God Sautéed In A Shrimp Boat

Gainsaid Bathroom Deputes
Amputated Seabird Shooing
Tutored Amphibian Dosages
Outmoded Thespian Airbags
Dogeared Spumoni Habitats
Thrombi Diastase Poundage
Admitted Saguaro Hipbones
Smudgiest Tabooed Piranha
Pegboard Satanism Hideout
Bigmouth Diapered Sonatas
Parting Houseboat Diadems
Abusing Toadied Metaphors

Tarp Narrative

Private Art Ran
Rear Van Tar Pit
Near Art Vat Rip
Avert Rain Trap
Rave Train Part
Art Riven Apart
Raven Tapir Rat
Avatar Reprint
Partner Via Art
Variant Rat Rep
Rattrap Ravine
Atentar Privar
Partira Ventar
Entrapar Vitar
Trap Narrative

Where Am I Going?

You Know What Day It Is.

Small Fries

Go Git 'Em.

Radio Hat Chassis

Why That Fear Is Still Them Enemies

Without chaos with reciprocity for the horse, I bow down to a lonely dog. I’m still pounded by the iron fist of my me. Hey, you be a tequila. Mister wears a skirt. I am stronger by the way. Him doubt him right mind. How go forward in train, waiting to hear rags, or a rock? Them endings, endings of them. My muscles hurt, I meditate. I monk my life and me anyway making things wordsy: a choice, the addressee, this a poem. Slap a new date on it and find the way crumbles go down. Find some place in head to cavern out, westering, ever going. Yaws, a transport. Tonsils not victims. Them grow and make things, themselves, making life a complex raid on reason. On smacked-out liar heads. From these shifting wisps a life is made? Yes, and the risks are too grand to try and make a Bigger so best to shut it down. Too risked out most find it to make a Colossus, a Tangerine of Super Proportions. Mutts get it, even retrievers too. You make a life by working overtime. In tinted hollow moments nobody hardly anybody gets that.

Bye.

Where am I? I wish I knew. Good-Bye Giant Head. My heart is muerto? With world completely upside-down, goodbye to the bee. Goodbye to the knee. Goodbye to meeting in dreamworld, if there ever was one. Goodbye to poke poke. Goodbye to Mount Lemmon. Goodbye to burger-jaunts. Goodbye to chin hiccups. Goodbye to hairpulling. Goodbye fingerpulling and cracking knuckles. Goodbye Gitane. Goodbye shivery lake swims. Goodbye Bahia Kino. Goodbye blind-climbing. Goodbye tamales. Goodbye to monkey box liaisons. Goodbye broken-winged bird. Goodbye turd. Goodbye baby. Goodbye to pictures. Goodbye face. Goodbye hammock and hug. Goodbye egg cream. Goodbye mouse in the house. Goodbye the Santa Suit, arriving on Wednesday. Goodbye to the world that is too many people not enough in love. Goodbye to the bean. Goodbye to the many toe enamels. Goodbye bum thumb. Goodbye lega tibs. Goodbye avocado rolls. Goodbye Halloween. Goodbye Cannondale. Goodbye long fingers. Goodbye little snores. Goodbye chicken sausage. Goodbye Gogol. Goodbye Bordello. Goodbye bamboo bike. Goodbye Jimmy Santiago Baca. Goodbye português. Goodbye longboard. Goodbye black dirt and resolution, Rose Captain and song for the dead. Goodbye ringlets. Goodbye green dress. Goodbye Oscars. Goodbye kirtans. Goodbye 7 Falls. Goodbye Dustgarden. Goodbye cabin. Goodbye little t-shirts. Goodbye Evo. Goodbye green toothbrush. Goodbye running and riding. Goodbye Lights on Friday Night. Goodbye to spooning. Goodbye evening ice cream. Goodbye red dye in my sink. Goodbye cherry pancakes. Goodbye young one, who don' wanna go crazzy with me.

Norman Fischer is coming to Tucson

In preparation for his reading at CHAX Press on November 2,
follow the link below to read and hear poems from
Fischer's book I Was Blown Back:

The world's wealth is frozen memory
So many birds wheeling about in reaction to tides and breezes
A separate more perfect body pitched violently
Into a world it never acknowledged—

Elision Sonnet

ii.

