Friday, August 31, 2007

18/1,000,000



we’re writ with juan. you must’ve
broken the tuner on Amsterdam
and 127th, dancing for the barrio
under the nom de plume: coiffeur
of chivalries, but rained upon, (in
this city) a corpus chorus of beats
and’ll dance in the face of anyone.

17/1,000,000



bromley-heath
pairs of air beds
sleep in dry wry

16/1,000,000



public brunettes, you
reminded me of your
legs’ inveigling lure.

15/1,000,000



of nautical districts writ w/
the jean-chested under-arms
of the wetted witnesses

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

14/1,000,000



"these dirt-bags
grimaced in some
clean breezes"


13/1,000,000



little baby devils grinding off
the legs of a lisp with oils and
stolen from elegiac tanks built
to crumple our engines into
the wet duffle bag of history

12/1,000,000



"if there’s a reunion, it’ll be
in livery vests," he says. "bet
they won’t build 'em roads
up'n over; they’n just bust
though these here hills."

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

11/1,000,000



draw a desert and a drink
of satisfying water. a flag in
the main room showing us
where we’ll be saluting two
fully functioning legs.

10/1,000,000



war movies: all of
the trap doors in a
giant horse’s ass.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

9/1,000,000



at the end of natural flight,
slurred steps. big strokes of
lone casemate leaps, dates
signal headwaters ahead. a
bend in your fog for a few
flying graves to follow you
through. graves filled with
mood-valets; putrid peons.

8/1,000,000



salt in seas like bull tongues
in a ravine. a dust of black eyes
on the back of a postcard. on
the anniversary of denim, we
could likely list things all day.

7/1,000,000



the art of the alone. actually
sit down with me, come out
of the cold and hang your hat
on my head. I deserve it.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

6/1,000,000



and all the women know
each other by name. half
hours of archived twilight
on bread bleeders. bits of
talk amongst guests. but
ambrose, aghast for free.

5/1,000,000



“costly,” he said. “that’s
how I’d describe the
magnitude of our loss.”
then, “you should roll
my fat ass to the bank.”

4/1,000,000



equine pistols
blasting waiting
room chairs. piss
in piles. there is
plenty to pilfer.

Monday, August 20, 2007

3/1,000,000

the rattle of the rural
bulwark rises having
risen, videotaped, like
laureate salt statues.

2/1,000,000

in line at the old
grocer. the speed
of my death when
filmed. capricola
and bread noir.

1/1,000,000

ten continuous years
of minimumpayments
in cream auditoriums
backlit by rattlings of
empty assed hecklers

Monday, August 13, 2007

Saturday, August 11, 2007

tateism

"and that is the largest battleship in the world, i said.
and see how small it really is. isn't that encouraging?"

- james tate

Monday, August 06, 2007