the spirit of that shit

04/07/2013 at 3:31 pm · Filed under poems

in memory of Daniel Reich

_______________________________

If you are going

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tv college online

04/04/2013 at 12:22 am · Filed under poems

Nothing can come
out of me

Nothing will ever
come out of
me

Nice
Context
where
did you
get that?

these public statements are permanent

The artist is not a liar
The liar is an artist

I bought a
book and
i used the
book
to build
a house

one cannot
live in a
book

but

a book
can make
a beautiful
house.

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tonsil

01/05/2013 at 2:30 am · Filed under poems

i use ice
but i don’t make

ice.

i’ll admit it.

i think the
dick is

the funny

silly thing

i don’t wear earmuffs,

i don’t wear earmuffs,
i’m freezing.

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my poetry can never be a spaceship

11/28/2012 at 9:07 pm · Filed under poems

My mother told me her “diamonds
are small now”
in reference to the panels of plastic
stained glass she has applied to
each of the tiles

lining her kitchen.

I was home, earlier this week,
when her diamonds were larger

and I laughed, to which she took
scissors to her plastic

stained glass diamonds
shrinking them in half.

I always see the wild world and I
Go wild, inconsolable with glee

I tend to feel a future with different textures,
as if by some act of advancement
my entire universe would be composed

of a different type matter.

this is what poetry does to me, the poetry
of the self, which shrinks or engrosses,

captivating my imagination with the
potential of escaping.

Is it memory, the fragment abstract that is so
easy, a different bundle of colors and in
there i am warm, or broken- sometimes
shaking.

poetry extracts that, dazzles it dancing- other
wise I starve, eyes blotted and everything is
paper, stiff and empty.

I like to watch the world go wild but
i have to do it on my knees.

i have to make the moment current.
I am hunger, sleep and over.

Comments (2)

any face

06/11/2012 at 6:56 pm · Filed under poems

hey if your
definitely real
we should swap
e-mails

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thought creating perfect talking

05/28/2012 at 11:16 am · Filed under poems

I’m the warm boy
throw all of your horror at me

people know my name but
I don’t know how.

I’d rather go to an office

than

raise a child
in america

I started crying
and then you started crying

and then

we were hit
by cars.

My job is bad
for my posture

I need to get
my house in order

Let me enjoy my
day and don’t call
me back.  I want to
take a picture of you
with the flag.

I made objects in my mind
out of metal and smashed them

I have the authority to make
arbitrary judgements on others
who are different

I will never return to my childhood
because we had to sell it

If you are hot

Pour water on yourself
don’t touch me

She says as he laughs
touching her

don’t touch me

There is
a line here

this world is extraneous matter

I will only linger looking like
This for a moment.

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particular kinds of paper

04/09/2012 at 5:50 pm · Filed under poems

in lieu of flowers

please do not lose
your mind

they are a different
breed

the ones that love
horses

life is much
better

when

it is
on
camera

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love theory [three types of bonding]

01/02/2012 at 6:40 pm · Filed under poems

(adapted from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chemical_bond)

covalent bonding
involves the
sharing
of electrons

the positively charged
nuclei of two or more atoms
simultaneously attract the
negatively charged electrons
that are being shared
between
them.

in a so-called ‘covalent’ bond,
one or more electrons are drawn
into the space between two atomic nuclei.

the negatively charged electrons are attracted
to the positive charges of both nuclei,
instead of just their own.

this overcomes
the repulsion
between the two
positively charged
nuclei,
as this
overwhelming
attraction holds
the two nuclei
in a fixed
configuration

even though
they will
still vibrate
at
equilibrium
position.

a less often
mentioned
type of bond
is the metallic bond.

In this type of bonding,
each atom
donates one
or more electrons to
a “sea” of electrons

that
reside
between
many metal
atoms.

In this sea, each electron is free
(by virtue of its wave nature) to be
associated with a great many atoms
at once. The bond results because
the metal atoms become positively
charged
due to loss
of their electrons,
while the electrons remain
attracted to many atoms,
without being part

of
any
given
atom.

in an ionic bond, the bonding
electron is not shared at all,
but transferred.

In this type
of bond, the
outer atomic orbital
of one atom has
a vacancy

which allows
addition of
one or more
electrons.

these newly added electrons
potentially occupy a lower
energy-state (effectively
closer to more nuclear charge)

than they experience in a
different atom. Thus, one
nucleus offers a more tightly
bound position
to an electron
than does another
nucleus, with the result
that one atom may transfer
an electron to the other.

This transfer
causes one atom
to assume a
net positive charge,
and the other
to assume a
net negative charge.

