Explain your answer

Pure Pleasure & December to September & Subsequent to the Backend

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Mon, 26 Nov 2018 02:36:00 +0000

Pure Pleasure

December to September

Subsequent to the Backend

Pure pleasure

They expressed an overall hedonic evaluation

Spread out under the broadening branches

Clearly the wind was wonderful

As tethers flexed

We emerged from a musty pocketbook

Along with a satisfying lunch

Boredom, like Christmas lights in July

Exuded a superfluous and overlooked brilliance

They are bad birds, and roost in the palace

Unraveling our nests twig by strand

Puffing on a pen, earpiece whispering pornography,

He approached the students on the steps

In the name of security, a penalty of lashes

Perhaps exile to an underwater Jerusalem

The sea staggers the ancient skyscrapers

Sepulchres likewise flooded with emoluments

Leveling up until no air

No dirt no ruddy fat peasant faces squeezed into skinny jeans or presidential jackets

But everything is fine, a dust of ignorable toxicity

When graphed appropriately, with supplemental contrasts

All that is left to do is to go on living

It's ignoble, yes, but not necessarily a lie

As my tailor said, the shorter the horizon, the higher the hemline

He speaks well, for an infidel

But holds his license dear

Papers please

For my next vacation, some hell hole of suffering that revolves around me

It's time to evolve! With light splashing

To get started just dig a deep hole and scurry on in

Middle-aged and fit, they wade through a turquoise sea

The sun and the salt relax

The sexual grin and the laugh

Against the featureless horizon

Creatures that would drown or be devoured

Should the jellyfish mass

Or even a thyroid-swelled wave

But they do deserve it, the balance of vacation

Light surf on a green key

Behind which attend overdressed natives

All bets are off

When they repeal everything

Removed by an act of god

Without popular rebellion

Diabetic eels in syrup writhe

His brother always the popular one

They called troubled, wanting to sell out everything

Watch them catch them unawares

Lunches packed, the intelligence community

Debate free will and sovereignty, theodicy

And predestinatory grace. It is always now

For the people that the people suffer

And the suitcases are stuffed

Not in some island haven -

But here on earth, where we shovel it into your pocket, each and every

We are the lucky ones

Who survive innovation

Protected by the rule of law, our founder

Leaves bandits misguided, no real threat when lead astray

There is no danger at all today

Perfectly fitted clips for the incisors

Offer up an electric zing

The founder is pleased as we bite off his praise

Requited with recondite chewing

Playing hard within lush window coverings

The neighbours suspecting nothing

Involving considerable technical difficulty,

As in the relations between the sexes

He was discharged to facility type 11

Identified as death. Find himself alone among

A forest of cabling and zipties

Unable to move, the patient experienced

The sensational elation

Of the powerless and disinterested spectator

Was it never more than this

Was activity ever both possible and free from anxiety

Even joyous, even weak as a simple song

They put their hearts into the work so entirely

That the pleasure they derived from it could be seen even in their eyes

The dappled, the chestnut, and the bay

Flicking them with the whip to show he was pleased with them

Having afforded them this pleasure

He relaxed into the mire

It's always a pleasure to drink tea or have a bite to eat

With a bureaucrat who's served his country well

Requiring no motivation greater than

A desk to sleep under, pensionable days

and a series of small tasks accomplishable before perishing

And now, the police have found the getaway

It’s time to fly and say bye bye

Hasn't it been delightful

December to September

Dec. 12 2017

No fish burps –

The undesirable or merely useless

or even innocent among us

reproduce to intervene

double down to get between

fraught with danger,

I baked it myself (because)

in the palace of self-importance

is how we keep going on

frosted blue

nose like a snowcone sloshing

saying with all sincerity, to a stranger,

“happy birthday”, and having it received

by heart – the Christian way (metaphysically)

beneath the sweet and oily

is something I learned today.

Being by nature an ectomorph

the joyous belly juggles fantastical

merely

a negotiation of evisceration, dialectical end-state

of the clockmaker

refusal disallowed by metabolism

and if I share it with you

debt slavery rules until forever

Dec. 21

it’s been that many days

since the free play of possibility

drizzled until sum sum sum

somebody smells blood

& guts for a chaser – we look into the stone

to look into the dinosaur

we made a serious impression of the comedian

look ma, no pants – that’s my boy

but only half of him is subsidized

or a single part – words would be

continuously beginning to delimit without

an end on the vertiginous horizon –

ears on a dutchman, oily boiling

the jews away (gave them part

of the potatoes) and avoided the shelling

in the east indies, where

Timor mortis passed over a young farmhand

it catches up – eventually a yarn

before bedtime - contagious

or ceratopsian, the useful but decorative thrills

marking the species, consistency

of pudding, it’s family history

Jan. 4 2018

with no disturbing ticking – needing some single

thing to fixate the attention

her bored eyes concealed an appeal

when come stormy distractions

best friends must part – legs, leverage

cantilever, canter, buried tales

polyphony, my boyfriend’s back, sugared

before inkling, traumatized by tire

ironic comments intimidated the lion

and the leastie of the beasties

I remember morbidly seeking the finite

before we met, and the future

was a boring blue – now it’s

numbers and provocateurs, trolls

catching billy goats – if only the evenings

were forevers

Jan. 9

on the underside, a wrapper

inside a wrapper, sex

a lamp without heat

tucked inside a new knitted bonnet

the emission horizon

send money

home

the conflict comes from not thinking about conflict

otherwise, to be polite, I’ll fight

in a frilly fantasy

& microwaved egg

all necessary equipment for embarrassment

there’s no other certainty

in my estimation

in this life

reduction to

sum sum sum

and what you can put into you

that’d be nice, on a cold day

send the package, USA

in this line

hard men wandering

Jan. 12

From China it came – self-reliance!

I think I’ll stay, said

No self-respecting spinner, when the circus comes to town

Despite some regrettable limitations

solidarity was artfully embodied

in the texture of the rug

there is more than one immigrant garden

always and forever

with strawberries and slugs

equally plump

how we learned to eat and what

and who deserved to share

future captains, colleagues, comrades

wherever you imagine yourself

you are imagined

Jan. 13

Dismantling the apparatus

and then the house comes down

becoming fresh experts in something or another, demanding accountability

or the starry thrown

and awaiting it, forgetting all demands

to smash everything

there’s salt on the deck

and a line in your hand

& promises to trap in the sail

tricks for kicks

factor substitutability

cronies rent

or a simple helping hand, a word

a word when needed

from a disinterested and neutral party

who loves you

as herself, or the world

April 24 - Dad at 70

the spaces of the work

the dark room – the office

envelopes develop into offspring

his characteristic confinement

after delving out or into the world

like and unlike they compare

stuffed llamas and their stripes

jenkins, the molecular butler, or some forces unnameable

partitions the rivers

and there are two – him and you

then, and later

both sides collapse in argument

product or experience

up late working – hanging out in parallel –

rising early, for the son.

July 3

Those early figures

inaccurately sketched

become outliers

in dry concrete

pre-resignation never appeals as a solution

to big bad wolves

every chance they get, they get you

or die huffing

never forget, saving means

pay for it your own damn self

our benefits are

cheetos

and evenings to ourselves

end couch slavery

vanquish compassion with glory

lazy bones and lazy eyes slowly roll

cross a country

open for business

and even if you don’t really belong

and always wanted to be a ballerina

we’ll trade with you

we’ll fit you in

evidence is mounting

like a pyramid of whipped cream

the cherry on top

understands nothing

to be a success takes

more than it ever gives

July 22 – Property

The lawnmower

divebombs

so slowly

Tigers sidestep their wake

A girl yearns to overstep

the porch’s edge

the mortar dust the wind whisks

sun baking the paint

in my garden

somebody else’s flowers

in my yard throng

the weeds of the world

July 23

an airplane’s flashing

sighted between

chimney and

drifting cloud

becoming

now saturated

to blanket

trickling down

on dogs padding silently

while owners drag their

flip-flopping feet

in no hurry

to complete

the day’s last

excercise

an observation

from within

the world

He needs to talk about it to understand

what we can’t afford, and when

the danger lies, it’s an interesting policy question

the types of negotiation, and handle on conventions

including wisdom by subscription, written by anonymous

graduates of prestigious institutions

you should earn more

lest ever your poverty embarrass the block

or the bank refuse and disown you to the state

magistrate or the bugs who moved in here

a long time ago, on a purchase plan

July 26

primitive in their outlook

yet religion escapes the criticism of the sharpened mind

emotional furniture needing re-arranging

custom standard across the trades

demanding perfection, or propriety, in all things

as forests burn, less than a daytrip away

the humble punchcard – standard pattern

the same conversation we just had floats

across backyards in the invisible air -

the very replicability

and ubiquity of the factory – the three bones

in my hand worth savoring

Aug. 3

so, you finally managed a prolonged thought

it’s getting harder, I’ll admit it

agreeing to a conventional banality in conversation

instead of grunts – we are nasty people because

we get what we want disappointment breeds

manners she knocked once before intruding on

the sabbat the stuffing of dreams

Aug. 9

the best of the world’s best books cry mutiny

but fettering the indignation – his brother a fiction

it was revealed to titillation and dismay

amidst the confusion power to execute

held clarity, but to alleviate pain

black kettle no man dared brew

notwithstanding the monthly dews are extracted biennially

& compounded into a pill taken with rain

so the venom of discipline instills itself silently

& kisses of the state sedate the broken bodies

Aug.13 - elegy #3 circa Bill Corbett

Asymptotics make my head hurt

more customized babble to make you compromised

he is approaching his limit

a hairdresser slightly off balance

with shears to last a thousand years

you’ve got the wrong celebrity, but a

reasonably accurate performance of vicarious sympathy

that is, feelings so removed

it was totally unlike The Day Lady Died

and utterly likeable in its derangement

I am speaking, of course, of Nazi twitter

just like everyone else,they are

coming to terms with sugary fate

I stopped drinking it when my dad died

not my real dad, he stopped years before

and it’s the heart that hurts more than the tongue

when the old language tricks come so easy

everyone’s bored by the insincerity

but not quite bored to death

up-rent

to be unreliable

serpents chirping

all night long

chained to the female

as if gender followed tracks

those who want to be loved

sometimes are

it was before

his purple robe

he hunches under

Aug. 17

“descendent of noble Baz”

the joke is he was

a dog – irony of his reign

lightly splattered among giacondas

bookmarking the territory

to invade what we can’t afford

Aug. 26

but the cost of landscaping

is sandwiches all year long

he was unlike thousands I’ve known

there’s no irony after all

in the uniqueness of a well-thumbed man

it rises from the bottom of the lake

the past, a cancelled prototype

but the opening invites youth

a puzzle to solve for the finality of it

the explication of the artifact

its reconstruction context, the emergence of pirates

fisherman’s plight, declarer of unfitness dead

and violent clenching tremors in the head

problems are solved according type; those of society

are insoluble except in spirits

Sept. 18

what would we have been able to do

had we not done what we did

the bank gets paid and we occupy an asset

the dead poets are not tragic, neither are we

capable citizens, alive at the right time

fight time, or flight time, or nap time

the maze of a life time

unyielding to expertise

7 ... 8 ... germinate

in pockets available & of your own choosing

Sept. 20

or 5 ... 6 ... kick the pricks

willing against the way

but often, I soften

clogging the airways

to end up a haze – at the utmost sphere

mere atmosphere

the pretty rhyme was delicate

the ring still fit

Sept. 23

heat makes the oven creak

time at home feels strange

at this age, in a brief childless window through which

descry new lawn, garden yet to be planted

yard not yet truly our own

stirred every four minutes

collapse into the technical

the cleaning, the patching

the paying of the bills,

the running of the models

the arithmetic

the enumeration

the provisioning

not to mention negotatiation

a burden that follows, like a shadow

wherever, whatever

Sept. 28

snuffle snuffle oil of truffle

houseplants tear up for boys who lose

hanging’s not as pretty as

locked into a closet with teenage memorabilia

the sheerest expressive manliness of America

buckets of blood and muslin

& the letters home, helpless inarticulate acquiescence

vanished like limbs taken by the surgeon

disappointment of a near miss vs. understanding

life as the stable periphery

not punishment for your evil ways, but

waiting for the bus on a stormy day

and wetting your pants, perhaps out of fear

just like everybody else.

Subsequent to the Backend

Miasma

He broke in, shouting

death to all invaders

and those hospitable

let them in to sojourn, not to dwell

& to hell with your optics

& the cameras showed everything

exactly as it happened

I heard a voice one day

which filled my head, saying

“they want you dead”

and that was my conversion

solidarity won’t float

& we’re beyond conversation

I’ve got nothing

and it’s all their fault

It rained and each day the men

looked a little more wolfish

& the crowds a little more like rats

the moon may have contributed pollution

embassies, sanctuaries

and the backyard fences

could not check its spread

through the air & the imagination

Dreck

Out of the padlocked tomb

return the fatal delusions

“dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied

things have learned to walk that ought to crawl”

some find it nourishing

nutty in flavour & tone

“my kids have a nice life, you know

what I mean? my house is nice – but I’m fuckin’ poor!”

if you’re not safe in the grocery store

rally behind me, businessmen

for I shit silver bullets

Probe

Fed hideous morsels by soulless abstractions that should not exist

Well, when many vespers pollinate

Cometh MS-13, and the quite dead, but infested

city – yas girl, but how, exactly, did you

escape from the insectoid cocoon

& stumble home? I’m just trying to understand

what you were wearing – the slacks were

written off as depreciation – a fair assessment

of their worth – ask Forbes if you don’t

believe the cashier, & throw the temps under the truck

this feels more like a rape time grape vine than a hate crime

if you’re not safe in the grocery store

we’re going line by line through your false flag semaphore

left the van in the swamp, where the gator-headed gods

reconnoitered the offering – we’ll find the

answers we want in the CAGR or kegger - and if it stinks, it’ll

still look like it feels – good.

Ways and Means

Entering through some marine conspiracy

unreached by revenue officers and harbour police

eloquently repudiated by the great mass of Syrians

to find if possible a way to round them up

Huzzahs echoing in their gutta-percha skulls

prosthetic arms jerking skyward

The crowd broke into the auditorium, smashing the benches

& compelling an alteration of the playbill

The spice of pepper spray remained outside

Inside the defender of free societies

praised decency and goodness, humans moving

humans in humane graveyards of discarded

authenticities. He planned to make plans

but various people talking behind the scenes

flipped a coin on its edge

defeating polling with dark energy.

