Never Mind the Beasts

Modernism continues all over the world (Turkish Second New, NY School poetics, Flarf, conceptual poetics, Gnostic Poetics etc.) All is possible

DAMN I MISS THE LONDON COMMUNITY OF POETS:

FIRST KLATCH MEETING IN LONDON

MISSED THIS ONE :-(

THIRD KLATCH MEETING IN LONDON

PAST SIMPLE

KLATCH 2 FROM LONDON

I SWALLOW FLOWERS

tikies tikies
i love you flashy ways
I love your sparkles
and bearded men
your Starbucks cups
and tee key wrists
suck oh suck
your thin cigarette
oh whiff of fashion
oh spray of dying daffydills

HOUSE VERSUS HOME

my teeth have gone grimey
there is a baby chest inside me

i turned in bed to repel
the ghosts

this face slides away

towards the morning
foreign voices drift
around me

the house is more to die
than to live in *

* Ilhan Berk’s poem “Garden”

Grzegorz Wroblewski

“>

A student at Middle East Technical University translated a poem about uprooting. The transition from Poland to Turkey. Here is the Turkish translation:

Yaklaşan Kök Kanal Tedavisini Duymanın Ardından

bilmiyoruz nerede durduğumuzu

ya da kiminle durduğumuzu
ya da neyin bizle durduğunu
ya da kimin bize karşı durabileceğini
ya da neye karşı durabileceğimizi

kedi tüylerini yalar ve
titretir yaprakları telgraflar

bilmiyoruz

kim hata yapar
kim hamle yapar
kim ayna tutar
kim kapıyı çalar

bilmiyoruz nerede durduğumuzu

—
Çiğdem AVCI

ODTÜ Bilgisayar Mühendisliği
(METU Computer Engineering)

http://cigdemavci.blogspot.com

Some of my poetry from Godzenie in the new issue of Toxic Poetry. Check it out:

Toxic Poetry

21st April 2010

everybody fooled me
the evening folded
everybody blushes
and disappears
the birds crawl
on the branches
the branches do not break
what is there to understand
in the silence of this Turkish
desert what is there to
listen to if not Istanbul
I must carve
something new in this
blind cell
are my lips wet
or dry we listen only
to mutiply the mountains
sing of ashes
there can be no
turning back

Antalya

(2 March 2010)

there was a Russian prostitute
there was Gypsy music
there were gin and tonics
there were struts and ruts
& mock turtlenecks
there was a bumbling
there was an opening and closing
there was time
time and a wish
for more time
what might have
lubricated today
does not
lubricate tomorrow
the sea was behind us
the sea continued
the sea continues
i’ve built my house
among the winds

16th APRIL 2010

Bilkent East Campus

on the burnt hills
the light forms a cradle
a pale song is cradled
dusted eyebrows
earlobe and earstrobe
dark pupils gather light
tulip tulip alif alif alif
I think always of her
a green olive full of fire

Restlessness in Turkey

Cleaves2 is now live featuring 63 contributors from:

Berlin, Brighton, Cambridge, Cork & Ireland, Denmark, Estonia, Iceland, Leeds, Lithuania, London, Moscow, North-West England, Paris, Poland, Romania, Scotland, South West England and finally, Switzerland.

Available here:

Cleaves 2

The search for truth is more precious than its possession

I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious

I believe in standardizing automobiles, not human beings

I love to travel, But hate to arrive

blew my mind. some new poetry coming soon from the Istanbul notebook.

Found great bookshop in Istanbul called Pandora.

Picked up:

1) Selected poems of ILHAN BERK

2) Leave the Room to Itself by Graham Foust

3) I, Orhan Veli translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

4) I too want to hunt a deer by Lale Mulder

5) Selected poems of Nazim Hiklmet translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk

6) Eda: An Anthology of Contemporary Turkish Poetry edited by Murat Nemet-Nejat

YIPPIE!!!

some work from my Korean manuscript in the new West Wind Review:

West Wind REview

(26th March 2010)

Bilkent Center REAL

I’m writing to you in this weather
among buckets of bumble bees

it is better to know my people
these leopard skins
are not my people

tumbling out warm
with the cosmic absurdists
a prophet’s ten minutes of satire

when will you cool your heels?

