PROVIDING A METAL

i've wandered the stacks indefinitely in my past
once i ran into becky
she should cutlass
she was there with john
who i have had this complicated relationship with
like what happened was
at the first reading we ever did
in dan's basement
he slapped me in the face
it was weird but i was super fucked up
but didn't get angry or cry
then later at the graduation party in republican city
he slapped justin in the face
& i was fucked up then too
but that was a big deal when it happened
then like
for some reason i had a room with john one of the nights
and the next morning we both woke up
& had this weird hungover conversation
where we talked briefly but meaningfully
about the weird shit we tend to do
while super wasted
that's the only time i ever spoke to john
but once i saw him in the library with becky
& he was very reserved but friendly
& i guess maybe becky hangs out with complicated people
but what they hell do i know?
i've been saying/thinking that more lately
"what the hell do i know?"
i'm not sure if it's a good thing to say/think
but becky should cutlass
there are maybe a lot of people
who should cutlass
& we should get them to cutlass
how many people
have read every poem posted on this blog?
i haven't
but that's because while a cutlass is going
i don't read any cutlasses
except for the cutlass
that precedes mine
then when the cutlass completes itself
i read all the cutlasses in that cutlass
in reverse order
then i read all the cutlasses again
this time in the order they were posted
from first to last
that's how i read a cutlass
how do you read a cutlass?
how do you eat a reeses?
how do you talk to your mother?
how do you examine yr own existence?
how do flies know which direction to fly in if they don't have brains?
i've become thirsty
for a glass of water
last night me & neal & moss talked for awhile
about swearing in front of children in public
i like swearing in front of children in public
in my car i remembered the line from international players anthem
dump dump in the gut raw from the giddy up
you better pick the right one or pick pick the kiddies up
it was funny
memory
is what i am made of
it informs
my breathing
& the motion
of every moving thing
inside me
there are rules to all my poems
invisible rules
that are often ignored
but they are the sky
that makes singing possible
i sing
of strangeness
latching on
to the spikey path
i don't know where it's going
or what shape
the dying feet
will take
they have frozen
in the icy ice
there is so much
cadavering to do
to say
to wait for
to play
to be bitter about
to be my anger
floating
over the world
someone said to me
no more metaphor
no more simile
no more this
no more that
no more nothing
and that's a fact
that's waiting
to be played with
i want to send a book
about a teenage girl
who gets drunk
& gets piercings
& gets tattoos
& gets her tongue modified
to my near
teenage cousin
so she can know
that feeling fucked up and wierd
is less fucked up and weird
than it feels
lightning bolt
lightning bolt
lightning bolt
smashing
into the stone
that reads
everyone be the kind of friend
that somebody
needs you to be
do this
by being yourself
gosh golly
gosh golly darn it
darn it
i'm out of practice
as a writer
my good talents
have swam away
taking a break from poems
was a dumb as fuck idea
as though i can't finish the old
and new the new
simultaneously?
as though i have to doubt
my very existence
every move i make
what a terrible way that is
the doubting way
i never doubt my me
when i'm running
or eating
or doing this
because i'm the best
& everyone's idea of me
is very wrong
i'm quoting a beautiful version
of alice notley
when she wrote
"no one is smarter about another person
than that person"
superman
defies death
& defiance
cures cancer
& dumb lines
are moving
into a craft space
i am beautiful
but unconcerned with beauty
which makes my eyes
unable to see
but that's ok
certainly
godly goodly
moose!!!!!!!!!!!
there's a beautiful moose
drinking all the water
have you ever heard a moose bellow
while taking a nasty shit?
ever ever ever more
i am stretchy and made of glass
like my heart is made
of a strange
autoomatic blood
that ticks
like an immortal clock
a beautiful thing
happened
when i met mary
i was going on one of my great straight edge bits
it's this bit
where i explain how i often refer to water
as "the only liquid worth a damn"
& eventually i got to the part where i say
"water is the only liquid worth a damn"
& mary said
"what about blood?"
& that's a beautiful question
& when i wake up in the morning
i turn on the tv
& leave it on as i do things like
write poems or clean dishes
or tie my shoes
or everything i own/am
is fucking gasoline
because when i was putting
$43 worth of gas
into debbie's car
the gas like
kept flowing
after i pulled it out of the tank
& it got on me
& now i smell like gas
in my room & everywhere
the stench is there, existing
like this weird cd
that sits behind my
'dresser'
which isn't really a dresser
it looks like this:

i keep my clothes on it though
in neatly folded piles
when i began having to
keep my clothes
in neatly folded piles
i was pretty annoyed
but i quickly became
overjoyed
because i developed
this new layer of awareness
this thread
that goes through space,
time, and the things i own
& connects them
into this single mass
that in it's singularity
i comprehend it more
than i ever could have
otherwise
basically
i felt like i was cured
of a disease
the disease being
an avesion to neatly folded clothes
this is seriously the shit
that is the most interesting to me
i don't know
what this says about me
what i've been trying to do
is stop saying nasty shit about myself
to myself in my mind
i feel like that has helped a lot
i guess
i can't get over
this poet
telling me
he "hates"
2pac
i mean
i get it
he is consciously
posing or something
being this version
of a human
that possesses
the necessary
loyalty and hatred
to matter
as a thinker
on this earth
but i don't get it
check this out:

i just watched it
i've watched that poem
many times
in it towards the end he says
"every time i speak i wanna shiver"
i like the idea that words
can do the same thing to our bodies
as the bitter cold
even though words
i think
are partially a thing we invented
to be better able
to conquer
the bitter cold together
oh
to live in a society
with language
but without property
would be a beautiful riddle
all i want is a bracelet
that matters to me
that i can toss
lovingly
into the volcano
i am the who
i am the rock band of my generation
people like to put me down
i'm a leather clad machine
uncaring about the
outside glares
i am a liar
i am full of fantastic shit
there's only so much
i can take
there is hair all over my body
i think i'm boring & decaying
just like everything else
& i hope the words i write
convey that essential nature
in some essential way
so as to relieve the pressure
of the air
from my shoulders
or something
somewhere
alpha omega
wiping away
the slate
is clean as fuck
let's shoot some stick
let's store ice away
for the day
where this poem
is about nothing new
nothing green
nothing borrowed
nothing blue
it's not about this
john deere pen
a christmas gift
that is now behaving
as beautifully
as a gift should behave
i don't know
my back is resting
at a fucking broken angle
sitting indian style
on my bed
writing writing writing
being boring and aware
why
try
to
disintegrate
there are clouds
that are disintegrating
every
second
every
whale
is named
"shamoo"
or
"moby dick"
or who knows
what weird shit
is in all the bellies
like earth
is a claw machine game
& we get grabbed
from the sky
& opened up
to see what objects
are resting inside us
us is
you and i
and the whales
and the cheetahs
& everything that looks
up
when together
or alone
or i don't know
or who does
that's why
i'm anthropomorphizing
so hard right now
something about the way
my arms
are moving
something about
making more and more air
for the chocolate breathing
we are yearning for
something something something
about all the yous
and the yearning love i feel
when i think about yr crackling voice
i love
being around you so much
i feel like am breathing in
everything i'm not
& changing
in some beautiful way
& it's just
intoxicating
& in my mind
it tastes good raw
in that way
that only dough can
like everyone knows
how good cookie dough is
but bread dough is just as good
but more like bread