Copious Consumption
Oh My God It's Sun Ra
Flexi plated special (to GONG)
Consumating Consumption
On My 43rd Birthday
Some Unpleasantness
Smiling Inside
Consumptive Goo

The Fool Poems:
Fool
Dream Of A Fool
Cantankerous Fool
Old Fool
On The 13th
The Anarchic Fool
Creativity & the Fool
Ridiculous

Or you can go back to the main

Copious Consumption
by Clifford Hausman

fingernails at the core tear over
the outstretched arms of terror

failure to gesture could prove serious
so swing low into the ongoing cars

Burroughs and I can see eye to eye
because his text rings in my ear with his heavy breath

is it a faggot interpretation or a maelstrom
of jolly fatigue sent swirling in the sweet icing
of decay and degradation looking up at the stars

the eye's pupils thin under the gun of addiction
I search the mirror for just this sort of effect

howling words howling in my ear howling
bawling regurgitating all the impurities
without the ongoing impunity

tossing up nothing into the quiet racket
of a long lost subway platform
spewing the dirt provided by the powder

Maldoror roars and the naked lunch shivers
at the bone like shooting up salt tears
a bone shot we used to call it with remorse missing out on the sweet nod on a riding horse

what a glorious fundament to seek perfumed
words in the barrel of a spent gun
in the stir of a stagnant aging blood pool

lost in the pungency of english of translated french
the journey is to the darkness of the shy life
hiding beneath the skin and beneath the bones

would you see a skeleton and not be attracted to the burnished gleam its white surfaces reflect and the light
rises from the shadow points of meeting with another bone funny hanging angles at the curving out and cup

but imagine hanging all the sweetmeat there the liver and the heart and the lungs and even the brain draped over the skeleton with the net of veins doing the draping and tearing and bleeding a startling image I should very much want to turn away but instead in an adolescent frenzy I dig in

the body unsheathed revealed in its bloody glory
is the vision I tender as the incontinent life of my soul

It gives me the songs to sing to the life I live

The background gin mill and shooting gallery
the high and mighty institutions of learning

It finds me completely intoxicated at the end of the passage

where my haoli feet tiptoe to miss the jagged glass words
in the beginning is the word and with that word all that follows is shit

Back to the top

OH MY GAWD ITS SUN RA

Just purchased the history of rock’n’roll in dementia
a wacky racket of love lorn nonsense symbols in 4
part harmony and blasts of Gilmore tenor sax or
righteous messages from a sun man Yochannan
sent forward through the jump blues steady beat
of Arkestra’s virtuous sonority, a generous fat organ
of the generously fat Le Sonny’r Ra filling the depths
with the toxic though somehow soul enriching wisdom
and beauty of planet Saturn and all that space in between

Oh what unexpected nonsense and a Christmas and New
Years song too

Sun Ra “the Singles” 2 CD set on Evidence (21642)

I have a white label 45 with Sun Ra written in ball
point pen on both sides of it and on it is
his soulful solo free floating excursion into rarefied
space on the stratafiric organ backed/with
a full formed backtrack with a futuristic head
of good ole multitudinous beautifully rendered
noises tangled up in a straight beat and tight
little melody once called big band music or even
swing Cause as Sun Ra has proclaimed
in endless chorus parades through the playing
space (along with at other times Space Is
the Place Outer Spaceways Incorporated and
Calling Planet Earth) at the end of the show
in a tribal and celebratory and Swing cadence
It Don’t Mean a Thing If It Ain’t Got That Swing
So now I have surrounding it this magic new
acquisition which blows up all hints of the imagined
other cells which would possibly be suggested
wherein the imagination far strips any sense
of reality it is so far so far gone it is gone daddy gone

The history of rock’n’roll in dementia

You got the doo wop the big band swinging some Chicago Blues with Buddy Guy accompanying then bashing out some organ from some basement (Ain’t no suburban garages downtown) rock like concocting the most wacky pharmaceutical in the basement basin and slipping out through the plastic having translated to music the material on it then subverting my poor innocent ears with its concoction and/or confection sending me off on Sun’s rarefied and never quite finished exploration of the stratosphere so off I am hanging out in space when the rug 2 to 3 minutes through is lifted then I fall on the cushion of a Lounge love ditty with sky of the sound full of the jangling notes of Sonny’s newest wacko organ with me and my love looking out from our particularly unearthly view at a Sunrise In Outer Space

Flexi plated special (to GONG)

Long assed and rigamarolled into transient streams
The fighter felled and swung back at his own face
And smelled the glove of vanquishment heavenly
Flavor of golden bread fresh heated in the tomahawk
Hearth where the sweat of pleasure trickled inside
The whipping eyes and found the pounce of happiness

CONSUMATING CONSUMPTION
(nonsense done with textured words)

Coral ties combine fire tags within corruption and flagellation to enervate
consequently the moth fire base filtered blue wobbling and stretched
population of the inconsequential falters but entertains violet lips
and therefore heretofore ambulance traces often rearrange without
mystifying Anglican dust webs fierce with quicksilver extravagance and thus
boat groans negate themselves in an instant.

Heralded poppy curls postulate equivalence in valiant equidistant circumferences
wherein tides pool and eyes drool and moccasin rasps drip friction as dusky leaves
pointillisticly vaporized in thick headaches of manure and flagrant consumation.

