I wrote this last week but felt obligated to keep a lid of a sort on it out of respect for a specific anonymity thing, but now it’s ok. I mentioned several days ago re-using an ending line in a poem that, you may have noticed, never existed on this blog. That’s because I forgot— it’s in this one. Note also, if you will, the ‘parallels’ between Shackleton and Perry between the two. ‘Wait,’ you say, ‘Those aren’t parallels, that’s just some stupid piece of shit doing the same thing twice!’
Moshe Cordovero staggering through the well of stairs
Aka ‘The Ramak’ the camera fixed above
Limited interest in the facts of your murder, Moshe,
Moshe I have left your body on the landing.
Moshe, infinite light for you in your pares rimonim,
In your solid reputation, and I still don’t care
As you descend blubbering down to kingship
Like a sap—- [cometh Perry, crosswards,
The governor’s deposition: I have sex
And I’m smarter than you.
Reasons for deliquescence of duty:
Absorbed in editing small-press anthology with small wet teeth
For local queer/radical bookshop called Small Wet Teeth.
Absorbed in melting into air. Absorbed through the salt skin.
[Follow me if you will to the top of this poem,
From where you can lean over and observe the design
As of the layout of an office, roofless—
Observe the governor’s waiting room,
The bathroom, the room where his small wet teeth
Tear horrifying pleasure into the unravished skins of peaches.]
DEBATING STEVE JOBS’ AWESOMENESS; LOWDOWN
ON FACEBOOK’S NEW LOCATION FEATURE
[Counterpoint: Steve Jobs Isn’t That Awesome]
[When It Comes to Viral Video,
DC Shoes Leaves Scorched Earth Under Its Treads]
[The Meaning of Steve]
[What You Can Learn From A Man Who Reshaped the World:
‘Give me a lever, and a fulcrum, and a single firearm
And the second cheapest liquor you can’
Spake [ ]]
Polaris is the brightest star in the constellation Ursa Minor.
Research reports that today it is 2.5 times brighter
Than it was in the days of Ptolemy, who spoke
Through glass. This suggests a shift from third
To second magnitude. A remarkable rate of change,
Says Edward Guinan, ‘100 times larger than those predicted
By current theories of stellar evolution.’
Oh good ole polestar. Ole best friend pole star.
Running wild across the visible spectrum
With your hair long and your big dick out.
Oh pole star, old card, old bean, transmission
From Binah to Chokhmah in the drafty clearing house
Of conscious intellect. Call me when you’re here.
I can pick you up from the station
If you want
Leave scorched earth under your treads.
What are you anyway a prize fighter?
Naw, a shaman. What’s
A sham an?
Kind of a private [ ].
Oh your Chevalier Audobon 1840,
Your descent from higher ground,
Argentine ceramics, couldn’t I,
Hmmmmmmm? With ice picks,
Use ice picks.
All Antarctic expeditions the study of ghosts
And faint lines of emergence on maps.
All Arctic expeditions the hopeful hunt
For thinner air.
The point from which we can look back fondly.
Or: [ ], literally!!
The air come crushing your palm like a speaking prom,
Peeks back through the mass of traffic,
With the fondness of a falling planet,
Back in the cozy recess of all force, all motion, nope,
Mercy as always proceeds from the top.
Nimrod was a giant upon the earth.