there’s a bird on your shoulder
that whispers goodbye

donkey eyes
plum eyes
olive eyes
violin eyebrows
strawberry hips
apple tongue
hazelnut nose

I’m heading to the roaring Bosphorous
pockets full of mercurial evidence
a metal tray of endless love
Venus rising in the hood of my penis
a wind puffs up for 24 hour shopping
on account of the frame
there is loose hair in my thickets
have fingers and know how to use them
I’m kissing the lipless

my Irish pores are breaking
into the cold green waters
the cold muddy froth
father father I hear
the turnips preparing
in their ground
by the pale muddy
waters waters
we sink like any
old stone

Olympos

(1 March 2010)

on the wet floors
of the rocks
of the rocks
on the wet floors

grayed steps
lighting sheets

stone steps
stone steps
boulders
stone steps

heat and oil

a place of
eternal torches

we were cold
we were cold
it was raining
we were cold

a place of stones
and rocks
and rain

loud slaps from the dark sky
loud slaps over the Mediterranean

and these torches
these torches
among the rocks
these eternal torches
among the rocks

a place of ruins
a place of Roman ruins

decayed columns
fallen columns
crumbling columns

the beginning of the end
of a new relationship
amid thorns
amid forking paths
amid frogs
amid one chilled out
sunbathing turtle

splayed legs
leathery head
shell slightly cracked

softer softer softer
than i had imagined

waded in
waded in

the Mediterranean
the Mediterranean
the Mediterranean

watched others
wade
further

(24th March 2010)

Kizilay

gule gule gule
evet evet evet

I’m glued
I’m glued to your
curly wurly

yr gay
dancing
late night in Kizilay

the _______ is a body
of a lover we have
never loved

there is space
there are cells
there is space

there are patterns
there are many birds

oh my freckled arms
oh my nerve fibres

how spring comes
charming and funny
the Nikes are golden green

Istanbul

check it out:

London Writer’s Forum video

Primitive Pianos

I dream this city
this city this city
of primitive
pianos
icy millions tell me so
tell me tell me oh
pulled tooth
pulled tooth
that left a hole a hole
my my my
uncooked trial
a jig with Roman wrestlers
a jig with Irish diplomats
my Irish pores are breaking
into the cold green waters
the cold muddy froth
father father I hear
the turnips preparing
in their ground
by the pale muddy
waters waters
we sink like any
old stone

17 March 2010

Monday I drifted away
Tuesday I hung from a tree
my tooth was pulled
there is a hole
I dreamt that I was real

19 March 2010

hot hot hot underlings
i love you flashy ways
I love your punting cycles
and riddles in the wings
and the whiffs of yonder phallus
I’m yanking out your daffy dills
imagine this: imagine this
I’ve opened up my lids
and this is what I see
pawns and pawns and pawns
yawning in their faculties

This Thursday (3/18), the Duke Poetry Working Group will reconvene to discuss the work of J. H. Prynne, a poet whose influences and influence position him at the crux of poetry’s avant-garde milieu. Please join us as we set out to register the immensity of his utterance.

You can access the readings we will be discussing here: http://english.duke.edu/research/poetry-working-group

Duke Poetry Working Group: J. H. Prynne

Thurs. 3/18 5:45

Continuing our discussion of textualized sound, our second meeting this semester will focus on the sonic and phonic concerns of renowned British poet and critic J.H. Prynne. Conversant with Romantic, late Modernist and Chinese poetic traditions, Prynne occupies a singular space in contemporary literature. Helping us find our way into that space will be Erik Ulman’s recent essay “Composing with Prynne” in which Ulman, a classically trained musician, interprets the poet’s work through the practice of musical translation. After listening to Ulman’s arrangements of Prynne’s “L’Extase de M. Poher” and “Thoughts on the Esterházy Court Uniform,” we will turn our attention to Prynne’s own essay, “Mental Ears and Poetic Work,” which elaborates on the function of sound and signification in poetic comprehension. Please join us for what we hope will be a rousing conversation.