Astrologers affirmed the existence of cilia

straightening rigidly, eternally linking

us and our erstwhile “friends”

the algebra understood by a small cabal

who worked 120 hours and bonkers went, slightly

taking medication nightly, amidst

accusations of sexual impropriety

not biodegradable, but sustainable, plastic bricks

engineering the atmosphere may seem queer

but it’s the 22^nd century, and we’re

hotter than a Saudi whore, & more

fucked (& it’s cheaper than an election)

whatever you think of the orgies

remember, gunpowder and sabbats

are equally systematic means

of the will – that’s the conjuror’s syllogism

she was the greatest _______ of all time

pathetic arms jerking skyward

longer than her legs, black-furred &

heaving her cannibal bone, become tool

Blastoff

Perk up prick out not in my back yard

buzz off stick out not in my top drawer

stick up suck off not in my junk house

feel of sniff out not in my wheel well

call the developers move the hospital to mars

grow op grown up more weeds than people

soy’s no better who feeds the bums

small time space tomatoes

a billionaire cares for hydroponic people

with cheeks spanking red & plump

in 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... jump!

Pinch

Sit down – you are an enemy

of the people –

just sit down.

He’s ticklish, when his guard is down

capable of humour, or at least a punchline

when the investigation demands some sleight-of-hand

the institutional barometer – a fiction – rigged

you may feel the roaming fingers

in municipalities, principalities, dominions

schools and cafés, gatherings of four (or more)

in every industry and garnished transaction

licensing communications, privacy a joke

Look to your left and to your right; two

of these things will soon be disappearing.

He may not reach your soul you say

But he’s got to theirs – & that’s enough.

Prop

Position. There is a man behind that cardboard cutout

Every possible precaution has been taken

to make this rash experiment a success

soul for lawn, plywood and potash

Old Europe lined up at the Oxygen bar

an offence against decency, law, and your person

the triumphant return and procession

of American pragmatism along the open-ended trajectory

as California burns, above and below the line

certain ceremonies observed by sailors of all countries

& slaves in the floating factories

fillet the opportunity

into hyperbolas made of tiny bones

radiating outward from the site of the impact

against which we all shall unite

one day out of sight –

“All white, Barbicane, all white.”

Strong Arms Strong

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Sat, 18 Nov 2017 03:59:00 +0000

He felt safe beneath them

the strong arms of the strong man

a father better than the lovers

and lovelier than him

who died as he had lived

febrile and dirt dumb

a whisp into the grave

saved from trying

he drank the sweat

as it dripped down the cave

there would be a hunt that night

blood would clean the street

and again they’d embrace

he’s a great man

a good man

he’d never put his hand in your

pocket – unless you mean pussy

he’s had troubles, I mean trials

but that’s the system we’re in

the civil code – it’s Rothschild

and the Corsican all over

again

but it’ll be over

soon. You’ll see.

Or maybe you won’t.

trading default options

for life compulsory & voluntary

simple as scum holding up

the day’s barricades

there, like laughing gas

troops spewed imperatives

loving you in their style

hands shaking inside gloves

virgin priests swallowing

the body, which is the

pageant of the apocalypse

is the seeking & bestowing of designation

even angels, envious in their orders

fill the bus with capacity

discharging when the horses charge

we could run away

fumes from suffering

thinking hard about it

I rarely barely ramble any longer

through ice and rain. sand and stone.

until, remiss entangled

and atoning a loss of bone mass

three toes is satisfactory and the

fingers not quite none

someone notices and runs

but sanctuary’s also gone

hold close the bones

the fractures are your faults

remitting for once, the edifice

established, tabled, poured

in respect of wages

hazards faced, features faulted

werewolves married, eels swallowed

alligators abused

and the opening through the jaws

of lightnesses-blinding the darkness visible

while noosing around a tooth

embedded to the ankle. mutuality

is sore, love strokes stubble

& cracks jaw, philistines

drop & scatter. what flows out

the pith appertaineth

the spirit dwelleth between the commas

Individuals in demand

tread terribly the broadloom

the clause guarantees

apostasy is fate

mind weaving the body

to other bodies

stronger than silk, by weight

and severed, the system

strangles beneath

the function of the example

T in combo, styrene tray

they called it resignation

or for a second an opinion

a first among philosophers

with meaty substantial hands

he tousled my tassels

somewhere ago by the sea

debated landscape ethics earnestly

having no idea, ague, or argument

fine periods, abstraction & paint

in seven layers of impermeability

mudded the mark

yet it was food &

diagnosed good

by a skinny majority, dipping into grey

with horrible entitlement

he can’t sleep unless I hold his hand

revolution of stay means fortune vacation

I’d prefer not too, but is two too many?

paring them away, down, & then

an arid carelessness infuses the zone

& the pearly crown decays

(smiling) on cloudless & splendid days

ethnicity changed after

arriving in the host

time-use diaries indicate

using natives as gold

ethnosizer stirred

a long mélange

fringed with meaty asides

& striding ever toward a schemata

that shuttered out complaints

in the air

where a sense of belonging drifted

as if you could catch it

on a wet evening huddled

under branches as the patrols pass

It’s a good day

in every way

The electricity is whining

three sharks swim up through the sky

& the patriot sun is shining

hard assets do appreciate

the care you lavish on them

beyond the earth, and sun

someone may one day

nod upon them

alas, assets, assess, appraise

our days our

plans, our ploys, destroy

our toys, divorce our joys

from entertainment. The

time is minimal. The prince

has to climb. Up he’ll stir

up he’ll call – down he’ll

turn, fallacy, we enumerate

thy pleasures with each thump

of the thumb, each suck

of the straw. Mistake our measurements

with each puff & flex. crystalize

the carrot. That’s what they taught

me in my MBA. Could we

incubate – together?

Yet somewhere is a chickadee

all twittering inside me

& the big-eyed worm it tackles

& the storm that sweeps aside everything

we got along – eventually

it was a good day

after both becoming

what we already were, definitively

dead and godlike, in the end

taking it, literally

beyond the circulating self

or three things compared to

three others

without reducing to numbers

the harmonic decomposition

of a sign, trailing edge

of a low-frequency nazi

simply the large-scale

statistical analysis of gene expression

will sharpen the edges

and broaden the umbrella

& the desert will feast on

our just desserts

compression of a cell

sundry details of directions given

the author of a massacre

in rebel territory

school rules

hiding while you look away

the author of a miracle

blinkering belonging

where would they go but here

compassion of the cell

turning switches

mudded in cement

to leverage – bright beams

of impunity at 1.5 million a

drop

group rights in the night

on the percentages. a four way banana

split, & the difference is you lose

inclusive, yet the loop of uxory

springing up new pyramids

after suds in the tub

eddy blast, moistened & dried

the whisker-like roots, protuberant

tubers, banned in this jurisdiction

for psycho-combustive proclivities

the aberrations in the glass

made everything unicorns & rainbows

colliding as eyebeams

or a wicker weave

the percentages move everything

as tracers find equilibrium

only to blow it up

my childhood’s bombs – let’s

not go there

let’s

stay down

or run

the top of abashed manliness

realizing the intention all along

conscience has left us unbuttoned

lines bashed in, the casualness

of the rich – that’s something to believe in

his stress stretching out in the sand

shaped the problem definition

safely athwart the moat

it’s our lived experience

the intricacies of the interface

never in a million, but maybe

twice in a billion – it’s always

simpler and entirely different than

a hexagonal raster would

force you to imply – caught by

the gills, lineage fails –

autumn & pensioned before

ever discovering a moral voice

I read the report with trepidation

but it’s that awful institute

everything decreed just so from central processing

as if translucent

the fetus kicking at the walls

undying orchids screaming pleasantries

& peace officers on parade

pretending nothing’s lethal

unforgettable, the experience

of thinking through the drain

desiring to accrue earned absences

only to return

to service – as the only meaningful salary

the Head knows about the important kind of Capitalization

the Head has the manner of a Car Salesman

I expect Electrodes and Pliers at our face-to-face

but they do say thank you – & that’s Leadership

got a

rambo combo down in Oklahoma

got a Jesus identity

government ideology

will you aim to please

when we aim at you

it’s the humanity of my one

and only

why I live here

so wash your teeth & brush your face

it’s never too late to perform “nice”

the way you move your body

is like taking dictation

the problem of the day is slurred

when seen in racial profile

baptism confers

elocution upon the electrifying

deplored

departed

and repatriated

At the border, demanded salt

things they couldn’t get

supplied by pilgrims

sifting through the ashes

home as a thin subplot

a pathway to becoming

the technician you always wanted

in theory, using your senses

is a great idea – or at

least a decent movie

leisure time power sports

it’s every man’s inherited right

to go roaring through the primeval

shirtless on the rusty bike

to walmart at the edge of summer

who doesn’t shop there?

it’s pleasant enough, for peasantry

the machines we could never design

despite the finest of woodworking

now seeking expertise

before I take my ease

on the rump of the world

going beyond

being spherical

nailclip tick tock

into the night, and then

no approximation and whatever

you know is not thinking

just two steps behind

the plan lessening as toe

& tail twine – chiefly

it’s a feather for the capital

hungered down in dollish grime

then nutrition science and

high intensity cuddles –

committed to unicorn crime

and sparkles glaze the eyes

off off off

they’re resourceful, given a choice

adequate information, a 6-inch

spade, eye protection, lead

lined everything, and

an unlimited supply of bottled air

dreamers, uptake!

crash the pine-tipped ramparts of our

frozen lake

rain arrhythmias upon us as

employment stutters

stake down our vacant bedrooms

with youthful vigour

emancipate us from this

starved feeling

dread brings to the border daily

more generally, or marginally

its origin in a wonderful team-building

prostitution exercise

spewed like a geyser on a Saturnine moon

but without the spackle of melancholy

still remained

some hovering sense of obligation

to grasp the iridescent pigeon & wring

till monkey noise under

layers of rubber and fat

cheaping out on caffeine

strung out on nothing at all

beyond the asteroid lashes

lithe acrobats spin as spokes

all & our exec DNA

will accelerate to escape

pantaloons or diminishments

past & future equally specular

at the farthest reaches

of human resources – thumbsucking

becomes fashionable – nobody wants

to be taken apart, flensed

as the eye, most literally

verifying that the knee is gone

before dispensing

there are no conditions under which

I’d share the new brain, to shelter

in the rain

luxury niche facials by

the garbage-bag full

it’s that diamond baked in

to the bread so your insides

glitter

despite

getting old & becoming the fool you

were always pretending to be

it’s an updated system, becoming

round the mountain, with the bullshit

avalanche, when the slope

exceeds naive adherence

then

& rainbows with all the reassurance

of the smile of an abuser

fear early warning, and kindnesses

from strangers

with a boyish grin and animal yelp he

let fly the lasso

creating the measure – it

was as big as an elephant’s –

something is sauntering

down toward you

because I query later, I kill hot dice

vape in the desk drawer

life of a specimen, not the pinprick

hostage to the year

blips smoosh into the soup

as the concierge conceals a pistol

beneath fresh towels

all bluffs spill

and spatter – no joy, for the

son seeking containers

for feelings called friends

without a project

to relate through – we can’t

be the ordinary human, or

not two in one cubicle, anyway

developing monopoly

views dietetic

population drifts

radon pile

corrode quantify

elide fixate

and other cases

of force mineur

gathering moisture

while u wait

old man hands on thigh

crime scene cleaner

or fish floss

get rid of the calvin

but what binds the ocean

& withholds the sky?

gotta getup & get gone

before it all vaporizes

steam & a smudge &

a smear – nobody’s here

and later that day on planet

Venus

if the variables don’t correlate

it’ll be rain, why, almost certainly

forever

she’s curious, I’m spurious

& you, my dog, are ferocious

& we’re lining up for ramen

spun from unicorn undercoats

& porcupine tallow

& clouds begin to come, first one

then two

and a metallic pigeon acts the umbrella

why was the motherboard electroplated

to serve electro dinner

home can be anywhere

this just shows, to go

into the senator

we pretty much know

where loyalty goes

finishing up

with unspoken haste

frequently talking about

weekends obviously

such supreme vacancies

the kind of people

who believe in beliefs

have a long future

buttered beans on a string

a great deal to do

before we get there

to systematically fool

and accurately lever

depression into the model

as a kindlier possibility

than annihilation

poké by kiloton

and biomass extraction

it’s all waste until I pack

my own lunch

in a kerchief of one’s

own weaving

he teetered on the edge of traffic

& the brink of employability

& ran home to vape for lunch

muscular, & wanting more like

everyone two bucks an hour

is a nice lunch, on government

dimes. may we all receive

such pieties and designations

if you’re not careful, they’ll make you permanent

it’s no good – I’m maxed out

tending to the cargo-cult

or it’s down the laneway

to bulldozer dreams – where

the sun is a black dot & a billion

office workers bear their

brandings behind the retinas &

the insects have vanished from the windscreens

that time on campus when everyone

looked up, to watch a hawk finish

its pigeon dinner

then repaired to the cafeteria

omens on massacre street

& the kids still wrestle like puppies

like it doesn’t matter

Callings

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 22 Nov 2016 02:35:00 +0000

Callings

called the internal ethics hotline, said

He tied her to the bed

underpaid them

gave contracts to friends

called it his personal concentration camp

largely absolved them

sold pollution abroad

gave them what they want

insider contempt

the public line monogrammed

transectoral popularity

cozy but adversarial

interests clocking out

for a time

called home for war reprogramming

life underground, the children knew

meant following the rules

diffusion through striation

pervasive fumigation

fungal resistance

to preserve the crop

vitamins and lights out

and the constant choosing

to hold close the few

it’s anyway an exercise in sanity

20 questions and decision trees

the lush jungle

looming anew

#
called in to bed

reflexes of a predator

stretched out / the provisions

institutional death drive

out to where the hard radiation

rolls off as surf against iron

hunting the grey zone for atmosphere

of absolutely monstrous

& pretty ugly democratic elements

for the effect and feeling

of being close to you

called away momentarily

& momentum, may he rest

under birches forever bronzed

the children imagined

worse than you can suggest

you impudent devil

their tenderness’ll flay you

don’t grin – tell me everything

what’s hidden in your teeth

between the whistling & credit calling

artisanal cleaners

soak it out of you

fancy-talking an incomprehending audience

a violence like fantasy

KFC flagpoles tattering to ecstacy

called up, 4 am

a stroke, sunset on a bus

the impression is setting

casts nearly done

duplicate a face

however it was won

erudition, grace

do we repeat ourselves

on the tower, the moat

hello typographic mind

flatbed trucks off

his thunder on the mountain

you called & I turned

woke later in bandages

but it wasn’t you

just a style

cinders and twine

restraining the children

on selling it all

the jurisprudence is neutral

but strategy dictates

that data be clean

dreams of candid flexing

till the day shows through

besotted beside you

in the sordid debris

Tragedy of the hot dawg

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 22 Nov 2016 02:35:00 +0000

Tragedy of the hot dawg

anything goes in

but only 9 are preserved

empire eats to forgive

& forgets its runny nose

many hundreds of years later

the everpresent argument

speaks through a sounding tube

in mineral oil

unfortunate spoilage of industrial speculation

& children crowd the vendor at his rostrum

pushing for the last one

Credo

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 22 Nov 2016 02:34:00 +0000

Credo

shame begets proletarian regrets

dumb on the invisibles earbuds

beards astroke the long bus folds

credo nogo

I sleep and sum

lean menace

on miway

credo seen you before

holding a baby blanket

sithens with a net

i wanna destroy

ivana tinkle will you let me off

spools into pools

mending minds

one pallet at a time

listen, space fans

to a drip of nothing

technical vocabulary for a place in the sun

credo jello and laminate

where no one would be

supposed to live

a train under immense transformers

breakfast sandwiches

shade at the city line

you can disagree

after I operate

the fireman carry

to start your day off right

neighbourhood kids play

in every neighbourhood

credo powering up

the sock parade

into the wood

running afore

your approval not required

embodying the waste

expansive polyp

I’m not a fan of filter feeders

but if the moon is right, sailor

you might be sunk

and treasure

deep beep creepers

I trust in blue

I believe in you

Slim grim ace (August 2016)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 06 Sep 2016 02:26:00 +0000

