A Blender FaNtasticElectric
pOstModern Pop Poems
by Jeremia Sterkel
Name of Book: A Blender FaNtasticElectric: pOstModern Pop Poems
Publication Date: Nov 19 2011
ISBN/EAN13: 1467999806 / 9781467999809
Page Count: 64
List Price: 1.00 (E-Books)
Author Note: You are free to use this work for any reason, but attribute the work to the author
Preface
Pop culture will continue to move us for years to come. We are obsessed with knowing every detail of every life we think worthy of our attention. It is so awful celebrities live on one headline to the next. We destroy and uplift those who we choose. The book states this plainly, we enjoy seeing and believing in people we have never met nor never will. Simple enough to know, but I wonder what is driving us to want to enjoy this circus? I wish I have the answer. I myself enjoy it on a small scale with moments of mild obsession, like watching every episode of a television show in a row, but I do not take it in a Warholian way. Yet, some people are obsessed with the tabloids, watching athletes compete, or even following celebrities on the internet making that person every thought something to be treasured and pawed over. We have destroyed so many would-be celebrities like John and Kate, yet more people get in line to be famous.
All our internal greatness comes from our own belief systems, whether it is our families instilling us or ourselves. The popular culture surrounding us invites all to challenge what we see against our own thoughts. The challenge can be sometimes for good, and sometimes to horrid results.
As long as we continue to value money, sex, love, American dreams, fetishes, or the other plethora of fantasies media we will always make us pop culture fanatics. This is because deep in our hearts we all long to get notice and love from other outside our immediate world. This force makes some take the ultimate risk in life opening them up to the world of art. Inside this world are high energy and beauty, but full of the harshest criticism imaginable. This book is for those people whose blood runs hot with passion of saying those things making life meaningful. They dream an impossible dream during their coffee breaks, folk’n out at a local bar, or in between changing diapers.
Section 1:
The Scissors of Harpo Marx (humored pop)
Tricolor
simple colors are always the best
looking at Atari
pure and chaste colors
ruby reds, sun yellow
EleMENTary oculars
the visions are quarter
then fifty cents,
now I think it’s a dollar
Fuck progress
Give me tricolor CRYstal castles,
plucked starlit Pacman, Mystifying
Ms Pacman, exciting Centipede
Simple songs are always the best
Debbie Does Dallas
What is pornography?
Debbie, the blond (of course),
stood eager for pleasure
does this really exist?
could women do anything to save
their cheerleading squad?
I suppose not, but Freud's
dream of the ID blossomed true
with triple X rated acts of Kodak film
in the end we don't need story or actor's motivations
we only desire pleasure from voyeuristic
visions of perky Debbie desperately saving her
cheerleading squad
Debbie and dynamo of debauchery
the sinful sister of cinema
whose acts may seem whorish, but pleases
the person who drops the DVD in the player
drifting off into ecstasy
dreaming of ID's domination of the dominion of SUPEREGO
of BODY BLANKET
SOUL SLIGHT OF HAND
SPIRT SYMMETRY
Cary Grant Drops Acid
Hello baby I’m feeling fine,
at the doctor’s office and they’ve
given me a room with a view
tapestry of pigments pulsate the
hallway musical notes from the radio
gorgeous baby gorgeous I’m like a priest in
Delphi only I have a flannel suit and I’m less
religious I wonder what Grace Kelly
would think of this? No doubt she
wouldn’t like it she’s too stuffy always
the uptight squeaky clean sort turn her
own mother in for cheating at bridge makes
me sick sometimes I’m being driven home now
it’s great to have a chauffeur on this breezy California
day the buildings are shirking on me
gazing into my bathroom mirror, baby
I’m not looking as good as I used to
long ago I always had the pentacle of women
NoW I couldn’t even get Kathryn Hepburn’s
mother if I had a piece
of meat attached to my leg I dive head first
into the cool clear pool
purple sharks swimming around me biting me in
my flabby abs I look fine in my swimming trunks
at least some things don’t change, even
if the sharks wear grey suits and sing off key
channels on TV
I was 15
AMC
Planet of the Apes 3
first times are those greenglowing stickers
you wait undernight
hoping the stickers will shine like day
in auspice of dark
INnocent under the inFLuence
helicopters, suit jackets, twist endings,
with FIgURE heads Mr Youth, Apollo…
Rickety Ramsis’…
I forgot most of the story now
To RustedP oetry (old skins new wine)
sitting motionless looking look
gaze into empty space
Mr. Rust glibly replies had rather
masturbate than go to another poetry reading
water swirls half full glass
OxidizeRue the straight rusthaired poet
Simplicity is numbers
wrought in packages destined for nowhere
I say
I just like my masturbation poems he responds
sips of water he glances
around
I give my turn at the microphone on Poetry night
he too
he looks consistently frustrated
like the world passes him, and laps him
on a Nascar track he was forced to drive
but refuses to put his foot down on the accelerator
His tempest hair and clothes all
suggest he is more beyond his Thunderdome
YoU know the rotten sequel to Mad Max?
