Week Fifteen

The Tourist:

A Snuff Sonnet

that's him, standing and yelling in his underwear,

biting hard, hitting her, pulling her hair,

she, mean-faced with ripped jeans and a half-clawed off bra,

long-haired pirate costume guy w/ beard & beer, trying to remove her

     top,

but w/ an intense stance, threatening with a fist and a lighter,

getting closer to lighting her hair on fire, she yells, "you fucking liar,

you said this was the last time,"

but then they clocked her jaw and it stopped working after awhile,

then she stopped smiling and mentioned with her eyes how happy she'd

     be to be hanged

and her popped-out eyeballs and cheeks dropped, she had blood running cold off her

     face,

the two guys waited till she sleeped then lept

onto her half heart-attack body-sack, soon to be bagged, but not too

     late,

she was half-dead and raped,

with the red word "Tourist" smudged across her face.

Week 14 Sestina

Power v. Immortality, The Last Battle:

A Sestina

Cast of Characters:

I. The Axis of Power

1. Richard Nixon

2. Joey McCarthy

3. Henry Kissinger

II. Allies of Immortality

4. Karl Marx

5. Allen Ginsberg

6. Krishna

Narrator:

                   Them immortals awaken and chant to This, the Krishna.

Those voting educators change their channels to a confession of Richard Nixon.

Meanwhile, after his morning rant & dance, Allen Ginsberg

sends his fans an autographed picture of his "favorite man,"Joey McCarthy.

The barfly martyrs make their orders toward Karl Marx.

"Yes, sir, can I get a shot of Kissinger?"

Well, ol' Henry huffs up out of his hellhole, holding a pitcher. Kissinger

lifts his arms to Nixon, unbeknownst to Mr. Krishna.

Regardless, after he starts raving, growling his remarks on 60's Marxists,

the pigeonholed tiptoeing nose of Richard Nixon starts to grow. But Nixon's

pistol fists grip strongly. Then he gets an LBJ from Joseph McCarthy.

All the while, miles of prayers fall from the heating lips of Allen Ginsberg.

O! Well, Mr. Allen Ginsberg

rips from his sitter's hands the key to his invisible air-flier. Joey McCarthy & Kissiner

ask a few questions, wait for two seconds, & accuse. Actually, McCarthy

just assumed. Meanwhile, in a green-white room, sinlessly sits focused Mr. Krishna.

Well, having had it w/ freedom addicts, Nixon

gives his middle finger & a sentence of Madness to Karl Marx.

Well, Sir, Mr. Marx wouldn't have it; found their clues, counter-sued, Marx

v. Thee Free Speech Criminals. Well, Blue Lady Justice reviewed this shit against Marx & Ginsberg

by Mr.'s Nixon & McCarthy & Kissinger, favored the Father of Communism, but sent Krishna to prison. Nixon

would be pleased, thus they appeased. Regardless, Kissinger

ignorant, got started getting rid of Krishna.

But upset by what proceeded, pissy was unlistening McCarthy.

Basically, McCarthy

sent the goony DEA to place stashes in Krishna's apartment. Marx

was tipped off, so sent off to tell all to Allen about Krishna.

Sent the info, after Blindfold was off, Ginsberg

fell asleep well, knowing that they plans of Kissinger

were too foolish. Krishna was invisible. He sent a messenger to Nixon.

Oh my, by this time, Nixon

was pissed. 6 months & Mr. McCarthy

had nothing. "Somebody or something must be a-fired!" Kissinger

saw his unthawing eyes, was surprised, but pointed to the red button. Marx

thought he saw it comin', so warned Ginsberg.

They (Marx & Ginsberg) were lifted above all with all the other lovers by Krishna.

Krishna, of course, was fine.

Ginsberg was alright, Marx was alive.

Kissinger was killed unkind. McCarthy died. Poor Richard Nixon didn't survive.

1 Year, That's All We Got

One Year:

An Anniversary Poem

1 Year since your fears got fixed

And your shell was finally harmonized with

1 Year since they paid you in silver things

Diamond-colored frostbite change

1 Year for a thousand men

To crumble from the weight of your playful ways again

And 1 More for your blue knees

And what they mean to me

And 1 More for each

Batch of peaches you'd have to squeeze out, to bleed

1 Day after that for mind-chime,

To change your clocks to Our Time

1 More for, I could've sworn,

The Day you dropped and I stopped being bored by them fits: Good Lord

1 More Night for It,

Doing time inside yer spit: Lovershit

1 More arm

to keep thee within my swarm

1 More for

The Madness Of Love

Week Thirteen Poems

That Flight; Thee Head:

A Consummation Poem

You opened up at last, once I'd asked you too.

It made sinse as them holes need be covered er filled again

And again we waited till the Sangria was ovar till I ate

And Once Again this punishment isn't finished. Squish me within.