For further reading, refer to: “Jane Eyre” by Charlotte Bronte

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flesh joke

12/20/2011 at 12:51 am · Filed under poems

you will always

feel yourself

that is the only
environment

you will ever be
in.

nothing else
will ever

change

even if

everything
else

does.

this

is

how

it

goes.

you are

neither
dead

nor
alive

you have

been

fed

a lump
of
lies

and you
will
swallow
it very

slowly.

you can smile

as an occupation

i’ll pay you to
pretend

that every
thing is
fine.

the body writes
its own script and

there is no

yellow
brick

road.

only
a catheter

shoved
down
your

smallest
hole.

i love the

fact that
we will

never
arrive

at a
concrete
conclusion

there is only
just enough
time to

keep

guessing.

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i just wanted to let you know

12/14/2011 at 9:09 pm · Filed under poems

we will need

a cover
letter resume and
a writing sample.

friends are
santa clause

or jesus.

popping cherries
and cigar tubes
live in your butt.

you have to learn how
to ask a question

by receiving a
central broadcasting

system.

i have paid for

a circumcision

and my education.

there is no difference,
no reason.

palm beach is a place
where the world

loses interest.

the world is a polygon
of nothingness

you thought it was made
of stone

it is made of gas.

i think
you should know
that i know.

the world is
a beautiful loft

on the worst
block in
newark.

i can’t buy sardines,
but i’ll sell you my spit

in a jar.

once the needle is inside of you

you can feel it moving around.

a local anesthesia and
an earmarked dessert.

there is no confusion
two doctors and two nurses
will cover you in plastic.
end of story.

there are no problems
the end result
is a simple thing.

an injection,
a split second.

and when we are
done

we will have dinner
at a

fancy restaurant.

it is easier when we
find the right location
to release the medication.

the computer will relay
a simulation of information.

touch it now
you will not feel anything.

you will feel pressure
from movement inside your skin.

not pain, but pressure
talking will be a fact of
pain, and women
can take more than men.

men are babies when
it comes to pain

it is a fact of life.
it is total truth.

if a man had to have a baby
the world would feel fine
because it would be a movie
and you’d be at home
dealing with personal
issues.

i was just about to
go to bed

i don’t have the freezer
space.
i want to lift
the world.

i cannot

move

my mind

it is dead weight, one side
said to the other
i have to ask

you

something.

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this is a detail of the toilet

12/04/2011 at 6:18 am · Filed under poems

the idea
of the

house

is constant.

windows move in front of me,
i am

enveloping

air.

i didn’t want anything
to do with dead things,
my fingers are white,
a knuckle is torn.

i don’t give
a flying fuck
if you forgot
about
death.

you are stupider
than your mothers
head if you came
out of the vagina

again.

wear a goddamn necklace.
throw all of the pennies
at the school children.

i will sell your fucking
eye lashes.

i am a goddamn
house and i mean
it.

i am talking to death.
i am in discourse with
everyone’s

inevitable
mother
bitch.

she is a cunt and she
lives in your mouth.

she explodes all
of your skin, she
spits grease in
your nose.

i am tired of her
and i have told her to
leave.

i will not let her make
me fuck her.

i will not let her
make you unhappy
my love

i love you and
death wants to
make me hate
you because
she is real and
we are not.

i am not death
and i want to
punch it, it is
before me and
i am cornered in
time.

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finis (real narratives)

11/25/2011 at 2:58 am · Filed under poems

.

.

flowers mean nothing.
but i love
the roses.

the body as
a temple

bores me.

a world of ideas is a circulating
myth. fukuyama does not live in
new york city.

.

think deeply
for a moment

about every-

thing.

not “a” thing,
not “anything”-
but the thingness
of the word, “every
thing” or what it
could possibly
never  even begin
to encompass.

you are sitting in
the middle

of

everything.

nothing is sadder
than everything.

“sadness” can
not be applied
fluently to any other
substance, the thin
layers of film and
photographs, objects
destroyed, houses
are sold, paper disintegrates
and
growing old

is

a

bitch.

nothing is sadder
than everything
is a statement
true in two ways
easy.

“nothing” is indeed, sadder
than everything, because

without life

sadness is every anything, the faint
idea of missing something

that you never had to begin

with.

the other thing you have to remember

is that you will spend a great deal of time

watching everything living

slowly die.

Other people wear their heads with an easy and absolute existence, moving seamlessly through their life adapting to any given situation.  Boss figures or questionable characters are heads on a ladder of impossible income. Casual conversations are an immediate exchange of affable observations. My head is a bending sled of bricks with two fuzzy openings.  Death in life is a topic from great expectations.  My feet are the theme of this moment.   I extract longing from my mental vocabulary.

there is nothing to refer to

other than the physical fact regarding

 ”what exactly is going on right now”.

Besides this

I can call the spirit

box

or

dog

and you can think

in time or hope

but all we have is

this body part.

reality is a bag of bones with brittle creases.

you have to plan for your death. you have to

clean up your mess.  jesus died for these keds.

you have to wear them to bed.

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