The Big E 2023
I’m planning my once in a lifetime affair
It’ll be the party of everyone’s year
The beaux and the belles,
The heaviest swells,
The celebs, the smarties,
The funky, the arty, the glitterati,
The hale and the hearty,
The coy and the tarty,
Those mystery-mongers, the Illuminati,
They’ll all take their places,
Showing us their real faces
At my Extinction party
Count on it, everyone will be there .
amsterdam crimes 3-19
Birds and dogs and babies
and mothers and lonely men
and girls eating ice cream,
saying they wish they didn’t
have to work today.
Avenue A shut ups and fuck
offs and where are you
goings, sound kind of sweet
and the honking cars feel
like my calling. We are all practicing
meditation and I have no one
to see or anywhere to be.
Watching the tree’s shadow
move and come back, I forgive
my fathers, grandfathers, and great
grandfathers. I can be forgiving sometimes.
Fat ugly pigeons near the West 4th St movie theater love extending their whole heads. They latch onto crust with their beaks and flail it about whirling a full 360 in their faggotry.
I watch and I miss you, inhaling the pizza of others.
Similarly migratory, the ice cream trucks
of Bushwick play their song nonstop
for at least three months in heat. The
only way out of it is through. Mr. Softee
fated to his inceldom, is damned and unkissed.
[Side A, Scoubidou Suite]
"For the aeglarian rock, we've these offerings:"
A flower of life in latticed shiners.
I am Dusk.
Frost has made a licornucopia of
"The red wheelbarrow made with chemicals"
branded like a bar counter in blacklight.
Anything here wet & edged,
wearing the depression
bubbles
like Sixty peachpit meteors.
Their null-tulle of gravity,
entrails of Goodwill's stuffed animals
as plush cloud scarves,
ton-bump mulberry.
On Infinite Saturday, there’s no bad dancing
because there’s no such thing.
They’re playing your favorite song,
after your favorite song, and all the space
is space to move within, as there is
nowhere that needs moving from.
And the flowers are aptly named—
they really do flow.
Like limegreen rabbits checking pocketwatches
for the proper time, they bloom on cue
and shower you with a view for
their remaining hours. Their twilight show
flooding the gardens; the fields;
Poem for Gerry or, the Poet Goes Walking in His Backyard
The Jays & Wrens sing his legend.
The furry creatures call him saint, moonstruck
uncle. He Who Dresses like a Windy Day,
while the gnomes cast eyes of caution
whenever he moves through the tall grass,
murmuring his strange benedictions,
his elegies to ribwort & tree bark.
Each night they watch as he recedes
like the sun, behind the doors of his domicile.
Each morning they gather like soporific pilgrims
Belief: A Primer
At her First
Communion
she whirled
her head
around
and mouthed
the words
Does anyone
believe this
as crumbs
of blood
tickled
the ends
of her lips
The Gallery: Disappearing Acts
a person was embedded in an orderly framework
an "intervention of grace”
appears to be inconceivable
but rather an expression of a deeper order
with an impeccably "geometrical" idea of reality.