Bid alone

Sill dusted

Humming around the feeder

Driving lots

Climbing up anvils

Grazing as may

And august meals

Heavy lush afternoons

Passout in gulch

Fee fed to vegetables

Yet alone the canyon

Is what you're going to do

Feeding others like yourself

Is it worthwhile, the cruelty

And some days neon fevers wrack

the organism, passing ejaculations

Until return to basecamp calm and blind

the lynx in the woodgrain curling

Where the buffalo roam

Means forsaken a home until

Glass crunching dreams and spaghetti

Provisions living with a full sense of labour as value

Rain bleeding active noise suppression

Nose burdened by peace and straight to the definition of

Sex conventionally the first word of domestic contract control

I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you, Jesus

But really I think employment would be ideal

Talents and usability

Like the hyperbolic parable

In service of everyone else

And in particular, the general particular,

Me. What can you love properly? Friendship

Said Seneca, was mutual understanding, impatience

A lack of feeling. To seek an object of great beauty,

Not gain or stability. Understanding the rock.

slim ghosting the corn roast

six days of mayonnaise

then paid a kid to do it dirty

that’s no persona

it’s public relations

consensus and the shimmering principle of appearing

to reject the intolerable

rationality window

too wide for small big screens

dusty vacuoles

on the seventh day

expressed sap

but what’s minor

chalk rocket in blood rain

then the police showed up

all our troubles dissolved in money

to bubble out again

cain’s markov chain exponentiating

to good grief

while targeting

or sadness watching my hell-birds fly

to takeout the parade

this must be

slavery – definitions

as far as the camera sees

to the high seas

zooming back again

peptides for lunch

flesh of the designer

I’m the hose in your rose

the line in your plum

the one in your nine

deploying all the time

cellophane for puddles

& the hole in the wing

I’ll swing this thing around

God help me willingly

oiled them up

the missing woman slipped out of the amphora

to stand beside you on all

vacuum platforms devoid

motion discretized as protest

the types of narration

love destroyed

signed, the designer

love again

bubbled the destroyer

out again

for takeout & parades

frogs neurotic boast

& slip below the boats

where there’s a totem

there’s a taboo

she told them, erupting

in the patio’s ambivalent shade

stacked like dominoes

a thousand high

a little acid rain

smoothes out the line

faces schematic

prepared for any of them

to speak unfeelingly

Does it yaw a little to the left

asked the mechanic

working pretty fiercely on my thigh

altitudes and radii

follow secrecy distributions

infinitely reproducible

one guess at a time

meltdown the public option

fear death and life

the pantograph fee

hate me and pay me

ask me anything

except the key

all laugh at crap crypto

and plausibility’s all the intel we need

a likely story – through the tubing

flattery – she breathed dreamily

the c’mon people now

live in a slow cooker

when you grope & tell

that’s what happens

Get moving (July 2016)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 06 Sep 2016 02:21:00 +0000

Don’t trash carnality
the tractor treads the rows
where the bus picks up
is the occasion
no night
if you don’t mind tripping
the dead are in over their heads
my warm moss collar
o mother o matter
yet she read my frustration
the blurred stars
milky mind
wax in the car
melting like tar
on the slow road

hyper vigilant carbon escrow
you won’t get cancer, but statistics
demur in her bathrobe, cocks
a proton gun, her HMD
all wildflowers and gravel
a nest of ants collecting pigments
unknown to nature
it’s a business and a job
looks like a fart salad
parched cartwheels down
skihills prickly in summer
I’d rather drive
someone has to, has done it before

o decorative rock, o traffic barrier
o complex of entertainment & crystal buffet
it doesn’t really get any better, really
how far you have to walk
to the sluices
attitude adjustment
gull’s alchemy

calling wood … hello wood
bush trimming because
elephant thoughts what koko gets
new shows or companionship
2 hours to the mall
no time for shopping
the lying bone, cracked stiff

prison transportation
revision piling on
cream on top
the key to knowing it all
at mayday coordinates
I then came … coughing coughin coffin etc
the field rows glimpsed & light fantastick
& everyone respectable shepherds
& sheep mowing mowing

giant cats in hydro corridors
meowing

Aaron Lillie
is shockingly pretty
he does the leg work
in Barrie
How’d you like an angel for an agent
said the pope

but beauty
is all
around

& thusly other criteria
imperial / catalepsy
fantastical / demonstrably
witholding
of truth
kidnapped & dumpstered
behind the library
NO SAFE SPACE
NO TOPIC UNTAINT

we have many problems

get happy
in a forgetaboutit sort of way
that’s my name too

servile hunchbacks sever haunches
serve lunch
a bunch of bananas crushed under the beer
limping past fruition
one clear hetero back me up
into a wall of punch
it’s the gun that will come
if you reach for it
the one gun
in millions of uniformed
& casual pockets
poking thru venetians & sticking up
for the undersized
underserved & undeserving
who always lose
in a fair fight
if you’re right you don’t need fair
& black is the colour of my true love’s hair
but if you’re right you may be dead
tatoo my skull & shave my head
tell em all
what the video shows
burning but not
reduced

or pretty well ashes
on a ham
poured powder ants
never bother or embitter them
infamy gets along famously
in a suave delicatessen
mold on the impression
forensic dentition
sugar in the ignition
pop pop at bastille day
sweltered & sheltered & shot
& beach sand soaking it up

summer 2014 notebook

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Wed, 24 Sep 2014 12:51:00 +0000

Some bird wings bellyward

street carrion sopping the humidity

to dissolve into

informal venues – who to call

an internal decision

made inside lunch

well-balanced, but lean & tilt

in coordinates quite out of fashion

which amplify your inner thoughts

until I, but only I, can hear them

– shoes off the couch –

the designer is dead

inside your head, just like an aquarium

motivated by an element of reality

calcifying the utopia

– brush your teeth –

& shed as superstition

conflict abstracted from suffering

by God & other formalisms

with our supervisory supervenience

no convenience store escapes

the worm is gentler than the bomb

he is jumping, shouting, “this was my brother”

tell us another

crotchliketty spit

not creative enough to yearn

the right to live in a poor debater’s pocket

trumpery

in the poolside jungle

garrison the celebrities

in hovels in the hills, some dirtkicker with a scope

planting mustard against defilement of the barrel

to be all to some

and then a fat old man

frank, blunt

gravitational – why

did we come to this

mellified land? Gone brittle

all options now fables

under the bridge table

where a knee knocks

& a wet digit creeps

tentative among enemies

no, after you

into the algal bloom

the windowless room

stand in the wind, tragic and tall

turn at the gusts, cars with no drivers

artiface inside & out

after the big move, it’s all general dynamics

guardrails inclement

as you ease you on your way

intermediary agents plant the evidence

& it grows into sin

lashed to your guilt

& the divine tongue’s

40 licks & sniffs

trained to bite at the light-years-away

barbecue whiff

in several flavours

you may apply at will

before the house vanishes

an absence you invited

through your missing will

The rolling pin is in its drawer

there’s flour on the floor

& what’s uprising

If we could predict them

they wouldn’t happen

behind the night vision

a teargas-breathing dragon

in the eastern sky

attested in synopsis

by the robot eyes, tweets

and wire services

breastmilk

sours in the bottle

even after organizing

the 7-minute workout

they swing, terrorists, the cool

water from the dam

still ripples through the spine

elevator from rectum to windhover

from each to each other

becomes rubble on the child

for the national struggle

there are no virgins, anywhere, & no revenge, ever

all words veins in stone

all battles always lost

—

atrocities cure depression

to each his vocation

scrimshaw on the martyrs skull

fatalism in the historical comparison

red rover swallowing the sun

bouncing down a supply run

eyes on the pickup ahead

then cratered

finding the range a quaint imprecision

lying unexploded in a ditch

my thyroid itch incumbent upon

neither are respecters of persons

popping in to take your temperature

& steal your heat

leaking out of the account

for midnight roadwork

a convoy loitered across the border

measuring interference of militia and plague

this is not your home

made as destroyed

by pushing beyond uncertainty clouds

mister sun and his gold

a means necessary and irresistible

curing the willfull, the remainder

duality umbrella

born prematurely; one of each sex

lazed on splendid buttocks, as the beach warmed

focusing between the eyes

not a lost continent - just curve of the parchment - under a glacier's weight

we learn when not to cry about it

growing tall from the bone meal

simply nature, aided by art

and flatter without the interference

of interpretation, flattery of the word

one little word

where there's always room for a shakedown

cranes leaning in

mimetic feint

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 27 May 2014 01:10:00 +0000

From behind the shelf

I lay my head on

nights without blinds

young creamsicle pain

rugburn deluxe striations

fresh and cool stored and enjoyed

on hot greased rollers

is how they built the

very stainless just in case

regarding

planiform points

swung into profundis

or sunny days thrust

into pointilist bouquet

another success story

for the animator ever after

whatever comes after that

the glass is marked

by its audience

Letters of formal complaint

performed for the river

a technology

freezes the ground

containing within fused porticoes

the devil’s breakfast

a change of state from the sullied

to peek through the smaller gate

unburdening to cavalry

fed cheap off the pillage

but stumped by the guns

one last century

can’t go under it — humping the self

actually a whiter shade, a premium

slavering, who rolled off the back

of the truck & lived to sail to hell

All the robins are on the dirt lawn

they need no advisors

dirt is not infinite

there are two types of competitors

brushing can remove belief

while encountering and numbering their songs

sampling for marginality itself a science

but advice between branches inappropriate

if it’s a solid house, the birds don’t care

don’t leave out the air between them

does it rust the bust?

no body knows

the toil of the worm

everything bloomed late and dragged on

wanting out of unsheathed envy

to imitate the allergen

stood up with hives

& pissed to fall

the gurney–pushers were uninterested in conversation

with above–board

wet underwear types

piles of paper on the routine call

sterilization

would keep the turnover down

breathing deeply the forensics

of a b.s. call, scissors at belt

to cut into the mummy

& extract the crucial viscera

evolutionary pathways niggled the votes

debating small differences

revocation of licenses for a seizure

induced decimation

a year early for Messiah

but a few grains stuck around

when the heart rate dropped

and all, thoroughly, together cut & struck

if any other mind

bothered or blathered

up the soap stain

into Safe markets

where influence

never a rose the same

after she lay scratching

dose independent

together did part

dryshod moonwalking

to what they had to say

childish quivering

bitjitters beyond them

and the lever of age

undermining

all the live long

long long grain

vasty heaps of any

responsive variety

until they up it

fungal sleep

through unprofitable chat

longer than

nobody no longer

there

it’s hard to know

why you linger

injury

landmark

face and dinner guest

family fate

pointlessly delayed

let your hair hang

for the mower

Night terroirs

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Fri, 02 May 2014 17:41:00 +0000

Night Terroirs

Tbe man in the echoes projecting

over the Pacific

too choppy to mirror

stilling the eye

but the glow-worm

inches toward the sun immeasurable

brick by watery brick

without loss of lust or lustre

cold foil of want

retiring

ashes and essential oils

scum

the barge turned backward

for breath of jubilee

impervious night

the streets are wandered

periodically, a knotted

mingling

clots the dream

curdling the pearls

hung on each tongue

The delusion real

pressing lightly on the balls

brightly I discover

pain is

speculation

what will we do when

we go out

ten years inside a cloud

less like living than

accumulation

heard a story

once. believed it

twice. left

well

& alone

you may be a critter crawling

or the terrain may out-creep you

the baby may sleep

before the moon

Cata Strophes

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Fri, 02 May 2014 17:38:00 +0000

Cata Strophes

"When egalitarian cooperation is necessary for survival, hoarding and self-aggrandizement are simply not tolerated." - Tainter, The Collapse of Complex Societies

He is certain about the mess

the frame overturned, spilling

a life in one day. The flick

of a stick & the world

burns. It's nothing to the agonists,

but the lovers? The paragon

of paramours, a thing

not even merely now.

