Friday, February 28, 2014

drafts worksheets


Can I hang somewhere[up here] this empty picture frame
Without making it seem a [little] composite[little limit]

[Without making it seem a lame metaphor / For ]
Of some [an actual] random life, a painted emblem
Of human significance[existence]: can I mount/fit/place it[can it be put]

[Of human insignificance, horror // Blank enough to be real: ]

So it may never notice the wall across
From where its sappy doting twin appears/leers
Removed from the space my lacquered eyes
[/Like eyes [removed/recalled/unveiled from the human carcus/abyss/] unveiled aslant of that blindness
Concealed through all my vacant vapid/vulgar years.

/Concealed by all my [vacant vulgar/] sheer transparent tears.

What I have nailed here on these four surrounds
That ground me gone shows perhaps/reveals/repast/aghast the crass bareness/zero blank/horror/reveals the [moments/arrears]
[/Missing from what the [future, the blank [contingencies] provides
[Interstices/Entities with room for more.]

[/That ground me gone shows perhaps the bareness blank
That always attended/appeared on my rounds/to shroud my rounds
On days when arriving fresh from the/On days when they released me from the scolding/enzyme/genome tank]—

The wires that hold my hokums up are [always] frayed
And their rectangly wood [stays] warped by sunlight
Nor could these aspects survive in any shade
[My shadow/vagueness has cast upon them as I gain sight

There in their nondepths that [imposed space/void/] stultifying space
Whose distance [felt/fled itself paranoid/] was condemned to con/limn my face
[Without the desire/horror to ever have to see
Their/Its misplaced similarity to me.]
/ part [segment] //to keep it focused on its misplacing /me always with its similitude encased /
in such non-intent, its bare nothing /in such rare blankness, bare nothing /  I fail to focus on due to my misplaced /  desire to see my face there: ] /to see it hung on the wall encased // in its non-intent, with nothing on]
//So it will never note the wall   /  Opposite, where its twin appears  /  Removed from the space my [?]  /  Holds reserved for it, which I have  /  Kept secret as these vacant years[: ]
[The room's performance echoes from / Pane to page and back again, increasing []
[Perched there higher than any shelf  /  It must portray only itself and not  /  The nothing I have become or else,

/[/Can I make it not see the one thing]



To give this offensive death a gesture beyond
its candle-paint, a mist, dawn where night
enough is calm in the midst of vanishing,
being replaced by necessity, time that impaled
incognito your surf-lingering thoughts: or
shallow as snorkel knighthoods, a steady
decay of flesh as cover for, a shirtsense
existence. You outlast all year-end prospects
which eventually beach all that follows us,
a bundle of abbreviations that suddenly
replace the thankyou-writhed witnesses, intrusive
plumage that still invades my evasions—
peach-red kerchiefs tied to my tusks attest
your presence, the resonance your profile
worth. How could it have happened when
I am the same, how could this death have
the faintest taste of ripeness, the harvest
shuddering through heads of others: avid
they speak with a voice whose sighs slope
us toward homage, unique solo conclusive
impending voice that ensures descent, yet
the imminent nexus of this crush is a fizz
lesson leading us home, home always signals
its horizon to close-up, zoom-profile slashed
by blood, by innocence putative limbs substituting
your testifying prudent myth, whose words
always counter my indifference. Days to
love you, years to regret—the last teardrops
facile, leaky faucet concepts fucked continually,
instant island insert, an island discovered
to be without inhabitants is where nature
gathers its examples of us, more paradigms
a slope flowers towards, each foothold
another face, the rockface impervious to solo—
the privacy of the commonplace valued as
omission, found only as the opaque hornclock
levels its gaze lensward: techniques that sever
every sentence from firsthand endeavors,
each unique niche of it forever featured, no,
concealed by empty perspective bleeding true.


Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Tuesday, February 18, 2014



The throat of the wall holds
(fire of broken faucets) yea-when
tribal chants / gauge haven / oblique
stereosoph / sphere / thread / put a blindfold
on that handkerchief / stones riding a veil
across oceanfloors / while prodigies wrap
their mothers in clothelines (bird-tassels,
ambivalent oblong abdullahs)—
(title: Why I Am Such a Laughingstock)
confessions no one bothers to lipsync
anymore— / highwire execution of baggies
kill them baggies the crowd screams
watertower girders, magicmarker resin (sap)
it seeps from the stem of ash / nozzle
tracks seaweed / over-excited by fright wigs
first in our plus pale list / melting
I became / a tampon with no teeth / 


installed amid the kitchen
I cannot move from off
this coaster or stains from
babylon's measure will sink
the cup but if those distant
peaks would only remove
their turbans at once to show
how serene it is beneath
that predatory whiteness 

but is it ever as calm up there
as the mask I wear the mask
whose eyeholes or mouth
tend to scepter and sulk
like a sopped up elephant
so perhaps the moon's
sieve left those pockmarks on
the sea or else this is merely
more lackwork for amputated
jesters to scoff at don't ask
the mask split to the core
or the mask that inflicts
nothing on the face that
it has not already suffered
the daily ordeals the meals
amid the kitchenware stands
the muse that loves to leer
as I swivel my boffo butt
down in a shoeshine grotto


Wednesday, February 12, 2014