The Professional

I am not safer than a bank

I’m a professional,
it makes me a better whore.

I read about it in magazines & classic literature.
Equal parts class and sick—

everyone seems to have a dick
so suck it.

But what do you expect?
“It’s not a job it’s a career,

it’s not a school, it’s a faculty.”
Well, it’s my job anyway.

But is it my career?
I’m not a man yet so I wouldn’t know.

Everything that I do know
is a matter of life & death.

Where the sun shines the grass is green
or yellow where it burns.

I keep no good words
but I’ve made an oath.

A handshake is only as strong
as a little boy’s hand,

and entitlement is a cruel Lord.
Mom and Pop are proud.

Does it make me a professional—
when I love the harlot’s smile?

[epigraph: matt good]

(untitled poem for Rachel)

A few simple words yet
covenantal engagement springs—
of mutual submission
new revelation by nature.

This record is scratched,
the needle slips deep
into the groove, familiar
sound becomes drone.

But I’ve no need for a mantra
an alibi perhaps
for letting it play so long
on only one note—

every metaphor now
a ratio for resistance.
All words skip to
one syllable.

But one syllable is
all that is necessary
to convey meaning:
“God” and “love”

the greatest of clichés
separate the infinite span.
There is now no limited
resource, nor night and day.

Let none tear apart
what they make complete—
sound and Word
move creation

with one goal in mind
to be made wholly, delight
take this ring and
be my wife

The fatherless

for my dad

Consider the birds, they
hop but cannot walk.

Consider the leaves, they
have veins but do not bleed.

And you, you neither hop nor bleed
but you have feet and blood.

Once you did hop, but you've lost—
the knife in your foot makes you quiver.

And you did bleed when the drill stole your
fingers, but I have known you no different.

Today you walk—long hard strides,
each step surprising me with fury.

Then we forget where we came from,
moving forward and backward together.

Life is short; you will forget, alive
yet even still unknowingly living.

This seems quite simple;
you do not speak.

Your father had no face, could I
lose yours on faded pictures?

Not left destitute, just unloved,
and not left alone, just unseen.

To hold on to the good, and forgive the
wrong—or forever remain the fatherless?

02/03/07; 02/05/07; 02/09/07

silence to motion

between three triangles
nine edges
nine lines
seven points to one

splits into three
edges three lines
connected to six
lines six edges

pointing to each other
the circumference
of three joined from
blood through veins

but silence to motion
could be a binary
and you'll be on top
(always) figure it out


11/12/06, 1/19/07

compass

North

I wear my spring coat in the winter
always more comfortable in the cold

in your arms

South

Smelly city my buddy lives there & my fat dad
lights are always on, no fear but
never sleep

East

in bondage, wreck in
forgotten shackles dusty
in undefined fever
set me free child

West

I be lost there in yo' city
brodda be lovely
thanks for all da

inhibitions

_____

[exercise for the dps]

the boy's naked

_____at five o’ clock dark. We met in
October—like their song: “the trees are stripped bare … / but you
go on / And on.”
but still
___________tired__________kingdom;

rising – head a triangle without—

________an edge. Maybe then an arrow?

on & on & on

Haiku for Elizabeth

wind sways the trees like
fingertips guiding your steps
been gone long—come home.

with meag culkeen—

Outdoor table—
cold metal chairs:
espresso in small
white cups,

puffing black
cigarettes—singing
psalms
to Dennis Lee.

from my journal: drafts, fragments, and unfinished poems

I was talking with Erin recently and she mentioned that I have not posted any new poems lately. This is because I am working on a long poem called "The drowning man" which I hope to publish. I have been saving all the "good stuff" for this. However, I know that there are a few people who check this site regularly, so I thought I'd give you something to tide you over.

I have raided my journal to type up a bunch of poems and stuff that have never seen the light of day, some forgotten, some I am still scratching my head over. I have divided these into three catagories:

Drafts: Earlier versions of poems on this site. I have only chosen drafts which are significantly different than the "final" versions.

Fragments: little poetic thoughts left alone, not enough to be a poem

Unfinished poems: Abandoned drafts which will most likely never be finished.

In most cases everything appears just how it was written down with no additional edits or punctuation added. Because of my poor penmanship I found some words illegible. These are marked "[illegible]".

So here you go... this is for Erin.

__________________________________________

requiem for beloved pt. 1 (second draft)

Something is wrong
testify to me
With eyes faced forward and weep

Something is incomplete
If I love you and
you don't love me.