Readings:

Select poems of J.H. Prynne

Erik Ulman’s “Composing with Prynne” essay from Search: Journal for New Music and Culture.

J.H. Prynne’s “Mental Ears and Poetic Work” essay from Chicago Review.

Supplemental Reading:

J.H. Prynne’s “Stars, Tigers and the Shape of Words” essay (an especially hard to find work)

Please RSVP if you plan to attend, so we don’t under or over shoot on the food. Folks from all fields and disciplines are welcome.

How are you? i hope all is well with you, i hope you may not know me, and i don’t know who you are, My Name is Miss T, i am just broswing now i just saw your profile it seams like some thing touches me all over my body, i started having some feelings in me which i have never experience in me before, so i became interested in you, l will also like to know you the more,and l want you to send an email

Mark Linkous suicide

If Margaret Thatcher wins on Thursday–

– I warn you not to be ordinary

– I warn you not to be young

– I warn you not to fall ill

– I warn you not to get old.

coming up
only to show your own

my boat has resurfaced

I am not a careerist
I am not your bunion

the radiant dark is my new
rehearsal

oh

honey turns to stone

don’t flee
from being
whacked upside
the head

i’ve set out tonight
to some new place

some terrific poems in the new Blackbox Manifold. Including poems from Jim Goar’s new ms The Dustbowl:

Blackbox Manifold

1 March 2010

we reached the campsites at Olympos with modern hippies in this place of treehouses and roosters and backpackers MGMT playing on a mobile phone it rained and rained and lightning sheeted over the Med over the Roman ruins on the other side of the river we walked toward the rocks of eternal fire crossed the flowing stream crossing through villages and headscarfed houses in bare feet my feet dangling down away from my own private exodus my own private Egypt on the wet floors of the rocks of the rocks the rocks were grayed out steps with occasional lighting sheets and monsoon like rains as we climbed the stone steps the stones and boulders arranged around the fire heat and oil a place of eternal torches a place of stones and rocks and rain

we were cold
we were cold
it was raining and there were sheets and sheets
of lightning over the Mediterranean
loud slaps from the dark sky
and these torches these torches
among the rocks
these eternal torches among the rocks

we reached the place of ruins
the place of Roman ruins
decayed columns
fallen columns
sinking Roman baths

what conversations did they have among these rocks?
What inner chatter told me of my own forking path
the beginning of the end of a new relationship
amid thorns and forking paths amid frogs amid one chilled out
sunbathing turtle splayed legs leathery head shell slightly cracked
softer softer softer than i had imagined

and the following day after we walked back to the Mediterranean
the Mediterranean
waded in watched others wade further
lost money ate Turkish delight
and we took the bus back up
the winding road up and around and
up and around
and then a nice fresh OJ
and another bus into Antalya

into the clean city full of life
full of life and the sea and the sea
continued its rhythm behind
us as we gunned around looking
for our kamel coach for a midnight
ride back to Ankara and found a
bar with closed curtains and mafia types
and one washed up
Russian prostitute and suited men
watching the room
loud Turkish music almost a tavern without
the friendly
shadows struts and suits and mock turtlenecks

so we bumbled out
a tad more serious in our conversations
and plans
with our strong gin and tonics
wagging our tongues
into the night
shaking our heads at cafes and restaurant owners
saying “Guten Abend
mein friend” and “come come
come for another”

Excellence vs. Perfection

_____________________________

Perfection is being right.

Excellence is being willing to be wrong.

_____________________________

Perfection is fear.

Excellence is taking a risk

_____________________________

Perfection is anger and frustration.