You'd been be-coming or wanted to too long until I dreamed fantastically

of the space by your knees, believing In. In Evenin'

Again!

O! how my desire grows, of course, you nose.

How yer pen stimulated my thinkin', and me thinkin' straight again!

Yes! I can come over, Come On, oh?

Though the thou swelled with sweat and pride

as I complimented them great snake eyes.

We wished thee aschewed, I gripped you anew.

1 more somethin'-somethin',

grow and groan till tomorrow about how I Done You wrong

and tonight right again!

Made Fire-Breathe Meds:

The Bonds of Breakin' Wholesome

Man the Blue

J's!

flew

as Dorothy danced

to "Dark Side of the Moon."

We ripped dem splits

anew.

Till dawn

we chewed

the

food

and

held Joint

hands

for a few.

I heard you

dance to

the

Krishna chants

before you got

high

and decided

to drive.

Hints

of intense heat

hitting me in the cheeks--

I fire-breathe!

I found

my mind

and it

is finite.

"Last Night, She Said":

A Consummation Poem

a. ^ ___ (     ) --->

b. "     " - _____     "     " - _____

c. ... , & "     " - _____ "?" = <

d. "..." [     ] ; + ++ +++ ###

a. -------------------------->

b. ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ---> ) ) )

c. >>>>>.

d. !!!

Week Twelve Prose Poems

Cocaine Blues II

Oh dat cocaine--go cat, go break yo nails. Rake yer teeth. Call dem cares gone. All dem cares gone on. This sniff is Hollywood. Hit this Hollywood cocaine. Go 'head, ol' Head, ol' King Caine. Cringe through breakfast. Wake up, caine mane. Wiff! Waff it off the top of the dropper, pop it in. Mmmm, dem sins, dem dirty sins. Keep breathin', Stephen. Don't go cold, Joe. Josephine goes with me to the machine, get gold. O! you know, don't thou? Speedy dreambombs. Sleep lots, deep, lost, gone on home. Woo! Wake-up, make the table & blanket, fool. Mmmmm, get gone--

A Quick Letter

We Did It.

"We did it for democracy. We did it for ending a horrendous dictatorship. We did it because they hate freedom. We did it because of oil wells. We did it to get back. We did it to stop that. We did it against genocide. We did it for Imperialism. We did it for Christian Imperialism. We did it for basic human different rights. We did it for Peace. We did it to end that thing. We did it because they disagree with us. We did it because we disagree with them. We did it. We did it again."

Week 11 Poems

The Relationship Between Chain & Feed

When will we walk away?

In this bean-stalk pacing,

she crawls into a hill's cave;

waster-faced, spacy dream-all for days.

Shall I kill or skin my wayward talking?

Sway off with me please, Pleasure-Sender.

Feed me resin.

Fill in me Kingly sins, please. Wait, stay, or break, Dear Honey-Babe.

"Will we walk when awed?"

She asked after she dropped the pills.

Wall-to-wall, in hallways mopped, grasping

away at empty & mowed grass lawns, if at all.

Eat it all gone.

Shall we keep singing, Darling? How we draw

sweeping cloud-drops, lazy-eyed & amazing.

"He came," she called to me a week back.

Shall she show some of her ashes?

Wash off thee own old green brass-buttons.

Hash up.

Something's groan, its growing growl, found out we all go.

What says she's all Home, no houses or mattresses?

All we know of passion is almost cashed & exhausted.

We chased the weight--it was caught.

Can we keep the relationship between chain and feed?

Do you decide to decay daily?

Who says they who drew caves be fully caving?

Dark-eyed Maiden, wholly made w/ Olden Waist--

depraved, shaved & hungry--

Will ye wait? "Patience, Babe" played on the TV-Radio today.

They made the newspaper. O it was great,

& the apeshit lady was delayed.

How have we heeded ahead?

Have ye et? Bedsheets

& beers & Headtears?

Ye eat yet? Deep sweaty eyeballs call mine name,

eh? Now we pace! Me: tongue-lunge: tripping & racing.

We ate, wasted, sour grapes.

The gloomy prunes were juiced too long.

We wait it out? And how? How have

we heeded ahead?

Laying in a Field W/ Scarlett Johansson

When the felt-tip shards get old & bent,

I say,

"How the vowels howl.

Woa! the clouds grow."

I'll lay

In the field with Scarlett Johansson.

Candy

Squeeze me exquisitely.

This womb moves to me.

Be my ex., quietly.

His mob vows to bomb me.

Thee ecstasy.

Say, talk heat--syng!

to me. Sex stays cheeky.

Cast sass at he; they eat.

Groan, goner & go home.

Organ gardens grow.

More go? Gone on? Rogue Maggy

and gang vows to bomber.

"Lord," we keep eating,

treating peaks as World Peas.