nonsense! non-science!

John Paul George Ringo
Maybeth the mother
of indigo, Christ in
a steak sandwich
presses his eyes shut
wishes someone would
for Gods sake put him
out of his misery.

I mean, overdetermination’s
one thing, but how do you
live with yourself,
even if you are
the fuckin Messiah?

God changes
color and consistency
as it falls—got to
take it for what it is,
the shifting presence.

You’ve got to have the
balls (metaphorically)
to stand on a seaside
and shift with the tide,
like you were the water
to ripple and slide.

4/13/06

get to the basement! get to the store!

protein bombs are falling over the young city.
commerce has all but ground to a halt,

while the diplomatic corps has secluded itself

somewhere in the hills, gorging on stockpiles
of jelly donuts, pastries, apple fritters, and
chocolate pudding pies.

you're on your own, my fellow citizens —
those in charge have abdicated their right to rule,

and we're left to forage for fruits & vegetables.

storehouses of canned meat and fish
are discovered daily by teams
of gatherers and scouts.

we stay away from the surface, in our shelters —

there's nothing left for us to do but to find a clean plate

utensils in all this inedible, inutile rubble,
and wait for them to return.

6/3/06

offering

Now you distribute
the melted fat in the pan.

Sing me a new song,
God of my fathers,
God of the rains
and the fried meats.

The sons of the desert
have drowned in boiling oil,
the promised offerings
lost in blowing sand.

Ask the women to tell
their side of the story.

Distribution of flour,
butter, two kilograms meat,
and a kilo of ground coffee.

Now we among you retire,
at long last, from wandering.

The sons of our fathers
cowered behind the skirts
of prosperous women.

What souvenirs do we bring
out of the desert? From
collecting the sand in
the soles of our shoes?

End the telling and come in,
come in and leave the offering.

We were frightened when
we ran from the empire.
Now we are comfortable,
and seated quietly at home.

A miracle happened here...

6/3/2006

from scripture

Crosby, Stills,
Nash & Gone—

you saddle the mule
and I'll go home,

you name the prophet
and I'll go it alone,

you state me the scripture
and I'll stand in the market,

you freeze with monks
and I'll pacify with music,

you get me the psalm
and I'll come along.

6/17/06

overheard misspoken

the route we'll take

the Rottweiler take

the rut will take

6/20/06

sephirot

grand porphyreans
at the vista point
sing now a melted
psalm of ways.

stellar orchestras
wait for the baton
of emanation to begin
the slow tonic dance

and the drop, from
ladder, rung to rung,
now comes into each
blown glass, filling.

9/15/1996

just a berth on this earth

o my harbors!
spots are filled with diamonds.
there are riches in every port.
could we -- or is it may we -- begin this
after the meeting has been called
for rain. tides rise on both sides
of the last gulf before home.

6/8/06

Antikythera machine readout

are you trying to develop
an automated system for
expression, or are you
simply looking to make

a mark? bury it all
in a shallow Mediterranean
bay, and see what
they can bring up.

6/6/06

noisy breakfast

buttering my own bread,
wrapping this plate of
scrambled eggs around my head.

Noisy Breakfast!
Noisy Breakfast!

the thunder booms
and scares the
cups of yogurt!

Noisy Breakfast!

coffee coagulating on the spoon.
cereal congratulating itself in the bowl
stirs back from the edge, from the kiss of milk.
runny containers of digital cheese curds—

no object but breakfast.
no image but hummus.
no potential but
to eat it all.

5/13/06

“How long do you spend writing?”

“No time—no time spent writing. Everything taken up with thoughts.
The writing is the dénouement of the exercise.”

Thought writing and time to think—
the burden is on the clock & pen

yellow birds in a tree

Skies unlimitedly fecund.
Birds drop up, out of the ground
to reach the elm-branches,
yellow leaves falling to heaven.

4/27/04

fabric ic at io ns

yes, your image
is a metaphor.
it drives us.
can these words
really be how
the world once
was constructed?
silver moon and
streetlights cast
their glow, yes,
and also their
shadow.

6/1/06