5/22/13

Twang


My warm insides are so much
busy moving material
from one physicality to the next
& hustling $ $ $
little bits of money
to put in the gas tank
to make more debts
to j kick ass
to black out in sport
to black out in poem

Nebraska Summer is almost here
it's been raining
the world is blue-green
the end of the game is over
we outlasted winter
now waiting for herds of bees

heyallofyou
thisisanewpoem
thisisaburningpoem

all these serene days
smacking me like waves
makes me horny for something
bare chests
bare intentions
sunglasses

we only have this once
we could be very gone
before next cutlass
tonight the greens & blues getting dark
writing sloppy lines
letting them end wherever
eagerly awaiting
I don't care
it doesn't matter what I say

what I am trying to say is
the nuance of every small fraction
was made a long time ago
but it's summer now
we are whirring in delight

supplicate

be   a bee   a bee   a bee
sallow air wisp foxhole infiltrates
sting me in my warren
my den, my warm prairie wind
rustle awake stalks
all that remains, foxed bone
buzzing drone
aimed earthward, shape making
yesteryears crops into fallow
gingerbread men
eagerly awaiting
whistle stop signal the ready aim
flames lick wounds clean
thistle cleanse, sweep milo mounds
batten down my whispered thunder roar    a bee   a bee
a bee

5/21/13

THE END OF THE GAME???????




bea sport
mail me my witchery
to switch up she/victory
i left it all on the respected surface
it was a battle in my blood
fucks me up myself wit my foxy fuck wit
shes a man i mean
i invented the wheel
a spinney vom for my exhaustion
i spoke through the endless round
round
round etc. i mean infinity
is watching a bouncing moon baby
squealing in the muted cheese
the future is a sea
is deep to pummel your difficult mind
mirror sun to look a shining
ass of a guess where my heart is headed
to a hard hating
to rumble in lovey collision
rubbing slimy boulders over my crushed jaw
she belts me
hello smile in my rotting
a rainbow gushes from a fracture
it is disgustingly sweet
of you
to care how tall i can never be
giant in the self destruction air
gallops down the wood
sloppy spin as the rock you live on
hides away sunshine
what the fuck
am i going to do without you???????
singing mother--
mother save your knees for nobody
this is not a road
to call your past a waste
but a vast open prairie refilled
to bursting of the american bison
for you to shoot
froma train
while i clap from over here
whistling something sad
that hasn't happened yet

5/19/13

Imaginary Histories


Fox has mirror over the bed
so when he fucks he sees down: 
himself fucking seeing up 
himself fucking

Basketball was invented when a man
prepared the conditions to have
that what he threw away 
returned to him unchanged

Stopping to consider is a double dribble.

Ribs under the rubble of an parkinglot oracle 
play atonal pebble-notes on the xylophone
of a Delphic motorcade rumbla rambla.

Hard 
            to handle on the jukebox 
 
  Hard loving the intractable

  continuum of balls

  Let’s put a lid on the bottom of the nets
                        a second concentric hoop
  its over
  when it’s in
  Let’s put an fermata on this motherfucker
  I can’t help it when I don’t want it to be over

Put another quarter in
drink another drink
tip back fast the rim
frame you in a glass

5/17/13

originstories


That Nebraska is the smell of coffee in the Great Hall,
a brunch underway beneath it in Fellowship Hall,
the smell of stale helium from a history of basketballs
on the dusty wood echoes in the old gymnasiums
in the way basement by bell choir
where I lifted several heavy bass notes.

I can't really remember the cold war though
or Nostradamous but I moved on from my
first crush in the 90s, got over it with David Duchovny's
monotone eyes and the male middle part of every
darkhaired boy. My 96-97 diary was a fat slice, widening
out from its binding with all the pasting in and his faces
taped everywhere. I think probably his personae was my first exposure to
conspiracy. I wanted to be an FBI agent already after Jodie Foster,
I think if for the stories. It's impossible to know
when I first saw Silence of the lambs but I remember
my Dad vividly telling me the entirety
of Se7en later on in the night in 95 when they'd seen it in theaters.

If you investigate the species
and the histories, the bees still figure
in to our legend significantly,
as a sign of the end times
even. I suppose some people deal with always dying by sublimating
their own mortality awareness. Mortality conciousness?
Their being mortality-conscious. Some people opt to sublimate that,
project the anxiety of it, the fears
elsewhere passionately—ends are terrifying.
In and of themselves. True.
And shit could certainly get like that out there.

