrons? No that's stupid)"

One of them would say, "Electrons aren't characterly enough to be Muslim"

No he wouldn't. The lack of progress in quantum physics is in thinking of electrons of uncharacterly

Do electrons have murder? Disempowerment?

This Metaphor doesn't Even make sense.

OK. New Poem.

Will they ask us to keep our blood in seperate baggage?

Dehydrated cubes fly hundreds of miles an hour through the sky.

When our veins are full,

Feeling less whole.

Reconstituted Nick sees the Psychologist: "I just feel like FUCK YOU and then I don't know it's like I had something before you know?"

"Sir, what the asschiv are you talking about? Are you simply inane?"

"Inane? That's simply uncontextual."

"You're simply retarded. To aid in this, I'm eating you."

"NO DON'T DOIT!"

"NOM!"

Maybe terrorists should spike all of our heroine with explosives.

When the moment is ripe, they'll all set off

Half breaking commerce and faith in humanity

Half breaking the drug cartels, advancing the government's chokehold

Then they'll pull right out of Iraq

So much for the people pressing them.

I shouldn't write this in the airport.

They'll shoot me for writing this.

War was declared on Iran.

I was shot for the curliness of my beard

I was shot for the tanness of my skin

I was shot for the hungriness of my stomach.

Everything I ever wanted.

NOM!

For Islam,

I extracted essence of the rose

Perfume I sold

To Hindu,

Essence of the nose.

Essence, as in scent.

Then all you have to do is press on the tip and whiff

Gorduma,

You beautiful goddess I just made up for a play

Your huge, wonderful nozzler

That shnozz I hope the directors hear

In the minute-long drumbeat

*duuuuuuuuuma*

To be honest, I've been pressing on my nose and whiffing for years

You may have noticed me rolling my upper lip

Trying to be subtle,

But it's probably even weirder than when I use my hand.

So I've got essence of Hindu,

I might even incarnate Krishna

But the only woodwind I know is Spongebobnose

She's only a friend,

But honestly,

Platonically,

I want do blow into her nose and poke it

playing pipes

Vulgarer than fucking?

Of course, a high-way to the neocortex, the nose is,

No conscious, repressive middle man.

Even sex has its hang ups, but this

This is primal joy, unyielding.

My brother used to cover my mouth and blow in my nose to pop my ears

To be honest, every time I call you way too much

And tell you to write me emails every day in the summer

Is a psychological reaction to when he started kicking my ass instead of blowing my mind

Yeah it's over.

But he'd never blow my mind again, he's so adult.

Maybe I'm just hoping that that game can be played again.

Good a reason as any for trying to get intimate with everyone.

Einstein said he never met anyone so dumb he didn't learn from them.

I mean, I could learn from everyone, but I don't. Let's be honest. Who has that much mindfulness?

But I mean it when I say I've never met someone I couldn't nuzzle.

No, I don't have a fetish, that'd turn me on to everyone!

But every nose is so individual, yet so infinitely beautiful.

TV tells you what cheeks to have, what eyes to have, what hair, body, and dress,

And sure, a curvy nose usually comes with a curvy ass, which is enough to send pancaked housewive to the gym for a year straight,

But you can't ever tell someone what kind of nose to come with.

Noses are the foundations of democracy.

The nose is the national body part of India, who invented the first plastic surgery to replace lost ones.

Who invented incense

Who have as many gods as there can be dips, curves, and nuances to noses.

Sodomy in Mumbai

A local man was bristled in his xgog

There were no survivors

While new york basements only fantasies

While new york basements warm regards.

Editors' jokes of regrets are kidding on the square

Then golden gods gave Dr. another shot

And he nourished the electrons as children

Standing back far enough to hear love ringing

Walls sprawling as cobblestone

Blood Bombs

My will spilled in planeseats

Backtubes searing draining me

Lookin' like a vampire who doesn't eat

When rehydrated lookin like a god damn microwaved dinner of yourself.

Heroine bombs

Distilled in the poppyfields of afghanistan

With extra bang the soldiers left

You can't smoke on a plane, but this shit's fine

Plane crack thunderclap

Massive drugring crack

Send those g's back

Hear senate clap

On Getting Shot at the Airport

I was pretty pissed when Obama announced the invasion of Iran in 2010.

It was even worse when they shot me through the face at the airport.

Curls whirling, singed to the conveyor belt

Slight melatonin dashed on my backpack

Empty belly leaking nothing but air

Thank God!

