Monthly Archives: September 2012

I’m everything…sometimes

A bomb converted a city under
railways of clothing and pleasure. Perhaps
continuous, unavoidable as a creature, alive

through lack of simplicity and light
I’m everything you consider biblical, sometimes
something good depending on the skies

this moment. We’re all the logical
marriages of breath made after love
of gold, a round force to
imagine unlimited
. Tell me there’s room

for a future, a spirit beginning
something to share, to construct, explore
and expand our needs situated in
astronomical wetness and longing a location.

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Filed under Disaster, Eastern Michigan University, Erasure, Experiment, Form, Michigan, Michigan Writer, Poems, Poetry, Prose, Reading, Revisitations, Sonnets, The Temporal Arts Collective, Writing

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Filed under Revisitations

The Wild Paraphernelia

We, vigorous, form one general statement that love
of rapture is inanimate when unspecified, meaning
longing the wild paraphernalia of experience

—breath becoming air known above likeable skies—
something good screaming with
a present concept of rejuvenation.

Alas! saliva perceived a town—something other
to name, whatnot, arrange things and christen
to a cohesiveness. This is immersion.
Put in something logical, alive, various. Repeat,

bite that noun—perfection. Don’t take
this as a thingamabob being pleasant existence.
There’s craving progress when
desire forms a rhythm under a person.

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Filed under Eastern Michigan University, Experiment, Michigan, Michigan Writer, Poems, Poetry, Prose, Reading, Revisitations, Sonnets, The Temporal Arts Collective, Writing

locātus

I

we shed
become
vast
as
night

to make air

a presence in
a rhythm
of a body
each
shifting

unpunctuated as a world

so
come

here

II

I love the moment
when yer describing some noise
[something like porn music]

that brought a lot of disease
because domesticated animals
didn’t exist before

there was something celebrated
and someone went to look
for China and found no great thing

we said No fucking way,

what does it mean? This world,
we know, everything here
has absolutely nothing
from New England.                                               Just come
over and over again—there’s supposed to be
a permanent headquarters in the heart. Let’s locate it.

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Filed under Eastern Michigan University, Experiment, Michigan, Michigan Writer, Poems, Poetry, Reading, Revisitations, Summer, The Temporal Arts Collective, Writing