5/14/13

I'm Actually Kind of Serious About Sleeping with The Missiles

I will not apologize for my origins.
I am not society's stereotype of a Scary Black Mountain Dew Goat
The best pizza joint North Platte ever had
was run out of business by a rumor that the owner was gay and bleeding AIDS on his pizza
During this same time the local news reported the mere presence of graffiti
as proof of a previously impossible gang presence in town with perfect creditude
Like Serious Doughboy Baker types had invaded the country outposts
and in the 90s they were already saying that Lexington was being swarmed with illegal immigrants
In those days you see the Cold War was still what people had been raised to become
You were a good person only inasmuch the bastards were out to get you

It was a big deal
the killer bees that mad scientists had let go from Brazil
so they could go be languid and bisexual
The bees too were swimming up from Mexico now
By Y2k they would control the Maine woods
In the meantime they would make a welting nightmare of the newly domesticated desert south
Attacking old women with good American names
while they cried in remembrance
Even on Nat Geo
or other such staid pro-nature shit

 That's how bees got to be central to the overriding alien apocalypse arc on "X-Files"
 Killer bees on apocalypse swarm was a real fucking thing
 that proper and serious people knew to be happening in front of our eyes.
 And however strong the consensus that X-Files was "Great" may be
 I like to believe that only I understand
 How fucking perfect it trapped the ghost of 94 in a bottle
 better than any show ever displayed its time before or since
 and how X Files has a perfect case for "GOAT" because of that.

I got my mom into the reruns for awhile
Until she cracked her fucking head and now she can't stand it again.
My family comes to me with the big ideas they have because Josh is smart
Sometimes Dad will rage about the black oil antidote that would have wiped Valdez prestine
only the tree-huggars kept it secret because they're out to destroy good businessmen
My sister reads what this guy said about what this guy said about the prophesies of Nostradamous
How it's all coming true now and we better look out for the world ending soon.
I sit her down and say 'Wendy
The world is going to end when you kill yourself like all of us have always known you would'.


 

WHEN THE WORLD ENDS


DAVE MATTHEWS FAMOUSLY SAID THAT
“WHEN THE WORLDS END
WE’LL ALL BE DANCING.”

I DON’T KNOW WHETHER TO TAKE SUCH A STATEMENT
AS THE WORLD AFFIRMING THERE END
OR THE END BEING A DIRECT RESULT OF THE WORLD’S DANCING.

HISTORIANS DISAGREE ON THE CORRECT INTERPRETATION
BUT ALL ARE ALL WILLING TO ACCEPT THE POSSIBILITY OF A
‘DOUBLING MEANING’

I DON’T KNOW HOW THE WORLD WILL END.
I DON’T EVEN THINK DAVE MATTHEWS KNOWS
HOW THE WORLD WILL END.


I’M BEING STUPID TO HIDE THE EDIT.
MY THOUGHTS
NOT YET MY THOUGHTS.
EVERY EDIT IS A LIE
THEY SAY.
BUT WHAT EDIT IS MORE A LINE?

A MAYAN STOMACH ON A BONEFIRE
A COFFEE’S FUTILE ATTEMPT TO SAVE THE WORLD
A GOD’S PUPILS BURSTING WITH SNOW?
I DON’T KNOW IF I READ THAT QUESTION RIGHT.

VOICE DRAWN INTO THE WASTE’S MIRAGE
DON’T THINK OF IT AS LUCK
THINK OF IT

AS HARBORING THE MIRROR’
STRETCH ACROSS
THE EASTERN PLAINS OF NEBRASKA
ONE NIGHT WHEN YOU WERE TOO
HIGH TO PULL YOUR FEVERISH HANDS
BACK FROM THE BEE STINGER.

WHAT EVER HAPPENED WITH THAT?
WHAT EVER HAPPENED WITH COUNTLESS THINGS
ON EARTH
THAT ARE DEAD?
TIME WAS, WE MURDER BECAUSE
THE ACT FELT COMFORTABLE.

NOW
THOSE IN POWER WOULD HAVE YOU BELIEVE
THE DEATH OF ALL BEES WOULD SIGNIFY
THE CONQUERING OF THE FINAL OBSTACLE
BETWEEN THE  ASSURED CONTINUANCE OF MANKIND
AND AN UNAVOIDABLE CAREENING INTO OBLIVION.

THEY WOULD HAVE YOU BELIEVE
THE IDEA OF RUINING A MOTHER FUCKER
JUST BECAUSE HE OR SHE DIDN’T T HAVE
THE GUMPTION TO RUN AWAY
FEELS MILDLY OUT OF VOGUE.

THERE IS PLAN.
IT IS A SECRET PLAN
TO CORNER THE MARKET
OF BEES .
THEN LIMIT THE SUPPLY
OF BEES.
THUS CREATING AN ILLOGICAL DEMAND
FOR BEES.