Neezlenoz

Isleeruzz

Indienuzz

Swiffenboff

Gorduma

Firefate

Doomdoom

Nuzz Deep

Soloing sweet tremutones

Fingering pink fleshynose

Gray an green winds so old

Let the life breathe to your core

Old school multidimesionalists

strewn about on riptide seas

it doesn't seem bad until you stand

Sinking down up to your knees

homage never came from your hand

What are these swarms of 4d bees

And how did they get so near and flat

ask them, as time progresses, askence sneeze

Wondergorge pigs caught up, that that

Here present were two small games

Wishing they could formulate the rush

of dots that came to an eyeball in frame

you and your sister made, then roar, hush hush

Charlie Watts Paints of Horses

Breathlessly up to me, she

Abhales "extract"

Extract

Like tunneling through inches of soil

Sure that on your journey you'll hit oil

And not some carnivorous mole colony.

But he says

Excesses

We're together

So indistinguishable

We extinguish

abhales

The assinine fallacy

That forces one

To think

Of ending mines

For light.

The Discovery of Everything

We were going to finish

Knowing all of anatomy

When a geneticist decided to put wings on

Then spontaneous sprouting

From unaltered genes

A universal spinning of electrons

People who don't shower

Skank-ass ho's

Have given you everything you know

A man repeated

Socrates' one good line:

"All I know is that I know nothing"

And the road to absolute knowledge

Was complete once again on Earth

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bell%27s_theorem

I Think My Summer Camp Was Secretly A Program For Scouting Werebirds

Almost conspiritorial

Is the cabin

As we laugh

Post-taps

In raw wood

Secretly allowed

box of comics

Blood and boobs

Mind-bending

Squished bird

That was my moment of truth, lost and gone forever

When I didn't, in a rage change to bird form and storm

Yet still when I walk down the street

Hearkening to a wonderous beak

hearkening to a troundlesome peep

Flying above to roost in a tree

Scents of the mint toothpaste

My mom never gave me

Smelled in the bank, brushing our teeth

Fill's my memories round nose.

And maybe when taught roostage

To joke and tremor pre-dream

To brew in our insecurity lovebeat

In 'nards of a cabin like branches of a tree

We become

Organisms

In a world other than ours

It is so much more

There's a fleshy tract

Stretching back

My wooden desk

I'm a poet, god damn it

poetes , creator

Father

Daughter,

I called you

Spilling your innards

My boss told me I should fuck you

I was disgusted, outraged, at the thought

Of giving you what naturally should happen

Where did that fleshy poem

Handwash orgasms

Liquid woman from the couch depths

Did I tell her that I might have loved soap so much it killed love

Upon Learning of the Eigenharp

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8294355.stm

Things started to get interesting

When that silly old species really started to play

"I am going to wear you out"

Staring at her drooling a lacivious drool

Being particularly silly mortals,

They wondered if they weren't ascending

Who could blame them?

The gauntlet of day and dream

Rending for the sweet freedom

In exhaling

We inhale

Untitled

Will. I am Falconer. I am Nobel, kill peasants who spoil my sport. It really depends. I am dead smells of wild games now crusty sweat matress cabin with old sex that got Alzheimer's.

The new sheen of my windows and bright lights

Offer no contrast to the dark void outside.

Alone time in novels is for suicides and climactic reflections.

Stark eye-open next day, spotlight on empty stage

(Do white men kill because their land is so ugly?)

Energy I could never embody races from a black pontiac

It is SIDSID, best friend, daughter.

I tell her my of my newest gay crush to make her smile and squeam where she stands.

(Am I gay to excite her?)

We poke each others' noses until they chafe red

I lay down, a matress for her.

Let her scent really sink in.

If Robert Anton Wilson were Zeus,

Alan Moore would be Prometheus,

(And Bob would smile, merely no longer fit enough to walk down Olympus with fire)

Tom Robbins would be Bacchus,

And make funky fresh perfume:

Pan's pee, Narcissus, ambrosia.

He'd take offerings in vials:

Menstrual blood, pomegranite, and beet pollen.

Reading

I've been getting some more personal reading done

Not still stale stories, but how-to's.

provoking us to dance and mash noses together.

But with all the YV

It's not sexy

On the end of my nose's long journey it declares,

"There are more angles to me than your tongue can fathom. Dance hard, and sweat heavy. I grow tired of soap. I came here to get as ugly as birth."

The Mindless Innovations of Set: A Survival Guide to Seduction

The Mindless Innovations of Set: A Survival Guide to Seduction

What ensues is the horrific drama of a man who believes in separation. Spare the rot, spoil the child. He sees the way people talk and says “time after weary time.” Oh, Set. You silly god. Why do you go around acting like superthread. You’re embarrassing us.