Orange light (SuperVixen’s Poster)
Russ Myers manfested bosom laden beauties
drive in movies
a calculator of lust 2nd power lazying lumps
the orange bubble letter poster proclaiming the feature
when I was 15 I spoke fluent flesh
a frantic frank language
not of love
persimmon colored blossoms or deeporderedheart
but purposefully pleasure
orange
Now
on my cell phone I have the poster
oldtimes newflesh fluent
in peachtree mornings lightcologne colored nights
citrus scented soap
placed between dappled breast to DElighT
Jimmy Stewart Survives a Zombie Attack
I, I
drove my F1 down an old dirt road
the farmhouse was not far
off
the sun was high on that windy spring day
kinda day it
makes you happy to be liv'n
like a giant hole in your hearts been
filled
with simple laughter and golden sunshine
I, I
careened into one of those undead
by a Texaco, the last gas
station for miles
he was dressed in all dirt brown uniform and
had
an Ushanka hat and well I don’t need
to tell you what kind of
life he led
I just like to point out that I’m
well, well, not
your typical zombie slayer
right away I knew what to do
aim for
the head those Frank Capra films
will tell you a lot about
life well, well that’s
what I did but, I need ammunition
for
my
Browning Auto 5 Case so I walked
into the Texaco got myself a
coffee an,
an O Henry bar and a couple of boxes
of twelve
gauge shot and set out to save my
little farm community well,
first
thing I did was go to the graveyard cause well I
expected
to see them there like a moth at a
baseball field light during
the double header and
took
a couple of those darn brainsuckers down
after that I set fire to
that graveyard and
put my, myself up in a tower to pick off those
undead one by one then feeling satisfied with
my progress
under that azure sky of springtime I,
I, stopped off at the movie
theater and caught
the picture Lady and the Tramp, such a sweet
little
movie the mayor even gave me a key
to my little farm town for
my service
I
guess I ramble too much
but I’ll tell you there’s no better
zombie
killing movie to watch than Lady and Tramp
have yourself
some popcorn and plop down
in the theater chair when the
theater goes
dark just imagine that you’ve got yourself a
M1950
pistol and lean smile and those undead
will all be quaking in
their torn up boots
Star Wars Poems *does anyone care anymore?*
Princess Leia
the SEXUal dynamo
buns
and all
smiled gazes of Freudianism
but, I prefer Carrie now
a disgruntled thespian
forsaking the comforts
of the slave bikini
asking to look at life from a Feminist
eye
a script doctor, not savior of the galaxy
but human
like the rest of us
Luke’s Prayer
Luke Skywalker stood 10 feet tall
in 1978
saving humankind and showing the gospel
Do we really need another story?
Yoda
Sweet Jesus Yoda did you ever think
it would go this far? Did
you ever think of the apocalypse?
The returned Christ? The dove
sweet marmaladeal tone sung
by men? of TOYS BOYS NOISE Yoda
did you ever think it would go this far?
Section 2:
The Dreams of GodNocturnal (auspice of dreampop)
John’s
John Wayne paused at a wooden door
breaking light through his hand-over-hand stance
the division of legend and early fifties sexuality
my grandparents still talk about him
“He grew up in Iowa, on a diet
of corn and golden relish”
waiting for a Kubrick close up no doubt
walking lean on the moon’s path
toward a Mêlées stage backdrop,
fake and blistery beautiful
The logic of dreams I’m sure
I say watching Stagecoach eating grapes
and yellow white cheese with my grandfather Yet,
if you ask me he wasn’t my legend
he never rode a white horse giving me the heart gospel
bright red ideology, raw like a rare steak in a heartlandfarm’s dinner table
never told me the secrets of the Western
while we lie in an opium den in San Francisco 1900 or so
he had three yellow canaries he would let free
after each picture
he would drive his boots to Sampson’s Boot Repair and Shine
and haggle over price smiling about John Ford’s eye patch
I think America always loves the country, the sweat of deserts,
and, of course, the eye patch of
John Ford
Now, I look back on his films
still spotting the canaries outside my house
fat and strong for the winter
Untitled
Life has always been mysterious to young lovers I am no different
tonight All I want is to have a smoke and go to bed
Love is a game best played in dark smoked rooms of revision vectors SoUl's like Bathsheba
sweet smiles and small vases with cracked edges I have felt alone before
feelings best to be felt with someone with soft eyes So I went
to the Lily house to see the ghost play their piano upstairs for the
tourist looking for Rembrandt or Picasso But instead I watch
mindless television like I always do after a hard day at work
the television flicking in my dark room and I’m at peace
again
The Last Breath of Orson Welles
As Orson drew breath for the final time
he thought of his enchanted life
the many times on TV the movies
the parade of flesh tones breathing
life into his old body one more time
he calmly reminded himself that his path
was at the edge of the sea
surrounded by ice fighting for food
so many had come before all left
