Sunday, April 19, 2009

there are days when all you have is tao lin, and there are days when no one wants you to have those days

i am fucked if i really think all human beings are terrible assholes
by tao lin

i want to see a bear running from a hamster
the bear is screaming and goes head-first into a chute

i’m tired of poetry

i'm going to use picasso's head
to cartwheel across two taxicabs

if you want you can move the letters in the word ‘profound’
you can have ‘roof dpfu’

no one ever has wanted that
until now

just kidding!

i’m just being dramatic!

the bear is holding a tennis racket in each paw!

i jumped off a roof once!

i worked on this poem for six hours

‘i’m tired of poetry,’ i said
and turned off the light
and turned on the light
and repeated that, bored, for like ten seconds,
while everyone else at my job was actually doing work for once

‘go home,’ i said

‘he’s tired of poetry,’ someone said noncommittally

in the bar i did a cartwheel over the table

i was standing on the ground and i did a cartwheel onto the table
and over the table

‘fucking awesome,’ someone said

‘we all know that art is not truth,’ said picasso

ska

picasso < ska

Friday, April 17, 2009

surprise! slam poetry.

The Quiet World
by Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it in to my ear
Without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Revolutionary Dreams

Revolutionary Dreams
by Nikki Giovanni

I used to dream militant dreams
of taking over america to show
these white folks
how it should be done

I used to dream radical dreams
of blowing everyone away
with my perceptive powers
of correct analysis

I even used to think I'd be the one
to stop the riot and
negotiate the peace

then I awoke and dug
that if I dreamed natural
dreams of being a natural
woman doing what a woman
does when she's natural
I would have a revolution.

Sonnet XVII

Sonnet XVII
by Pablo Neruda

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
by e. e. cummings
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Fuck You

Fuck You Poem # 45
by Amy Gerstler

Fuck you in slang and conventional English.
Fuck you in lost and neglected lingoes.
Fuck you hungry and sated; faded, pock marked and defaced.
Fuck you with orange rind, fennel and anchovy paste.
Fuck you with rosemary and thyme, and fried green olives on the side.
Fuck you humidly and icily.
Fuck you farsightedly and blindly.
Fuck you nude and draped in stolen finery.


Fuck you while cells divide wildly and birds trill.
Thank you for barring me from his bedside while he was ill.
Fuck you puce and chartreuse.
Fuck you postmodern and prehistoric.
Fuck you under the influence of opium, codeine, laudanum and paregoric.
Fuck every real and imagined country you fancied yourself princess of.
Fuck you on feast days and fast days, below and above.
Fuck you sleepless and shaking for nineteen nights running.
Fuck you ugly and fuck you stunning.

Fuck you shipwrecked on the barren island of your bed.
Fuck you marching in lockstep in the ranks of the dead.
Fuck you at low and high tide.
And fuck you astride
anyone who has the bad luck to fuck you, in dank hallways,

bathrooms, or kitchens.
Fuck you in gasps and whispered benedictions.

And fuck these curses, however heartfelt and true,
that bind me, till I forgive you, to you.

maggy and milly and molly and may

'maggie and milly and molly and may'
by e.e. cummings
maggy and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
its always ourselves we find in the sea

Friday, April 3, 2009

what she was wearing

"what she was wearing"
by denver butson

this is my suicide dress
she told him
I only wear it on days
when I'm afraid
I might kill myself
if I don't wear it

you've been wearing it
every day since we met
he said

and these are my arson gloves

so you don't set fire to something?
he asked

exactly

and this is my terrorism lipstick
my assault and battery eyeliner
my armed robbery boots
I'd like to undress you he said
but would that make me an accomplice?

and today she said I'm wearing
my infidelity underwear
so don't get any ideas

and she put on her nervous breakdown hat
and walked out the door

Thursday, April 2, 2009

home.

The Air House

The Air House

by Zoƫ Skoulding

wind snags on the gap
between timbers a tongue
against my teeth

disturbs breath
drawn across languages
as air in a room


settles and circulates
around a body full of oxygen
open to a clear morning

the sound of breath
complicates the room
I brush my lips against

your ear to make
a small patch of
air I can live in