Thursday, June 23, 2005

to them

to them it was no good was what good a busted fr_A _ga spoke
in the intent of Kant





in her lane a lame brain on her stalwart
skin
parchment face and radical veins
veins of troops flutes of blood
seeping up the top of her damn
her well forth mouth outpushed
cushion of her sigh
she huggered him down
wrapped him the grown Antioedipus
over her hips thigh in home lent
space of her vacant

Love did this not harm
as if love was a figure not aprocess
of threads in the lane the carpet strewn
across her backs
her meadown fields a flake of night and packs

So the by-ways by boys the millions soul
the soldiers of her ridges and what she wanted to

this becoming was at last two heads
not one borin' despot of cheap genes
but yes a spring for you
yes spring
spindle needle of the desire
the dear door darting to her love
some becomings were restless weaves in the between
of morning and dusk
a cairn of jewels and night.


Who said wondered Franny why you can't use the same word?
what word would not be used again the stage bounding with their delight the roar of them the scream of them
Hurrah! Hurray! Huzzah!

shouts of Crees near borders of states
her lace fallen down for him to lick
off the sides of her face
was her not a king's secretary in his becomings . O tong of
night
and her grab bag of citrus and orange

mellow like the stones and river-bedded stuffs of her desire
plot to win him seduction a plain stone in the river socket.
regionalist of pamper her buttocks swung to the sun. this was the desire sheet of his river. the hammer swinging backwards
won his way.

o yes, this close to plateau the merge on . And she was Franny done and


and she was Franny done
not a reive to raid his heart piece where the box sounds spoke rejoice and jubilation

on his solitude the test the mouthpiece. this will be the bodies of space in a summer's night

Saturday, June 18, 2005

there was a mist a fire

There was a mist a fire near the moon of her hugging
O open cup of her maze was her mouth
made into his and the night
beside the pin of fortune the glazed cup

her handsome hand was his for the taking
breaking lips furled the crack before buttocks
and the salient picture of her self

was book Two when Jill marketed the self to subjectivity and the rising tone of morning
her happy hammers allayed him, somewhat. Then before the period her gushing self was .

that night when the thighs brushed down and the oracle of wombs was his name he found the brushland of the plateau the mesa of misfortune marked the place where they stabbed his back and

back to back was the schizoreno cereal of the grain lady and her swept boots prior to the afternoon of the book,

and the licensing song was their name
lacking in nothing they spent the name the serpent
and cloud tree and news were balked by books
and the titles carried the wave
on the main artery of their tongue
her tongue
reached over to his
cutting the space of jam in night block and matters
he was her lover

then

a tongue hanging out to speed
her savoir faires and loves of the night
like some wild apache Indian
a old movie cliche she could not damage but holding her sex to him she said It is yours Hold it in your mouth
Take it to your mouth
as the believers slipped away beleaguered .



how open can he be with space in
his tongue the deterritorialized shave
before heads
alore in the plenty of plateaus and fold.



Thursday, June 02, 2005

More good book

BEcomings sea was the rather of the will when god died splitting her sides laughing was
the start of atheistic panderings
god made the will to die but was what god a literalist interpretation of a poem? so sighed the gear across the lather of becomings I cant get her inside of her vision range neuroleptic visors wont see her. Celerity was the happpy name of Mona as she sped her path past boats not some

broken down page of the challenger! draft beloved was to you the single most pained item in eternity and the lovers laughed across the tables of France and they shot the communards

C was for Castro and the pendent ears and nose rings the castration of phallus and the ballast of meaning loosen yer shakes and be reprieved!

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

first off

first over time was Jill and her smiles wiles she was the highway woman of his body . knock knock knock was the sound of the betraying drum of her name some day they met the geology of thing that worked insight and out not before the river not before the music of old and gray or the unhappiness of accordians and suited philosphers holding court by happy night she hollered her hand to him


Jill knew Mona was returnings woman her becomings a dance of her last lust to him after so fine centuries not bad music though please!

so long since solitude was my name! I am a victory vampire!
she was
keeled over by these pieces of love he sent in the mail
So SOS it was her hurling down self calling his name. but Jill
was not impressed not in the least bit, or the last for that matter.


Come close to my hand whisper! she sheathes the Knight her sounding heart besting his brilliance of it all disjunctions, allegories hills of pills and what not.

So do come back Jill said the geology of ____

dingle __ jack __ Mona's cousin _ re-writers

-- and --



and then one (day supposedly_) Foucault's son got woken up by the telephone ringing. (it`s the the death of derrida derrida derrida)
It was Francis Bacon calling saying hey there, where is my mother as I (derrida is dead is dead dereader DeReader is dead dead and gone and Not CoMing Back to defer hisPurr) ALl hath Referred )
walk to the next plateau, and then I am the nothing that is all discourse
and its regulated powers and hours. Foucault's son was called, I Pierre R.
having been a schizophrenic son of a homosexual father have no mother I am
generated by the multiplicity of division and vision of face and many
faces. She was my mother before I was oedipal. She was the one of many
plateaux and faces. She saidto me I am the one. I Foucault's son have no
child of my face; she said these to between two voices between two faced
about knights.





_________________

some in a past spare Mona wrote them ones tickled pink at her uproarious sense of umOUR ... thinkin of


Uncle Jarry and his toothpick. Pick .



but then he became wordsowerwords' son ambling in the piety
gambles
his preferred choice her lovers.

so like the sundown of Sabbath he prayed and
meandered
over the Preluds of passageways where Americans waltzed

and ending wars
stopping their dears
fabricatin' the imbrication

of elegant
day

of her forsworn lips







___ _______


be pleased in yer depressive
angles


Open yer eyes to her Mist
she tangles my soothness
over the bridge and hopping the dun pallors of day
its monstrous moments of gain



Say Says Mona is this the path to the disjuncted synthesis? I read Marlow and the eternal return against the shore of amber and gold paved
lips


see then they are mine, your song too __ the prose poem

aches the stage clearing the stowage a fellowing of verb and hound __