Poetry Portfolio

WTC

for Vito Acconci

Not really anything
that could be destroyed

after all.


THE END

for Sylvia Plath

Your life ended with words.
But isn’t that how it always goes?

you and me
reduced to eleven and ten letters
on a sinking slab
chiseled out by the remaining

Tamper

Sheath yourself in new linguistic garments
so we can rub each other
the right way.
Discriminate, clothing yourself in your own style,
manufactured last month on someone
else’s sheet.
Press your hand to the page,
but don’t touch the dictionary:
you might leave a trace.



Poppies

Heavy with food,
the seed cake never passes
between our lips.
Dependent articles
change everything
and the sleeve,
limp on the line,
clings insistently
to my alphabet.

Poems, if entities,
should have perforated edges.
But I am forced to
lick and tear
because they don’t
and I can’t find scissors.

I cross words out
and when I say what I want
it has already been said.
I say it again.
Heavy with food,
the stray poppy seed
rolls between my lips:
a pea between mattresses.

And I write notes in the margin
to remember I’ve been there,
an arrow to show precisely where.
But I don’t turn the pages
I lay them on their backs
one on top of
the other.
I know the pages.
I expose their nether parts.

The lone poppy seed
strays from my mouth
and onto the floor.
I contemplate bending
to recover the deviant.
Instead my eyes
turn, rolling over the
purple edge.

aka Jordan: a cyber sonnet


All images used on this site are taken from the web.
Katie Price is naked here
as Sexy Rabbit in White
Playing Topless on a Boat.
Black latex trousers and patent stilettos.
Typical case of six-pack toting failed pop star:
Katie Price is sick of her 'Saggy' boobs.
I don't like you in that way,
pregnant in bikini.
A new threesome seems to be on the cards
modeling her new line of lingerie.
Take a look at their video for 'A Whole New World.'

Which is worse, the state creating Katie Price out of some social 'necessity',
or her doing it out of whatever desire creates the motivation?

Fecund Fragments

In the beginning
all lies were made of paper.
Parchment spewed
from mouths
so quickly
I, frantically, could only
catch it in
fecund fragments.


Waste
, mashed, pasted,
turned into daily news
that I, incessantly,
digested
paper mache lining
esophagus
intestines
:
tainting everything
that had passed through
my ears.


I heard my traced paper
trimmings.
But yours I, neatly,
only touched,
laid out collages:
phrases begetting pictures
begetting pictures
begetting pictures
begetting pictures.
Fecundity too much,
I framed them
on my wall –
so I could tell you
goodbye.



Words in poems are…

words in poems are
shards of Chartres blue glass
virginal in their naiveté
deflowered by quotidian menstruation
which spills twice daily blue hues coloring
the tiles and the priest’s hands with virginity

of which they have no part; they carry their lineage
Mary’s blue robe twice daily appears
once according to the Sun’s circadian
once according to the Moon’s Baedeker
neither since their birth arbitrary
producers of their own progeny
one as ready to burn as illuminate
one bringing in whatsoever
comes in with the tide

Synechdroital relations rule…

Synechdroital relations rule
now that we’re too afraid to fondle any
vast epidermis
I want you apparatically,
stripped metal and skinned skis.
Nature read in tooth and nail.
Tip to tip to tip.
Words aren’t straight, but clumps
of muscle,
saliva,
and mucous.
A trip for thought.
Nature red in tooth.
Clawing at phrases too tongue-full to pronounce.


Take Back the Streets

Politics have moved to the café.
Did you hear Angela Davis speak last week?
Yeah, but I can’t remember what she said.
Esoteric language and blank stares.
Take back the streets.

Politics have moved to the bar.
Fuck politicians. I want my money back.
To the government, to shove up their asses.
This country’s gone to shit man.
Take back the streets.

Politics have moved to the basement.
Marijuana and pee stains.
Sperm and magazines.
Beer and cigs.
Take back the streets.

Politics have moved to the garage.
Head-banging hipsters and Coke.
Electric guitars and Mohawks.
Gauged ears and collars.
Take back the streets.

Politics have moved to bedroom walls.
Fuck Art Let’s Dance and Freedom Now.
Shit Stinks and Crack Kills.
NOW and Never!
Take back the streets.

Politics have moved to blogs.
I’m not sure we’re going in the right direction.
Thought about Iraq today.
Political cartoons and slogans.
Take back the streets.

Politics have moved to profiles.
Very liberal. Moderately liberal. Moderate.
Conservative. Very conservative. Apathetic.
Prefer to leave blank.
Take back the streets.

Take black the streets,
there’s no room for cream.