disenchanted like birds before winter
HE saw the face of God once before
in a nightmare full of flame moons
and Charles Kane cried about life
over a sea's threshold instead of dying
slowly Kane was a lurid prism, a ghost
lusting over Rebecca’s firm tight body
He had a wet dream three women (GrAce BeauTy INSpIration)
danced with his body all night until
the sun rose and he smoked a
Lucky Strike off a California balcony
overlooking the Hollywood sign faded
in rust rotten to the letter
yet spellbinding Now the black
and white photographer breezed in
and took a picture of his final breath
resting his Kodak camera on the bed
corner Rust colored soft dirt around
the corners of Orson’s eyes prevented
hallucinations At last Orson
saw the beautiful flash of light and closed his lens
The shot complete
To the moon
to the moon I saw
the only cup of life
draught of silver scaled fish
to the moon I wished
that chasms of bleeding
wou
l
d
pass
and my mind might
pull away to starsky
orange parade Huston
Eisenstein Hitchcock Welles
salvation
majestic men
clothed in crimson
incense laden
smiled eyed
to the moon I beloved
blinding hope
clearovaled candy
each of star birth
each of yellowmellow
each of season sand and desert dust
Tired Potions of Dream Reds
the song was being around the world la la
the breath of life like rotten apple liquor
Michael Bolton told me to dream of wellluxured women
dressed in red
Sundays off
stocking and yellow hosiery
my mythdream was dirty as sparkling snow
Methuselah must have watched the mall shoppers dart inside the last store
before the flood
take their presents home
having forgot about worries under the pressure of television news
and yellow gold banded bankers
Daple daple echoes the radio
I did live in the 1990s tasted the marrow
of Bloomfield High
bullshit classes with lips like confections
under the influence of a couple of joints during drylunch
may be I should build myself up into a blue sanctity mask
but
I don't believe in my own priesthood
a priesthood of poppies snapdragons white lilies
sage brush Listerine
an erect penis (penis envy turned trivial)
a yellow hat and an Easter Sunday woman
(I'll remember
until entropy falls away
and Christ returns with a pastel and blood neon Versace smile)
Modern Dance
monsters ring dish towels
complaining; singing Arcade Fire
the priest in blue jeans walking towards church
the little boy changes the channel
to Cartoon Network
believe me I’ve seen ghosts
deep in the bowels of the kitchen of the drive in theater
walking in circles after each show
glancing at couples kissing Yesterday
I stopped to buy pornography pornography
is a wild brush fire set to the music
of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
Thump, Thump
walking in the store afraid of seeing someone they know
quickly peeking to appear elegant
after Scooby Doo, the commercial is of Vitamin Water on a turntable
of course young lovers
watch 16 and Pregnant
clasping sweaty hands together
afraid the other will want to pull away to dry them
Adult Swim comes on and child shuffles to bed
Rhythm tHis TiMe
mystic rhythmbeat
beat beating hearting
sounds clack
raindrops freeflowfall
poets scribblescrump
thump tee ump
opening notes befuddling morning dawn
symphonies of the mindjazzfullpit playing out a song
did you know Beethoven loved Daffy Duck?
he (BAH) sat in room like 2001 A Space Odyssey
and tripped on white sheets white pillows
white walls white chairs
noting nothing new under starstrecheddarkingdeepingblackuniverse
staringchild chilled
to
see
Daffy dumbfounded duck filling trick bags
spattering spit
rhythm rue New
raindropping sheet wall wisping
Eisenstein (part 1) Hot and Cold
The light shined hard and taut like a rope
pulled too tight
the aura diffused down on the face of Eisenstein
he looked away his teeth white and clinched
this wasn’t the revolution he wanted
he wanted blood red peace
tranquility after the natural birth
Bring the saint child to us he said to the cameraman
let us see his face un-blemishing
un-taint righteous and Marxist like a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve
Hold that shot Eisenstein yelled
then Lenin places the chrome gun on a dripping
wet street bathed in gas light
The revolution had just began
the October moon was full and pale yellow
Joshua, my brother, was still long to be born
Requiem Radio: Michael Bolton Thoughts on a Dram of Poison
I drink the cherry cola it’s haunted like filtered undressed cannon smoke
the subway walls drive out Helvetica in a nightmare of perfect precision
the underground silver spear speaks a song
the radio gargles she is like haze fire heat
the subway women to me are a division of wooden bars across ceilings
I remember her skin like Sherry hot toddy prisms
plaCe the ReD dress on your body-
Turn off the radio The channel is Chanel on window pane
the Women cut him deeply-
I can’t
I ingest the peyote McDonald’s fries
Smitten by looking sexy he complains-
Turn on the radio Dante
I sacrificed my cock to techno beats
They blind infinity the creation of abstract
Drive me home MeGaMantech Remix I drank my last dollar away
Creator of pulse rhythm
I recall the last arcade I saw lived in 1999 a double helix
