Archive for the ‘WeBiLo poetry’ Category

Why steak sauce? Didn’t that go out out with the 70’s?
like the ERA
those abortion stories passed down
from mother to daughter
while drying the dishes

Salt is cool stuff

Who are we appeasing?
The diplomats sit on the couch
shoving their finger food bites
in our ears

Peasant dresses & plows in the field
turn over last year’s mouth manure
in rows irrigated with heavy water
from the next county

Somebody died in this soup

That puppet is fine without a zipper
See how she talks?
The jaw moves & everything
But they’re only listening
to her blue linen suit
stretched over the expanded hand
wrapped tight to keep it all in

Thank you for being a part
of my experiment with humans

Pink cows in real life
never give their true name
Double agents for alligators
that can no longer get work
since the crocs came to town
Veggie bites
barbecues in winter

I kneel to the power
of food, rent & catbills,
the doorman, the taxi break, the racist,
the truckers & cousin fuckers
I kneel to the bullet

They’ve discovered that Lobsters feel pain

She pays homage
to the meatball & the sausage
a means to assuage meat
And the pasta —
Some long & stringy
Some round as sewer pipe
some curled like a shell or woman’s ear
Tri-colored mix, unfeeling starch, boiled limp

Every day is a pasta day
a consider-the-ramifications day
blindfolded, we keep chewing & spitting
out, but the weather keeps getting weirder
Throw the live lobster in the boiling pot
Listen to him scream


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Duly Noted

You gotta think like a shrimp
bottom feeding rocks
waves on the wall
runners coming out of the blocks

You stopped yourself
You said –
I didn’t stop myself

I decided I was okay with landscapes
monochromatic portraits weren’t far behind
I’m okay with jazz, especially trumpets,
some drums pounding in
Her Own Vision
enter the landscape
on grassy feet

Touching the shrimp again
the well exercised shrimp –
I think we’re competing

For Thanksgiving
3 pounds of inserts

see what happens when you jack me up
on vegetables and chocolate
Thank God there wasn’t any whiskey

the landscape of paranoia

we’re competing again
(I know when I’m competing)

the illusion of a strike was there
lines would be crossed
a red mark left
Horns riffed all around
Our illusion bombed their corrugated metal shack

you said
you would never feed me
then the next week you brought me
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
I thought
inconsistency in messaging
Duly Noted

winking at a sun of yellow pigment
hand traced turkeys
the landscape rolls out of the painter’s brain
I like the idea of napping and competing
I nap better than you

humanity spilling out onto the canvas
salute the shrimp
reach into the shrimp’s back
and rip out its seam of black shit
before dipping in cocktail sauce

Wendy’s there
Jean is here
If you remember where I end
and you begin
It will help you with the compettition thing

You can’t compete without boundaries

If you’re controlling and consuming the other
at the same time
How can you effectively compete?

We both peak and valley on sugar the same

The wall is in the way

I have to write more than you
Everything is a competition
my wrist hurts
we need a chess clock

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swamp tummy

swamp tummy

morning stomach gas
gurgling around the belly
searching for relief

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I wanted my mess
and to keep people out of it!
my own poison darts circling
my brain wagons
influential parasite
travel knives are important

I can’t be worried about fruit
I can’t be worried about the drum section
horns in the night
acid etchings
nonsense will carry you
only so far

the amplifier has indigestion
the cantaloupe sits in puddles

you need to be fantasy flexible
I saw how you stepped
on your own tail
You were the reason I left this room
the steps swept clean

upgrade the monsters
something new and improved
warm tools
gold star bone to be had

I like your loose brain

transgressions in the mirror
sniffable contraceptives
I don’t know if I can handle
being reassured on that level

Does that pen have bagels on the end of it?

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amputated boxcars

there are huge ants on the wall
big dog head in my lap
my feet like the heat

that’s right
the human is feeling
needy again —
the stubborn crisis

i’m okay;
i’ve got a sandwich

it always snows in Brookpark
the brain moves again
it never sticks
the new language of fingers
you know how i like it
i like it all over the place

red barn ham bone
alpha dog bed
learning garden

you are more trashed than i am high


it ain’t easy being a big dog
closet cat
everybody’s got so many expectations

your eyes were the screen saver
on my computer
before it went down
killer white poodle

i don’t want to be inspirational

he’s a honey hoarder
piggy shoe
gay guys happy hour
sign language
for sticky slow fingers
stuck keyboards

masectomized railway
fierce fighting kittie
sober children in Ethiopia

balloon hearts float on the night
units of bubble
the brain moves again
the brain moves towards you

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the garbage is moving
itty bitty earthquake
big fat bright sucker
pacify him with treats

my cross is in her pocket
humming in her pants
fine, i’ll be your storybook chick

my inner incubator comes out
it’s all a game of incest
colony collapse disorder
dipping & turning & rubbing & nudging

the disease model
gay boy crackhead doper
trust fund baby
pretty boy

I like burps

you can change; I can’t!
I don’t know if I have the technology in me

a hybrid will make a stronger bee
everlasting funball
stages of culture
he gave me the official grunt

I understand the value of a good backpack
cruising for garbage
steal the lane
you’re more cuspy than me
you’re more crispy than me

I’ve gotten good at living with myself

I am the master of my olfactory
sneezing ice cubes
it’s a distance
I don’t think I can travel anymore

couscous can be allot of fun
a hybrid Jewish wedding; it was so watered down

I wanna be a fruit fly
frozen time concept
genuine lizard boots
I’m in a prose state of mind

my heater works best in the summer
let me know when it’s loaded
What year are you from?

I understand bran

one of the great things I heard on TV today
a whole line of cheese buzz
cookies could be replaced
sandboxes are cloned
designed to isolate your system
just because it’s extruded
doesn’t mean it’s not food

my dog publishes poetry

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Everything I say is not a poem
It’s a Cleveland thing
structurally appropriate
3 digit rugs
coupling nuts

They try to get you with the tea
no faking that boy out
he knows when something’s up

You’re a page ahead of me

Hands I have forgotten
salt & rust
works of hands
blown clean by unemployment
crying rivers in the shower
missing hubcaps
wrinkled, clumsy, silent
genuine Cleveland black oxide
blood & saliva down the drain

I had shut out the internet
lies they tell white girls
tasty fiddleheads
people in a hurry on Sunday
hurry up & pray to god
hurry up & pray to god

they attempt to throw our state parks
under the bus
coat hanger love

even the ants won’t eat the margarine

it’s safer for me sometimes
to go out on a limb
because I have you
to pull me back in

I never thought I’d be so excited to eat chicken pot pie

he sniffed me when I mentioned your name
fortunate little DNA package
bridge game gone bad
kiss snort snuffle drip
bat eyes chasing flies

waiters flirt for their tips
minimum payment layaway
vines wrapped in concrete & rebar
your name playing soundtrack loop in my brain

there is no recession in heaven
diluted sorrow in a puddle
folding too early
feet remembered walking away

we are at homeostasis
no overload
no backing


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