Making Love to Myself

It's been a wonderful night

Revelrous and reflective

You saw me through it

Thank you

But the purple waves

Of your blood recede

And it's like the room

Empty after a party.

Thank you for melting

Cheese on toast and

Putting chocolate almonds on

You incurable genius

We spend every last

Fuse and spark in our bones

Just getting our body home

And as we lay, the colors

Of my pulsing blood

Flow into you.

Coil

I wonder if to prevent further liquid planebombings they’ll have to drain our blood before we board.

When rehydrated

Lookin’ like a god damn microwaved dinner of yourself.

Misanthrope

Nothing is more disgusting than humans

He surmised at the door there is nothing more

Than to leave these bodies and Earth’s shores.

Such a noble ride into the blue mist,

To get humans on this mighty steed,

It’s simple, tip their suicidal scales

It started my life’s truly epic tale:

“Learn to split the atom for your defense

There is no hole in the sky

Medicine’s a threat to freedom,

and the #1 rule: don’t ask why.

Research is our only savior

Don’t search for answers in your mind”

Cause this damn race

Ain’t worth saving

I can’t wait ‘till

It’s our time.

“There’s a grace in the slash of a saber

Cause to bear arms is true life

And it’s all in the hands of the savior”

I really hope that it’s our time.

But despite the dark wisdom I gave Earth

People finally opened their brilliant minds

And the power that came out stretched their time

There is torment in this fat-chance rebirth

And I’m bursting in the filtered sunlight

When wisdom and kindness kill the blight.

183925873

The different badass writing

Lightning a castle of assailants

Right world, L'Optimisme

Where everyone says fuivre

(Just for the hell of it)

Write pills, against my inhibitions,

Write scarrulous snorfings

The sorcellings between the

transmorphings

of your love's words and

your things

Are beyond grasp.

Grass growth, the hair of

Sprite don't touch, prepare

For her to tear you as a cancer

Spirulina cavorting dancer

Damned 3.7 m underground our love

Tenacious flicker spirit

Laughing against that howling wind so as to

exhale

Free Fried Viper at the County Fair

Oh stingai

Ohh no hemma shai

Oh tringahai

Oh

Ees nangay

Er tricken rifdafai

Ees tombai

Il est tombè

Il est tombè

Ser rocka nochi is tambage

Ish tam roombi noona dai.

Ser rimben acha kates

In dombeesh moch sha dai yay

Moch, Ooch, Nees, Nes dai

Moch, Moch, Oeurf, Oeuf, Hi

Limbach khshein

Erkhfreis Geisen

Goozler Gozzling

Gossling, fly

Weich moch nesser

Weich mein shnessel

Shrai

Om membe hoomba

Gonna shai

Eternity of Oblivion Swelling in Entropic Jazz

Thou squishyest pud of the mortal time

Thou veinest worn athlete of my lark

No rolls in the depths, no strolls in the park

I no longer hold this messy mess mine

When will bliss stop, this surfeit of boat-limes?

There must be a way we long steer this ark

Must we mine salt from the bones of a shark?

She were madness alone who birthed our times.

Freedom is on the rise in my pants now.

The cell that enwinged the poet keeps me.

Testosterone flows loosely in these veins.

Tantra's circle is a way fuck Dao

Illusion is kept as long as I see

And what went to the sheets flows to my brains.

I Hate You

Yes, you.

Don't look away.

Don't laugh.

Don't imagine my feelings are diffused amongst the group.

Don't reflect.

Don't project.

Don't look at me with slanty eyes like I'm confused.

I hate you.

Personally.

The other day I was in the street

Hearkening to a wonderous beak

Hearkening to a trundlesome peep

Flying above to roost in a tree.

I stopped in my place and continued to peak

Marvelous birds in a marvelous stream

Washing the sky and washing my ee

Migrating south for the sun and iced tea.

Regardless. You were

Sitting in your room

Doing homework or texting friends

You might have even seen the birds

And just walked by to do your duties

Not tilting your head skywards.

There is a world

Other than yours

It is so much more

Burrowed Tail

I was pretty pissed when Obama announced the invasion of Iran in 2010.

It was even worse when they shot me through the face at the airport.

Curls whirling, singed to the conveyor belt

Slight melatonin dashed on my backpack

Empty belly leaking nothing but air

Thank God!

Wingéd Serpent, Ascendeth to Heaven. There to Find the Necropolis!