Excellence is powerful

_____________________________

Perfection is control

Excellence is spontaneous

_____________________________

Perfection is judgement

Excellence is accepting

_____________________________

Perfection is taking

Excellence is giving

_____________________________

Perfection is doubt

Excellence is confidence

_____________________________

Perfection is pressure

Excellence is natural

_____________________________

Perfection is the destination

Excellence is the journey

_____________________________

-author unknown

25th Feb 2010

in my family bones
are many mansions
a reek of vows
my mind is a
would be keeper
set adrift
in a wonky boat
I see this Edenic
dark this
close chill
on the horizon
in fact in facto
i’m gorged out
on white cheese and constantly
looking for the molten god
of freedom
femdom referendum
do you have
your Duende pack?
I have a positive
thinking rash

Made a new friend from Egypt in Ankara last night. Some good photography and blogging on the political situation(s) in Ankara. Check it:

Photography

Boraie’s Blog

my turkish towel
smells like
popcorn

I have a positive
thinking rash

in my family
bones
there are
many mansions

(these are today’s
fragments)

23rd Feb 2010

a trade route
of broken icons

clipped sunlight
with swollen

lymph nodes

did you have a good time?

the blood
the weight
the rubbled

what did I carry?
Who carries?
Who cares?

needles
on the spin

she said I’m no
thermometer I’m no
snag in the ventilator

she said these orbits
need a new orbit

she said you’ll hear
the buzz of cicadas

she said we quiver
on the river with reversible
eyes

13 Feb 2010

I doff
I doff
everyday I
haven’t had
enough
of you
see what you
wanna see
nine times
outta ten
i wanna
a better
place
to fall

9 Feb 2010

lovin what might

kick the buckets

slaves for these spaceships

cream on your money
i came to shake the frames

8 Feb 2010

my head is a melon
it’s alright
invisible rivers
hidden mosquitoes
lightning source
take me away
what a glorious day

11 Feb 2010

lightning lightning
the heavy word is frightening

I am talking to you

dirty sweet you’re my girl
dirty sweet you’re my girl
dirty sweet you’re my girl

get it on

12 Feb 2010

Let it ramble
let it ramble
free wine
at the painted
boats cartoon
beat with custume
clothes borgeoius
blues would make
that sound ahhh uhhhhh
choose your mirror
you got what you asked for
there is a crack in the table
drunken Starbucks at Bilkent Centre
you can be honest
our western stain won’t wash away
ambient bubbles
ambient bubbles
I certified
past hells and heavens
this is the Milky Way
the loon door
is painted gold
this is the only life
I know how to live

My grandfather died this morning.

When I was young boy his job was picking up milk from the farms around Northern Ireland. he took me with him.

I decided I was going to be a farmer.

I started collecting Farmers Weekly.

He used to bring me out to his garden where he kept all his budgies.

We would go outside and talk to the budgies.

He had the most perfectly clipped hedges.

When he hugged me his face was rough with stubble.

Sometimes he smelled of earth. of soil. of damp soil.

He loved country and western music.

He had wee horses above the fireplace.

I grew up on his wheat bread.

cultural relativism does not apply:

girl buried alive in Turkey

7 Feb 2010

I’m not a rugged individualist
I’m not a tarnished love mat
I’m not a tender refugee
I’m not a celibate cuddler
I’m not a Utopian experiment
I’m not a monarch with a whiff of pacificism
I walk these lands these lands I read
to my love who does not
exist I read to simplify my fallacies
I came to kiss and be kissed
I came to do what water does
and does again
this is bodily matter
these are the trivial
conditions of an empty
kingdom the barbed wire
of another Medussa
the heart strobe of another
America the rafters of another
Prod with folksy hammers
and ploughs my ghost chains
in the wacky woods such capital
my brothers is not federal
property I’m sick with child
I’ve got many others
I’ve never lived
a radical life
I’m pressed into
tenderness

6 Feb 2010

i’m lookin for a new California
California state of mind
mind my gaps my rogue
my rogue is not a pretty face
not a pretty face in California
California is not a place
not a place like Turkey
Turkey is a wail
a wail on the streets
streets full of strangers
strangers full of smiles
smiles and miles to go
to go to to go to go to go
to go to go to go to go

new issue of Streetcake. Some good stuff. Goldfish and staring into empty windows and so on . . .

check it:

Streetcake

3rd Feb 2010

someone
spoke to me
in the malignancy
of an old repose
in the oh god
another pudding
of the mind
another bomb
in the new uni-
versity of this
gloablized
world

i turned in bed
to repel the bored
ghosts the licked
intonations
no cold wish
this is the reality
of the smoke
from a blown out
candle the question
far out without the key
with the shadow
of an absolute moon
a simple sign I can think
of people a host
of a body in the dream
story of a man in the stow
away every country applied
to the seas

references
do not exist

Next Friday, 21:15 on Radio 3
Turkish Literature – Orhan Pamuk
Ian McMillan presents a special edition focusing on Turkish literature. With Orhan Pamuk.

