Jesserae

Jesserae

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
inevitably predicting the impossible
all night
with two french girls
and their gay escorts
forming a Nuvaring 'round ye
preventing my would-be assailing
of a most unlikely virginihood

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
I am too drunk to remember your name
moments after you tells me
So I forget. So I ask again
So I forget. I ask your friends.
So I forget. I ask my friends
to ask your friend
I am may be too drunk,
but your name is too dumb to remember
so my phone does it for me.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
I will siege your walls daily
with sexual trumpets
or by the minute
'til you hand over your self control
and the keys to your Peugeot
to me.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
Queen of the infinite gyro biscuit wheel
Dutchess of touches
Earlette of the lemon wedge
Saviour of the battle of the Dancefloor
take me to your industrial palace
of wrecked fantasy
and show me, O great nymph
your secular world.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
I want to put my hand on your ass
and squeeze your cheeks
not because I think you are attractive
but because I'm sure I am
in my warped haze
losing traction and detracted
but not attracted
to you, sweet Jesserae.

Jesserae, O Jesserae:
mon petit chou
I will miss your cold eyes
made cold by eye shadow
and running mascara
and horrible accent
and the smell of one hundred armpits
waving in the wind.

PDM

Move!

O!, move me,
Great Speakers.
Move me across the room
to where I oughtta be.
"moved by soundwaves
crashing on foreheads"
O!, destroy me,
Great bass-god
and rectifier of left turns
(and wrongs)
O!, caress my soundwave
with your soundwave
and promise
not to let up
'til I retire

Poios-Sabe (Manger) [click to download]

             eros, aeros

     swim higher, allow devour.
Be that unattainable comfortness
Syncopate it -

Heterophonic phenomena shall emerge,
through the soul aperture of truth
- .

(∞)

"thank you& now is not the time"

foul wasteland, nestled between my heaven & clocks
themselves speckled with old failures, thin metal veins;
back toward their blank abyss you beckon,
with old sevens to grandfather nascent plans.

heaving silence in momentous nothings,
back and forth between my heaven & clocks,
you sling a senseless sort of small remembrance
snatched from somewhere in the distance.

'neath one wispy strand of old times you stand,
siren, and the ticking and tocking never ceases.
it only drones onward, ever onward, grating on my heaven.
all the while old clocks march in line, keeping time.

JHS

Space Jam #33 (click to download)

Karolos Magnus, the Z, Lance Delko

Stuck

When I stuck you,
I wasn't sure if you were stuck with me
or if I was stuck with you,
if we were bound to some other principle,
but we didn't talk much about it,
in fact, not at all, because
we both were anti-stuck
--didn't want anything to do with it
too sticky we would say, for me
because everything is sticky when
you're unstuck:

spitting out the apple

"Zero adhesion please,"
"I'm not a dying man."
but if I were...

You stuck me, though--
i was a pig before but no more--
stuck me like a polish pikeman
and now i'm covered in sticky
and without antivenom I convulse
and wait for you.

LD

OK This is Called Three Guys Hanging Out in Baltimore on Wednesday Night

Baltimore tomorrow on the edge of a piece of garbage
on an inexhaustible bridge of nothing which only gives me problems
trouble mouths ungummed in the eyes of mother shouting
shouting louder in the face of nothing which only asks to be pondered
pounding out unnaturally optical double shouts
triumphantly asking the thing which knows itself to be asked in both question and answer
truly traveling in triple space

there's a rabbit that went by my Baltimore wait there's life here?

ravenously devouring The Wall before us in the nothing that stands before everything in the brief prelude to infinity
can I accept that my second is fractionally equivalent to some other listener's moment of listenership somewhere else for a similar amount of time?
somewhere else in Baltimore I might
let us gum gratuitously at the gall bladder of infinity
but wait, the tear of a spleen traveler wiggles within your lukewarm liver
rummaging through the rubbish of invisible dirigibles
deep in tunnels of exhausted tummy ticklers
either you're stuck or your legs don't bend and be careful because it all starts over

JWR & RJM

Some Saturday Morning

the sad avenue,

its broken down starlets

just standing, not looking

for some soothsayer

nor swaying for some lover-

just standing, swallowed by

the sounds of some treacly pop group.

it's too early in the morning,

too early to stand there empty,

without quietude. 

when the parade petered out, 

passed along like this morning sunlight 

through clouds of cotton candy, shouting, 

hollering with all its punchdrunk, sadeyed brilliance, 

the avenue sat, sadly, and all its tired sadness sat, 

wondering how in the hell it had gotten there.
 

JHS

These Manufactured Poems, Matrices 9-10: The Party Matrices

9.
You just force head,
dicklick! Can't your marbles
(the rest) change not?
Best on. Bro it.

You DICKLICK! The best
just can't rest on
force. Your change, bro.
Head marbles. Not "it."

You can't change it.
Best rest your head.

10.
You, bleakest rye friend,
blacker are your colors.
Scream. AM: My fire,
I, bathing space, sunshine.

You blacker, scream. I,
bleakest (are?) am. Bathing
rye, your myspace
friend colors fire (sunshine).

You are my sunshine.
I am your friend.