good neighbors
i’m gonna build a wall between my
fungus and my weeds
to keep out weeds from fungus and
out fungus from my weeds
and maybe then an exoskull will
exemplify my weeds
growing out between the fungal
separating weeds
then maybe we can maybe grow a baby
cephalopod
to be a better citizen—citizen
cephalopod
in xanadu did kubla khan a stately
cephalopod
decreed by hungry bottomfed
steakfried cephalopod
and drinking corn in drinking form
we wait for a bomb
wait and see if it makes three when
added to a bomb
we wait and wait and wait again and
wait until a bomb
bombs us in our bomb shelter
sheltered from the bomb
but least of ill is last of auld
divided by the spleen
keeping out the enemy poisoning the
spleen
by injection or ingestion or
transplanting of a spleen
(it takes no special training to
tell a liver from the spleen)
so sing to mold and mildew but
celebrate the weeds
drink to ancient rimes and fish but
not a cephalopod
raise your glass to waiting but
never to a bomb
and wait until the ferry drops us
by the sycamore
desdemona’s fate (is all of ours)
as a poor and hopeless soul sat
crying by the sycamore
(and andy warhol lying dying by the
sycamore)
or else it is a rabbit trying to
cut down a sycamore
as we try rowing in our boats made of
sycamore
and choirs of angels sing in praise
of oil and gingerbread
to feed the poor and rich alike
with barrels of gingerbread
and men and women made of money and
of gingerbread
let loose in flights of bullion
bricks baked in gingerbread
meanwhile all the minions of a
monster we’ve unleashed
just like the strays that overrun
the cities they’re unleashed
and manta rays that fly above and
move about unleashed
zap us in our rocking chairs until
we’re all unleashed
from west to east and north to
south and west to south and east
to north and south to east and east
to west and north to east
to south and south to west and west
back north and south to east
it may just take four revolutions
to go from west to east
and so we rest upon our rocks
beside the sycamore
and feast upon crusty loaf and
moldy gingerbread
waiting for the tops and tips and
tongues to be unleashed
folded firmly in our arms as we
remain unfinished
1812
a house slaves built is now
complete but something’s still unfinished
no one knows just what is it that
stands there yet unfinished
silhouette against the dusk of this
structure that’s unfinished
crooked in the moonlit field behind
our house unfinished
and yet the man says he can build a
monument to ruin
he boasts about it night and day as
if his life’s a ruin
and all his pasts and all his nows
are just another ruin
waiting for a future that our
fetishes will ruin
in the distance sirens wail and
draw us to the wood
where totems once erected tall of
yellow painted wood
came crumbling down in one last
chance carving into wood
a monument to elegance when metal
meets with wood
and in the dawning of the age of
one last harpsichord
the song will play to take the boy
who plays the harpsichord
each and every morning break when
his harpsichord
is buried in the ground beside his
mother’s harpsichord
go back into that dark night where
it was left unfinished
beside the temple rent by rock and
fire down to ruin
and fire set to paper homes and
vehicles of wood
while angles shifted back by force are
eaten by the ants
by the river hudson i laid down and jerked off
when i was younger i’d step on ants just to step on ants
when i was younger i’d step on ants just to step on ants
they crunched on concrete crunching
as the sound of crunching ants
broke beneath my boots the crunch
and crackle of the ants
exoskulls crack transcendental
releasing souls of ants
and bees past my face did float as
a punch nearmissing mine
twist my mane making fast to the
loosehand side by mine
i asked eileen if i could coax her with a finger only mine
i asked eileen if i could coax her with a finger only mine
my arm swept wide to engulf her gloom
by way of her to mine
wrapped under where we were when we were moving right
by the time we reached the left
bank cash jolted to the right
to which was when we wore our wounds no matter what was right
and wounds are a serious thing to wear whether left or right
to which was when we wore our wounds no matter what was right
and wounds are a serious thing to wear whether left or right
forward into memory or forward into flame
nostalgia is a dangerous burn when
looked at through a flame
and all our candles calling back by
black and white through flame
a house of white built by black and
once again in flame
an elephant made of steel swallowed
by the ants
dripping oil from its bowels on
workers in the mine
who gave their lives to live their
lives as we by what now’s right
till the soil and corporation
conflicting at the crossroads
11/7 – 11/9
we're almost to the bend of place
where karma meets the crossroads
almost in the turnaround at the back end of a crossroads
where cavalier and currycooked happen in the crossroads
mostly all surrounding oil in the pothole at the crossroads
and if we turn back now and here everything's a given
portable and possible or else it's just a given
and none recall the name they took or the name we've all been given
so we pick a name that means something else and all of it is given