The Verb

The new issue of Drunken Boat, the wonderful journal of art and poetics, just went online, and features three of Brian Howe’s sound pieces, which in turn feature the voices of three Lucipo members: Ken Rumble, Tim Van Dyke, and Marcus Slease:

Drunken Boat

27th Jan 2010

this
is a manner
of slipping
oysters into
my pockets
this whole wide world
my fellas
will not leave me
alone significance
is cheap
butter on someone else’s
toast buttocks
my goddess
I’ve been
stabbed by the Baltic fleet
and live with the Ottoman
trading company

30th Jan 2010

Lojmanlar H/7
this is recreation
feet naked
cutter cutter
in the thrash
bag this bed brings
back Katowice
the gas of the
ghost that steps
on my heels
soul jelly skipping
over the candle
heat the rain
is forced to settle
on the arc
of my eyelids
my detour
is not
a teddy bear
the sky is adding
sugar to my corny
strokes of big eared
musics
trip and
fall trup trup
in the laboring
trup trup
kids the makings
of raw
babies
and beginner’s
clunks
among
the scantily
clad foreskins
this house is a guest
the first straws
that slurped my Big
Gulp I’ve arranged
your neckties

short quick video from taxi on the way to hospital for three set of rabies shots :-)

some of my poems from Spanish Fork and Ankara in the new OCHO.

OCHO #29 is now available online:

OCHO 29

Also in print directly from CreateSpace:

OCHO 29 print edition

Ocho #29
By John Korn, David Krump, William Keckler, Wille Perdomo, Ron Androla, Michelle McEwen, Marie-Elizabeth Mali, William Stobb, Melissa McEwen, Grace Cavalieri, Sam Rasnake, Steve Halle, Matthew Hittinger, Marcus Slease, NIcole Mauro, Didi Menendez

OCHO is MIPOesias Magazine’s print companion.

Publication Date:
Jan 22 2010
ISBN/EAN13:
1450547273 / 9781450547277
Page Count:
88
Binding Type:
US Trade Paper
Trim Size:
6″ x 9″
Language:
English
Color:
Black and White
Related Categories:
Poetry / American / General

Soon from Amazon, Barnes and Noble and your favorite Independent Bookstore.

Thank you,
Didi Menendez

A JOURNAL OF POEMFILMS

RABBIT LIGHT MOVIES

Mighty fine poetry:

Jeff Hilson’s The Assarts

One of very very very favourite lit journals of all time!!! New issue is out:

Onedit

18 Jan 2010

i’ve got bone
dog skin

Jim Andrew’s Digital poetics

Elephant & Obelisk 5

i was attacked by a wild pack of dogs today . . . on campus . . . 10 of them . . . visited a few hospitals to find rabies shot . . . only one public hospital had it . . first set today . . . jeans all ripped up . . . . guess they came from nearby forest . . must have been really hungry . . . i am a lucky fella . . . they are being hunted tonight . . . ahhhh . . . . new experiences . . .

18 Jan 2010

a wild pack
of family

dogs
came

running
through the trees
at me

a pack, a pack
a hun-
gry

pack
doth froth

and howl
tonight

i’ve taken
off

i’ve taken
off

my
trousers

oh!

17 Jan 2010

I’ve been
clowned
by the
transcendental
trickster
my hand is
reaching
forward
to touch
his feathered
wing i close
my bedside
table
my
miniature
satellite
my nomadic
blanket
the happiness
game is a fore-
play fondling
a chirping frog
snapped in
the mythic
lips aflame
in revolving
credit a mutual
mood ring
chump
chump
stooped
in too much
tenderness
this is not
a free trade
zone

15 Jan 2010

in the valley of the fairy chimneys
in Goreme I have yet to see
I’m tunneling out of the old bogs
into an arid sky
hollowed out by ancient people
a tree of evil eyes

14 Jan 2010

what is raki without
rhyme what is the Ouzo
effect what is lion’s
milk what are
bluejays without
Hermes and tele-
phones and and
bulls and blue
brains and fools and
belated classics nibbling
at the gutted backslap
of plasticity of outter
space the people
are still moving
unassailed and they
are free in their pussies
and crocks free to love
in this red clay of Ankara

Lunch yesterday:

Ayran sour yogurt with Kansik Pide and Ali Nazik Kebap

breakfast today:

karamel & cevizli Helva, Turkish coffee, sour yogurt, white cheese, fresh baked bread . . . . . . .