Industrious burrows to await chance

unchecked by chance, not poisoned

chalice or the spider known but the air's own

cushy crushing on the long shore

& leverage too much for the bone loss

Lady Os at the dog show

barely clearing it, as flaming

parody begets giants, Irishmen with

sandpaper under their skin & compulsion

to smooth you out. A ruse for traffic

banner anxiety all down the facade

of a charade of a parade. Wrapped

up in sand, glue, &

green pustulence of Gaussian contempt

is a heart full of pity for those damaged

by fucking the right hole under

the wrong star, but surge from the wrong hole

in daylight & get to be the rub

Parody becomes the pet jumping

through whatever to make do

softening over waistbands, over rice

stick by ale, brick by lager

even his friends don't like him

barm for a tailor

sit on his hands, feet, tongue

but something keeps thrashing

a peristalsis of the black pudding

royalties for the torture song

& new shoes

for the long night

it takes to be a man, or kick one proudly

with a little drip of cheer

The fundamentalist should appreciate

the difficulties of being an institution

and sit on it, but

he takes his stance & mounds move under him

Cocked to the calling, he never marries,

Xeroxing doctrine & currying the files

He would like to love them all

but they must first be free from all opportunity

He would love to like them all

but they must earn it with a prayer and a vote

Charity begins at home with a zygote

generally considered a safe country

reports of weaning from within the womb

Controlled in a matrix of expression and suppression

depending on the wider situation

and inheriting an appetite from S₀

a real, observable, and psychological reduction

stocking the soup of the common good

with real outputs, symbols, and coercion

he paced, hands in pockets, smoking a cigarette

knowledge in action was rigorous as the winter

which warmed as his cancer grew

There was a surplus of necessities distributed

by ramrod, a blind dog in a maze

an anomaly of history, this animal

of structure and control, insistently pleading

its sovereign indecomposability

Them rains fall flatly every day

And the tower slowly rises

Racing the level of uniformity

Arroyos cutting in memory

Swiddening within

& my struggle with the rug & ceiling

Perforated, sodden, and absorbing

A world of continuous falling

Craves the comeback myth

To erect at least a little part of it

Rising as gas in a beached whale

& out the blowhole. Hear

here, that lonesome whistle blow

Four honest men

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Fri, 02 May 2014 17:37:00 +0000

“the closer their life comes to being their own creation

the more they are excluded from that life”

Debord - The Society of Spectacle (8:45)

Four honest men

rushing to annoy the innocent

a pipe talking

love emulsified as symmetry

buoying the adored centre

offers a germanic rebuke, sympathy

pumping the mash

as fish through water or birds through air

impatient & wanting to finger it

studying the projections obscuring

root and branch

stanching the vacuum

of the windless room

one light on

one sound to awake

on intelligence

somewhere another knows

what cake eradicates

between sand and hair

a bony prominence

fear of the self yeah criminal intent

plastering the wound

yeah she’s a rag

turning away in the hallway

word out to the herd

to put it in the hole

uniform entirely worn out warm

and seven years later breathing under the water

gone syrupy with the iced

but he wouldn’t drown

it’s the other fools who give

– why he was talking cruel

making you a beat up cocker

pulled the pin and cramped – put

something liquid in the slot – slush

to meditate on – and it all comes back

beacuse fair and flotation – would

you think I’d hurt a brother? in the republic of

men, the masters get gat – stash

that away in your sabbatical –

& wear a tall hat so the lead scores air

down there i swear there is a public out there

inching beyond the eyes image

even in the cramp of anesthesia

or restraint of the full body

what deeply moving abandonment

to ambush purity in the garden

weeded in a burst of pepper

green grass sometime fresh

under the blue laundered sheet

billboards bloody loom’d all around all around

expropriating the skepticism

as balaclava, signature of the negative spirit

inches closer to its own creation

excluded on empirical grounds

freshening the gloom with a familiar signature

sizzling fat confetti scarring

the unmarked expanses of skin

grimly arching epaulets grin

still at both ends of circulation

to be a member of his love

begs the wit in tiny fingercuffs

wings roiling the chains

taking the work out of it, putting it back in

apologies on the radio - the voice we choose

smothering the light rising over the roofs

drowning in futurist agro-pop

clipping a dove, firing up, and off with it

returning changed from the condolences

with another feeling, shadow by side

helmeted at the gates, full complement

paid to the silences

to own one's own disguise - today's pity

stains the pitted mirror of her gaze

Retro Spex

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Wed, 26 Feb 2014 16:37:00 +0000

Retro Spex

All day he smiled

unconcerned about civility

action service or ceremony

who was this inflationary disciple

interest swarmed to

on the river nihil –

a booby?

sex and swimming, picnic

and the bar

open for good

sucking the far & few

through clean filters

& they never came back because

they were always up

for air

Debuting a hurtful harmony

timbre falls

a weight of hearing

for an ailer

ghosting it again

in two tablets

remembered daily

the rightful subject

gone broody her eyes

horizon

& for you

rue

Their lands expand

in ovoids of avoidance

& concentres of concern

“take me home and

eat me”

procurement socially

missed the bus

until we all belong

I haven’t got a lot of time

but after the crash

the credits scrolled on

slowly improvising our situation

starting from thirteen

& walk you home from school

Cut out the fake experience

& glue

but the voice I heard was a

different bird

in the hollow stone between

me o & o you

he licks

the chop between the sticks

balancing the valence

temerity against austerity

glows in the falling snows

call for pizza

stand dead walk stare

Impinging or attention

is the dilemma

to suffer or waive hello

to robotic trolls

discrimination and definition

the objects rarely object to incision

ever green and ever gray

the emerald ash and its borer

borrowed in the poem

burrowed. buried. weave car apace

cloak for the journey to looky – o

great capital of crooks – o crows

the bright hub of a taxi grubbing it

past empty lots of snow

the one tossed off / I am on the bus

Gallows roll

on the order of a theme

inadequacy of thinking

for a sensuous being

however transfixed on the pantograph

zip him up

lots of empties in all sizes

where you’re binned

& always someone to take it

eat rat – eat man – eat dog

deficiency

swings between beat and dread

a visionary rebate

pennies on the can

twinkle & tink

they’re rude, so cheer

& salt your own

the moral dries slow

avoiding the topic of secretions

in a family way

burly and political

obligation to defect

to the possible transversal

billions in the sink

as if rotted by the dew

on the weekend I think

& withal habits rule

in nature’s livery

& fortune’s star –

it’s fun like wreck

& speciation

embarking his necessary

& my need, keyed

to the colour of the hour

oxidizing our own

the obvious critical error

wicked away

where no miasma could radiate

person or infectious cell

in flames and yet no fear

zipper tread

into the dustpile

a blank of our own

family surrendered

pinching inches from the border

conduit rules and common measure

imperial legation bearing

the will behind the pall

of assent to reckon

the length of a reed

vibes together gain – fuse

to set everything off

tint under eye

holds you accountable

on camera

in a little obscure

and forgotten snare

give us a rush

to out the doors

parasitic on inefficiency

so gone with the driver

one grabbed his sleeve

the other the pants that had descended

below prime

his conversation latinate

for a drunk indian

the intercom apologized

& my bad he said

& off the train & off we went

do not be overly affable

on the rush hour home to

potboiler the range

the best things ignore

don’t encourage

intimacy a threat

formerly gun-shy

& now polite undead

redundancy of feeling

for a sensuous being

abducted, hooded, numbed

by aliens in afghanistan

the sinless man

on which the sun sets

hands in the frame

reduplicating the list

to be pricked

as life beats on

outside the range

of blast or transmission

or disclosure to the popular

who wants their man

stone / stunned / toned

interstitial bleating / voice

necessary as the public train

four

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Fri, 31 Jan 2014 14:28:00 +0000

The

horror of hurray

in the heterogenesis

of endings

coming together to expire

How ye masses move as breath in a jet

Not bioincandescent markers, raging

But shaped by reasonable desires

Everybody wants speed

to get there

Reasonably & the bus won’t wait

For fear of dying in the turbulence

or dropping the babe

regulations not plugged in, a lower altitude

to gauge the constant distance

from the original accumulation

to this iridescent heterogeneity

forged by pressurized jealousy

o cough to avoid it, croupiers

& pull that rake in

Extruding exuberance through the armpit

it was overbearing as a sunset beach

to boiled brains and rough lullabies

Allowing the bodkin to pry –

But do they know what filters out the blood

A geodesic relay

to what the state meant

as it slid between conglomerates

to identify with grey

plucking the entrails of an offering

found heartless – dreams and phantasms of cowardice

to identify the brain as its beat

beggars the turnkey

who pushes out borders til both ends meet

sucking the booty in

o involution –

found hanging before deportation

trunkwork is never easy. anchors away

to identify with heat

& stow the djinn in unbreachable cellophane

cook to shrink. a minor increase of four degrees

a curative ague, self-shadowing or self-touching

begging in a voice made small

The ends obsess and bless

every personal transaction

or interdiction. Word –

just kidding. It’s a mess

of sincerity and fraud

You can carve it any way you like

Feed – play –

sleepy time for curious critters

at the minimum flare up

suck-up soothes a late baptism

as the sun goes campfire

on a cold streak – thanks.

where have all the oil drums gone?

waiting, a long time gassing

it’s what I’m packing for steak

if I remember my fingerlings, underlings, & loins

must confront a divergence of interest

among incompatible fibres

of the statement, finally released

after an eighty-year segregation

under the hospices of the great powers

to face a legitimate peace

A sudden expression of rage

she confessed to me the injury

visuals reddening the clips

cut to seamlessly slander the hands and face

held severable until sold

and subsequently pinned –

masking it, dolls dance great stumbling periods

in equality of importunity

fielding a full team

and catching it in the face

skeptical of objectivity

and dream of flesh solvents and unspeakable surgery

we can nearly salute the resolve to responsibility

but the ordinary person sets the example

diplomacy backed by forceful fingers

sets a new clear line blasting

everyone down to inherent dignity

a toe left for the bath & an adequate gasp

her dress lushly ruffled by the tottering gimp

piston thumping his ribbons

each clap smacking the plate

behind the metal face they don’t believe in

Poem for new ears (1/2014)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 21 Jan 2014 01:13:00 +0000

Yes the snow is still beautiful
And doth blow
Filling the crevices temperately
Seizing opportunity to knock it out flat
There's nothing above it. So I turned on the
filaments, set tasers to Detroit
There is no other person so quickly developing
China's inner resources, however revolting
There is a form of thought in which we offer up
ourselves to those who seek eagerly to devour us.
Potlucks in forever, the incident unlimited
By contract and wind. When you are older
You may be understood. I hope you will eat.
*

Gaseous humor so ghastly as to elude
One million jihadi spotters on youtube
Made a monkey of detection, intelligence such a laugh
Back in my daybreak of coffee breaks at the polygraph
Girls, we showed them - everything they wanted to see
Now up it pops and harms the children.
I'd opt in - but my pension - and conatus is truth,
and that's fate, nearly accompli. My friend, my accomplice -
Would you like rice with that? Against battery
As a culinary or domestic act, for justice
I am biased by the passions throbbing in my arteries.
The terroir is windy and has a petroid stink.
Blood from a stone. The best squeeze within the time and budget.
*

No place where sun shines and the wind whines and the lines energize
No place where the geology is impervious and the coastline unpervy
No point at which the lid flips, no fulcrum for the clamped lips
A natural convention
Between Thou, sand - and concrete steps
Known more or less at the outset
To the point - or purpose - of revolution
What is the topic? Official, cake and champeen
A reach and a stretch, bubbling
To life, unobstructed and effervescent
No place we have been
Yes we die - that is grace, said the dawn
Any place, any topic
*

Two arms flail like alarms
a knee in need is a knead indeed
two knees, tonight in tunisia
two feet march to defeat
And ears to fear what they've heard
Setting out on the rim of sand
With one or two brothers
From behind the desks and drawers false privacy
Our shoes still ours but inappropriate to piracy
The vortex of immolating ants, biology
Spirited away at each level of ontology
And what was left for us to seize in
Fed a synapse for a femtosecond opinion
*

First principles as universals, but powers of ten
Add some zeros to empiricism
0, textuality
And the freeze carboniting the sidewalk
To a meat level - a locker, its floor narrowing
To unconstitutional force - to associate on terms of equality
Hooked and looking up, the wet lungs
Scream honest, but perhaps not wise
Behind each lamppost, burrowing churlish
The blowfly and the old mole
Scratch figures blindly on the ground
How many of good sort
Unhindered unfolding
*

Regardless, it's less a matter of what you see
In the church of man-love
I will none of your money
Until the institution, manifestly constraining
Mends it shoes or shines its shilling
And down from above something is raining
While up foam foameth each and every
A bitter agent of the heart
In pestiferous ferocity
Swinging the head like a hose unreeling
Cuts through the tedium - O advertising
For being - Vomit sets, eventually gets
Mechanically removed by slavery.
*

Am I your slave, love?
No, love, that's me.
---

Rosa deluxe: we know more or less what we must eliminate at the outset in order to free the road for a socialist economy. But when it comes to the nature of the thou- sand concrete, practical measures, large and small, necessary to introduce socialist principles into economy, law and all social relationships, there is no key in any textbook. That is not a shortcoming but rather the thing that makes scientific socialism superior to the Utopian variants. The socialist sys- tem of society should only be, and can only be, an historical product, born out of the school of its own experiences, born in the course of its redefinition, as a result of the developments of living history.... The negative, the tear- ing down can be decreed; the building up, the positive cannot. New territo- ry. A thousand problems. Only experience is capable of correcting and open- ing new ways. Only unobstructed, effervescent life falls into a thousand new forms and improvisations, brings to light creative force, itself corrects all mistaken attempts. The public life of all countries with diluted freedom is so poverty-stricken, so miserable, so rigid, so unfruitful, precisely because, through the exclusion of democracy, it cuts off the living sources of all spir- itual riches and progress.... The whole mass of the people must take part in it. Otherwise it will be decreed from behind a few official desks by a dozen intellectuals.11

Regnant Pas - 10/2012 - 11/2013

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 21 Jan 2014 01:10:00 +0000

Regnant Pas

Sam Kaufman

ECTOMIES

an ectomy of time

brave

to turn away

from every day

blind

without flight's organ

we can ramify

but not divide

a point

to under a line

& often forgotten

Paris Dispatch, 1870

1. War

some stayed up

at handsome hall

pissing into masks

skillfully disseminated

berlin in 8 days

arriving into glory

the concierge

the chargé d'affairs

two young staffers

Illinois district

a courageous occupation

the capital of white cravat

palace of cloud

how easily large masses of people

may be deceived

a courier in front of the bourse

spoke fire through a confederate

under the table

a fish-idol flopped

left rose rightly

play-acting boys

a delirium of noise

irresistable compound

quoth national interest.

2. Republic

concluding the uselessness of concealing the facts

he covered himself by putting on his hat

all military authority became utterly powerless

indiscriminately writing letters, looking over documents

talking and laughing, all in the best of humour

the night was beautiful beyond description

all without the shedding of one drop of blood

3. Siege

up to that point the police was honest

life and property, everywhere safe

the remotest street under watchful beat

but then the obscenest caricatures

cried even by young girls

organs official absurd & puerile

the Pope a prisoner with the Emperor

the Diplomatic Corpse a fatherly ghost

processions at the butchers

the provinces tediously dumb

street-names changed hourly

the morbid taste of sand bagging the museums

smell of secret documents in newsprint

pawning of workmen's tools

hussars and slogans encircling the periphery

the police functioned normally

those who left permitted no baggage of news

A day among the Witches

Each conjures his or her own

Pack-like but mutually incomprehensible

It's not as if the humour flies by me

It leaks

Melancholy from old bones

La-bas, la festival bourgeois

Here, fearful theor-eyesing

No third man stands in the middle

Which is the hell of nature

The inarticulate conjecture

The gesture without expectation

of devil or servant to jump to it.