but after all and in the fall all our parts are taken
from moon to glow or grass to grate all the greens are taken
as blue and black and pink and red and also gray are taken
so that leaves peach and cerulean and nothing else was taken
from the time we once knew each other in the factory
laughing at the meat and fat and all that's of the factory
like the horse led to slaughter water chamber at the factory
can't make him drink nor only thankful now there is no factory
gaslight by the fireplace corona by the crossroads
captain of my sole hung face all my hunk is given
and stud by horse or stand by bull the humidity is taken
we get the law that we deserve and it seems we've scraped the bottom
almost in the turnaround at the back end of a crossroads
where cavalier and currycooked happen in the crossroads
mostly all surrounding oil in the pothole at the crossroads
and if we turn back now and here everything's a given
portable and possible or else it's just a given
and none recall the name they took or the name we've all been given
so we pick a name that means something else and all of it is given
but after all and in the fall all our parts are taken
from moon to glow or grass to grate all the greens are taken
as blue and black and pink and red and also gray are taken
so that leaves peach and cerulean and nothing else was taken
from the time we once knew each other in the factory
laughing at the meat and fat and all that's of the factory
like the horse led to slaughter water chamber at the factory
can't make him drink nor only thankful now there is no factory
gaslight by the fireplace corona by the crossroads
captain of my sole hung face all my hunk is given
and stud by horse or stand by bull the humidity is taken
we get the law that we deserve and it seems we've scraped the bottom
by our meat you shall know us, and our fat will grease your gears
at the surface lit by light but diffused
at the bottom
from here we only hear of it and dream it from the bottom
occasionally someone sees the light down at the bottom
but heat that vents up from the core protects us at the bottom
we are the feeders in the dark we work for evolution
toil in trouble double tapping time out evolution
biting flesh or eating leaf or fucking—evolution
statistically against us but that's just evolution
and if it falls it falls for all what does it even matter
kingdoms come and then they fall that's just a fact of matter
another fact we all must face is a plainer matter
evolution or revolution will change the state of matter
so to the surface some will rise while most just go on drowning
splashing is a funner fling but there's still joy in drowning
in lake or pond river stream or bathtub where we're drowning
diving is a deeper thing yet it all leads to drowning
we're all drowning now except those dying at the bottom
there's no escaping plots and plans of wealth or evolution
the playyard or the graveground both sit center in the matter
but tourniquet and trampoline both bleed blood borne of oil
from here we only hear of it and dream it from the bottom
occasionally someone sees the light down at the bottom
but heat that vents up from the core protects us at the bottom
we are the feeders in the dark we work for evolution
toil in trouble double tapping time out evolution
biting flesh or eating leaf or fucking—evolution
statistically against us but that's just evolution
and if it falls it falls for all what does it even matter
kingdoms come and then they fall that's just a fact of matter
another fact we all must face is a plainer matter
evolution or revolution will change the state of matter
so to the surface some will rise while most just go on drowning
splashing is a funner fling but there's still joy in drowning
in lake or pond river stream or bathtub where we're drowning
diving is a deeper thing yet it all leads to drowning
we're all drowning now except those dying at the bottom
there's no escaping plots and plans of wealth or evolution
the playyard or the graveground both sit center in the matter
but tourniquet and trampoline both bleed blood borne of oil
2016
last night i ate linguine with meat
cooked in olive oil
transparent moments of peace and
joy are always olive oil
but peace is priced beyond the
barrel trading blood for oil
and joy is abstract in its glooming
metaphor for oil
and humanity is just a family like
a pattern of a shell
we lost a lot of love this time
through cracking in the shell
and we lost a lot of blood in time
constructed like a shell
there’s nothing left but to mourn
those gone now from our shell
and round and round and round and
round and round it goes eternal
and round it goes eternal and round
and round eternal
there’s nothing left but floods of
tears and blood and oil eternal
infernal is this villain coming but
his come is not eternal
but if you carry pictures of him or
of chairman mao
you ain’t gonna make it with anyone
so it might as well be mao
as now we fall right into this another chairman mao
then let’s not let us bury lettuce in vinegar and oil
let’s not pack too much meat into this fragile shell
let’s instead steer clear of here and hope it’s not eternal
that human devils have groped our gardens and cultivate the weeds
