Saturday, July 28, 2012

after watching the news for 5 seconds

a ratio of self worth peeks
a caterpillars catch incased in assumption
a fork can be eaten in threes

a senators selection of words
a selection of words selected for him
a second to decide

a preparation in jest
a preparation is just
a preparation in juxtaposition

a pre-saunter
a pre-selection of selective savories
a post speculative salamander afraid of change

a bon fire blazing altruism
a bridge

a polite postman pedaling backwards ashamed of the news

and we can do better than this. we did once. but i won't go into it
it would just make thins poem weird

Saturday, July 21, 2012

the american dream

in a feulsaloudge the gut is made iron
casted steal upon steal

painted barriers

gas is made
to divert inward


but clean

like a stories telling in whisper

the story is not heard in the back
and miss read in the front

causing chain reaction
leaving altitudes


signs selling signs
stand unmeasured

in a pirated coterie
of clown and cuff

and the unseen wound festers
in collaborative

mail rooms gaining weight

receptions closed

directional indecision

and the stories told
accord are morned

then deified

then sold

Thursday, July 5, 2012

for returning the book

i saw the book left on the table. forgetting i let you borrow it a year ago, it was strange to see it. it looked skinny-unread. but maybe that was just the feeling in the room, the corners where cornered, bent, just how fingers like to do it-so it could have been the room. also, the book reminded me of this movie i saw a few months ago. the placement of the book reminded me of how ambiguous the movie was. there was a man. a teacher, of sorts. he taut people how to bake bread in an hour; and in a day, find god. he preached of patience in a robe, thumbing a mini-staff, and talking over heads-and they went there just to not understand. to understand just enough. the current mystery assistant assisting current mysteries for them. under his breath and underneath their robes, when the cameras are turned off. and no one could remember if there was salt in the dough, when i noticed his miser curls. his marine tongue giving over to the forged, nonpareil sickness boiled in his gut; thickened with greed. his scolds, lost in the ears of the half listening daydreamers giving themselves to him. but i liked the book, and the movie too; but separately. and i wanted to say, "thank you," for returning the book.