Snippets of poems from a blob currently titled Heartbreaking--which it mostly ain't:
"Recast As Anger":
Pretty people jig on a rig
Rats riff on reverence
Perhaps a pat butters her. Rain
Slaps the shingles of this cottage
Like a less
Charming version of one stayed at in Dingle.
My derriere feels divine.
Strum beside a flooded river.
What’s so lovely about being carried away
Eyes crack open densities.
"Notes For A Hollywood Script: The Working Class":
It’d be utterly glorious if we could queer the working-class
The heterosexual heartland myth disenfranchises its people
And gives pleasure to the very ones who aren’t them
Before they go down the mine-shaft
Some of them suck another one’s dick
Fuck their buddy’s apple ass
Pull their cock out of their mining chaps
So the tattooed bicep boy can lick and lick
"Working Class As(s) Myth":
Is it just me
Or is it not crazy
To say the myth
Of the working class is white
The longer the myth lasts
The more the blood and guts--brightness and
So that lives revoke their livings;
To a ripped hick
With a lip o’ dip--
"Parnassus Thrown To Fill That Grave"
If we go gone
The gone might
Sing us a song
"Underwritten By Privilege":
I harbor cruelties
Regarding class in
A wee while back I suggested
Miners are fucking in the lift down the shaft
As the sky turns sere, as fusillades
Fly off from merry-go-rounds,
Synapses flare into fulcrums whose every
Center fringes ecstasy, which runs
Its dendritic course into a delta
"Dear Pete Moore I Hope You Enjoy This Dedication":
Liner on its way to
Music, a few
Notes, a few
I by the sea
Weed as it’s adrift
By the orca
Hot for too little protein
Strophe: I forget
Counter: That’s fine
Strophe: True and true
Strophe: So where will you go
Counter: Maybe Montana maybe Moscow
Strophe: Gotcha and maybe I’ll visit
"I Love Painting":
It’s not a problem and any claim
To the it has is as solution.
So wouldn’t you rather sniff bubblegum?
I don’t know I would and why I wouldn’t
Assume we’d form concordance
Might be proper respect: signal I don’t
Usurp your wills; or that I won’t make us close enough
Thus where the hell am I when it’s clear I need to be
In loving relation to you; right next each other
Not some beautiful metaphysics
Which in its rest will grow more gorgeous.
"Degraded Juncture: Bright Bracelet":
It’s like butt-munchers are everywhere.
It’s like ass
Lickers are scoping each
Other from every corner.
It’s like fucking disgusting.
It’s like outdated. The straight right
Way is at this
Point so obvious
There’s no excuse.
"Love As It Becomes Agape":
Ego, mine, goes and goes
And goes, gathers into an
Imposing curl like one of the
Strands in the hairdos for that runway
Show which showed artifice
Off to a T, a tippy
"Green: A Factual Fiction":
Threaded, thrummed, tripped upon
Attar, essence of
Avatar, adjusted to the quicks and oopsies
This wonderful world
Proffers if you look away and I can’t