What is this place
but bricks or stones
with windows that block the sun
something is incomplete
within you; it is me.

untitled fragment

my heart is trochaic
comes on strong,
sadly fades away.

untitled fragment #2

like a broken sonnet
your words are
hallmark poetry

A dialogue between Eliot & Williams (unfinished parody)

Let us go then, you and I,
while the stars are set out like lightbulbs in the sky
to the coffee shop with its wicked brew!
It's so much fun, "and good eats too!"
Let us go then and pay our visit
discuss poetry and find out "what is it?"

In the shop the yuppies come and go,
drinking grande espressos

The brew is brown so brown indeed,
it drips and drips and drips

So son; I said what is it about?
Your lines have no meter so I doubt
that what you write is poetry, and you
are a doctor, yet you need some more school.

In the shop the yuppies come and go,
drinking grande espressos

"Well I
say; you
criticize what you
don't under
stand.
I think so
much more
depends upon
simplicity for
you see that I wanted to write a poem,
but you [illegible] to think
hard.
...
my poems are so good and rhyme so fluently
I think his use of simple words is delinquency.

early draft of "a prayer"

Hey Job,
How ya doin'? whatcha sayin'?
where did you go when I laid the foundations of the united nations
in the television station?
where were you when the airplanes were the graves in the sky
for 9 to 5 business ties and temptress children in their
eye?
where were you when I tell 'em where to stick it when
the loveless eat shit when the young 'uns have a fit?
where were you when they preached their self-righteous bullshit
on the side of the road, and they told them fucking faggots where to go
where were you
when the president expired when the unions got retired when
the universe was wired on methamphetamine coughdrops in the
eye of the cyclops shining battling the fog in the eye of
the mob?
where were you when the sky crashed down and the men looked
up with a frown?
where were you when my law fell flat when they [two illegible words]
of the units and my life is [illegible]?
where were you
when the towers fell down onto the NYC ground
and the children were nowhere to be found?
where were you when I made the hurricane
and ate the
where were you when I sent the tsunami and ate
the entirety of...

Jasmine (unfinished poem)

on the day my parents drove me to school

Jasmine gleamed
her eyes and grabbed
my hand
with her little child fingers - matching mine -
running and

spinning
me 'round the room;
while the little architects made
mansions
in the sand.

untitled fragment #3

The first fit for a king
the second for praises sing

the third fit for a grave

untitled fragment #4

The wicked generation asks for a sign
And this is the sign you'll see:
The son of man upon a tree

untitled unfinished poem

you have written in permanent lines
_____________on my flesh
your influence & words
______on my mind
your coldness & heat
____on my soul
so you are a memory
_______and a curse
that blesses my life
with the fondness of one day
overcoming the pain of hundreds

weird unfinished poem

__They with
_______mascara eyes
bathe in your blue
underneath your
____skin
__ah, fuck!

mother,
__into your uterus I lift my spirit

_______so you can conceive me again
_______so you can consume me again

in your_______still as yet
_____unscarred

body, undefiled by my appearance
escaping beneath folds of skin
________________I am not a teacher
_______________________I am a dead heart

__Are you a sin to me?
__Am I defiled in your womb
__earth is dead land my home
that I am fettered to
____forgive me

original concept of "no silent night"

No silent night in here, not
just a long howl of defeat
no humble restoration
no manger for the Christ

no peace no peace no peace no

no peace within the tattered
frame, no joy or rest within
the heart, - rest in just a false
muse that brings you to your knees

no rest no rest no rest no

no art to let the shadows
in, no love to bring us peace
because peace is just a
cease fire unrea without love

no love no love no love no

hide your name on my front door
hide my face in your shoulder

untitled unfinished poem

___________over the water floating

__I imagined myself dead

my dad said I should be working
_____________"It's all uphill from here"

____he never knew how to lead me

____I wished I was in India

It was only a daydream so I bought a ticket

________to Chicago where they scratched
three numbers on their foreheads in a sort of
____foolish_____idealism

unfinished fragment #5

wait:onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightdays
_____________sing the old song lhude! lhude! lhude!
Moses is dead son, take up your arms

earliest draft of he(braic)syllabic

Sing an old song
___sharpened & chiseled words like daggers
___Sing an old song,
__________Lhude,
_____not forgotten.

Your eyes are a ballroom,
__________________sing!
wide and trampled
_____not forgotten.

blank edges on papyrus strips
_________you are not an old man

untitled unfinished poem

we are constructing voices
we are construing grammatical
we are culture less

we broke plurality
we are discussion

I am adversarial
You are alterity

are we seduction
or ravishing?

431 (this was a joke for my Old English class)

"Anthing can be a modern poem!
I can just use words we mention!"

Save
___as__r
tf____Chicago__manual
of style.


