for the moment

explaining my reality to myself, what
life i'm wrapped within & speak of,

a poem. tens of thousands
of sand-buried mummified resinous

poems
minus vital organs but a black grain of

heart
ghost october evening.

this moment feels like a pyramid,
a tomb monument to the mysteries.

& it is now,
an edge of time & situation

pointed skyward
at vermilion clouds

at dreams eyes of humans
dream

---

stilts of failure

there
is only
so much we can do,
tie up at ends,
work out. earth
is made of glass
& life is hot sand.
the dead are made
of glass,
& that glass crumbles.
the brain is wine
cupped in glass jaw jar,
or if not wine, memories.
we blow thin, clear vases
to hold the stems of things
we say, of things
we think.

---

the censorship of poet scum

art demands
mirroring of all human prisms,

the turning of a soup can,
flight upon sea-shell.

homelessness photographs.
rage within language.

upsetting sensibilities
is certainly amerikan, yet

repression & ignorance
is the stronger norm.

the poet
may not

word
a true mindfulness:

amerika
is a stupid, base land.

i think
hopeless, our country

is damaged
beyond repair.

society
is a jackal,

hyena,
mutated people.

reasonable
for them

to kill
poets.

so fuck
you. cunt

flowers
over my mouth,

i eat paradise.

---

the nimmo is absolutely the baldest of us all

CATHOLIC GIRLS is a small
collection of prose. early 90's
& what 400 copies? "chinese food"
is a magnificent example
of nimmo's magnificent talent,
but only a few of us
have ever read
it. when i first read it
i got hard.
artistic pornography
with a flare for vivid
imagery, but at the same moment
a sadness
the division
of male & female, a
truth
this coarsening of amerikan culture
where sperm splatters over a cat.
let's not feel safe.
the nimmo is
completely bald & if
he had his due fame
we'd have to reckon
with henry miller
& nubile groupies,
fans of
orgasm, reality, &
a media
nimmo
wld phuck bad with.
i imagine him, gin-soaked,
grinning down
at the soft-haired heads of
young
sucking
girls in a secluded
big
sur
cabin,
old,
a flesh hedonist,
a happy man.

---

the poem between poems

we manage elegant con-
versation configured
by mind-mirrors
mind-reading
amerikan poets
amerikan versification.

mental word & wording
across electric cross-country miles.

after reading mcneilley
i taste ocean fog.
after voicing nimmo in my head
i feel clearer, glassy, breakable

but bendable.
jazz can make the poem
do-wap frankenstein thick-kneed shuffle.
suddenly filipski
laces electrons thru the tv screen
with vivid lsd molecules spraying in
my eyes. dean got me flying in an
american eagle down a country, rutted
backroad in michigan. bill is a 1999
alchemist. his brain sparks gold &
blue flames. mish is a blue fish,
a rare, deep-ocean blue blue fish
secrets deep in her meat & existence.
elaine got me jumping like a fat cat!
ann is sweetness on my lips,
she tastes of sugar.