September miscellany

morning rats

frozen venus

sensate goblin

.

must be

a religious

experience

.

I like my eggs

          over ego

I like my eggs easy

over excess

.

Unwrap your preservatives!

Push me out the window!

Sugar coat your genius ideas!

Waste time! Mash!

Visual arts breed messy tornados!

(Where did you disappear to?)

.

Garbage pile Madonna

Sometimes nothing comes out

Search the airwaves

Pieces of overt recognition will fit

In a caper jar

.

I went to the rabbi in tatters

I went to the rabble with taters

.

test clock

'mazz production'

excerpt from 'Building Frames on Haunted Ground'

                                                encounter with the voices—
this is a free country. Spicer’s dictation came from his bottle, 
but even lies recount fascination with the labeling of form. 
a tuxedo-patterned cat rustling in the rhubarb disturbs
twin rabbits and sends them into the neighbor’s yard. 
their eyes glint for the future, for the west, for western time
that always ceases along with the early frosts thickening
over poppies and killing the stems of late dandelions
in the grass. how much of a frame, they asked, do these
voices require? you couldn’t convince me that balance
was all it took. this was midnight when the words fell, 
and Houdini’s still dead. there were people here
who looked through the ground like it was a skin, pushed
back, and they walked a little more carefully, looking.

boat of heaven

we line the backs of the Australopithecene
waterway where more come every day to sit

the shrine houses picked insect husks floated down
from the interior. it is quiet in this place,

the fears do not touch us.

compositions

things       are       going      to       work       out
in        re       oi       o       ork       ut
fine       ire       soy       so       Bork       shut
fi       ir      so       s       bo       hu

is music a contriving exercise, or cowardice?

miscellany

I went to the rabbi in tatters.

I went to the rabble with taters.

The toilet duck roars in its obstinacy.

My moose has run away—trust no one.

standardized reach at same orchard.

put the orchid back in the case.

pathetic rules for ancient fools with flowers spitting.

changing plans with profane paces.

for me the chance at forsaking signatures.

emplacement on the South Carolina waterfront.

archives : November 2006–August 2009

Archives

November 2006
April 2008
December 2006
May 2008
January 2007
June 2008
February 2007
July 2008
March 2007
August 2008
April 2007
September 2008
May 2007
October 2008
June 2007
November 2008
July 2007
December 2008
August 2007
January 2009
September 2007
February 2009
October 2007
March 2009
November 2007
April 2009
December 2007
May 2009
January 2008
June 2009
February 2008
August 2009
March 2008

Source Materials

Allen Christian's House of Balls
Charles Bernstein's blog
Bohemian Ink
Bye Bye Shadowlands
Completely in the Dark
The Cut-Up Page
EPC - The Electronic Poetry Center
Fluffy's World
Fluffy's MySpace site
International Exchange for Poetic Invention
Kenneth Goldsmith's home page
Hannah Höch - Gallery of photomontages
I Ching, by Martin Burke
Jack Kerouac Haiku
Jerome Rothenberg's Blog - Poems and Poetics
Kembrew McLeod
{LIME TREE} - K. Silem Mohammad
listenlight
Merzbau.org
Midway Journal
Minneapolis Observer - Arts Matter
MNartists.org
MNspeak
Modern American Poetry - The Poets
Prism Poetry Series - Twin Cities
Public Works Productions
Rain Taxi
The Seemless Universe (Coleman Miller)
shapeless, but omorpho
Ron Silliman's blog
Soap Factory
Sondheim's page
Duane Simolke's Gertrude Stein Links
Stunned.org
SYNtheSIS
TaKinG thE BriM__TooK thE BrOoM
Ten Words Review
tenuisgrandia
Text Permutation Engines
Tijuana Taxidermied Typewriter
Tristram Shandy
Twin Cities Daily Planet
Twin Cities Experimental Music
twin cities indymedia
UrSonate (text)
Wryting List Archive
Xexoxial Endarchy

Audio

Glass Engine
Kurt Schwitters: UrSonate
Negativland - Over The Edge
Penn Sound archives
Pianoless Vexations (courtesy of Ubuweb)
UBUweb

Impression

The crouching fake cheeses contributed 
to revolutionary angst.

Here lies ERIS, that twists in the word, amidst woods tangent 
to small candles.

And I hang a crutch from my hand, a presentation 
of the Save the Trees movement.

Messaging always nearwards.

When cutting out for my hiding place, I will snatch significance 
from the arms of any size mountain.

Smiles twist the hairs that leave a bite impression.

Fake fake bite! Awake to the sound of a small word!

The smell of fake revolutionaries washes over 
with erythromycin reek before their snack.