Essential Potential

Eager to wrap it up

a sad future squirming out of the past

the footprints of disease

congruencies abdominal

a soft towel for sympathy or presumed intent

The end or side-step of comfort

like a light, presumes a mind

or something above indifference – a pyramid

with an eye under glass

A counter, or a fitful keystroker

Nice & sexy recovery, decency

& love not cynical but animal

he resembles him or his father

the mother the material, form

a reduction to warmth, quality of sleep, or teething

The Poetry of Louis Riel

Some under law

some under nature

righteousness served

a hungry supper

in battles bleed

& die in anger

the price of race & priestly generosity

on some other afternoon

Anglo-Saxon improprieties

rate interest tickers

of knights in white chamomile

but god was born on the red river

last week anyway

Take a pill and make no monsters

Woke under the first snow of winter, &

I politely asked what the hell was the problem

Some days we suffer needlessly

other needles have a point

snug in your cold shoulders

you raise and drop no covers

& sleep with knees & elbows

hard & pointing my way

Clap

A world of discipline

ready to spank

a dead duck

as paradigm

it sounds clearer

on the piano

a culture of floaters

meaningless

to the clipping class

muted method

can't voice

the noise

A plausible

A proof our illusion is likeable

you take it wherever you make it

When the clown looks you in the eye

pleasure

a long thing

in short time

Interlude

They replanned the capital to cripple the secret

fraternity

brothers not in wealth or poverty

but mercenary terror

& the lighter charms of liberation perpetual

from sweat & from stockings.

Home became an exile

of boulevards too broad to barricade or cross.

A triumph, a loss

seven bridges and one well-trodden island

I though my struggles would be over, once

but never in Jerusalem-

free development under history, not contrivance

a colossus of pedantic innocence

an association

of angels unplugging the myth of

windows inextinguishable –

shopkeepers coming home to showrooms

self-illuminating.

Humanism

1. Newtown, Connecticut

A lesson in the proper use of weapons

to be learned by heart

until you're practically

or politically

dead

2. Chengping, Henan Province

A man in China failed by the system

of change, bad psychiatry and child rations

got 20 with a dinner knife

Kids are easy - what

have they got to run for

or from, the future and its loss

exceeding their small grasping

revolution

Two methods

The first way is rabies

it's hot but sensible - a paid adviser

at the ribboning ceremony

squat & reliable

with a nasal freeway shake –

loser static handcuffed

to the ground & to the gate

Turn it over, twice

& press delay

a nice bouquet & slick hunger

is the second way.

Countdown

The light of

a ceiling

like the moon

pitfully

writes the page

your tide trims

the sheet. Grey

or stained, bleached

unbleachable

furtively

till morning

sneaks out from

under it

no blaze in

night, no ray's

daytime slim

glimmer can

adhere, here

where number

wills, fails to.

Class Actions

The spice of charity

warmed before

adding the dry bones

This is what a brick

breaks

Overriding & under-writing

the odds,

should we arrive intact

or brazen cylinders firing

all fistulas go

the flat of a palm smacks

harder, but

in the state of nature

the rats don't go begging

The dreariness of property

Emptying the lockers of the amnesiac

notes for survival coded in the buttoning

Gloss & tarnish – infrared on the blouse

stick down, down, down ... souring

the file called medical

what it gets up to when I'm not working

you've got to trust somebody

the billeting, the bile

taking care of its self

and every other asshole

well, read something, tack to the historical

you are all responsible, as

enzymes digesting fat once offed

that cat and summed to

a solution - flush -

Sometimes I wanted, I thought

an orderly love, to understand

the rot - you know, meaning

mine, a bubble, and everyone's tsunami

Those sharp shoes & the girls four toes

mental arithmetic like making salami

packaged by the time they're five

and happier in slavery

mutilation better than cinders

what a woman never says to a gentleman

even epicene as wealth

like education demands compensation

Incuriosity of the chessboard type

still, who is that grim girl?

Measuring her eyes in a coffee cup & a beam balance

What paradigm of stasis could you

photograph, if she's dead

or switched to the other side –

Surveillance says –

No correlation. Physics of incestuous

fascination begs imagination

out of the manual syllables

Zooming constantly into the footnote

Clouds burned on the slide

The bulldozers

moved like drugged roaches

Light fell on the rubble

from the pylons that stood, still standing still

We pursued a juvenile

Contraception in war zones

My partner was careful

& carried a big

Who clocks the man in the moon?

bronze discs etched with wire

properly grinding in the alignments

ego can't wait, but this matters

not – for you – it's tiring

stuff. incidental to our

conversations, incremental

to our rape, a heavy point.

Spirit in a phlebotomic apogee

scratches a guilty sky

yes, squared intervals – nearly

outrun it – the sun, bald & dropsical

selling dopamine in Thule

a continent of stumps

fingerless on the left nearby

It's like – you're a double agent

face on a banner flayed in the wind

piss rain, though you

point to tangential angles

all approximation

ends, like headaches at Appomattox

surrounded, surrendered

but in the ultimate correspondent, real. Then goes on

expanding – idle but without regret

drowned in feeling like kittens

on the net. Outmoded diction

of the last new cage

splits

two ways

How many orchids & skulls

(still standing still)

Poem for a foe arriving on an island

Some begin again

The water stiff

Whether or between the trimmings

Faceted belongings and responsibilities

Meaning or excuse

Fermented or conducted, embarrassing

To deny the obvious falling from the sky

The golden, the sweet, the ashen.

See you soon

Like mayhem expecting

Encounters through floorboards

His friend in the dark

Put his foot on it

Now even faster

Microscope focus

A woman in another place

Where time cooks in the dry season

A raisin

Rehydration

No,

he didn't care

about women.

His wife made children. Her labor

made providence, and god proper

made her die.

The plantations improved

and funded his next adventure -

slit the throat of a life of ease

With his trusty

And a son who took his advice

Hardly Svengali

The stakes were smoking

bright on all bands

A long way aloft

But mostly it was mutiny

Cells and colonies

Strung and stropping

Until a certain sensation

More subtle than orgasm

But less than itch

stopped thought

Right around the rim

Of rectitude ... and talked.

The intended sender

of benevolence

may be absent this

does not mean benevolence

is violence, but reception

snowy and wolfish, a possibility.

To the base of the skull

a benevolence may apply

anonymously

on the sly the intended sender

wears his badge

beneath his face

doubts nothing.

Clad worse than a day laborer

At home, back in the day

A dream palace of employment opportune

& Convenient, if marginal, to the ninety-nine hundredths of account

A rat in a boomtown

with a heart of gold

Cut, dried, and weighed by the ruler

each ounce to each party.

I worked hard to make

My skin cap and lampshade

The image of the overseer

Flayed in the wind

Directing immeasurable labor

Like the sands undistinguished

Except by the boss

In the end the occupation

Mostly fizzled by midyear

The machinery though immobile would not stop

Instead we targeted the mother

The materials and the laws

A lack of proper documentation

A nugget in a shoebox

Sell it all off

And get a new job

Did we know of the atrocities

Empathy for the devil or a fate to await

Hoarded the overplus harmlessly

A future rising a certainty

of purpose

the details vary

Safe conduct was offered

But the emissary got lost.

At any given time

Most things are indifferent.

Life, liberty, property.

A tank full of incendiaries

A diarist in pillory

Subdivisions in heraldry

A pillow on display.

DUES

Movies make you cry, & should

but Nazis mock aloe

alone, they beg for the succulence

of the big break

"who will notice me now

as I swing

all across the neck-tie verse"

acknowledging the wiring, the rubbing

shooting, looking down

a fishnet face

& sometimes out

Flaming in spirals –

it's the chemistry in reels

events big after insignificant

phenoms – the boys they

rounded up, suddenly bright-stars

aww enlightenment's a toss

control your breathing

the thing they can't take

after the inalienable firmament

a bellows, power over knowing

blazing through the desert

of the discipline, lost –

---

This time the enchantment stays

responding to the view

hectic thrill to be

the word, the wind he smoked

disposed to be supposed

I met a physical rose

along the shores of Lake St. Clair

with windy hair

& eyes of the casino

a town never had religion much

except at the barbers –

– & the butchers' – brown paper

& trucks backed up all week

at the bar – how long? – sit on it

His being of civilization –

the slime-mold life for me

organs take time.

Even a leech on a rock would do better

Focus on the clouds and the

harm they've done.

Striped, fancy ricochets fill the streets

one you must avoid

but have no choice.

---

The choices, & the voices of change

that wither & grow, that wind

around the bush, like a fuse

to trip on before lightning

wrecks the imagination –

The centering built by deferral

all the bricks in a Chinese parable,

in binary configurations, fixed in a finite time.

Whose understanding generates who?

This largesse – indulgence –

The action potential of the emergent yawp

Sliding through us in the darkness

sometimes noticed, recorded or not.

What I could not know then

I imagined, to no end

but so slowly, it felt like

decomposing

who is a question for bureaucrats

& detectives

we synthesize responsibility

through biology & stranger coincidence

---

A nonce announcement

for the moment, quells

what you wanted, spilling

from a tin cup.

Congratulations,

Grackles & blackbirds

slip on their evening reds.

It will be known

spreading like butter

on toast – like wind

through the rain

a swig or a swaggerer

may thrive - & birds flown

The ceiling-fan & its shadow

as in migration

but some frame always

spins too fast

where do we go, are

we going, where

time takes us, bringing

everything on

---

Rent's cheap where life is

and in the spring, parades

of the ordinary, fancy footwork

& wear, & cloven, & spayed.

The tedious be in the patisserie

a sting under thin cotton

& mud & the grass

we strode in on. and on the harmonics

elevating, multiply in eyes

apex of aphids!

A leaf to a line – if, love –

goes all the way.

not against the government, the police

the last to arrive & the last to leave

with a lumberjack indifference

to the hardest of comers of all

the appalling collectors

of human debris

we can turn to honey

if they try

---

Way up where

the dolls seem like people

& the air streams from titanium taps

how many hours & pills

in this volley, arcing cuspidor

past rainbow

in the barracks, sneezes & knees

an articulation lacking grease

swing low, cold smokey

to wander & return

crosstied, home

I heard the elk took the elevator

up into the skirts of Rome

A drunken sailor, a captain's daughter,

selling a "C" & seeking a soul

A voucher, like any other vow

Sun, tin, El Dorado in the Grecian isles

Better than welling, d-

---

Why do we always talk about class

in class?

Guilty as tied

One way to think, is about it

The leaded rope &

the latter ladder

His angels sideways swim

Him likes architecture

& a nice snack

One cultivates taste

with

Demolition

Agent of Child

tonguer of knees

leasher of lecherables

permanently, leave

A knot on high

& trim

That's the way to sing

the dog-notes

---

Your ideas rain –

& locusts take

their places.

I am building an apparatus

to obtain

the fabrication

of a generalization.

Magic is a blind

cracked to gas

& heartbeat

its generators

usually thrown away

change, powered by

the divine popeye

& visualized by section

& multiplier, heaven-sent

There once was a madman with an erection

He was giving, & his people

flowed.

----------------

---------------

----

Why choose one

said ten pages of Spinoza

& sad bells strain to ring

long gong

king ding

It's all wrong

is all I learned to write.

A skeptical denial

in April snow

of the knuckles

& knees

appending to nothing

pertaining to a dropped cap

& thank you sweetie

as I put it back

into her stumps.

Summer is not within you

waiting to extrude

into the tangible, surround

the sores with camouflage of lakes

& childhood's hollows.

A fake recipe makes the same

mistake, again –

pressing uniforms across the nation.

Felled & followed

a guy I once knew

silent at the terminal

beside me, at the end

getting his wishes

in a tuxedo

& this they call

experience

I could feel the presence

of a loner, somewhere out there,

in the crowd

It may have been the air.

It touched my sympathies

like a bright, loud, bell.

DETERMINATIONS

Determinations

To live the way of "they" - &

not flip the pisspots

could be servile, or immanent

monotheistitude

say clean, so every one

can be a happy one

at least once weekly

Stay far away, gassing up

in a paper bag

Lights out with the greater light

greater is good &

Being is being – but watch the fence

& your reds, & your blues

One day they may ask about you.

For example, send them a moonrock in the mail

& they'll say it came from

outside here

somewhere we never go.

----------

Sons & daughters

save yourselves – it's work, to imagine

the skylight opening, & no burning

a wind & the stance

of calm

feet unblistered & shoes of spring

bounding through optimism

& highly localized norms

each block, our block

our words and songs

to everyone, familiar,

acceptable.

The whole day like a bruised vein

giving what must be given.

---------------

needs in the park

like cigarettes

tennis balls

to climb a tall tree

& a can of beer.

a cold spring for a squirrel

but a nice day for a girl

's warm hands

they flee

tell the teenagers

whatever you smoke

someone else wins

has the spring ever shaken

quite like that?

They're picked on cause they're young

lack confidence, smaller.

swallow the dirt they throw

til out it pops, november

A turning fence & a spitting man

To hate tradition

without murdering the old

That's the challenge of spring.

-------------

Rode alone

through the fence of probability

game of waiting for the pegboard

switches plummeting

some answer some questions

it is all propping the window up

in annoyance at great parenting

tight genes & a fat ass

they should have told me what I got

what I was getting & would have to give

------------

Going home – that gong

like roots, a put-down

even the landscape escapes

vacuumed up, dust in a pocket.

The city needs bankruptcies.

We need some time together

Some enjoyment. A stranger arrives on a boat

A woman climbs a mountain.

It's entertaining & costs a little less each time.

Errors of expectations.

You should have, said the Doctor, thought.

-------------

In the middle

Some saw it & loved it

what you wanted in the mirror

bob like a breezy balloon

the shadow around the ankles

as you stretched your long pants

canted on the grass

eyes eclipsed like somebody

really someone else

inside you a third party

gave a little kick

it was jointed & tucked under

to keep out wind & rain

vulcanized, galvanized, disguised

but elemental

the desired dress

& shining through it

the inward east

the outward west

& the rest to explode

like a jam packet

the longings of the intended

run up to the hips

& sometimes to the streetcar

or on two wheels, showing off

a world in their compass

& pivoting through quicksand's

pragmatic brew. one bird

to peck the hole, another to plug it

The world is full and

everything fits.

------------

Love,

I worry about the infections of the eyes

which see only what they want to

You are now filled with possibility

as you always were

The posse rounds up another

dragged heel-first behind a horse

Or two with wings. Where

will they pull, and can

he sum their vector?