I run the Superman equation.
It runs, like an apegirl on a drainpipe,
up a curve, then breaks off
into a period.
Or an exclamation punt.
********* reminds me of plastic bags,
dancing in the wind.
But crime is everywhere, Supe.
And I, too, have been trans*****ed against.
Now my days are filled with work
And occasionally cake.
To what dark galactic hollow could you hurl me,
Kal El?
What quiet place?

Elision Sonnet

i.

I was standing.
You came behind me and put a knee into my knee.
It was winter.
Someone saw us moving from inside a ****way.
We pulled each other fast and cannibal’d time.
You must guess that we are time.
The wrong moment for the right folks.
I guessed it long ago and something.
It holds water?
It was a story that told a poem.
It’s a double why.
I thought I could bend ****.
The wind pushed us together.
We huddled and huddled.

Where the hell is that underground passage?

Tando via Pennsound

Hear my May 31st (this year) reading at the Bowery Poetry Club in NYC as part of the Segue Poetry Series, hosted by Tim Peterson and Erica Kaufman.

Just go HERE.

The guy howl-laughing in the background is my old high school pal, Richard Kim!

A L*****G Method

Go ahead and clack when walking. Make that umph sound when striking, using a superman punch, overpacked, energetically realizing all highness. Give someone a long tall drink. Drink them cool milling molecules, young outlaws in the surround. Someone shadowed her collective documents and gathered things with her deadpan wedgeface. Ninesense and reading teams, nickel and Cadillacs, shouldering the wait of ten years in a bag. Goliath down to your watering whole bag of feed and knuckles in two pockets, spilt tiller up in a ground. Range over acidic econo-dollops, fly fast away from a fickle folkster figgering ways to git free. Dumb heads touch faces, wonder about sleep, keep wallopy uppercuts coming out in springtime. Soul-bare idears get met with shut-up shit-blanked hater moves. Just flow, go, screen-dense yoga purgation, rut out dank corners of tomorrow and chase things on a bike.

bomomo

Beginning A Summer Summary

This spring and summer I did several readings, as my book, The Comeback's Exoskeleton, came off the presses in April. I've said this before in print and in public, but BIG thanks go to Zohra and Robert of Upset Press.

My first reading, which was a sort of homegoing, took place on April 7th, as part of the Wolfe Institute for the Humanities lecture and reading series at Brooklyn College, where I did my MFA in poetry. It was great to see Julie Agoos, whose newest book is Property, and L. S. Asekoff, with whom I studied extensively.

Next, on May 3rd, I read in Tucson, for the Poets and Artists collective POG. I was the opening act for the illustrious and strange Leslie Scalapino. You can hear my reading here.

I then read on May 31st, in New York, for The Segue Series, with Simone White, curated by Tim Peterson and Erica Kaufman. This turned out to be both delightful and strange, as a dear old friend from high school, Richard Kim, showed up, along with another friend, Michael Ranson, from my undergraduate days. After the reading my parents and I dined with Tim and his family, Erica, Simone and other guests of the reading at a lovely Indian restaurant on the lower east side of Manhattan.

The American MONKey

I fantasize about having no money and no debt, just roving the land like an American MONKey, sleeping under oak trees and at the edges of farms, wandering to doors with open hands, asking for a morning meal, then roaming the forests of Washington, California, Maine, sitting to meditate under trees, under the shelter of stones, meeting garrulous raccoons, eager chipmunks, kind snakes, Oh I'd be the American MONKey, with a short fuzzy haircut and fond memories of lightning storms that tested my nerves, tested my concentration, and I'd find myself improving, getting better at wanting what I've got, not questing for what I don't, Big I becoming little i, slowly, deliberately, with the changing of the seasons, fearlessly advancing in age and wisdom and my capacity to laugh at myself, I'd have to give up my bicycles, my music, computer, food in my fridge, close ties with lover and friends, leave for the forest, head shaved, feet trembling and willing to take me on the inner path to a silent sitting, a sweet quiet bower of the mind, plenty of green, no greenbacks, but an over-arching sense of lightness.

But, for now, I am the American debtor, full of loans and bikes, goofily complex idears, a monogamous relationship, a continuously re-managed cluster of sense-addictions.