on a quarter past eleven as I slid out of the underground into street orange light
Drink your cherry cola Dante the inferno arrived yesterday
by Fed-Ex and it must be signed for
Warhol’s Brillo Box
I set out to see the Hydra
on a May perfumed morning
but instead I explored the Brillo box
Andy Warhol designed
The elevator drove me to a section
of rough ashen yellow paper art
I believe in the three headed Medusa
the grotesque monsters of Τάρταρος (Tartarus)
the clear shadow water of the river of forgetfulness
and I couldn’t touch the Brillo Box
It didn’t matter anyway
the geometric dials of the elevator opened
a silver haired emeraldenvious ideology
(much like Pandora’s box)
likened to daffodils and chrysanthemums
in sexual spring mornings
She who I would have loved to let listen to PetSounds
he turned beglamored checkrose
she let out of breath
then dove under the pool water
wavecurls passed over her subdriven body
he marooned his hopes
as they sat under summerheat
he knew her move
motion towards solitude
the red plastic picnic table parked their bodies
hot stoneway walks
paper plates gorged with mayonic macaroni
breath of summer tiptoed
slowly pips of rain let fall
bemixed with
Beach Boys melodic speakers, but not PetSounds
Whisper of Nights D’ing (to the kids)
a whisper under pale Autumn skies (the only skies worth seasons of southern Indiana)
of Bloomfield
I never heard
never understood
never reacted
no heartbeat that was love beat
an old song claimed carrying through my car
drove down roads speaking tongues of loneliness
the bedraggled soul
pouring out halfbaked indolent logic
lusted for soulsandm o tion
reaching out to Billy D
Lando was two cloud cities over
so wait, wait, wait
noon rainbow on a beat wooden bridge
a night of LSD
smiled blue green buds
we quietly spoke of nothing
but I still dreamed
dancing debauched despite Syd Barret minds
crying again and again
a mystery of mowing lawns for love sake and motion Motown
Sammy Terry
as
children grow they dream of being doctors, lawyers, or
scientists
Sammy Terry wanted to be on TV
he wore a goblin
mask in grade school
the children were amused
the teachers were
not
but Sammy was destined for the stars
Channel 4
Indianapolis gave him a show
he came out of a coffin like he had
just taken a nap
the children were amused
as they sat in the
darkened living room at night and dreamed of phantasms
they would
go to bed and say their prayer softly
so that no demons would
grab them from under the bed
Sammy only smiled and knew
that
he was already carved out in imagination
because the mind of a
child has more power
than dark matter, black holes, motions to
dismiss, or blood transfusions combined
it has more energy than
any well pumped for profit in the black and blue ocean
children’s
imaginations are like power substations filled with voltage
running
along in lines lighting a shadowy world
one moment forgotten by
the world is adorned in the memory of a child forever
Yorick was
never forsook, forgotten, forgone
Such are the ways of God
Cabin Boy (MovE nutshelled)
Did jelly beans bounce higher?
HIP HoP
whose hands and feet dressed leather provisions
holding high hulled hatters cane white stick
to Chris Elliot cabin shot child
draught to fish one to two
two to two
carries diamonds distilled splashes
thrashing delight white
cherry sourball confections
tree fresher hung hugely carFLopping
what did you know cabin boy?
one to speak of tiffs and trials
bleachblanced cauliflower
you know of my American song
Algiers to Anglo
did jelly beans bounce higher?
HiP HOP
OF thee I sing to song of sweet fish
oakedwoodedships splashing in a 100 pages
(In response to Bathsheba with the Letter to David) Rembrandt painting
The
letter hangs off her hand waiting for reply
her naked body a
whisper of licking flames
told to the naked man (David) as he
longs
for her outstretched arms to embrace him
her round
nipples, auburn hair, soft belly
I
call him in the night like a mariner for the sea
she
pants under her mysterious breath
it was she that he loved
forsaking God
the logic of sexual dream made flesh
from his own
rib he thought he lusts
unfailingly for her love and lust
have found
their way into the priesthood and both
are
scrawled on the letter she writes CalliGRAPHY
of passion
awaiting the moment of saintly
ejaculation to try again soon
beating wings
for a landing away from the sea back to land
waited on by virtue Love
and lust
have made their way into God's kingdom
and dominion
taken together
sings
David just before Solomon writes it down for all to see
Response to Erotic Energy
we are plants growing in the hard summer dirt
but men (improper) are also birds
dark, mysterious creatures living on their own
lives in solitude which no person can ever
record day to day life
scientists take statistics of bird’s lives
when they come back from winter marking each
life in a notebook taking stock
of birds lost and newly recorded entries of life
when men come to adulthood they shed
their youngnew earth colored feathers fly to make life
strong as honeysuckle in the morning living
testaments in dirt feathers longing to breathe