Dick powder;

Conan___--___oniongirl.
TEMPEST!



Space


__________war of the
__________worlds.

in dreams (unfinished)

Poetry is best
with no words,

only shapes and colours--
an endless palate of construction.

You are a circle
with no colour.

I am red
with no shape.

the devil & machine guns (unfinished)

____________________as far as I can tell
_____the devil likes machine guns,
________cause he's pointing one at your back.

__________But don't you worry none,
__________cause Christ got one on his.

Cave (This will be revised for my book)

I used to stand under streetlights at night and watch
my shadow grow. I was small but could
be so big, my head a mountain for the ants to scale,
my body a gladiator

______________but still a child

___Now I crawl into the cave and watch the shadows
dance in the flames, because it is so much safer.
____________and in the cave you dance
______to flicker and fade
_______________and I watch
___________still,
___________________forever
_____________and waiting.

fall soft

I want to fall soft
_______________scrapes become bruises,
chipped teeth are fat lips;
___________& all is well inside.

Exercise 1: Alliterative Accentual Verse

A failure to my forbears:__singing forbidden songs, reading
___Ferlinghetti
or drinking coffee with Coleman,__at first course and chaotic
but then beautiful__bearing joy to this bastard son.
The Artist is anarchy__not alright with the Old Man

who says I need to stop__seeing visions and step up
to the reality, the repulsive__running around
of this bullshit blue-collar__boarding room
that distorts the deliberate_ artistic declaration, to deafening.

Notes:

1. Alliterative Accentual Verse: The only truly English metrical form. Lines do not have a beat count but in each line there will be four main alliterative accents that mark the metre. This style dates back to the Anglo-Saxons and the best known example is Beowulf. This style is rare in modern poetry

2. Lawrence Ferlinghetti: American poet and member of the "Beat Generation." He is the owner of the famous independant City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco. He is most famous for receiving an obscenity charge after publishing Ginsberg's Howl and other poems. His poetry is often marked by minimal puncuation and a unique stanza structure that has been adopted by many modern poets.

3. Ornette Coleman: Innovative Jazz saxophonist credited with developing the style of Free Jazz. His album Free Jazz made use of a "double-quartet" and featured only one 37 minute song. He plays a signature white plastic saxophone.

short

you come fire:

_____me short—
__[f] use.

Sun means sleep

"A word is a word is a word is a word," she said.
Sun means sleep, you know it—
at 4am you draw pictures of little lines,
______________Comin' fo' to carry me home
__written in her pores.
__dripping from her lips,
but you read them on each part of her body:
______________Comin' fo' to carry me home
"love" is two-dimensional,
______swing high sweet chariot.

playing house

Let's play house.
You can be the daddy, and I'll be the mommy.

______This could be a mistake.

I don't know what a family is.
What is a family?

Some people say families are nuclear:
daddy_____mommy_____children.

But if we are all

protons & neutrons,

what will hold us together?
or will we blow apart?

______Most likely a mistake.

Queen West

for Ashlee Chatten

As I walk down queen west with my dad for the third time
in twenty-two years,
_______________I wonder if I will see you.
The white sky is cracked only by the ruddy buildings; &
____shiny new advertisements try to compel me with their
pink gums, white teeth.
______I walk ahead of my dad. I am ashamed
____that he is my dad.

We fight,
_the winter chill straining my
dad's bad heart. He threatens an immediate heart attack
______so I will slow down.

The young girls brush past holding bags of fashion,
____and the boys cling to them—
hips & chest.
I wonder if I will see you walking in the crowd

___with your mother.
__________But the faces I see are dolls;
they do nothing to comfort me. So I pray

because there is nothing else to do:
____________God, please tell me you were joking
when you said there is no way to get to you
___except to believe, because it is easier just to do things
than to have faith that
_____you'll do them for me.

coital

My personal poetics are
_____giving birth to bastard children
with_____mortgaged brains_____saying:

________what we
________love

_____________is

________what we
________love

_____________to

________destroy,

__sometimes.

become beautiful

Diet of words:

Dead child
become beautiful.

Send down the army.

Pale eyes
become beautiful.

Awkward Grammar

word sonnet #3 (for Christian Bok)

Mono
metric

stanzas

obstruct
standard
sonnet
structure.

Poets
tackle
abstract
formats,

causing
migraine
headaches.

he(braic)syllabic

Sing an old song:

_________on papyrus—
with sharpened and chiselled edges
____________like daggers.

Sing:
_________varia—
__________________tions
__________________on
consonantal not
sonorous forgotten

__________indentations,

___________________sing!
_____[uni]_____formed
_________[in]__form__—__syllabics
___________________to
_____scorn__the
_______________________more
pheme’s
form,_____________un—

_____known:

_______________un—sung.

[Lay your body as foundation]

Lay your body as foundation
and upon your chest we'll build a temple,
not with bricks and mortar
but with our flesh and bones.