In your room women feed birds

or become them – no reins

or constraints; just sun, seed, grass

These are only images. Apparitions.

--------------

The wife walks into and out of the room.

Judgment has been sealed

a fullness without tranquilizer

stretching the glue, enveloping

wherever the roamer roams

or the roomer rooms.

It is clear as glass & sodden as grass

a true bond & a lip-sticker.

It goes anywhere you want it

& wants you wherever you go

wanting what you want

& itself, going where you go.

----------

That's it, hey – done.

& so much to do!

cleaning & teaching, planning & play

a right to line up for

on a night like this

the sign for more

is the eyes that can't close

on love's harrow.

Let's get paid

If we slave, we'll choose our master.

the tickets are gone & the drinks, puddling.

Let's get trained to milk

Let's make

some meaning.

Put the one word in, & shake it

as a peacock by the legs

fanning

Hang it from the ceiling, a potted plant.

A human scale in the photo-etching

Is a parasol

Handed by mom to pa; a shade

From religion & crude coupling.

Clearly, it is better than either

Useful, practical, a reason for all seasons

Pleasing always, even in memory.

Even when the organs don't fit

each other or their eyes

Lines merge everywhere & all the time

Lines curve, return. Words love.

Clearly there's more to it

Too many poets have been dumped

Compare the love of fools, of kings, of saints,

of burghers & celebrities

Arias omnipresent & bugs zee zee

----------

Making don't work. Son,

digest this stew. He bought it,

sat & sold it for a million

yellow broom & sorcery couldn't mop better.

Still seen from a plane, it looked small.

It all does – more –

each day you grow

running out of room.

-----------

Dull & precious is the day

True day

When an old book makes the leap

from prank to sense

False sense – the horses eat

all the flavours

& in winter, you pay attention

in summer, runners on the beach

link stem and stem. Mounds

sound windy like a wet rim

False prank – for you, here, years later,

grown, thumbed, unexpected arrival.

------------

Condemned by gender

to be always the jerk on a horse

The womb-robber, framing the letter

whether up-front or upside-down

The waitress is familiar, from somewhere

elsewhere before this series of encounters.

But we can't remember, and leave

awkwardly, weirdly, estranged.

Of course, the horse may wander

and the stars grant bursaries of tenderness.

For you, this is not my wish.

But the womb will empty, and you will be arisen.

home late to turn on the light to

dozens of baby spiders all over the toilet seat

the moon had risen & maybe wars

& in foreign squares people swarmed

believing in a future

David: under the riot gear, she had a beautiful voice

but could she walk on water

or drink for free? possibly

nature consumer & nature consumed

you are not compelled to see beauty in a bigger cup.

------------

Today was the plums

& everything black & white

it's hot in Egypt

& inside 37 degrees

she knows your rhythms

& you her

regulations, revolutions

& other excitement

A time to kick & turn

Open a new account

wire the holy land

Eat some holy dirt

Do not attempt to enter the Temple

it is holy to one

as yet unnamed.

We'll get there around 1'oclock

If you live there, plummet

& we'll sync up

Like seeing through a veil

a pair of aviators

Oh, myself. On that day

That sunny, sunny day

Just last week it was.

--------------

In the hot heat of the done day

your fields are full of scamps & insects

A tree rises above sand, steel over slums

the airplane virus aerosols away

the grass became thin and long

it was like walking over a giant pig's back

mushrooms mowed & parkbench melted

the laws lawns are empty but for the encampments

it's a monday

& two tendrils touch through a fence

the public servants serve the lawns & the

private servants slave

today is very uncomfortable

date sprayed (toxicity) next application

in the ancestral test-kitchen

alone & overgrown

I collected bottle-caps

though my father didn't drink beer

----------

I'll have the nothing special tonite

& that'll be why they're the way they're headed

Idiocy conventional & time-limited

But next week, I'll be sited on

The pan-out, flat out

Rolling between the wheels

Sour stones

Sometimes the vibration was an eruption

Next pit left – some phony's keep

Left brow, serving the wrong machine

No intentions of its own

To spin – a vortex unknown in women

And fabled at both ends

Too much for one night

And they fell upon us until we stopped falling

-----------

archers offer a place to go

the green house dilutions

his head was dented on one side

& sweated like fruit

being the need to know, teeth

summarizing the enormity

of pyramidal forces & their counterparts

each spheroid impinging on the switches

decisions in smoke, some called prominent

levers on the landscape

exes off the map

the heat closed its jaws

around us when we met

anything goes into hamburger

the grinding feeling

as we let ourselves go

head first into the switches

testing to optimize a sole-source

confuting the destination on the manifest

----------

Every day is not like the rest

it becomes it

says the axman

a star on trial

his strategy a tumulus

of whistles from broken pots

he's a card-carrier

& could feel it when it was coming

in the harness of a caress

fever after ever after dinner

too many plots to digest

simpler just to punch it up

into pieces easily disposed of

into shutters without dwellings

All the fallen leaves of July

fold like anxieties. The sun

has gone out. The dogs close their eyes.

The phase spins. Fall off the rope

& step on the line. Sing back the words

or someone else will.

------------

A complex

A game of belief

sways no samurai

even in the world

there's a reflection

All parents are, in

fact, insane.

It's tangible or

you're lost.

------------

Be tangible —

get the uncharted

drift?

The matter of sunspots

burns the eyes.

From this view

it's going to rain

but behind the wall

anything – sways –

a toilet in the park

touch stone

where plastic would do better

& flesh beyond imagining

prize winner

filler of space

-------------

Soured on the enterprise

after the interminable became the perpetual

but there were charms, there

where you could grasp and perform

in the conditions of lost decades

a lifetime post-utopia

& mail delivery of fumes.

A game we can play of pricing space

& tasteful catering.

It's a cooperative because you smile

or soap in the mouth

The precious hors of ours

Now that they're gone. The union

before hobbies & capital.

And all things to learn again

To earn by sharing

Bearing openly the risky business

of two workers, self-directed.

-------------

So many contribute to you

offering to explain

what is a middle spirit

or a factor – or a mirror

some distance from our ideas

& intimate with our sources

but protected – by position

or dematerialization – or

recombination – there is zero

responsibility & total love

– an ethical fantasy – derivation –

derision – a horse to hobble on –

a ride to preserve – a golden shore

& perhaps we'll die upon that train

-------------

Room for a new

It's shelves & tiny monuments

only the grandiose can view

sell it before its value runs prime

now, still a cloud of fair percentages

a time to buy. Regular sweeping

No end to time and space, but dying

in a warehouse, or living in one bubble

The permissive universe

shines on the windows it dirties

with manly style. To burst swell

dust or douche in fervour – leaving

All the passages that matter

underlined for you

to run through

----------------

Passages matter

in the vicious class war

You are free to ignore all prescriptions

but receipts you must not disclose

they are invisible messengers between you & your intentions

hugging so closely

the unborn bards of populism

become technicality

tease six guys in a room

wondering who's blood they're watching

from the front row

a tremendous transfer

or transfusion from the mother

who gives you form & freedom

but partial information

------------------

Xavier / A new house in Basque country

Turning & sliding & babbling & hiccuping

the engine emotes

a paternalistic throttle on the sources of belief

better than a cult of death-or-taxes

but the pool is shallow & full of existential athletes

& foulings – you can park on the street

& enjoy the wait watching Hun & Bolshevik

tie up mommy & daddy

every night in the attic kitchen

of your cut-rate garret & its dreams

of homesteading & mushrooming

--------------

dragging the corporate dragon boat with your stumps

-------------

Snowed-in (Lucretian war cry)

Increase the gain

& bitrate

caught in the act / fraud

of indetermined space

an agent identity

moves through a white hall

on the king's highway

as a spear tugs outward

the empire's face

know that

whatever the weather

someone is always listening

--------------

Order fulfillment

& kicks for labour & kicks for love

a stiffening & toughening while I

read through the philosophers of experience

for conditions of philosophy & experience

making value an abyss & a morass

of order fulfillment & what you rate

in the absence of absolutes

a message must be sent, stronger than messengers

whether from inside or outside

by a power, burdening its barers

these are real weapons of an MD

& not past pandering

to the psychology of the destitute

wanting the desert to be pleasing

again, and not for the last time

unless this is the very last of times.

----------------

Somebody's instrument is you

& don't you want to be somebody?

it and we are unavoidable

I seem

to complete sentences

but the trend is trending

fictive articulate or dumb

if somebody uses what you

learn to use to use you

then is the mirror arrogant to the gaze

but warm & elephantine to the touch.

These principles are self-satisfying

but require certain deduction

or probabilistic under par

hair tumbles before emergent weather

& theorems in their holes get smoked

await & con - template

probi-ballistic

a wire is quiet but antiquated

& ever avoiding (ergo) aliens

is a hard life. errata

non grata

(extinct)

better than ruin & waste.

To personify a medium

that's mother. Ideals!

Need new hips. Some virtuous

caricature subs in.

This charade, like chastity

passeth over the stage. Reflexes even serving

remote control.

One generation's weakness, once removed, as policy

identified by contingency & itchy fingers.

------------

Our slightly obnoxious instructor

must please or cow the majority

mostly poor distracted or lazy

canned jokes I use on friends

for her float the audience

as spontaneous as jello

who believe in the medicalization

of private institutions and public love

and total womb combat

is pay-per-minute in very small

units called stations intimate & bourgeois

meaning only commerce

violates the dyad – and medicine – through the chaos

branches off – slugs on dahlias –

to a fake calm place

treats for the first comer

she reaches for her baby

---------

Raisin of State

reasons of complicated organisms

are rarely directly expressed

footprints in powder or a six-second clip

is light in the electric eye

penetrating all media, physical

or metaphors

with some small claim to relevance

in the king's touch

thin visibility

pumped from reserves

into bored rooms

where spontaneity's confounded by intelligence

reports of foreign influence

& another bored room

plots electrification

to green the cattle-cars

------------

tentative and flawed

is the way of stretch

I knew at twelve some errors

and discipline the capped sun

saving the eyes for whenever

flee the hours teeth

eroeics, heroic investments

candidates for passion

or excellence, a priority

tough to claim when you're out

to lunch – the like-minded

stare back & chaw

as the navy bops in the barbershop

& goes back to it

unsinkable you – temperamental

free music

------

HERE

Earthquakes & milkshakes

& inconsolable you

refusing to choke

on the dust

moving through

-----------

Coda

Now every body makes mistakes

& mistakes those it makes

for virtue or its vicegerents

somewhere down the line

the tinfoil gleam of the adding machine

& the beam balancing the eye

snorting the moty minutes

while the imprecision of cell division

fills the room with its smell

diffusing its own times in

tit-tat squeak-squawk

parallel

Raymond Souster 1921-2012, Tirana

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Sun, 21 Oct 2012 15:25:00 +0000

Souster Dust

Drawing down pure gas from air

the pigeon, pre-poisoned, is fuel

I indict

the obvious cause

coincidence, like napalm

before landing

The target, broad

The knife, trick

his memoriam for Williams

I read the day he died.

Leftovers (June 2011 - July 2012)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 18:44:00 +0000

northern cycle

a loon in june

a fly july

must august

remember september

sober october

dismember november

ember december

dromedary january

jumps-between-humps february

starchy march

payroll april

wet-hay may

& so soon again june

"Freedom is"

Freedom is

undisciplined planes

subtracting welds

& other blemishes

& meaning -

an indefinite chain

of small & solvable

problems

we live on grass

the doctor says

& fruiting

conversation

about animals

in prison

who know

their time's

coming in

Gull Brine

Seagull's black wingtips on

kleenex & qtips

a red pack of cigarettes

& two, with a 10-pound sack of charcoal

& the picnic-bench barbecue.

Yellow beak with

a black-tip. like its feet (webbed)

eyebrows charcoal

wings grey

will they cook a fish?

play back gammon

while the beer foam flotteth

& Hamilton's fires cool

till you can throw a steak on

the abrupt change in colour

from violet

to blue

& the tin foiled sun

stays warm for another day

Aufklarung/Bereishit

at the head of the hall, the hod heaved udder heaven ander hearth

under snow, the poverty of the evergreen is apparent

an imitation of rays arcing in glass, veining, covenanting  

in the puddle (your eyes) he casts both shadow and reflection  

throws them away and reels you in

Picasso in the Territories

Often the self is determined —

there is the bulb, the eye, the bomb

which hangs in the U.N., in textile treatment

& often, over anatomical correctnesses, the curtain is drawn

a shroud where another image forms, flat figures

outlined in chemistry organic – pus, nitre and spit

what we paint with in the cave, mere matters of convenience

& goes on tour through the territories.

Paper dolls behind firewalls, or white friars

reiterate what a Marx brother said

while the girl with the elephant-nose

toothless crescent tattoo and headscarf cranked to 11

hid in the geometry like a hand in a pocket

rose, welcomes you to heaven, and

the family of nations — our similes smile

in tones chosen for reproduction — can suck it.

Study scraps

in shade the dandelions stay yellow

in sun turn to grey puffs & butterflies

away from the consistency of the oak

ivy lingers on the bench; chipmunks stripe my legs

a comic novel and a doric air of irrelevance to my umbrella

the squirrel's tail circles as its hips gyrate elvisly

chittering hound dog chasing priapus up a tree

leaves of several shapes and sizes, all blandly green

a slow mammoth, becrawled by fleas steps through last years acorns

this years leaves needs fleas drowsing

wild things crawl between the theatre seats

the carved or splintered stones

alone with a stone bee

stripped down to suspenders & the shuffling walk

atone with the scalp of an acorn, nut gone

wind-spattered rain

blake's marginalia

on the windows of the train

exuberance adding beauty

as commentary

to the trunk lines

radiant in the rays of the setting sun

i saw the steel hive of the steel bee

riding high on my iron horse

with my robot lassie next to me

Half After Er

The Bomb boomed in this dead era

an inconvenience. Dirty to some

but that's assuming some assumes.

They know it and do it-

assuage the many, persuade with tools

in small wet windowless rooms

a few bodies of stinking moral misbirths.

The screen barrows out the gloom

pageless, outside where glowworms stage

a coup, a croup, for crampon office,

money and change gunpowder etc meet parallel to cross

one off. Ballot rots and rosters. Sex

remains as inventory, even maybe talk

uncease, of bombshells of identity...

"When I realized I was I, I nearly died, and

then I felt the seethings of a highly unstable

powerful and labile element" It was always the body, embouched

or barely the clock. It only goes down.