having patterns unshakable as foundations
to sky scrapersthe haunted bird follows
patterns to fly toward warmer climes but most
never return the earth feathers are all
remaining of their bodies lost to the elements
hard storms, floods, and predators
men are fools like sparrows because we
believe hard work will provide all things AND
every year the sparrow struggles to return
thrown in the wind alone from a death silver sky
In the heart chasm of man the rhythm pulsates wild Every man draws breathe before flight to the shaded woods The sparrow looks on sees man envies him then carries on to the call of nature
Kurt Vonnegut and the Time Traveling Circus
walking
masses on the pavement
they limp on the sidewalk like a
tortured
roller coaster slumping click
clack up a hill Vonnegut looks on
with
his time traveling circus reflecting autumn
nights at a
mischievous carnival in Greenwood
Indiana I
wore a Planet of the Apes t-shirt
in Rome,
he tells a tramp in the 80's
Kurt
ate the fish and loaves; it tasted like
scented sacrament, meaty
and untarnished
he smoked Camel filters with Euripides
he
appeared in prehistoric times; saw the
beginnings of man inked out
of blackness on
the forest floor he saw the horrid wars
PAin spilled out like grains
of sand on the hot beaches
of Florida AND
like a child at the edge of the sea
he took
in the Inca society
he was there when man drank up
the
river Nile ImBIBing its life essence
he walked down the river to
meet Pharaoh
The king
was a nice guy, he
thought,
but quite stupid
when the time traveling circus
preformed
for the children of Egypt it was in a blaze of
sequins and powdered sugar
The children ate deep fried corn
dogs
and ranch taco salads in the desert sun
AgES of people,
places and things and everyone
still loves a corn dog
Kurt
wrote all this down but you'll have to
wait until Amazon releases
the book for
the Holiday season I think its twenty dollars…
To Girls I would like to Kiss: Contemporary Jack Tripper Tale
Cliché sTawBerry wine
wind pipes of doubt
To girls
I wish only
you would see to me beauty
with rain ice caverns steep slopes
I am not afraid of touch
silk screenporch and rust
Your great joY Jack Tripper
is the threesome black and blond
who by peace of living
gives me starmist starfish starfruit
Would I be Jack Trippers son?
for love Prefontaine
competition orange blanched blonds?
I will choose to run in wild fields
summer
run until old and without breath
to love and lovechoice I choose
freedomholykiss
To the nights in deserts
Judas is her lover car stops
sweeping flashes of TechniCOLOR
walking down PeterPaUl movie seats
this for champagne, blueberry roses,
little fingers of popcorn
The wanton dream of God Like
people places time sports cavalcades arenas
masterpieces credits roll
black orange night streets dowsed in rain
humidity rises joydencitrusstreet
Hell to no man calls of timeless
cellstripes Madre Mountains Queen Oceans
Take me to your bedchamber!!!
for all of sight sound dewing DREaM
and give climbing Frankincense mountains
turning the car over he whispers alone
sings alone fucks alone
do you dreaM in in velvetbones Dante?
I’m
cl
im
b
ing
down…
Freud
Brown Eyes: The love of Bonny Raitt Blues
Jet black TUTUs
Sunday news
teal, grey, transcendental blues
For God so loved the world
he gave his only Son
did you see?
hand nails torrid lovepain
and brown eyes beseeched whole heart?
Only bubbledouble helix
DoCtOrs of physics proclaim
wisdom of womanly descent
who by wisdom driving to
flesh only-steelfish
this the bite of pornography
hand upon hand
taping rain father gold’s
Christ died for emeralds blue diamonds
foxingcrescentmoons symphony dyed hair
she giving to me my wisdom
glamour heels whose spike
gleaned upon brown eyes
and took the breath of smoking
joy Jenny Toys RCA
TVS StaTIC commercial orange Versace
lifting Easter SKIES
WHEn in Autumn is made of rice stocks and fire
A poll Conducted Yesterday SHOWs Hieronymus Bosh Leading Love
I called yesterday for HB
he answered back to feel
the deep
Oceans are undiscovered covered with
mountains and valleys and poppy fields and
quarter arcades
I called yesterday for HB
he answered back to paint
hope
Damn the widow who spoke to me
whose painted pained eyes covered the multitude of artistic sorrow
I have not called HB back
a champion of wineskins, ribs,
oiled cubes, neon white crosses, blue jays and robins
I called Mr Dali today
but he was being baptized
in truth
at Sunday noon
with high skies and art museum smells
standing with Gauguin’s gifted glamorous ghost
Seattle
seagull eyes shores of popping tides
tide ocean drifts logwood on soggy banks
Seattle has been prismed
Tuesday tawdry turnspoonknifefork
Seattle silver this was yesterday
the great joy of prisms rainbow red
but I could (of course) talk of gold
yak yak gold standard
I took a trip on an orange ocean runner
played dance to Seattle’s ghosts
these are the yak yak yellow ghosts
but I was too young to know Hendrix grave
the whistling Sound Garden and Kobain
ANd to the SUN!!!
with glorious ghost show hosts
and pavilion rain soaked fish
where sweet house coffee comingles
THIS to the God STArSBusterSweetLyinglamplightwish!!!