We hope in you,
while the dust cracks our lips
hardening the mucus in our throats.

We hope in you,
like our brothers and sisters long past
waiting to be unearthed;

lifting up your broken body
as your mother once held
your little hands and wrinkled skin,
the suckling king anointed.

haiku

The curves of your face
become symptomatic of
a blossoming heat

Hands

word sonnet #2

These
hands
know
not
words
but
they
touch
and
tremble
with
fear
and
joy

Fall

word sonnet #1

Spoken
words
heard
broken
shaken
shards
far
fallen
crack
digress
progress
gasp
edict
convict

[the body machine]

The body machine
_________________electric
___is getting old, not
____lu
____br
____ic
____at
____ed
______with blood:
_________________rusty

_waiting for___________________,love.

half a man

Fie upon't! Foh!
The circus mirror splits
_____&
________Makes
devil_____devil
____angel ____angel

twice a man
______half a man,

exposit the heart's equation:

___Smash the damn mirror.

No silent night

Ironic fluorescent spots of light? People used to sleep at night, when it was quiet. What is quiet?

No silent night in here, love,
no jubilant ovation.
You will never know enough
with concrete information.

No poetry is modern.
Your words are defined by time,
no abab pattern,
no syllabic metric lines.

All theories are in contra-
Diction is not predeter-
"Mind is new!" Be my mantra!
What is modern, have you learned?

Confusion defines the new,
failing that this is a ruse.

viceroy, viceroy

Hold this up to your memory:
a circus curiosity; your bill
of rights and proselytizing bear-hugs.
King James gave me papercuts in spring
and you fucked me with your baby Jesus sugar.

for the first person

"It's Sacramental!"

render unto caesar
that which is

I

cut the tongue feed
on the blood of

I

p|oly|sylla|bi|fic|at|io|n

______skin
_________lines
(permanent) polysyllabification

of mind.
________cold-
ness_____heat
_____________bless with persistence
overcoming
_____________bless

prophet

You're a prophet, Love.
_________________You saw the earth spinning off its axis and into the sun. Like the sun to the earth, my head was spinning me as well. I am all spinning, constantly from the axis to the fantasy, the sound of the leaves blowing through the trees and the appearance of the stars on a beautiful night. So, you say that you have seen all this before, and I believe, but I'm left with one question:

Is this what it feels like to float breathless above the world?

You're a prophet, Love.

These Words

These words are blank verse memories of you;
Blank, like the white sky on a summer day,
or blinding, like the snow in December.

Through the eyes of a jealous kind

To your godesses of love:
The new covenant in my blood.

An open line of reciprocity,
a line; that curves and pulsates
like an artery.
Like yellow-cracked hardened fat:

So feel your heart.
So feel your blood rush to your head,

and stand in the line that opens
like a tree; stretching each branch
to reach your goddesses of love:

So feel your blood.
So feel your heart crack your head,

opening your pithy mind and spilling
through the eyes of a jealous kind.

NS
01.11.06
11.01pm

Bullet

Now Adam knew his wife Eve

Like bullet
velocity abstract
into the heart of

woman.

Like "glorious appearing"
of your dead
man saviour;

love is a weapon. If you got good aim

like bullet
velocity abstract
into the heart of

man.

This time is new

I'm breathing obscurity
with patient anticipation to fall,
humbly terrified.

This time is new
This time

I'm breathing intention,
like I never believed
like I never knew:

This time is you.

the glow

insert a prayer
feel the glow

insert a

invert a choir
hear the crow

invert a

infer answer
now lie low

infer
insert
invert

[Subtly shatter your / romance,]

Subtly shatter your
romance,

over black coffee and
distance.

Shattering smile her
countenance,

over words that betray
intents.

drop

yes, I am trying to hurt you.
yes, I am an atom bomb.

I think that I might shatter
into infinite shards of stained
glass windows
to press against your neck and
make you remember.

I heard "love."

never meant to
sever
your arteries with my tongue

but,
sometimes you need to

bleed.

a prayer

methamphetamine coughdrop lies
in their
aeroplane graves of 9 to 5 corporeal
cries and the foundations of the united nations
gymnasium in the television says

, "I've seen many nations crumble."

the man of the
stumbled word at the blunt edge of the
world and the unpronounceable morpheme
feigning Almighty, lowered.

