November 14, 2008 - Update

6:53 a.m. (breaking up)

My thoughts don't come home.

I am a hound chasing the tail

of its intestines.

Seeing her come home

was like seeing Santa Claus

on Columbus Day.

By the time I came

home, my epidermis was

already erased.

Part One:

Not To Be,

Or, To Be At Love

I wanted one and no others. I have

a wool mane made of real soft cotton gauze.

Cold women want this medicine of mine.

But Men often eat meat Without reason.

I put seasoning on My Woman's jaw.

I become Lover and she turns to salt.

We keep quite a long history at hand.

You will remember once having a man.

Before tonight's end we will make amends:

Again     Again     Again     Again     Again

Week One - September 02, 2008

(these poems are from week one of Advanced Poetry, last week)

DisSections 1-3:

Cow as Poet

I'm a cow being led to the slaughter:

meat for the many, no more than fodder.

Pieces to be eaten,

bones to be sold

and traded in for gold.

For these reasons I am maimed and beaten.

At the market my parts are traded.

With their tools I am food that is baited.

Sick of stupid tricks:

"We feed your needs"

then will make you bleed.

For this I sit upon my wicked crucifix.

I pay their wage, they pick my cotton;

and then I, denied the profit.

Often are students taught:

Please, reread each ingredient,

and always be obedient,

And then maybe one day learn the ways of those whose bodies are

bought.

Me and My People

The Flower Factory exploded

and no one in the Olfactory System knows why or which is which.

This is a sickly situation.

One that requires Gospel Choirs chanting to /Hallelujah/

with violins and the violent Hounds of Tyrus,

moaning, "Here, Here, praise the white man but then Pray!"

I say it's about boys who plant trees in their lungs:

the mother's young begging for unbirth.

Oh, how self-destructive the South is.

how wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

The people who raised and ate with my people.

Their leaders who chicken-scratched their names in trees

and forgot tot cross their t's.

And boy, how I was teased.

I was begging for unbirth and they had read the thicker book.

Mine and my people stay above sea level

and reap, reap, reap.

We whose highways have traveled inward,

taking Night Trains in the day

and living for the Great Evening.

And, Here, here, for the newly insane

and neatly deranged.

We who stand knee-deep in our own vowels.

We howling wolves, we shifting clouds.

Last Moments

I stood up too quickly,

feeling the sick in my stomach,

and started marching toward the arched room,

a dark womb.

But first, slipping my fisted feet

on cold tile, miles from sleep,

walking between walls through the longest hall.

And the dusty headboard is within view.

The evening's worker is eventually entombed

by my closed eyelids, after the longest haul.

A fallen boy soldier crashes with his last weep

on a flat mattress, and finally stolen sleep...

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."