Fleeting[ ]Imp[revised] →
For that matter, here’s a revised and expanded version of ‘Fleeting[ ]Improvised.’ For best results read both side-by-side, while someone you hate shouts at you and eats your food.
Injured[ ]Abjured →
This sequence is an attempt to write a travestied and contrapuntal counterpoint to my previous ‘Fleeting[ ]Improvised.’ It’s sort of an extremely vicious and mean parody of my own tendencies, which is a cathartic and maybe generative thing to write once in awhile. Have a look, there are some lines in there I find pretty funny.
Inversion of a Selection of 'Caesura,' by Geoffrey...
This was an attempt to invert the line-by-line meaning of part of my classmate Geoff Waterman’s sequence ‘Caesura,’ as well as reversing the salient anxieties of the piece. I usually don’t post this kind of stuff but I like how this turned out, and it’s autonomous enough that I don’t feel like I’m biting his moves as it were. — 1. the ocean mends...
Midnight Raid on Abjuration
Dung gang sold me nachlass for a necklace, snapped thus around the back of the throat and speech act turned ach, gurk— like Schreber, vomming bird noise and rubber blood, kind of pests causing huge lasting damage despite seasons out of wack. My private weather diary appropriated by Kenny Goldsmith, fairies, elves and diminished pestilence. Read out loud and everybody scoffing. Out of sorry...
Still Life With Crime Boys
Hot fascist on the bleak yacht of the dung gang. High guns for pumps. Cool flats. Smoooth tunes. Male gaze running over the deck in slop motion, ground handlebar crossing the neck of hostage time. Awful spill in the water. The third phase of dung gang ropes you in, thou tender urban sophist shaving in a cherry bowl in the sun-slime— The new age totalitarian bicycle gang phase, seeeee? sing: ...
Golden Hits of the Unholy Dung Gang
I just realized, this poem borrows a construction from Emily Pettit’s poem ‘A Fox’s Tail is Called a Brush’ which I liked so much I apparently completely internalized it. To be read while looking at an archaic torso and hearing the revenge song of the ghost of Nelly Furtado. — The dung gang barrels in, strong-arms and in a snap The marquesse is ash. Fantomas is...
Dung Gang in Paradise
Enter FERDINAND bearing a log Enter FERDINAND learning Tagalog Enter FERDINAND in monologue Enter FERDINAND, bear in a log Enter FERDINAND mending his togs Enter FERDINAND fearing his god Enter FERDINAND abjuring Magog Enter FERDINAND beetling a brow Enter FERDINAND burrowing in a bog Enter FERDINAND wrenching at cogs Enter FERDINAND quaffing lost grog Enter FERDINAND wracked with sobs Enter...
Homo Hominae Bruchus
knuckle tat spracht: ‘science is real.’ Bookseller handcuffed to the Starbucks façade is political theology in a way, no? Are you a bad enough dude to show me how to pronounce verum esse ipsum factum? Criminal conspiracy counted as wearing “fake” glasses in a class on St. Paul fake squinting at an enlargement of the frontispiece of The Leviathan. Fetching bawn buying biscotti at aforementioned...
Dung Gang Confidential
i. Donald Food’s Last Interview, April 14th 2011 Q: A: Well, in poetry, unless you are Steve Roggenbuck or Paul Legault or whoever, or on the other side of the spectrum, say, I don’t know—Mary Oliver? You can’t assume any kind of uh um abstract universalized ludic audience as such. So the creation of imaginary audiences— and modes of orienting yourself towards them—is kind of a fun game you...
John Berryman vs. The Dung Gang
Dirty Henry hunting deviants. Kapow, kapow, and so on. Are you feeling huffy, punk? I died to the law, and then I took it into my own hands. I’m stripped of my badge and descended from flame. Of Boss Hermes, triple-Mary of the crime scene, says, “time after time turning fadder to fodder. Patriarchal structure of la cosa unseamed inwards. Da cops gone De Copia, death of the ol’ duffer, nee:...