And this to Fuchsiacarnations
When setting out for lost land
seas of sweeping shores come
greyyellowgold sand
To her I wish A life
of bespeckled dancing
I have seen her eyes she
of motion soul who by
cherub dancing wind life
with reckless freedom of only
youth
this is the living fire to which all
burns one day yet ember red
carry wonton fortune
But this of souls
of the cherry flowers
whose smell can recall to mind
yesteryears and I will DANCe
to
because of all of fortune tawdry
I can still see embers red
teapots symphonies arch legs fire
of the Holy Spirit and
Lilies DreSSED Night
with truth wise otherwise wheels
Song of Songs By Rule of Three
The Buckingham’s
bachelor teals
but I have seen your ghost
reach hands for you
this the truth of legend
stowaway ocean eyed
soil and dust life and rib
bejeweled timing whisper
drawn by night
when we have settled our debts to Blight
Blithe turns to Lilies
royal purple dressed
and in all splendor
mauve, love, sexual sight, wisdom, joy
of linkletter this lilies DreSSED night
Marmalade Methuselah
The door oak brown
thin veil
cigarette butts in the ashtray
the scent of three women
the saturation of
of…
what happened Methuselah
in the late years?
did each person talk of
daydreams 900 years old?
butterflies in alabaster
spun cloud cocoons
did waterbuffalo’s cherub?
Yesterday dooroaked
seas of white lapping tides
bespeckled yellow black wings
each of innocence
like paper moon children
(SPOKE MRS BLIGHT)
Untitled Tom
Did Tom
break with tradition?
he strolled hardboiled
flat fields
daisies the yellow daises
they
must think how gloryfilled
apartments are
when beloveds ask favors
to endless drives for coffee
and ceaseless anger
to nature again
it seems pointless now
having left the Yellow submIXed parries
yet I and Tom have seen
have seen ten thousand tears
ten thousand smiles
No Charity today
each, me, he, I, she, they, drought, timeshares,
Christmas powder, greenteasoap, San Francisco harlot
metaphor bikers deep shocked smiles
MR> Periwinkle Death do you think of me?
Eyes
saint saint
besmirched green eyes
what color eyes did Christ have?
odorful blue, browny, green of sea flats?
my imagination crosses carousels of lights
into her roomrest
she the enchanted oceanographer
my boredom of years untasseled
pitiful now
clached heartheat tumpwhite
her skin clay whisper oxide earth
did I bring couplets of roundrings to tearsoaked eyes?
she opened the boltlocked window
a placid bird escaped from the room
the saints timtom blitheing blue
Jimmy Joyce 1
batise blacks
Alone
eyesore jubilation
he was a waddling swan
he sought blueblack baptisms
charcoal chasm eye
he drove sisterstars into tears
he was alonE in his chaste Monday night football
he had a metaphycosis,
a turn table trial
on black paper
like I said he was alone
with sex fingers and lusted brainstreams
foaming with whitepurtredcream
like I said he was alone
CLASSIC TRI
Medusa
Medusa was nice until she was metamorphosed
You’d be a bitch too if you had snakes for hair
Icarus
Dastardly
flight
the disobeying son slain by declaration
lies motionless
in the water his youth a feral damnation
Freud wakes up afraid of
his own shadow on the street
Medusa’s Mom
What’s the matter darling?
So what if you have snakes for hair?
Is it so bad?
O, you turn men to stone
just by a glance?
Than may be a problem honey,
you’re not getting any younger
Maybe you should think of sunglasses at night?
Or dyeing your snakes?
Don’t cry it’s not so bad
there could be worse things
Like your SISTERS
They’ll always be alone
This morning’s coffee
-it about the house of love
waiting morning of humid misted May
Everything he does he does for love
I couldspeak polite of love
synchronized beats of dawns duties
caramelcuppedcoffee BReWINg
deepest fears-
outout sIde darklight
I remember my faint sunrise stars
those who names called by God meant glory
She called me yesternight
the rhythm is a rebel
she greater than stars slitherskyswept yellow
My Aramaic gives strength for Her
To quiet coffee
dehydrated and then Nate Dog joined in…
to the last of Starfighters
My God of Archatexural Assenting Archetype
HISTory
To your red and bone passion
I forever give each to those who call each morning decorative objects
separate
full harmony
OLD age
Andy 2
Andy was a jeweled firefly
he drove mass art to mass consumption
he was a vagrant virtue
whose fatal loins drew forth
Romeo and Juliet silkscreened
from his own fragile moon jelly mind
I still believe in him
and always will
such is the life of the naïve
and people who own hangdog Lexus’ cars,
houses and rhythmical TV’s
Section 3:
The Scale of Pop (justice Jeremiads)
Burger King
I remember one night in 1998
when I worked as a fry cook at Burger King
I closed the store and fought off the oblivion
of quite business tired eyes and overworked love tears
my manager a local pastor
let us play the tape deck
as we cleaned the broiler
and scrubbed the ketchup stains of capitalism
I dropped in a cassette tape I had mixed
He talked about waking up and having no food-
The first song was CCR’s Midnight Special
my manager polished the counters
a young man brought out huge blocks of beige butter
and dropped them into the fryers
She wanted to see the governor-
Midnight Special, one song in a moment
but I have never had an audience so spellbound by media before or after
we felt the lyrics down to our yellow/white marrow
much like the butter
the manager smiled
and remembered God doesn’t forsake people
he was not a rich man
as most who lived in Linton Indiana
poVerty was a common as smoker’s colds
I refuse to distance myself from God
as I grow older
in those moments I see the poor Jesus hamming away at his bench
listening to CCR himself
inhaling the melodic chimes of the music of Paradise
Cell Phones
Standing inside The Thornton Dial gallery one day
I saw someone on a cell phone
Did visions voluptuous come dressed in text or talk?
