Saturday, June 5, 2010

Reclaim the slamp

I didn't know you wrote poetry; I didn't know you wrote such bloody awful poetry...

A poem about love, sex, and reclaiming the slampiece.

Hard crush love &c

A. Suitor
Inhale her scent. Vin Mariani

only to toast her health.

She smells of retina detachments and other disasters. Carl

Koller applied her to his own eye, then pricked it with pins.

(What he saw):

a red wheelbarrow see-sawing on a plum fulcrum
three corseted women eating madeleines
no Beatniks rolling Benzedrine strips
two Ibizan yachts, waiting, docked at Space
one peony’s whirl, he was

the small black ant in the middle

B. Girl/boy

Exegesis: these are texts written with different script

(read left-right and read down-up;
read horizontally,
read horizons, read the clouds and

squeeze them into tea cups: revise your reading on porcelain bottom:


moisture always, anyways
dells and

the dew on a bee’s belly turns into the dew on her upper lip
into the dew on his mustache into dew glistening

his shoulders from early morning headspins into dew glistening her belly from pre-dawn caterpillaring

up-down, right-left, they dance across wet grass)

C. Slamp

Slam the piece
of bread into
French toast batter. Slam the piece

the piece slam the piece of pie
the piece of pie into Carl’s eye

watch vitreous and meringue combine
birth chickadees with floater-feathers
squiggly gel wings

these babes fly peripherally

always out of sight
in and out of night


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