“Hey, I’m going to write 2,000 poems about dung beetles. Everybody is going to love this for sure.”
Night of the Dung Gang
A double reference to a song by The Smiths and a kind of alien monster from a video game that’s, like, half-rhino half-frog with shotgun.Girlfriend is a krogan I know, I know, it’s ~ser-iouuuuussss! On the night of the Dung Gang we survived by double references. It was exactly like that stretch of Amazing Spider-Man issues in 1969 when the King Pin was in almost every story butting...
Return of the Dung Gang
Leader, “The Beetle,” 6’1” with tuff pincers. Shine a bed-lamp in your eyes to get sensation. My girlfriend, woozy, turns the light on. She says: I turned the light off, but it’s still so bright. “The Beetle” at large in a soggy abyss. His power is the tendency to turn around 270 degrees and grapple with his sturdy arms. I can’t believe they caught him on the streets picking his teeth. With cilia....
Popular interpretation in modern academia theorizes the hieroglyphic image of the beetle represents a triliteral phonetic that Egyptologists transliterate as xpr or ḫpr and translate as “to come into being”, “to become” or “to transform”. The derivative term xprw or ḫpr(w) is variously translated as “form”, “transformation”,...
Pentheus at Fishtown
poem about Pentheus, w/cameos. — When I wake up with a headache, brushing the teeth becomes an exercise in the limits of the plasticity of the gums and cheek— how far I can prod the bristle before some tendon snaps. When I am late, when I or someone else becomes late, it can be because of prolonged fixation on a fixed point mapped onto a situation, or a detail. I begin writing at the worst...
blanketpoetics: 3.1 Christopher Schaeffer +audio: one/2; two/2 3.2 Sarah Dowling +audio 3.3 Pattie McCarthy +audio: one/2; two/2 Here’s a recording of me reading, plus the great Philly poets Sarah Dowling and Pattie McCarthy, at Eddie Hopeley’s monthly reading series Blanket. I sound kind of like a nasal-voiced nerd in the audio, but I promise you, I was rippling with muscles...
Fleeting[ ]Improvised →
A short sequence written very quickly for a visiting writer. You may have spotted a rougher version of this on my other blog earlier, but this is as final as it is going to be for now. Please check it out, there are many thrilling pictures of action and melodrama involved. Daniel Paul Schreber philology The Cloud of Unknowing The Invisible Woman and all your other favorites
This is an exercise after Charles Bernstein’s essay “Poetics of Americas,” with the variable of concerning the gradual loss of a mothertongue, a much more blandly immanent focus than Bernstein’s more politically activated model. Note 1: my first language was not Latin, I don’t know why there’s Latin here. This sucks a ton as poetry, but it was an interesting...
Hungarian Rhapsody w/ Wind + Car Alarms
1. This is a somatic record of the body in process. This is a confessional poem saying “ahh, hm.” This is the record of the wind shaking wires from the south so vigorously that the ceiling cracks. Like Austerlitz in Austerlitz careful attention is given over to the white walls, with brick less than half an inch beneath the plaster, the white jambs and the less-white lintel, the wind shaking parked...
Notes to "Volga River Monk Time" 2
a pun in this is stolen 6. No Omen is Noted Swaddled up and warm, Dante dreams of commute. He lets a dark green Subaru merge and is filled with a sense of charity and annihilation. He has this habit of usually fainting and averting his gaze that he’s trying to work on. His gas light begins to dim from red to orange to black, a miracle immanent in the event of commute. Dante is leaving Slut City...
Notes to "Volga River Monk Time"
A historical document about monks. — 1. Explicit Her first poem was called “Dante in Slut City.” She saw a pale pink curtain pinned between the upper pane and the head jamb of a third story window moving partially like a listless arm. When she heard a sad song she thought about walking at night with a gun looking for yetis who, when they appeared, were taller and whiter than she had...