Saturday, October 17, 2009

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.

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