LIST #2

SARAH
JOY V 3
CHARLES
JESSICA MILL
RACHET WOLF
AMANDA HUTCH
"JACK"
JOEL VBRNDK
JUSTIN RF
DYLAN
KYLE J
PAUL HANSON CLARK

EASY DANCES CAN STILL SEPARATE YOUR PARTS

person curve of seats        here and seats in other
galleries of sitting under the weight of a gelatin air
pudding you stand up to jitters through           every day you are not dead
you drink entire    wavelengths of light
sometimes the type with hot capabilities            surpassing all of this
i'm marking with tantrum and curdling away from it    out of the dent
out of my craterbed

is this crippling
to pull a body quicker than it can through      thickness
bones folding at their centerlines    becoming roofish
the weight of accumulation     the slouch eaves snapping off
is it crippling        tell me before i start it

small waves sourced from my firstthoughts      microbeating a little shore
recalling            to know before i start      all night picking a chair
i wake up already in         panicking want to rush over
and mash the strings with hammers with mechanics with keys with my hands
but there isn't an instrument
encased        i mash my hands with the trying to throw them out

Dancing is Fucking Easy

under water.

Sort of like imagining

your gait

after an accident

fills your pants

with shit.

To break apart

from the floor

is to move in

anyway. How my

shaved face is

all you. Still

mine. But not

exactly a tree

farm's symmetry.

Whatever saw

first light

destroyed first

were bigger than

everything then

—giants, mostly—

men. A speaking myth

divides the river

reed more, Pan,

for not one lyre

but two, exposed

that finger

banger envy

of children

—is this death,

they'll whisper.

No, he'll say—it's love.

I STOLE YOUR BANANAS

The world is helling
up against us. What
did your mom say.

I think
the bananas
are killing us.

Fer rill, y’all!

I went on this great
banana diet. Got to eat every banana
flavored thing. Shaved
circus peanuts
into my cereals.

Sup!

I made this new
sort of diary. Collected peach
skins flayed out
on the banister.

The bananas are killing
for us.

That’s not a peel
you can slide down.
Flesh book.
Good cook.
Under Pressure!

IT COULD BE THICKER THAN THE FUTURE

then i got this stick shoved so far up my ass
i walked like this
for a million solid years
of uncomfortable sex and walking
all things done with
my ass
can i buy a cure for how i am feeling today
like a beanbag with no beans
or a beanless beanbag filled with soup
like a chowder
but my poemhole says these are clams
my paws feel like a dead wet watermelon
can i please
have my gloves
back
before the world ends
or the sun chomps up the last cold that i can complain about
your eyes?
laugh
call me when you have 3D projectors for eyes
so i can watch all these 3D movies again and again
like this one with the HUGE SHARKS
and did you see a titty
stamped across my face pulling my cheek muscles apart
see my real smile
see me moving shark teeth through the sand with my toes
like i can build a tower out of dead sea creatures
i got a poem for this
i think
or what i want to say is everything in a small chest
no bigger than the average human
i dunno
i just want to see those suns do
what suns do
and feel all the melting
everything just one burning ooze
maybe

IF THE VISCOSITY IS RIGHT

or perhaps it’s a howling in our eyes we’re looking for, 

the last little whirligigs wound up tight

in our sweaters’, cardigans’, pockets’ turning hands making

pinwheels in carefree palettes. creamy

oranges and limes or perhaps we’re sucking down

Milk Way Blizzard[s]® in the backs of yellow

taxicabs on the way to a terminal 

cancer, and earlier that day we perhaps packed up

our divine sepulchers hoping they might be read,

knowing though that once that slinky bird finds lift we’ll all 

be minibar-heavy-headed-on-the-bulkhead and Skymall

til we descend for our approach to somewhere in the galaxy 

under ten thousand feet, and it’s a soft, longish beep-boop, and

“By-by-by the way,” if the pilot is ever caught stuttering,

get ready to shit, because that fucker’s going downtown

with a black Am-Ex card and a posse of angular models,

black button-downs unbuttoned to the third unbuttoned button

exposing pecs that could clench a bottle of Ice Cold™ Zam-Zam-Cola

you’ll hunger for it

and perhaps

there are the sonnets in our Shoes

IT COULD BE LIKE AN OLD-TIME REVIVAL EXCEPT MORE BANANAS

so we clang our pieces
in various configurations
until there is a damaging act,
write big tall red words
until we're all old men
scribbling suggestive asterisks

i can't look long because each of your
eyes is a world ending
and i sense the tiny purple spider
veins underneath and they are
heavy soft lightning over an oil-slick
ocean that's rising in my lungs

this is why i maybe want to
stab myself with needles
til i'm a raw lymph skid,
just to eat up the dark dynamo
skulking in the gutters
i just can't exist always as a
narration of placid consequence

but it's okay because
sometimes i remember
that i am going to die
  all the leaves are brown
  and the sky is gray
i am diplomatically refusing
to be one of the drowners

i'll try to stop coveting your colors
leech them all up and SING

WE ARE BUILDING THE ENORMOUS SUICIDE PILL CALLED EARTH AS WE POEM LIKE SILLY CATS

if i become more broken
set the broken parts
in the sky
with ol
dirty bastard
& his raps
i don't believe in

i'm not sure why
this poem
is called
kurt vonnegut
instead
i'm calling it
don't burn cigarettes
on your arms
in the hallways
of san francisco

i can't chit chat
with my dead friends
i don't have any
i look forward
to reading something different
writing something different
i'm going to write
DARBY CRASH
in blood
across my face

i'm going to write
big poems
in many colors
i'm going to write
BUY ME A BANANA
BUY BUY BUY
i'm going to
but i'm basically
no longer awake

i'm smiling big
like my back is made of smiles
everything
just came through for me
i just got
a million dollars
now i'm ready to die
where my eyes hurt

the ice cream man
is jealous
of my muscles
my money
& my luck
some people
have it all
except a solution
i can't go
to california
but i can lift tomorrow
by the hair
& drag it
down the street
that turns all our air
to poison

FIRST LIST EFF 2PM JANUARY 17 2K12

PAUL
SARAH
JACK
JUSTIN
RACHET
KYLE
AMANDA

they way cutlass works:

everyone will be put into a random order to write. the points of this are to create something, a dialogue through poetry, but also as a way to develop writing by working with other peoples ideas and styles to create something new. it's going to work like a game of telephone essentially. other than that the rules are when the latest poem is posted the next person has three days to reply to the poem. as soon as that poem is posted the next person has three days and so on until the list is over then a new random list will be generated with anyone who has joined being added at that time. if you do not write a poem in the three day window you will be skipped. possibly removed. forever.

right now we have 7 people and i just drew the order so i will post that at 2pm central time :D