As She Thinks She Is

Blue-dress woman,
I feel your heels
sky-high as thighs,
and the valley
where the railroad runs,
all locomotive as spawn.

I'm your T-shirt boy,
ticket to the east coast
and sunrise glory.
Believe. I have pearls
and rubber bullets.

Diamond hallucinations
like Lucy in the pits,
the water gurggles,
falls, turns to mists.
Silk-sweet woman,
caress me with your hair.

I know your inner girl
dolling around with me,
I lift my wings, flutter,
as you dance the thing.
Red-jeweled heart-throb,
break me where it hurts.

ESTIMATE-ZERO

I wish I was a hippie in tight with gawd.
I'd die on a cross to save some mawb.
And iffn' I was best peopl'd aplawd.
Where's the venue? O Lawrd? Lawrd!
Yawn me a heaven and lay me in sawd.
Smoke me a Bible. Unchain my dawg.
I wish I was tight, & all us's odd. Awe. Ah. A...
Daddy.

PERFECT

Ran-
Hours as an owl

So fill
A box

Essays make even
All arms

Try

Try, don't the poor hide?

How near I am
All ink-brown and sweet

"Line referances mind of bees"

In case of spill
Cry

Caramel sticks it

Roar, fans call the man at play.

I've been invited

(The public in the street

Hours parade off in direction of odors

Theory being from "they're"

(Police tickets and a cop

Thunder's a angry knot

Yes, we drive through the park,
Insisting, on signs. Feel the progress

Foyer?



Morphed from The EFFECT
by David Dodd Lee posted at
http://seventeenfingeredpoetrybird.blogspot.com/ 01-11-11

After a Romance

When I met up with Lord Byron
He was reading Jack Spicer
At the Spanish Cafe. We drank
Exotic waters. He described
Love as a concrete-blue bird.

The waiter mistook my English
For German and brought me
A steamy bowl of brains in broth.
Byron couldn't take his eyes
Off the toreador-looking youth

Waiting by the door for girls.
I had just finished reading
A long article about the status
Of critiques and literary code.
I was thinking about misconstrued

Meanings and their importance
As a creative act. Byron wanted
To wipe his feet on Portugal.
I think he must have been in love.
The noon skyline reflected

In my soup. I spooned rooftops
And slurped radio antennas.
Of course, Jack was comatose
On the elevator, clouds leaking
Our of his pockets. But Bird

And Alex know all this. Okay.
Money for a taxi's in the box
By the stove. Come ASAP.
If you know where Jim is,
Tell him it was always too late.

The Slaves Retreat


Eye blank in trout
And fin. The rot of cash ring
Is token. Fools

Save leaves on shelves.
Chalk mouth of this turf,
New gal-o-wine.

Why rivers should bathe
Those of us who teach:
Growlin' at the sky. My

Hut on the high-
Lines comes near to the
Notion. Again,

Fake. A cycle won't make
The decision. A dozen,
Say, "Piss where he's

At peace, a train station."
We hop the tram.
Ivy brought a pot of lime

To drink. Dandy,
What's not to give? Con-
Ceptual rotation.

Fig, man. "Dear War, we
Climb over Heroes."
And carrion.


_________________________

Morphed After David Dodd Lee's
The Waves Repeat 01-05-11
Seventenfingeredpoetrybird.blogspot.com

The Fifty CD Mixes of Laurie Park

Noodle with a Beat
Chinese Chicken on a Roof
Lady with Wrong Thong
Twenty Men and Mountain Fog
Going Through the Door to Sho-Sho's House
Tiny Horse with Bows
Life as a Line Drawn by Hand
Excuses for Not Dancing
Boy with Big Front Teeth [Winks]
Snow Laughter
Bright Spear and Song Bird at Dawn
Holding Hands on Stepping Stones
Goat Man Honors His Mothers
Old Fat Lou in the Bath
Mud Jump Play-along
Pictures from the Funeral
Lady Sneaks Out of Her House
Go to the Bus Stop
Eat Drink Smile Place
Best to Keep Your Mind Safe
Spinning Fry with Sour Juice
High-Walk Spaghetti Strand
Small Umbrellas for Drunks
Random Light Twinkle in Mist
Your Fish or Mine?
Blanks Left on Purpose
The Yellow Seems Real
Arched Bridge Over Soup
No Place for Ugly Child
Basket Woven of Snake Fur
Colors in Bleach
Girl Holds Kite Like Star
Unusually Normal Time
(missing)
My New Slipper Dance
Three Dolls Tea
Fire in Chip Form
Hundreds like Grains of Sand
Head Stand Kitty
The Better Infections
Dark Place for Rent
Go Before You Forget
Salad with Little Buds
Yesterday, I Saw Transistors
She Carries Strawberries
Long Before the Elephant
Cave of Impenetrable Being
Tuba Alarm Orchestra
Cheery Music Club
Filiments of Strange Sheen
All Alone Together Going
Pink Sugar Heart Pop
Eye Newt and Uvula
We'll Come in Pieces

Shiney Bones in the Dark

Eclipse my moon.
Twang my fang.
Ash my eye.
Face me
white.
Lie.

From when we were young actors and our movies were 8mm.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAWfdbjV64I

Caroling

I find myself in a snowglobe
except it is warm
and what swirls is goose down.
The bells ring randomly
like someone dropping silver nails.
Everything through
the convex glass
seems gigantic, closer than real.
A big pink hand reaches out
and picks me up.
A shake, and I float weightless
as a star's death.
This is not liquid
but a lack of garvity.
I imagine I am convoluted.
Saved by the boot.

December 3, Mark Allen Everett Poetry Series


Shin Yu Pai must have felt constrained by the circumstances of her reading here last week.

She seemed demur and reserved. I appreciate her explanations, giving insight into the inspiration for the poems, so that she could read series without explicated each individual poem.

The poems she read are all very interior, as if they exist within the walls of a museum—a world in which she is comfortable and in control. I understand that the Buddha world is also very interior. Still, my experience is that one is engulfed in void more than one “steps into the void.” The enclosed space of the poems gives a claustrophobic feel to her work. I was wanting her to hang a window on one of her walls—Billy Collins Monday ( http://lizmuir.blogspot.com/2008/04/poets-are-at-their-windows.html ).

I was surprised when I received the copy of Sightings: Selected Works 2000-2005 which I ordered. Her book is very different from her presentation. From the die-cut cover to the exploded text of her poems, her training as a graphic artist gives these poems great vitality.

While I enjoyed her reading, her book is even better.

Slow as Centuries

All morning dump trucks rumbled up and
down the street. Derrida Demolition
wrecked the Lake Isle Hotel.
This evening I watch
yellow dust as
it settles.
So.

Big Lands

Amo rode out on the mesa with Bobby Bluepony.
They hunted stars like lustful astronomers.
The house kept quiet by the creek.
Smoke rolled around the horses.
Something slithered in dark.
Bobby was humming
like a guitar string.
Rocks fell near
and across
the path.
Blow.
Up.