Hey Job,
where ya bin?
whatcha sayin?
where did ya go when I laid the foundations
of angry topless standing ovations?
the man in the three-piece suit cryin

, "I seen all this before (but my wife she don't know)."

so where were you little man
when every creature ate from my hand?
when the copper sky ran blood red?

where were you
when they preached all their bullshit on the side o' th' road?
when they told all them faggots where they should go?

where were you, Job?
At the din of an aborted howl
or the body's eternal yowl:
to wallow in self-pity cryin so sure

, "oh but I ain't never bin nothin but pure."

[the thought of you]

The thought of you:
_________burning coals
__creating heat and light,
________________consuming.

How to live with a Curse

For Flannery O'Connor
(and the ol' gal)

How to live with a Curse. The first cut off the chopping block. A gold ring in a pig's snout. That woman. A gold ring. A pig's snout. The Bull's horn slams into her ribcage. Choke, choke, gurgle. Like a gold ring.

The Bull tramples your flowers and drinks your clean water. Tell the Nigger to get him outta here. Tell the Nigger how to live with a Curse. Crack a smile when the Bull comes running. He who loves discipline is wise. He who mocks correction is stupid. Keep mocking. The Alpha and Omega.

Your gold ring is a curse. Your Alpha and Omega. You look like a pig under your skin. Your false Christ. Tell the Nigger he ain't got love. Your Christ is Bull. A Curse.

You're a queen in a pig's snout. The horn in your heart is an adequate decoration. The blood that drips out of your mouth matches your dress. You're a queen.

Where's your golden crown?
The ring lay bloody on the ground.

NOTE: This poem is based on a story by Flannery O'Connor. The word "nigger" is used to be true to that story, and not in a racist or derogatory way. This is an anti-racism poem.

Lines in her name

She said that I
"speak
like an essay"
and "weave
arguments"
in my brain.

But I
think
like a poet
and see
lines
in her name.

(imagining the monstrous)

a mirror,
teeth.

Because you are so devious

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline II. iii. 143)

Because your weapon lies there,
in your right hand in his left,
they all will laugh and smile and cry
and know that you are bless'd.

Because you are so devious,
you hid it there so all could see,
and hear and touch and taste and smell
the words of him who speaks.

Sacred

you shall not boil a young goat in its mother's milk

Sourcebook.
I said it.

...

November is the cruellest of months
the farmer sits and contemplates that
His life has no purpose
when the
crops have all been
harvested.
When it is indeed so cold that I (And By "I" I Mean You)
can see the warmth escaping from my breath
and I cannot feel my extremities
for the Cold.
This is the magic. This is that song.

...

it is like when you get that look in your eyes that says you're going to break my heart
in Exactly
One Point Five
seconds. (It never goes away, you know.)
AND BY YOU I MEAN "I."
and you didn't

...

You're tyming is so perfect. I was about to move
on and this is
One Point Five Years replaced in
SIXTY-four days and fourteen hours and twentysix minutes
And an infinitude of seconds
I AM who fill

I'll (AND BY "I" I mean all of us)
get over this frustration

[insert:and I hope you are very happy,]
Love,
Knocking off my feet

see.
Love,

...

all my flirtations with idealism have led me to despair so I
have decided to become a pessimist too.
"and if things go well we can rejoice,"
HOORAY!
"I've had my share of disappointments in my life"

Who fill infinitude
I AM
the cruellest
of month
I AM

...

stations- take notes
20’s- slang

-brilliant class
In

Finite space
Mannerism, blue.
Blue.
Blue on white and black
Pink on red and white.
White,
Shine.

Smile,
and throw it all away. My

infinitude
fill
who. I AM
of
cold the cruellest
of months November
is

elephant

shiny elephant hippopotamus broken bloody split skip
rope
esophagus
filthy hippopotamus tales like tails like see deer cedars feeders feed
her's
behemoth elephant hippopotamus
phil the file the fill the philanderer philander her fill and her
fille and/or phil and her
split body
fille and gore apple core

Silent in Your Car

I wrote my name on the roof cushion of your car
with my finger,
as if to leave a piece of me behind.
I hoped that you would see it someday
but it faded,
nearly as quick as I wrote it.
With your subtle explosion of whites and browns, then it was gone.

Raining in December

Lonliness
brings destruction
like rain in December

Digress

Reconstruct:
Scrape the bones.
Mortify.
To the side;

Acquiesce:
Shoot my foot.
Sanctify
This new song:

I walk alone

Introduction

This will be my online version of Whitman's Leaves of Grass, in that it will be an ever growing volume of my poetry.

Read, enjoy, criticize, cry, love, hate, whatever.

Just make sure you feel it.