I breathe in it, it in. It's under the couch

(each chest or each field.) Show me a showroom

or chatroom where it don't live, lives not.

the bird sang, man

an hour before dawn

but had/found no companion.

the bird had all the words in the world

and any voice to be desired

the bird was tired, see

it yearned to return to its dream

uncrossed by eyebeams' scorn

to any country but this here pit of a tree

filling with awful light ...

torn, it split in two or three.

parts slopped in the crotch of its perch

among its evacuated desires

wrung new rings on ears

rang boo-hoo, boo-hoo, who, we? liars?

We love you child; talk about order

Plans got scuttled - saw it on the street, legs spread

Kid, that too is part of the order,

though sometimes it don't feel like it

And war, and bepoisoned nature

all part of some grand plan?

You mean conspiracy, don't you

I never was gambling man

the political and moral cost

of tooth decay may just be

nice smiles

Barlow Response Ability (June 2012)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 18:24:00 +0000

Aurora, the Grand Gal of Evolution

It's a

bust she sticks out with her tongue

expressing a sulk

far from sultry

on the forbidden lawns

with the local scoff-laws

we rest our wearies

arched to the air

& hounded by homology

the gut of a worm

the hips of an ape

not the wings of a bird - that's the analogy

of the pose, shoulders swept

backward, hands reaching

for where she's come from

Bats out of Rouffignac

John,

today I killed a bird

an arc involving the car

winging spread like a hawk & rising

then like a sparrow dropping

into the left headlight,

winking. Remembering

the grief and shame on my father's face

leading me to the cat run over one summer evening

it had no tags, so we bagged it up

I held one open and he

through plastic

raised it by the tail

we debated burial, but it went to the landfill.

We were careful not to touch its mess

and today, the blood on the glass.

We were speeding out of the cave of 100 mammoths

two herds facing off with their problems

and distortions, each unique, filling six lanes in each direction

doing 130 and drawn that fast

by a small number of collaborators of distinguished styles

whether outsiders or priests

or made like each moon by incestuous marriages -

nobody knows but

it was all at once and all around us

the cave bear and his successors

the pits and vermiculate

scarifications of cannibal youth

and the fine line

in imitation or effacement

led or to mark time

on bread and bodies

fed in the subway most ravenously

where stratifications shred out

as is only natural -

and in the middle stoops to strop

its moonmilk claws

on a human face -

a cartoon buffoon

10 metres down, in black suit

pica pica, the eurasian magpie

omniverous, ubiquitous, a throat-choaked pest

and noisy in groups.

A trickle charge leaks

out of horn, hair, or wing

green, inviting ritual

an absorbent architecture

like a precolombian picture

caged in the museum, it

parrots "donde … madre ..."

a cleaner cage than apish squats in barcelona

shit on the lawn with a view of the sea

"mi novio me molesta"

"if you don't want me set me free"

& "start the war!" & "anarchy!"

the swallows' song shrieks

like the mothers of the drowning

a trajectory of pure turbulence

not comedy, not tragedy.

Challengers

1. 2.

challenging to face june

another line spritzer

of problems on top of

to write checkered duvet

out air conditioner

or humming in the brain

into memory time

seldomly to get up

centuries fat u.v.

clings to our young bones stain

the scale of thinking law

oscillating makers

history adrift on

a day hypotheses

all learned in MBAs

things churches and suburbs

filing places of void

cabernet inertia

softeningness instinct

of the internet gone

under the triceps was

tell me more re perhaps

pressure of anyway fake

eyeballs a song to teach

pop the children something

top claimed by us before

dogs and dawn again cuts

religious the image

differences toner

finer abrasions streaks

polished handaxes down

pottery spring their chins

a loaf rose string around

for the the white collars

first reduplicating

time our redundancy

it's luv in the real world

and tulips the fight comes

standard socket sudden

of experience springs

weather teenagers from

high for tonight's the rushing

fireworks antlers trees

real threat car-crash victims

sleep classic threat display

fails at the barbecue

to wake toast leaked reveals

blind carafe dominance

never knowing cabal

colour its own taste as

sympathies and name if

how it poisons the whole

and redeems headlocked world

as it hadn't noticed

may it's own arm the snake

Barn Nun (June 2011 - July 2012)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 18:20:00 +0000

Top shelf

Yes, I have thought about men entering my body
as women surgeons my mind
and governments my headroom.
Imagination is taxing, but so is a fight
the cure or extraction of preserves
fasting wonderful
and marriages secret and unfortunate.
The world may decline, but its orbit is clenched yet
behind lids like white curtains
and swirling intransigent vacuum blues.
It’s a fools tongue stuck to the roof of a house.
Naked, yes.
Open it
input it
and put it out of doubt.

Sea ditty for Makars

But is it better than a dream?
The upthrust moonbeam,
an idle thing, idled
as creeping things crept.
and for symmetry, we wept.
We wept, and for symmetry
the snake unmade the bed
sweeping
an unwound sheet
in its curdling wake.
Are you a creep or just an idler
asked the one who had mattered
to me, to me.
The none who answered
was he
who had wound the sheet
tight as a dream
around his neck. What’s not eaten
in shipwrecks until it’s dead
washed up partly whole on the floor.

Bloodsucker proxies

smell of mammal hormone
old tire on crisp stump what
you have is a condition
we can take a parts a far but
not it it tells sell it to the ends
of the thee while it’s crunch
crunch erudite crudites

*
what I vacuum you may assume
ever a wick dripper, there’s a thing may rise
to asymmetric relations of know
what I power this -uck engine by? I mean
giggles, your compliment does amuse
in the supine attitude
a turd licks sky

*
we swore’d what we could
mouths metabolized a bit
at white corner or kenneth’s
flaked skin or cigarettes
kicking sand
turd herders buried their variety

*
and will they ever relent? slim luck
emblems signified slightly with sand in the eyeses
voluntarism blizz’m
while the inherited worked nightly
with proboscii, the correct plural he knowses
& to count toeses at discounts
as hard to them up to he -ucks
and dismounts

The panting kingdom

1.
Their portraits float – some would say hang –
over the valley
where the beeves are stacked like boxcars
& haybales wallow in the flood.
The air, like a swallow, chases the train,
split tail the tracks unzip.
A coyote noses the furrows.
It smells bad. It smells old,
unexercised & overfed.
Founders, now, they are a dead.
The muddy sky is wider than yesteryear.

2.
And she, still bound to endure that horror
The agar will we shall not fear
dragging the stars, down, through the gel of night.
A light left on flashes in Saskatechewan.
Fish phosphoresce electronically
in the rising eddies
a virgin element crosses its knees
for its one-second-long life of honour & integrities
backup, a loon in Saskatoon, well met
escapes the ardour of her sacrifice.

3.
When we were brothers, we all sang brotherly
and may sing again – the dandelions high between the steel
humming the horizon, itself a song
out of memory, o hum the wind and hum the bug
hum the windbag road, the winding sheet
two of them, hung to the wind
while the mast lasts upright, creaks
us over the rising flood to find our
bottomless profound, our majesty of mountain
under weeds, desmesne of black duck
and brown bear, and the fifing beetle.

There the crack is dark and half-petrified
visible the grain when cut – Brother – sing with me
“Your flesh is mine –
I shall not want.”

Sleepy drinks

The temptation to sedation in daily interactions
& the art of composition as an aesthetic distraction
from inventories & production, a scientific hope study
through bandages of corrugated cardboard & bubble wrap

Am I the betrayer or the betrayed?
Is your land better than mine for its anger
its weather its sharper lines
to picket or electrify

to zap the political animals –
pigs alleging human hearts, tarred ducks
carrion birds & the asses
sending foxes aflame through the alleys & garages?

I have no mystic metaphors for money.
How much from pecadillo to sin?
said the Armadillo, enjoying the state it was in
till the ants flipped it over & evacuated its belly

empty as my head in the wilderness
no God gets more obvious
so the advance of learning is delayed
“give us jobs” the people prayed

omitting the “good” from the schedule
conflating symptoms & value
& the widgets of the nobility
bob like icecubes all the way down

The duchess of the white castle

The beast-men
by instinctive reason
recognize their queen

The bear-men, the goose-men
the fly-men, & the worm
on this, are unanimous

The fixed soul, if not another world
is too refined – but coarser motions
can diamond her hairless diadem

Unquenchable fire,
around, above, between, below
the villages of her enemies

So many dissolutions of particulars
otherwise named deaths
by the paws of justice
or mere weather.

Which is frozen and clear
So the common-sense of time & fame.
Try the experiment with the whip.
When she goes, chaos is come again.

Tracks

flesh to impress
& stack em
.
grain on the ground
& the grinding sound
.
rust off the rebar
stains the stones
downstream
.
legs around this warthog
bronzed unfeminine
.
a cast to outlive the caster
.
a walnut in a blender
brain
.
if I were a violent man
I could just join the parade
.
don’t tie this one down
on me

Home Scenescent

A history framed
by bios
is so unlike a house
is what is always
homeless
oh
whoever you are
a big black bird
can shit white shit
on whatever is
over your head

*
She’ll be dead
in five years.
The house will outlast her;
but she’ll cut down the tree.
Twice as old as her, and the house
it clogs the eaves
leaves leaves.
She’ll leave the house.

*
Last night’s
Garage evasion
cooks on stone
sheltered from the rain
& neighbours.
Take a long exposure
with a hose
water pockets wasting of shame
while everything that’s fed
turns into soft slurp sculpture

*
hymns from the underground
allegedly recognizable
here
and there
in a room I’ve never looked into
the swelling bellows
plays for the insects
and airplanes
sweats

*
the nun-like bug I crushed
the bug-like nun I watched

nymphomania at 2 o’clock
with chocolate-cherry ice-cream

fingers-n-lips burnt
most powerfully
unvertical
miracle
do I believe in (no)

flocks outside the bars
each opportunity
beg hello
to be used
like homo erectus
a big straight upstanding hand-holding man

theatre igneous
why
child!
been
convalescing

in a convent, convenient, with an indigenous
icicle
umm
make the wimple asbestos
or as best as
we can can

The trade-in (manumission)

drink some
bone-in tea
under lone ridge
brink of sea
*
hope rope holds
a close-chested
meat closet
sewn up
*
mind etched almost out of use
sight enemy grafts
inbound above the eyebrow
*
hand-held clamps
clamp
the main
pitch
with the whole body

Lipids & the blind mind

My body tells me what to eat
but I keep going crazy.
The pets feed me
Silver pills.
I sit still for melancholy.
My blood is amber.

I would not kill you, parasite
or the bug that bit you.
Each becomes its own
inevitable, slow
like sand becomes stone.
Hammered
its brittle breaks chosen somehow.

Corrugationist

Will it hold, fold it, air
glue too, flap over doodle
yes, a new suit will do it
how to fit it in, in in it.
But larks don’t breathe like sharks
or talk like Turks (hoodo)
his border, my disorder, roboto
walked slowly, a great mystery
of the profession, tucking my arms in.

Something to do with hands #1

When a dog barks in the night
if it’s a dog you daytime know – yaps
at nothing, beetles, air pollution

& a chorus starts up
very different from the surliest of birds –
some bird-thing, trust? never returns.

Like the bug, if its smart,
however uncordial,
after you’ve taken a wing or a leg.

If not comfort, then,
habit props you up
as it sniffs you in the shade, sprawled
full-bellied. Pat the dog.

#2

The room is round and somebody wants something
Everybody wants sound. The room
is round. To
        know somebody
sombody wants – easier, things, to
to anatomize
        in view. The room is round –
Somebody’s back hurts. The thing unknown!
The room resounds with new knows.
The acher, touched, bows.

#3

Why make anything, my friend, you brute –

Why feed the raving wildebeest
What it can’t digest, a beak witout ambergris, a piece
of you or your leopard-spotted pie.

Your corn is surplus, but they eat rice.
They’ll sell it and starve on the proceeds.
You failure.
You fiend. You can’t change.

#4

Stiles & styles   over a fence & a new name
Transport, please
To the valley of ease
just beyond the diseased mountains –
A transplant of face, installation behind
a burning bush, in the Hindu Kush
to stare down Gog & Magog.
the Fat Millenium pounds the ash, a shady day
I wear gloves, like any burglar
What I took gurgles
& drones
fly by
me – not the mind – not my kind – on wire

The hand of the mind
“Nature works to form the hand of the mind - to instruct us that good thoughts are no better than good dreams, unless they be executed” - Emerson?

1.
Is it better than a dream? the up-striving moonbeam
What we are & what we ought to be
Field Guide to Birds of Concord, Mass.
We can agree at least on an illustration
a chimera, half dogma, half nuthatch
Revolting thoughts decompose
in our pure bodies.
It is an entire mean –
between mystification and execution.
I’d do it myself. Production
like intercourse, is a mode of life.

2.
He was well-mannered, but his handshake was a touch
too weak. And when he kicked, it was a blow
too wow. His intentions were benificent
if not benign. His children were his train.
He was a half-scratched off digit
For an audience of calculators
Powered by a quintessence that was not
reason, and decayed with the brain.
Atheism and defamation were in reach
but unseized. He spoke and thought
in vaguenesses. His books were unreceived.
He was nice. He was an artifice, an Adam.

Default position

The eaves clog up and the water
breathes, choking
tools in the yard
to become sidelong curios
a woman stares
but avoids the rebound
on a designer bicycle
whose wooden box, distressed
could bear a chicken, an infant
or bottled liquid equivalents
but bears nothing, equivalent
to peace. Now is the time
for all good men, miscreants even,
to do nothing. If not forgiven,
forgotten is logic’s guarantee.
The options are finite, and distressing.
Bleed all night, kill ‘em all, or stay in.

The three D’s (give, sympathize, control)

“Choosing,” said the donor, “one branch
of the unknown, leaving
one for you.”
Reason
loves bounds, games,
winners, limits, losers.
The agoraphobe twirls with his eyes closed.

Black winged sphinx

Engaging prior attainments
agora agar a gear a gear
algebra & a jabber of technicians
& politics up-pricks the rearguard
corner hangout of sin. “The
more you earn, the less problems
there’ll be” says the fifteen-year-old
dealer in political economy
(not taught in schools but intuited I guess
like subaltern orifices come to serve, or please)
in this nice neighbourhood, in this clean century–
Bald & naked I would be
a floating morsel in the orgies of eternity
but air remains for now & the lotus recedes
The same answers fail in the wind
& get swallowed anyway.

The effluent society

When he stood in triumph in Guatemal
Hands behind his back, crumpling the bill
Vice President Nixon gestured with his shoulder
Not yet humped, in a half shrug
To the red books stacked like a bunch of hard bananas
Behind him a mural where a good banana
smashed a still-dripping sickle
& said “We’re all Keynesians now”
“Thank you” said the new President of Guatemal.