First issue of new international poetry magazine Cleaves is now available to view online. Exciting project. I edited the DENMARK and POLAND section.

check it:

CLEAVES

12 Jan 2010

Cybele Cybele
centre of the Anatolian pantheon
ritually castrated a hidden noise
is woven into this Turkish rain
drumming dancing and drinking
upon the long sleeves of a priest
the Turks did give the Dutch
their tulips

veni vidi vici

13 Jan 2009

the lunar bull
is damp with sweat and I am amid the testicles
of another wet winter
a stranger is at my doorsteps
a stranger spoons the silt
of Turkish coffee
into my cup
I have eaten
Ayran sour yogurt
with Kansik Pide &
Ali Nazik Kebap

Elephant & Obelisk 2

Lungful magazine

It is 03.28 on the second day and my fridge is full of Pınar Doğal Yoğurt. There is a haze of lights outside my window. We were at REAL shopping centre. Prayers crowned the air. I was a translated clam. This is where the world’s nuts are made. I’m waiting for the ruins of a Roman bath. I’m waiting for the temple of Augustus. I’m waiting for the Monument to a Secure Confident Future! Everybody seems hard on the face but soft in the mouthholes.

It is 06.42. I’ve slept one hour. 15 min till I am supposed to awake. It was a night with my life. Or parts thereof. Snow and microbrews, ping pong beer, erotic nights in hotel rooms. Paper routes and swimming pools. Little boy and big boy. Dusty hands against the window, sweaty trousers and moldy cheese. Hands on the nightstand. Running & running round the tracks. Jesus on the ceiling. Angel light from passing trucks. Tootsie rolls from Mormon missionaries. Las Vegas lakes and rocket ships.

It is 09.00. It has rained and the red clay of Ankara sicks to my soles. The stones glow at the old gate. This is an ongoing nomadic poetics. I’m drinking Seftali Nektari in the east campus cafeteria. In this garden of dark howls i search for my twin. Cleaners clean around me. When you awake what sticks to your skin? Who colours these keenings? The old has been sold. Culling the senses in this cold wind I have felt the devouring. Praise the whirling dervish. The ecstasy of petals on an empty platter. The non-arousing of hotel erotics. The corona is in the clinic. I’m 90% glutton free.

.

If you didn’t know already . . . check it:

Poets and Artists magazine

Istanbul Literary Review

Chicago to Istanbul (8 Jan 2010)

You write if as if something is happening to you. I am happening. This is a happening. Happy haze grazes these sentences. Do not trust goodwill. History decays. What is an exception? The cold duck wades into the pond. I don’t want to get out but get in. How do the flowers suffer? It has happened. You are crushed in my nasals. I’m saying hello to my heart. I’m an abducted alien. Kristy Thomas is not an illusion. A pencil is an extension. We are not prigs. This is not a game. I am still drinking you in.

My Bilkent University faculty flat . . . . . swanky!!!!

)

the gospel shakes toughest place meanest dang
caper imagination mothers i must admit this
spit was hot we must gather round gather
round the fireside please please we need
more rattlesnakes more chickensnakes more
bellies for the beasts

my brethren run in broad shoes, my breath
inhales nostalgia and exhales

foamy whispers
passion’s armada

no. this is not yr mother’s milkshake
yr uncle’s saliva, each wall
is a universe

and behold god
once darkened skin
of those who let
go of the iron
rod but now it
is no longer PC
to have wives
or darken skin
for evil ways

my eyes will break, have broken
into the old sockets, the old
golden plates, chopping heads
off for righteousness ah ha
um hum please keep running
me over with your soft wheels