THE GOAL BEING
OF COURSE
TO MAKE EVERYONE CARE ABOUT BEES.

YOU WILL BUY ONE FOR A $1000
YOU WILL KEEP IT IN A CAGE
AND WHEN IT DIES
A SMALL PART OF YOU
WILL DIE ALSO.
AND YOU WILL BUY ANOTHER BEE
FOR $1000.
AND A BEE’S COST VALUE
WILL BE SOMETHING LIKE
A SEED BAG OF PERENNIALS.
AND IT’S SALE PRICE WILL BE
$1000.
THIS IS HOW THE BEE EXCHANGE
WILL WORK IN THE FUTURE.

AT PRESENT
THE BEE MARKET IS STILL
 A BUYERS MARKET.
EVEN THE “KILLER BEE’S”
 WHAT THE FUCK DID THEY EVER DO?

THEY WORSHIPED A MAN
SO UNCOMFORTED BY INFLUENCE
HE CALLED HIMSELF AN ‘OLD DIRTY BASTARD’
AND SMOKED CRACK TO DEATH.
WHAT A FUCKING FATIGUING THOUGHT.

SO WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT BEES?
WHO GIVES A FUCK
ABOUT A KILO OF BEES?

WELL MY SISTER FOR ONE.
BUT NOT IN ANY SORT OF
FISCALLY RESPONSIBLE WAY.

SHE ONLY KNOWS THAT THERE ARE BEES
AND THEY COULD MURDER HER
IF SHE FANCIED A JAUNT INTO NATURE
WITHOUT HER EPIPEN.

I IMAGINE FOR EXAMPLE
SHE WOULD FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE
DRINKING A GLASS OF WINE
ON A PICNIC DATE
WITH THAT GUY SHE REALLY LIKES
IF THERE WERE KILLER BEES AROUND.

I IMAGINE
 TO PUT HER ‘HONEY ‘AT EASE
SHE WOULD SAY “NO GREG,
THIS FACE OF CONSUMING REGRET
IS NOT BECAUSE I WENT ON THIS PICNIC
DATE WITH YOU. IT IS BECAUSE I FORGOT
 MY EPIPEN.
AND WITHOUT MY EPIPEN
I COULD STEP ON A DEAD BEE
OR BE ASSAULTED BY A LIVING BEE
AND THEN I WOULD MOST LIKELY DIE
HAVING NEVER FULFILLED MY GREATEST DESIRE
TO HAVE TWO POLITE CHILDREN WITH YOU.

I ALSO THINK
I JUST DRANK A BEE
THAT CRAWLED INTO MY WINEGLASS

BUT NEVER MIND.
WHAT KIND OF GEMSTONES
WILL YOU ENCRUST INTO THE SIDES
OF THE TABLE
YOU BUILD FOR YOUR MOTHER
FOR MOTHER’S DAY?”


I BELIEVE THE DEPLOYMENT
OF POETRY—
I CALL IT “THE BREATH OF THE WORLD”—
—OTHERS CALL IT “GATHERED LIGHT”—
—LIKE THAT MAKES ANY SENSE—
WILL CONTINUE TO INCREASE INDEFINITELY
UNTIL OUR ATOMS ARE PROCESSED 
INTO A FOSSIL JUICE
USED TO LUBRICATE THE GEARS
OF THE BIOMECHANICAL  TRAVBOOK 2K10
ON ITS CAMPAIGN TO
SYSTEMATICALLY DESTROY
EVERY CONSTANT
LEFT IN THE WORLD.

IT’S NOT THAT EVERYTHING
SHUFFLED INTO THIS PHANTASMAL
WOUND ON PURPOSE.
MORE –LIKE ME—EVERYTHING
MISTOOK GOD’S LAST ATTEMPT
TO PRESERVE MANKIND
AS A HARMLESS INCIDENT
THAT COST ME $1200.

IN THE FUTURE:
THE RESISTANCE OF MANKIND
WILL UNITE AS A VOICE
STRIPPED DOWN TO RADIO WAVES
THAT LIMP ACROSS THE RAGGED SKY
PRAYING TO GRAVITY:

BRINGS DOWN A CHUNK OF DEAD PLANET.
BRING DOWN A CHUNK OF DEAD PLANET
LARGE ENOUGH TO RETURN US TO THE SUN.