some kind of ancient Godhood was forgotten
to technology I never knew I missed it
until I wasn’t connected
EsoteriC dials and meters
Hello, yes the family’s fine
she says talking in front of the art piece about the Great
Depression in the South from a poor black farmer son
do phone calls meaning derive joy?
but thought I to no meaning could
when Godfull splendor dresses the walls
yellow, fuchsia, stinging gold,
electric sexual charcoal drawings, cow bones, and ROSE!!!
For this you can wait until I am home to talk talk talk
Jersey Shore
the truth youth of young men
did you ever see Jersey Shore?
Not quite for sleep of death lust wrought age
for weak of flesh dress purple pain
Jesus this blanched life
tides of lapping Jersey Shores
a loud lie fa la la la la la la
who by menboys ask of LoT for
beguiled womengirls
and tattooed skin and sleep rhythms
and sips of yellow beer
could not bring to them love
gold not dressed heeled regrets
When all is done and scars leads
nothing like abysses of truth
noting 15 minutes comes and goes
channels change clothing molds
Joe Conrad’s Repeat River
choicethestars
Helios god of the sun
cHariots of FIREhorse
My god God to freechoose
This is about how African Americans speak of water
ancient rivers still clear and blue
not of plastic refuse steel waste
cigarette butts sunworn Pepsi cans putrid cream rising yellow
Cross the Ohio beloved cherub
although time stands still
cold cold July sunHelioSdazzlinghigh
To holY prayers fold hands I
and bewept the river nymphs innocence
White River White River
Love in the Mist SEedS
White River White River
The ghost of John Lennon
and this to summer inK black skies
did I or YUE me or primRosie the Riveter ask for right of manwomenlovebrideofChrist?
Each glamour’s inside for untouched earth
put your milky white hands into
thE dirt feeling for that which you will return
that which was scared to those who came before
to the ink black skies of summer I say stand sTand
like a giant and ask for each of menwomen to have rights inherit in living
THis is the great revoLution John Lennon (thankyou for the music) And I didn't need your gLASses
but a pen
Odde o day
I see the tall mountains
standing like giant windmills
GianTs are tall trees with wooden clubs
and a hell of a lot of makeup on
i was a transgender student
of my foreign math
Odde o day, to a saintly gay man
who drove me home
the haunted bisexual giving
me quarters for arcade games
it was Pac Man and she who saved my soul that night
with bright colored Pac pellets and dancing lights
Aquaman drives home in
the snow to his lover
The Flash He dreams of lit
Christmas trees with moon children dancing
like cherubs in August heat
lighting dark corners of rooms
Aquaman pulls into his drive
turns his engine off and walks
home with a handful of presents in ruby ribbons
and sultry cinnamon sash
dreams of honest virtue
pure as electricity in circuits
Two Poem Melody (LustTWINSTWINS)
But now liven wild holy drifts
from ash to prairie grass
the holyfire mismanagement of twins
hunted down dumbwitted tears
they cry of loves losing battle
needing Dolcedark eyelashes
he dressed in Gabardine
Well just one of the twins
she wears diamond crushed crewneck
with paper thin wisdom
armed away in spacE travel
Mary Kate Ashley androids
HEavens stardust ashes lent
wrapped around his neck
kissed him colder spoke FULLHOUSE songs instead
of Solomon Siouxcitysin
deep MELouidousMAINframe
hollyholy and rantrythmic
he wished out to the corner of his mind
he could drive towards Jupiterheatlove
the stardustplanet
reach its tropical ocean
team of flooders
yellow and blue
Psalms (Each man has a Psalter Surf Song to Sing)
To each Man
to division flesh
to joybell’s of pain
in which Everyman Thresh
soon to see my beloving Jesus
the haunted flesh to deepdive
autumn sunhalffullrise
where do souls depart?
BE fourthree to after?
having flextones pound prayers coppershownpennies
I didn’t know of government graves
I
pray
unmitted hands
hardboiled eggs
Donna Summers, Jackson 5, White River,
Marvelous Marty McFly, Bayou Billy,
Red Van Gogh, Metallic Steeple, River of Life,
Athens, Wooden Crazy Horse, pAlm
branches, silt Suzzy Q, Martin Luther King
Street, Cheeky Mighty Mouse, RCA, Voit
Sports Clothing, Francis Ruby Bacon, the
lucid Kevin BaconButteredToastandOrangeJuice,
Mickey Mantle’s Rookie Card and Oedipus
Proverbs (New to know)
Please
Please
Please assure me now knownot
to Which pain standing stiffnecked
dressed purple Dolce Gabbana linen
and coffin coughs cheapclump
and now can divide America the beautiful
with Proverbs crust
Steel Flowers
Who would scorn Adam and Eve’s beguiling?
who has set a table amongst themselves
ate of carpet steel flowers and rocks
Wailing Wal-Mart trips
IY’s golden wanting Timecop
What hands dig Earth anymore?