Little girl is on the counsel

So bereft of soul

She stares about the world

Stuffed into a mould

Don’t break out

It’s only a soul.

You’re gonna be

Dead soon anyway.

Don’t run to the lake with me,

Or swim with ducks, or be free

You’re a nominal fee

To pay off eventuality.

I’m going to the magnolia

With a pregnant belly in its trunk

Just worry how you’ll bunk

Just worry how you’ll feed.

It’s nothing at all

Just the disintegration

The rotation of every mirror

OR

There really is no space in my palm

To hold the grips of a bicycle

Not as if I’d stay on very long

I would cut my brain into two.

There’s no more

Space for

Any way to move by will

There’d be gorepour

To sate the thirst of mountainburst

Names for your children

For calm children:

Eckbaud Griss

Tringle Bach

Sin Dale

Groch Kub

For moderate children:

Squeezeneeze Trundle

Hooftgreck Hibein

Grishnauft Erjab

Whoreass Roofie

For angry trollops:

Quisquadet Renglefeeze

Shnedlegreiss Gringlesnout

Timothy Lamerick

Jirckdenfuzz Snuffdeejizz

I was Downing all the Tremmlingbinge

Wishing to submit scores more to me

There's something small but its voice really stings

From outside this body could it be?

I can't reach out to grasp a wave that sings.

The slow slipping out of sliver of hair

Pondering of all the beauty she could speak

Trembling breathlessly guiltfully there

Wondering, willing to open a spleak

I've been pushing, merely flowing, so mere

Blood was gripping, trying people, try life

The end of all this ceaseless, styrogears

Snap and crush into a slant clockwork white

And I feel like an expanding dino

Wondering where the spongy tips dare to go

On my Peculiar Under-Qualification for Writing This

Date-rape is eating with our molars.

Closeness is meat.

Incisors spilled.

Lord, take this face of vacuum, this hair grown that peace and art may grow among men, mere word trying to be made man, and turn it to a face of flesh. A face fresh-shaven? It doesn't follow. Then turn these Puritanical minds and back into the minds so passionate, so at one with their bodies, that scared us into Puritanism. To be honest, Lord, Christ's resurrection isn't cutting it without a follow-up through Pan's resurrection. The cross is long, it is hard, and it could do the job, but no one wants it to.

Invocation of the Fork

I think narrative is the biggest lie ever.

That another mind will ever relive you

Is absolutely absurd in my eyes.

Example: "For about the past 6 years I have seen energy in or on or around people or in a blood sample taken of me. A woman told me I was sensitive to chi. I looked it up for a paper I was doing on Riddley Walker and there was a poem describing it as akin to the steam coming off of boiled rice. I guess you could say that about what I saw, but it was partially not even vision. It had location like vision but there was no color or anything. Just . . . energy. Anyway, it was dancing there around my best friend and my teacher like bonfires."

The problem with it for me is that

Narrative assumes unified realities

And ours, by far, outlie.

Are you with me, reading my breath?

Then I can tell you my best friend's death was

My best friend's death

All pain jizzing out like a posthumous

Conception of the rending of flesh

Emptying my skull in rigorous unbirth

Slapstick pt. 2

Every cell

Like living a new body

Every thought

Like existence fulfilled

Every movement is like ten thousand orgasms

It feels as if I'm crossing impossible caverns

With every look that comes into my eyeballs

Music pours out

as my soul bleeding

to the floor of your car

My bones

Quake as

Electricity pulses into soulblood and

I just wanted enlightenment.

Nuzz Deep

Soloing sweet tremutones

Fingering pink fleshynose

Gray and green winds so old

Let the life breathe to your core

Things started to vibrate all in their subatoms

When that silly old species really started to play

Venom: For your Death Out the Door

I haven't guzzled this much fuzz in years. The lines, the tiny patterns brush my heart. Slant across the room, crooked angle on a gorgeous woman. My body engines heat. The body engines around me hum. Everyone here is existing and present.

Little tissues in my body writhe and sigh by the mead's touch, dribbling angularly at irregular intersection from beauty to reality. I see a man describing emotions and singing none. Thrilling none. I need emotion voice. I ask, "Can we go there"? My requests, desires, drip out for all to see. To all spirit seeing puncture the thin veneer and see spirit spirit squeeze sliding and instinctually reach for their umbrellas.

Fine Poems Under the Tutelage of Bruce Covey!

I Hate You

Yes, you.

Don't look away.

Don't laugh.

Don't diffuse what you imagine my hatred to be amongst the group.