The internet is shit

Partying with my college students in Poland :-)

oh
pioneers
the curtains
are painted
with min-
ature spuds
busy bees
busy bees
a hive near
footprints
from a husband
chasing
his wives
Cowboys
versus
Indians
nephites
versus
lamanites
in the book
of Abraham
kolob
is near
god’s
throne
near the
sun this
is the place
said
Brigham
Young

this vulgar tissue
is sapped
sapped
itchy
and dumb
i’ve acquired
the mundane
in this snowy
weather

put the cele-
brator on your
yang and we’ll
click
the i-
phone
this is a
reckon-
ing
am scant
scin·til·lat·ed
my valuable
friend all
things
expire
the piper
is down

we are a lovely
finish we are
80 percent
aficionados
this is not
curry in a hurry
this is not
40 hits
with DJ Scotty B
you are a
hot lick
of berry
a tiger
with a tongue
cherry notes
without a hint
of oak
oh

30th Dec 2009

a cowboy
dazzled me
with his
belt buckle
as I blew
his snow
in the television
glow
i’ve
squandered
nothing
and
get on
down
with the
years
you are
very large
very large
and full of air
I’m most sane
when charged
& full of
pops and bleeps
with a steady
backbeat
get on with it
toss my top
these jailers
play the price
play the fetish
in the suburbs
we’re getting
dicey

Taxi to Victoria Station (Dec 20th 2009)

I miss
her picture

beware
of your broken bits

I know this
face

my fingers lost
touch with turtles
in the half moon
——————————–
Chicago to SLC (Dec 20th 2009)

there was a general holding
in the fenced off cloud

I watched a mindless
movie

this is not a painting

my lovers were blown
into molten glass

—————————
Salt Lake City (Dec 22nd 2009)

I met
my ex-wife in the red
iguana

——————————–

Spanish Fork Utah (Dec 21st 2009)

and we present
an army of the un-
employed

sipping French roast at Buns
near a sign
that reads
“our money clips grip”

beware of the
castrated
conversation

beware of the man
on the wheel
who cranks
his legs

this is a general
crackdown

——————————–
Provo Supermall (Dec 26th 2009)

this is precisely the right moment for the spectral city
an adventure in hymns
an adventure in custom stickers
an amateur landscape
my love is a mole
a sauce for your meat cake
to frolic in half-lingered pleasures
cinematic pleasures disrobing your dunce cap
behold this fracturing
behold the pre-history
cinematic hacks
seeding new mantras
there is a larger reason
for your lunchbox
we revise to spit up
the terrors

——————————–

28 December 2009

I began in a
failed society
mushy peas
and fried
pineapples
the present
is a baffled
weather
it is a gamble
to get off it is
a gamble to declare
yrself
missing, oh

�i lit my pocket trumpet
my head is in
another socket
the streets soaked
with melting snow
we linger like
I’ve had this air
only rarely
morning drops
itself into the keyhole
warts are in the markets
kiss me in my slow croaker
I smelled the snow
I’m not spooning
a single soul

————————————-

you are a defensive guro,
rectitude, lets light
another match
I’m sitting under the widely
spaced stairs of another
heaven

—————————-

Everywhere I look there are smart-eyed inarticulate creatures wishing me hello in monster aisle supermarkets and small smoke shops where even if you are 35 they want proof proof proof and trucks go swishing through snow and cars change lanes on mega lane highways our picture is on the ceiling when we tried not to make love our picture is smattered and scattered
—————————–
that was another life

everything was another life

I’ve grown less afraid to love beyond
my bed

————————————————

Uinta national forest

lotsa mountains and snow out here :-)

You’re Doing Really Well

dublin airport . . . 1 euro for 8 min on internet . . . about 17 more hours of traveling . . . . fresh dublin airport guinness . . .. chicago next . . . then salt lake city . . . .

wonder how America will feel . . . .

I am heading to Ankara, Turkey on Jan 8th for new teaching gig at Bilkent university . . . .

so america, turkey, then maybe London to settle . . . . will see . . . .

Michael Zand’s new project:

LEXICO

There is Time

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