(BY MIKE KNOTT)

5/11/13

VICTORY FOR BEES

* for all the embedded links, click to open and return to reading 



no more alchohol
says the bee mom
no more buzzing and 
poisoning and 
we have only one life
only one only 
one annoying body prop
but it doesn't have to be

i am stung
with a tiny globe of bone
vibrating my insides
straight from mars
shitting my altruism 
listening to alien cow music
with emo men, damn
we are all stoners

i am still waiting for you
to talk to me about 
your personal take on
ecology and capitalism
and the plight of bees

we are all drawing this map
with pollution bells ringing
weeee-oooooowwwwwwww
and the car alarm bird shining
and at least neonicatinoid 
pesticide use banning is happening
in europe
for two years
at least 
(put that on the map)
(put it in poured concrete
in the shape of a turtle
like turtle earth, like that)

(ok)
i can't howl because i am smoking
i can't moon with my sisters
because i am creating a facsimile
of my face out of internet, not
a beehive made of skin
i am letting the rum soak my table
drawing goofy breasts on a cactus
with my homies 

we are from earth
i asked google
what's the earth's area code?


883 google said
and what is the population of humans?
it fluctuates, says google
it fluctuates
but it is around seven billion
one hundred and eighteen million
four hundred and fifteen thousand
three hundred and thirty

(now) i am a planet
hurrying along in the interstellar
atmosphere and i try to comprehend
a hawk? or a mouth? i remember
the moon from the universe
or, i remember everything that is 
contained within me
the way that you remember
your village
in nebraska
with a population of one

              you

when people send you letters...

what am i saying
no-one sends you letters
they send them to me,
and i read them to you,
and here's one now


5/9/13

And then you sack of skin and bones


i have heard the root poop- and
standing in a sea it’s hard to see what
you mean
i mean i am not virtuous
i mean i bump, too, in the night i mean
uhhh uhh uhhh
but i know what you mean about distance
about 20,000 people signing up to die on mars to die
on the way to mars  we thought
there would be more
even if all those people go 20,000 is still a pretty small town
and everyone knows how humans feel about living
in a small town
maybe that’s what you mean with your howling
cause
i (too) howl at the moon?
but maybe it bounces back and into your mouth
i think i’ve seen it there
it doesn’t make me do anything
except want to kiss
uh. oh.
i overheard someone say they were a salt
and another a muck
                                                           you are bones inside of skin you
                                                           and me, we are
                                                           we only have to worry
                                                           about the day we won’t be
                                                           but i’m not worried yet

i’m glad you saw a bee
i thought all the human bees were dead

5/7/13

An informal training in case of organs

I went outside the world
was all fucked up.

No
sea.                    

There's always a way
to get
clean.                  

Stop teaching
virginity virtue.

Stop mudding
a face with your call.

It isn't
pretty.  I don't howl
to control.

We touch
like astronauts
in the night.            It's forceful.
Sores my throat.
Now now

how long
has that bee
been staking there.  Flew
angrily

after the slammed door.

A buzz in your body
her organs particular.

You're not falling down stairs
but over the ledge.  In a garden.

Stick your trowel in the ground
and then lift
till you hear the root pop.

5/5/13

clockbody


what do you say no
no what do you say now?
I'm found, a body bottomed at the stairs
bloodless so tempting
no cleanup, no afterthought
no troublesome
I have to go somewhere, to be anonymous for awhile
I would never say this because
get real, you're always be
Make yourself a love a queen a girl a ghost to wish for
little grave collector  
headstones as tempt rocks to get your etch on
dig scrape eat repeat

I keep us out-of-doors
because we only talk of love & death out-of-doors
& inside is locked up, lockme by-my-hair-up
mine-me, brick-me diamond-me
we're an orebody, let's vein
And lets to our grief tie

a strong velvet around a gel body
 a rebound of snap,
 snapping back
 the sound of snapping out of it
the hush of your fingers
the click of a camera, of a clock
the permanence of my image on a sidewalk
the permanence of loss
which abundants like ferns in maine forests
crawling with ticks
that never even get inside you
just crawl leggy crawl

stay outside, such indoor-attempters, little lossforest arachnids.

Like bones griefs tickle, are funny when jammed
the tingle of the stone in the still water
like the stone is mineral is a trifle is crystal is a sink is sunk,
like in every dream of opaque shoreless bodies
where I'm dropping the whiny talismans & tropes,
and in slomotion watch them 
go down into the dark bog oak green forever



5/3/13

crime-scene tide

need a bath
the unfurling bloom ossifies
taut to the tune of a mournful theramin--
the sail-crack hits and you choke out thick blue chalk puffs.
these laws are abstracted out of muddy brushwork--
should probably crawl from the basin of leisure
(having been thoroughly lathed)
fly out to the end of the tether
til the leather snaps
my banded ass
(the shatter simply forms a finer filagree)
the shadow somehow leaks out from bisection line
starting thru the middle tooth gap--here it comes a-rumbling--