More poems

After Barbara

1

A red here, a reading and its echo there,
A mood, a medieval Latin,
An official language in a land
Where most people speak vernacular.

2

There was a lietmotif;
Red leaves; red leaves; red leaves;
Ghosts stripe a transept; a girl sees;
Revelation is rarely brief.


Currently Untitled

Roman
Arches.

Romance.

In from out bright moonlight
He sees he's been burned.

Days later
Upon peeling
The patches look
Like rose petals.


After And For Nathaniel Mackey

We the
Horripilate
Echo off
Rockwall

Wag our tongues luscious with logoscat

Cuts through the fullest
Range of chains
Shackle perception.

With our flimflam
We've flabbergasted
Every gut in the city we've

Been through
Though a local
Scoffed more like barely around
No through
Makes a sense hard to argue against.

Most of the guts weren't
Strung tight enough: loose
Strings and broken bows;
Resonating chambers cracked
And in the cracks no greening.


Note:

1--This poem is by no means intended as a critique of Mackey's poems, which I love.


Brilliant Black

The Blackstone Rangers revitalized.

"Nigger can you kill?"

Narcissus
Flowers
Along the freeway
Where people go
To smoke crack.

Take that back
Quack the didactic.

I don't dig the word nigger
But adore the word hick.

"Nigger can you kill" strikes me as
Niki G's best poem.

Poems should often be bigger
Than their authors aside my fact
Authors should implicate themselves.

Note:

1--I'm pretty sure "Nigger can you kill" is not the actual title of the poem beginning with that line.



Public Space

With my clock and my rock
I go into public space.

With my face and my farce
I articulate soul
Feet and feet and feet trample

And for
Example
Sometimes

It's baby-boy's blood
Splatters his sister
Who like the anorexic she is
Can abstain from A to Z
But cannot resist
Feeling this is fucked up.


The Dozens At A Corner

Graffiti on
Facades.

Barred windows.

Rents like
You
So knowing
Would believe.

Blown petals
Of a thrown bouquet:
It should always
Look so pretty when
Someone says I'm throwing
Your stinking love away.

From afar
Or forty blocks
A carpet-trimming a-fray
Looking for all
The world like brocade

Has been blown onto a rotting bench
Where JFK once sat.


Currently Untitled

In much
American

Poetry
There is

Not enough
Explicitly

Protected
Sex.

I bend bow and
We limbo;
A we bow whack;
A we bow
Whack; a we; a bow.

True and
Truly
Unsatisfying

The way the
Answer
Always
Depends.

Inviolate
Of verve
Has the nerve

To tell me
My momma
Stinks the stank
Of the rose whose
Freshness is never spent.
That cocksucking motherfucker!

It's funny
As in Biographia Literaria
That when I try and
Wrote an unhyphenated cock-sucking
My software
Wothout my consent
Substitutes crosskicking
And yet
Motherfucker
Goes un
Red or green lined as
If it's correct.



Because One Can Be Careful With Desire

His big beautiful dick
Its archaic
Splendor slick as
I lick the
Luster
Enhanced by
The condom
Like as one looks
At their reflection in dewy rockface;
Oh those
Creepers
Are beautiful: I love
The cinnamon-colored speckles
Around the stamens.