Don't reflect.

Don't project.

Don't look at me with slanty eyes like I'm confused.

I hate you.

Personally.

The other day I was in the street

Hearkening to a wonderous beak

Hearkening to a trundlesome peep

Flying above to roost in a tree.

I stopped in place, continued to peak

Marvelous birds in a marvelous stream

Washing the sky and washing my e'e

Migrating south for sun and iced tea.

Regardless. You were

Sitting in your room

Doing homework or texting friends

You might have even seen them

And just walked by to do your duties

Not tilting your head skywards.

There is a world

Other than yours

It is so much more

Economic Systems

Green fairies flocked into your heart

Said "He's gonna fucking kill you"

No, no, bannana throw,

Cloying, killing, sweet will start.

Snow drifts around you and he

Looks how you think

Flying deep downhill

In a suicidal head-ski

Oh what fun

When you painted my knees

We made love in trees

Twigs in your bun

But if brains could be made out of oil

Mine would be made out of oil

No use keeping me alive

Boil me

Only solace in the deepest of soils

Who could show me the dances of trees

Saying "Don't toil, your brain is made

of Golden God's pee"

And now I feel unnatural.

Slapstick

Boy, I wish you would breathe

Love came from your silent lips

I just want to hear your brain

Boy, I ask you to speak

But you take beauty

By locking your heart

Boy, I'd go down the musheyest rooms

To be made an inch closer to your sounds

You scream and shout like a rockstar

I speak long and aloud like Homer

But the rhythm cracks

Chopstick smacks

Are all you need

To bring me to my knees.

Slapstick pt. 2

Every cell

Like living a new body

Every thought

Like love

Every movement Is like ten thousand orgasms

It feels as if I'm crossing impossible caverns

Every look that comes into my eyeballs

Music pours out:

My soul bleeding

to the floor of your car

My bones

Quake as

Electricity pulses into soulblood and

I just wanted enlightenment.

Giving it straight to you for once

I think narrative is the biggest lie ever.

That another mind will ever relive you

Is absolutely absurd in my eyes.

Example: "For about the past 6 years I have seen energy in or on or around people or in a blood sample taken of me. A woman told me I was sensitive to chi. I looked it up for a paper I was doing on Riddley Walker and there was a poem describing it as akin to the steam coming off of boiled rice. I guess you could say that about what I saw, but it was partially not even vision. It had location like vision but there was no color or anything. Just . . . energy. Anyway, it was dancing there around my best friend and my teacher like bonfires."

The problem with it for me is that

Narrative assumes unified realities

And mine, by far, outlies.

Are you with me, reading my breath?

Then I can tell you my best friend's death was

My best friend's death

All pain jizzing out like a posthumous

Conception of the rending of flesh

Emptying my skull

I am drained.

The Afternoon Ascent of a Darkling Loon

Humans suck

Arguments for hope in the human species

Like a jailbreak

Matter scattered

The timelines

Of its fate

DNA:

How I love thee

I would fuck thee

Breathlessly

Then we grew

Stupid us

And who killed

Lived the last

Then we said

No fuck this

Love and art

Total bliss

Traverse the nerves

Of space and time

And throw to the air

Matter's iron veil

Then know the trees just like a brother

Print everything in your heart on the air

Reality's a canvas and so are you to it

Roost with the birds without a bother

Dark glowing night

Cuddling in tree

Bickering and squee

Faith for flight

Names for your children

For calm children:

Eckbaud Griss

Tringle Bach

Sin Dale

Groch Kin

For moderate children:

Squeezeneeze Trundle

Hooftgreck Hibein

Grishnauft Erjab

Whoreass Roofie

For angry trollops:

Quisquadet Renglefeeze

Snechdengret Gringlesnout

Timothy Lamerick

Jirckdenfuzz Snuffdeejizz

Ten Years

"Nick, where do you see yourself ten years from now?"

Ten penises

Ten vaginas

Ejaculating ceaselessly

Excellence of poetry

No need for applause or snaps

Simply strip and jack

Or jill, if you prefer.

This is my quest,

My hope and my dream,

To write so well,

The people will cream.

Making Love To Myself

It's been a wonderful night

Revelrous and reflective

You saw me through it

Thank you

But the purple waves

Of your blood recede

And it's like the room

Empty after a party.

Thank you for melting

Cheese on toast and

Putting chocolate almonds on

You incurable genius

We spend every last

Fuse and spark in our bones

Just getting our body home

And as we lay, the colors

Of my pulsing blood

Flow into you.