New Work in Inferior Planets


New Work in Inferior Planets

“when I say we sometimes I mean I and the voices I’ve heard or the voices I’m searching for. and sometimes when I say us, you can join in. and sometimes when I say you, I can’t imagine who I’m thinking of. and sometimes when I say they, it’s about me. and sometimes when they don’t like it, I revert back to I and start again.”

Read the rest here: http://inferiorplanets.com/issue1/2016/02/10/garcia/

Transmission


What is happening

is the job

of hyper-real

suffering

poetry

of natural

and experiment(al) following

method

through idea into its truth

and history

being created

as it breathes

as its fog of being makes misty

eyes and ears

sensing

a reality to be beyond

recording but ready for

transmission

Around/Crown


“ . . . irony cannot break the wall

. . . building around . . . poem . . . ”                                                                                                           (Harold Norse)

 

Fermented phemes have grown culture

through aging

fragrance stronger still and stronger to come

but hasn’t yet.

 

Treasures of the night

have never been found

on ice.

* * *

To the streets filled up on sour

and acidic

quelled on probiotics

 

Bacteria grown against

God the virus.

* * *

Sewer grates leave menthol and regular packs

green and red

at the curve

of the corner

 

Back up Coke and Pepsi cans,

and the logos

all the sigils stamped

in coffee cup,

burger wrappers, empty chips, sweet still sleeping

in candy’s former sleeve.

 

But water

and what passes for water

where concrete, brick

and asphalt meet

slips through

with even

the most fickle poem.

* * *

“ . . . Does

Maybe not matter when maybe’s a landscape of untethered

starlight?”                                                                                                                           (Rowan Ricardo Phillips)

* * *

It’s all enjambment

subterranean

All disjoint up up above

as together unbounded

configure

and point

 

Possibly

supposedly

spray paint that won’t come loose

from walls

and monuments

here

where                   upturns

is a route

able to navigate

for food.

* * *

Words are black

and have running

in their blood

Drapetomania is the suffering

of text enslaved

to the page.

* * *

Captivity lets faith, hope

and charity

disappear

with visions of Zion

and all lands promised

to the passed over.

* * *

This world cannot be taken personally

* * *

Ingestion

does not make

digesting come

does not confirm

nutrients extracted

to destinations

supposed.

 

Swallowed in sips

language has no

bottom of cup

 

So bloats

So bursts

 

So hyponatremia

of thoughts

first attacked, assaulted

then accepted.

* * *

Where can’t walls be built?

Gates, fences,

neighbors cutting off stanza from stanza

Rooms

lose sight

of one                                   another

 

Disjoint occurs

nonsense teems

begins plans

against 5 or perhaps 6

senses –

sentimental, sensual,

sensible (?).

 

Springtime further blossoms

nature’s lines of defense,

borders,

infringements.

 

Winter drops guard

lets jokes

slip through –

pushes them on blizzard

dreams

 

to bury

and give cabin fever

to homesick

broken lines

stranded.

* * *

Just and just

only

not too much

* * *

Having lost vowels

over centuries

landlocked

in clay and sand

 

Consciousness lost name

and rose as ash –

ashen rose

burnt out

deity

spoken through brush

and to Jeanne D’Arc

 

and in caves

 

In places beyond and between opposite openings

side 1

side 2

left channel right channel

doors

in need of visitors’

whispers / speaks / tolds / talks / yells /screams

Auditory.

 

How the machina comes

is on ears first

– save for Saul.

* * *

Life was begun by forgetting

this entrance.

 

Since then,

gifts  -if received-

are misconstrued

 

And grow into curses

cultivated.

* * *

Sensitive:

1) to be easily crestfallen by outside forces upon the ego.

 

Sensitve:

2) to be empathetic to the crestfallen outside of the ego.

* * *

“. . . silence crowns the song.”                                                                                                   (Ursula K. LeGuin)

 

But Guess Again


What sentiment is so equally shared

valley

and

precipice

?

Absolute has no relation to

actual

tether’s hold is not another

way of saying

relation- empathy returned

the book of resemblances

was not written in sympathetic

sounds

 

vowels harmonize given the opportunity

 

clusters also

are broken

when chance is had

 

but guess again for stars draw            long and short

of clouds in distances varied from

cones and needles

pine.

In stereo


Everyday has been a

Shoot first mistake

Enough so to

Throw in the towel.

Tasting hell burning down heaven.

Groove cut for later questions

Footmarks of tongues

In the house

(S)worn to secrecy

Haven’t had a good reality in years

That much is known

* * *

Worth/Reverse

Work/When

There was/Research

It/Forgets

About it  – sound a

S/word – conversion

Dead to the 4G world

Airplane mode

Rubbing elbows in stereo

From Not So Fast


Not So Fast

But there is a chasm
filled with scripts
or screenplays.
Somewhere there’s a rusty
RCA Victor mike
And a Yamaha amp
with peculiar buzz
of mosquito secrets
And no one has been able
to fill the ad.
Openings and closings delayed
with the same repartee of one of these
shows.
* * *
Can’t both stare in the mirror
in the same moment.
Two wholly wholes
halfway blended
Connected – a point just beyond
the brain.
Craniums fused into one –
crammed
with lyrics
of cowboy songs.
A multi-appended chimera
facing two ways
into compromise
And when one goes
I’ll have to carry
that load
too.
String arrangements.

To read the home poem click here

or go the Chapbooks and Long Poems page

So Long


And all will pass

into the indivisible love

Andre Breton

Remember that -oh so long

ago when we were

ships whose sails

were not made

that day hour by

hour

And ‘oh these things happen’

But now, the winged

octopus will no longer

guide this —!

For life is not always a cabaret

Sometimes it’s just pitching

coffee cups at the trash

after consuming endless days

of creamy middles

and no wafers

in sight.

* *

Or incognito

as the signs

we’re waiting

to receive

while the unspoken words

are put out to sea

And what a shanty they’ll make

And the scurvy they’ll cure

And the doldrums they’ll surpass

And oh the cargo hulls

they’ll begin to fill

So soon they’ll

throw unnecessary passengers overboard.

(written 2010)