*
Beauty of days gone by. Desire unspotted jaune, young and yellow
& the balance-sheets a blooming jungle
The fiscalist & monetarist walked together, fists in each others pockets
Trade, a tiger-tail tugging to the moon
A principled priapus, throwing toxins to the wind
blowing outward to the sea
Beyond which something mutated
a hippogryph - a blimpy externality.
we were in the Rocky Mountains
MIA - high & absent on ECT & LSD
“Somebody do something.” “Who? Who’s me?”

People & things

Morning again, & you, sir, stir, sir
A hiccup in ceramic
brown as a skull
Stowed under a black-blowing weed
Bricks blown through gaps between bricks
announce hard-hat weather.
Her dress was unfair to her, always
putting her in it. A softness I had wanted to wear
ear to ear, shed to hoe.
Blue stock keeping unit, sleeping.
“I am more than an interface
even squatting, angelic
a brazen thought on your brow
a bald lip-torquing utterance”
A drip, still sir, you could drown in
or swallow – there are eyes, ears, a brain
& hungry-frantic dog-things bark in the rain.

One wire to every home

1.
Airways or highways
the illusion of a line
swept into place
I can save on paper
flexing her thighs
meat in a plastic perspective

2.
Damp dust eventually
stocks the lungs
alluvial fertility
hangs on rhythm
dreams of inflation and power (lines)
opacity on ice black colonies

3.
Everything arranged according to
culture. Hope or plan
In prison, BPM
The auto-reciprocal
of a one-handed man
Escapes in space in solids in space

Something against us

There was a place where it lay buried
his own vampire
devoid of social responsibility
or of any kind

not a no-man’s land
but the centre of a planned city
a body of state, with excrescences
indistinguishable from mind

no interrogations flicked
up under the fingernails
still growing after all this time
& visited by what pertained

to the perpendicular. This came on
asses, a train exculpating the guide
who bears the statistics
is most probably on side

down to the material
of heredity – the
conjugation of a witch
endorsed on news TV

squeezed between two floors
above below them watching – tap tap tap
the myths of indices creep
past laws of averages

the threat of brick ovens
and saw-blades
a census maybe
for us a way out

first number the sands
then sands become
sand-lice
become us

summed against
sinned against
in the sun

Tall columns for the fall guys

Bases are occupied & ours
& autumn is upon, on high
The unburied scramble for nut
with due reference to durability, convenience
and beauty. Liberal selection and good taste
will change the world; the tortoise
will fill the ditches; the winds
will be excluded from alleys
Caryatids will molt like katydon’ts;
Negation, etc – will decline us.
Draw him a tall man – his chin meets your eye
if you were level-like – candor is error.
Where you would wander, there he will fly.
The Arabs race round again to face
the elevations and organs, orthogonals of heaven
while calculus and diplomancy accrete.
It’s a legitimate construction
Crivelli, Annunciation, 1486
the sogging tent billows beneath the moon
hung from lone gunman to mass evacuation
it’s not a bird or a ray of light
but a tightrope strung between two towers.

Long branch, green perspective

Squirrel’s stage
in sun’s eye
earth where all
delight vanishes

The occupied piper #1

To be tall again –
a state the radius of speech
or louder, diameter,
means days in the park,
debating the dark
in each centre

We disturbed a certain family
with bare breasts
and bankers seizing the reins –
thongs round stumps
marks you sleep on.

Be canny, moral, & discrete
pay to shit, and to eat
That’s ethics, and humane
for the little individual.

Greasing the wheels
we carry, sanded down
by assimilation or piety
smear ostentation on a leaky teepee – it
shines in rain – what do you want now
a frame of dry bones, brought up to code?

#2. A safe distance

The building, roofless, had nice bones
and a script
for its destruction. Send half to goodwill, a third
to salvation, and the rest to war. None for art
or widows and children. Mutual aid is their remedy.
Whose life is possible in these walls?
What capacity? Amps? Heating and cooling,
airflow at softer seasons ... overshot in a cannon
and the parachute flaring, eyeline down the well
intestinal and sucking sinkhole
it all flowed out its own asshole
but I stood firm, sated, self-sustained,
above all a safe distance away.

#3. How to keep your mind moving

His walk, a brown wick
to kill all paleface engineers
in the mud, love before slaughter
unwinds or like knife-flick
just happens
.
These sons and daughters of the hug
as all are
hasten
past
status qua status quo
healthy and new-found in each other
all they’ve got is that tent of arms
.
late in the game
the thread frayed to web
livestreamed
but the mass sits like Jupiter
having choked death’s belly
bright with all those moon-tiaras, naming rights sold
does the big red spot watching watch you, patròn?
For change
& life
what is it I must do?

#4. Last man nostrum

I served my time
the forces rage
southward crept

    eager tiger
    over watered
    & stinking

some dollar rubbing
stonewashed against
barbed fur

    insulator cap
    held aloof
    the humid crushing

rearing our ears
rising as one

    always against us
    always as one .

A True Story of Domestic Torture

Shaving a long tooth to a shine
in penumbra
behind the fireside
found with sinews slack and plasma leaking
into the eyes. cradled in a bell (tied up in a closet)
ding dong    love peeks at police
to rise as crescent   a sharp wedge between
nobodies
pregnant, on disability
in recovery

Asleep at the movies

Her life was not a thing she knew
nights and days, troughs and crests
plaid
a role she filled, fully
at their convergence
still she was, even abstracted, there
where she was
leaving voice mails. receiving callers’ names
a grid of dots, mispelled even
recognizable still though what they did
she thought might tremble or reneg
she couldn’t say it with certainty
and experiment was not an option
it woud lead to madness
or where she was
and out was where she wanted to go
whatever had been done
blind and unreliable
I said what little I remembered.

“Tough & otherwordly” (Shmayan Around)

Tough & otherworldly
where it seemed to dance
pinged my eyes
hovering over mastodon
clotted on the carpet
puppets of an Amerindian queen
brass line of catenary
you swung your thing along

his was the exceptional compromise
comprised, mainly, of retinal ghosts
double condecension
to smite in one stroke
the bean incarnator
it stung like honey in a wound
you say as we sashay

into prize-pealing pretextations
arrest this man, this moose
this troglodivagator
thighs smooth from smiling
flexed around the eyes
you lick as we go further

into the furrowed feature
to arise & erect the skies
till spite in each spoke
divides the road
you pull over to piss

I take off my outer skins
the sun rolls away like a log
rubber remembers, and then it forgets
you vacuum it up

it exhumes you
a rib sealed deep in a vault
you set the timer and press start

with plumb line and protractor
you burrow back up

you crack the safe & add salt

The dead skier

You know
once you go into it
We think the kids
will be into it

The dead gangster

In a posh hotel
Someone steps up
into my navel
it’s very unfortunate

Go political

Reason will negotiate / the reasons
confidently transferred / from a decade ago
reason was insecure / nothing risky no more
war on the grass / plastic and polite
your right to avert / your eyes to pirate

Sequels

The sun
cuts cement

The arctic air’s buddhist smile
smothers birds in sleep

She had a dream of cleaning
and aborted

It follows us wherever
down

*
With a certain insouciance
and curtain insincerity
I pull the pegger on my praygun

There’s no face
just a gleam or pinhole
on a blank lolly

a high-contrast shader model
whose only softness increases
in creaks

worked over and again
by the limber dead
swinging from their humanity

*
he said sax like sex under the bridges
plenty of evidence for spring
in the reeds, rushing
you can hear it with your own ears

*
lost / back to ear / rings / wake up to cold / portrait of her bare / hands out of the frame / bits of hair / knitting /
us together

*
Making the bed with me in it
a crumpled enzyme
through a mask
pronounses

Harrowing

reasonable nature plots a middle course
but walls sag & one fin
sternly drags
it’s the damp, not the tumble, that infects you
lungs a black mass, sometimes virgin
dirt, drowning the red earth
rushing through it, worms in rain
(feel) & the choking lights
signal sun run for it

we’re full of it – a rising loaf
bugs he bit into – friend,
he will cut you – the white powder
‘ll make you itch – tinier bugs dead
bone-tipped spears of our ancestors
now go for finer game

some spear – polyester cooling
asparagus steamed
each peptide and the pee-stink gene
arm in arm system-on-a-chip
a danse macabre
the way each plane comes shuddering in

false vanilla pudenda
a ginger more pungent
citron uneradicable by dilution
or rain
on the posters, fleshtones of the purest
of blues
sheets over all our faces

who is the one who wills an exception?
the one who wills.
the advice grips.
a virtuous doubt trickles down
through the straining economies

but I ate hot dough, feel its
chance of still rising

Mme. World Vert

Somehow a void eats her Sunday
the earth a steaming seat he
kept a rose in front
after the feeding ill

*
Tear her and that raw city
fools pine over fine ants all
plan the queen of nerves
stealing among the living

*
The raygun shit he swore
on his back to protect
in your domicile the peace
is hooded and holy

*
Raving and traveling on ...
blooded and rained a T4 nite
some taxes can deep-end themselves
others smart a gun and 911

“Lucid when he washes”

Lucid when he washes
the lookouts grit
very much potato & quick
to zip on through
the wrist-bones raw
sordid after 36
without a warrant it’s
war on mom & pop
help I’m just getting better
the liquor price-check
liquidation    milky eyes
parking lot gulls no pharmacy

*
no more dancing
threshold step
to the left, then kick
shavings filling all cracks
the hot gas by degrees
melts the sample
sensations stirruped
what you’re ingesting
8 out of 10 sheep
wood dream mechanically
sore swing
debt unleveraging
vortex theory without probability

Through thick and

a small infectious agent
does not stain
photographed on scales
the stego-park
I saw you with it
hands wet
as a kid I climbed
the plum tree
cut down for spots & lumps
on fruit & bark
a menace
unfilterable
& always
insinuating
behind the swimming pool
where we buried it
broomstick to his guts
my belief
site of first stitches
head through a glass window
someone to blame
two in a bag
poke
spares
billions

May 20-22 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Mon, 23 May 2011 04:07:00 +0000

Airy Temples

An excavation
in the ribs
of what you're worth
before you end up
buried treasure
good for no one

*

Forever may it be extruded
in the greenest dale
on the fakest day
through a lapdog's voidest meditation
this radius of pith
restrings your age

*

Between the blades
after a two-week rain
between the ribs
of a barbèd saint
a brazen pool
of faint deflection

*

A sick bird's meditation
at the thresholds of her pain
a blue flash under thistles
instantly still
as its shadow stalks
and whistles

a name
that belabours
and beggars
the rain

in elevations of a hybrid rose
from beercups propitiating ashes.

11 Jan 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Mon, 23 May 2011 04:06:00 +0000

New ears

Shoulders forward
in the dogrun
thrusts the head
of a man

the sun's scanline
the bark strips
the bag of stones
I am becoming

& sleep softly descends
a digestive humour
lubricating
the gizzards.

*

Coal-black hair
framing
an olive-hued face

dropping level with the withers
a thousand hoof-spans high
when she dives
crags strive through the water

so Scylla

clawed & writhed

*

Lost in that immortal struggle
found Genesis smuggled
in an egg-cup
but uncongealed
(no hips to measure her by)
elliptical
swinging around. unfocused.

*

Laid end-to-end, covering new ground daily
from what end to what end
flag
stones

2x4 (epitaph)

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 15:33:00 +0000

the evergreen
has never been

Orbit Coset

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 04:00:00 +0000

Planes break up
a world of wet sand
amass dimension
overcome boyscout humidity
by mast ignition
lightning stripes
the collar or can

in the quest for bonfires
and timetables optimized and controlled
by simple trade-offs
jobs or weather
a few inches off the neck
marks a species of brass ringlet

where I had green curried meat off menu
flesh traded high
fives slapping thighs
you have to know to ask
but they were bolted to a shibboleth
we could not understand

*

the ants followed chemical messengers around my fingers
as arrows or bullets find their men
targets eroded in the rock
proof the land has changed
why should he smile
the harvest-son
slightly stupid
cut open his heart
wrap it round a trunk

with aristocratic contempt
for the blood-lust of the populace
one sees the shadows of public life
in the arcade ritual
the lyric choir of labourers
in a hole in the ground
under the flag born tree
when burned gives off
a smoke far-famed for inducing visions

a keyhole window framed the compositions
filled with dull stuffing
a stranger at the entrance to her chamber
the mystery of the mountain in her trance

*

A pattern cuts across intention
in decandence's efflorescence and collapse
A bone breaker or tamer of horses lies
dead as he must
but statistically speaking the same man.
Then the blood is read — a mandatory votary
voluntarily retires. Sunflares glint
beneath the dead man's eyelids, flies
the outside choir
source of all comparisons.
Fear of breeding worms itself then rots
the body.

Let us consider now a different outcoming
a crossroads spinning in the head
with the song, a challenge to our
integrity.
fixed in tin & gold
it bests our courage
and then
We sit down at our beloved chair
and guarantee our dinner.
Eating it
dead-knit to the living, a lamb
of fine breeding, dull, a ready grin.

*

much later

some fan spun around a ceiling
or parking lot like clotted oil

but down to the intern ex
up anti fact you know already

a crane to lift that wit

a tomato we thought would kill us

some pseudo syrup psy-op cyclops roundup

"discriminations"

police uniform & boots do not a fake
policeman make

Django

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Kaufman) — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 03:59:00 +0000

The red concentric eyebleed mocks
the forty-year-old poster paper
yellow saurian pupil outpacing
baseline white
guncotton
colour popping
in the emulsion of a nitrate
sandwich on unsafe stock
hot cross mustard piercing
the plangent cornea of
the boy who sits
where reels within reels
sprinkle the antechamber
with humours wet
and not glassy.

Preserved meat serves
to feed and clothe
the gun-smoking cowpoke
in blue jeans and a jazzy name
as he sits, barely leaning,
cantilevered pelvis
and four-square knees
against a wall sketched by shadow
of a potted plant, slowly
animated by
the off-season convection
of affairs of the
blood-pumping world
its random coils
set and ignite.

When the wind whispers
his skin blisters
a sensitive transistor
in word and deed
a carnivore with a pure heart
conceiving in the deli's
revolving blades
a vacation by you
to which he'd ride
if his spurs still had
flanks to bite;
but the horse
was slaughtered
by the sauerkraut cackle
of a raging chaingang gun.

Alone, he rests
half in and half far gone
beyond the sprockets
of his kind
of picture, which
kind of hangs
on my wall. A
cross-shaped stick
pokes both
our eyes sharper
than any star-shaped
slice of tin; but faded
meat and rabid
dye
will bring us
to our bruising heels -

limp them into coffins
as the train rolls out
and town just tumbles away.