Who hearted themselves to charity?
Charity the cajoled creature church
standing in silver star stockings
topless
But she…
And too death is from death itself
not proud like ancient stories over fire aloud
This raven feathered white
FoxedNews cuddled repeated nightfire
And I to sea I saw the green wave
come splash rush the shore sinner and rube
Hope
Hope she
is scarlet curved
To tease me of death
Effigy
To black unrimmed tires
patrolmen sketch out
livings
unrimmed tires
who drives them?
To tight grey jeans
women stretch out
livings
tight grey jeans
to drive him
To eryngium
couples metaphor
living
organism eryngium
who would deny them?
And Amethyst
to Amethyst
living under light love
hard resting
two hours before waking
who would buy them?
To the Children of IPS (Indianapolis Public Schools)
did this the hour of discontent
made glorious spring IPS?
and what children who had eyes
shin glen glamour say to hope?
what about the stinking pile rubbish
rubble of the play pen public school?
to children made the sunshine mind
and each and I and me they learned
puckish altruism a glossy monument
to coin and flesh, flesh and coin
give to Caesar and give to IPS
what is due
but you
and I no scarlet sight
of wind that would whip so violent as Hell
But you
and I would call at night when IPS slept
and dreamsoaked eyes bewept
Give to Caesar and give to IPS
what is due
Exclusive *the worlds response to poverty*
Exclusive Exclusive
We’re Having A BABY
OK, Enquire (Not Charles Foster Kane’s paper)
US Weekly, Cosmopolitan, E! News
all that is news
where did I hear that?
$That which is of scared America$
travellust withdraw
turn cheek spoke Mighty jOVE
I know your secrets Brad
I know how you draw your richbreath in the seasalt air
whisper of joylove
mighty father of many
MY business kept me
paper is paper
whether yellow white or glossy
A rough faced dressed Dolce man
A scent sweet rising just for me
The month bright it comes and goes
YOU the star star star
whether yellow white or glossy
2 my Generation (Baby Boomer’s Children)
The pale mount blank face of my chosen lot
we had world for firetasting
sons of broken lots, but only skulls for knitted
knots
we could reach sunsisters and drink tropical oceans refined water
instead we call each person mint
and buy seven shoes alike in only the rhythm of twos
and none would call gay men and women with
those phonebones myth mirth
those phones, did we forget that only yesterday
we had none of such luxury?
and we could smoke of those things to which
a generation lost their minds too?
and what of stars and bars to which we cling
those empty headed notions of bright morning drought
Who ONly scratches and follydream brought
with every motionofsolitude that heaven and God and
ink and CD’s and blackchurchmotionpictures couldn’t
and I have touch heavensrobe when I walk away fromelectrictoday
2 my Generation I call
to forsake school and dribble
Stand Like Don Quixote’s Giants against foolCreDitCaRDsParentcompanies
who only rape the soul and
blank the TV when bills are left to fallow
and moan and scream in2 the death (await like everyother)
and scream and kick for fantaticsexualerotictadryart
whose colors GOD KNOWS!
Have we now lost our minds to quiet?
at least nothing creates chivalry
and knights never receiving Dulcinea still
foam at the mouth of injustice
The 70’s Show taught me nothing as it taught you nothing
I forsake those sandquick skulls and the i’s of Triton
we being the me generation who fuck for fuck sake
and dance on graves of yesterday
but each manwomen can reach in their dreams at night
and cum on Sunday if they like
and weep at stupid movies and laugh in time of death
and greet each moment without regret
those paintedpainters we were
can call to God and ask for people NOT
to be rape by RAPER
whose money we owe and now we
stop dreaming after we sow
but to draw the greatest breath of pissy piss
and fight the majesticMaomaggots of turnrelvoerdoors
of every
bordomboard
eyes on chess of moneymaking
and creating such toys that boys
would forsake her wives for hours of computers
Fuck my passwords
Fuck MicrosoftsoftWakeDrums
Fuck the POweRhourofinsest the world we made has become
and Fuck stars if those star don’t sit in your bar
Ask your daughters and sons to fight
raging seas, our generation softdoveinto
such pacifism we sold our houses and apartments toworthless-
toothfairies garnering empty jewels of rapemachines
2 my Generation Play some good music for a change by
strumming the notes of revolution
this song calls everyone to dancecrylaughsleepsex
and rest you head on the greycarpetfloor of your own life
in years were grey seems
gold
And move to the choir of Crystal CaStles of your brothers and sisters
and sex your neighbor if they ask
forgot about cash and clay that molds and molds
Give my Generation a chance we are still to young to know
what we could lose