Angelfish headed seeds inoculate pleasant peasant plains restoring catatonia
to the eyelash blasted mortar with thickness of star’s blubber guiltily embroidered
and infinitesimally disembarked so that the rippled stone nipples embraced
the care-worn antediluvian insuring the ambuscade more window oil flavorings
without gravel or gravitational incomprehension as is or as may be the case.

Capacious bridge suspension struts swell, sweat and inculcate a starchy porous breath
impacting the flat moldy steering string fixed ponderously on the occidental fireside
causing gout and polymorphous-perverse love handles and sacks of fennel ankle joints
to flagellate and conscript rocknroll aerialists in the topology of Franz Kamin and Anne-Margaret.

Ampoules flirting with bicycle grahams file trusting thrusts of posthumous feta cants
entrancing the bulbous grates found in Roman ox-hides into freezing themselves
lengthwise with no resistance to speak of until pompous tailgaters consume lily-livered
catapults and forest mush attaches itself to the antagonistic forensic rapier inundating
far flung atmospheres and ego-centric dallier who can not tell the resistant froth
from its antecedents without emancipating the gang-plank vituperator from his knot.

ON MY 43RD BIRTHDAY

along the way we were separated by the bushes
the trees a hill a mountain
cracking and sliding the dirt at my heels
bruising those delicate haoli feet
it's a painful path I am taking
through cloudless blue heat
and rain making a mop
of me my hairy head and face

her pads of feet along the dirt pathway
were quietly a blend with wind
making tapping toes of green leaves softly shaken
until all that was there without any other permutations
was the wind on the leaves or making flutes of my damp ears

knife thoughts slashed at the back of my eyes
in the emptiness beside me was the combustion
my brain was given from your absence
knife thoughts lightening bolts in shape
and electrical impact
burned me deep up there and bringing tears & tears
up there in that gray mass of self-absorption
the outer sensors took a step down in consciousness
to make room for the beautiful resonance
she was full & could let go
moments that made us smile together
occupied me
surprisingly
made me hope our paths could coincide again

SOME UNPLEASANTNESS

Flea flip and fly
I don’t care if I die

The tongue runs
another one down again

I take advantage
of your willingness
to listen

I haven’t got
a light

Please peruse
the following
with composure

brainstorming maggot
that I am

let fly a vicious fart
about cleared the room
but everyone has some
other excuse for leaving
and it’s all so fucking funny

Are cannibals
liars?

Can you eat yourself
or forgive yourself at all?

Intoxicating
ain’t it?

Far from the wicked spell
and without a net
the specious protagonist
bellows a noxious poisonous
vapor thrilling
them to no end

Pretend you’re not poison.

Offend me please.

Beg me to give them all up
for a flower garden’s soil
and go ahead and fucking
take root in it

Be some kind of petunia
just for me

Or just some goddamned orchid
impossible to grow
denuded of all smell
possible to look at and admire
though
some sacred plant
though

And it’s where it’s at
man

But what do you care
look askance
cast your glance aside
fix yourself a fresh one
if you will

Have I got a treat for you!

Just trade in your old
junkster for a new junkster
jumpstarts not included

Or maybe I’m not being fair
I ain’t got no smell so

I mean the smell’s
all gone so it’s safe

I mean we’re just
two peas in a pod
two little orchids me and you

So take my hammer down
and give me a laugh
at my humor and not
some funny face some pretty funny face

I’m startlingly quick
if you’ll only give
me the time



Back to the top

 SMILING INSIDE

SALO ALONS ENFANT DE LA PARTIE

Awake my darling brother and look out on
Tapestry remade to accommodate
Taste unused to refinement
Fallow lips and eyes
Glance without a reception
Allowances not allowed

Stumble from your clutches
Your face melting like mine
Yet inside but soon

Alone without a scripture
To fall back on smooth encompassing
Wood gives
Electing to succumb to the succubus
As if there were any doubt
Electing to give sprawl to the body
Against an ancient floor
Accepting the soul in bankruptcy
Laying flat over you
Fucking you silly you silly thing
Moaning until it withers
Morning it shrivels into the wind and into your face a last puff on its ignominy as its dust becomes yours when you make your soul to lie down in green cabbage to rot and turn earth color and slither wet into the earth from which you came or more accurately your father came and you came out flame red screaming and washed off white in that chain reaction when polymorphism becomes perverse and the devil fills your head with knowledge seeking pleasure which is the birth sect the continuance of the species done up nice and spicy for which my brother I’ll have you taste and brother it feels warm inside boiling the engines letting out an air which rotates the mind in such directions cool and gentle its altogether balmy

O my brother the angel
O my brother the miscreant
O my brother the coward
O my brother the obstinate
O my brother what dost thou know of it
O my brother what dost thou care about
O my brother reaching hands entangled
O my brother why bother to breathe
O my brother except to out-take
To inhale to make exotic the whiffs of smoke
Air detailed by the swirl of floating objects
Objectify your relationship with life Right now

Fragments coalesce into a weapon guide
To rub your cheek against
Feel the grain
Feel the cold
Enjoy the dexterity of consciousness
The platform is all over you as you stand and dance the seven mushroom dance of oblivion and the waste water of ablution and the accidental string sculptures dripping from your walls and all the linguini you can eat and the exchange of saliva and the exchange of semen and sinking into sleep as you bounce As you dance the infinite dance of Gurdjieff flying into the spectral stars and looking back at the magic of your earth life and seeing the nuances through the alien perspective

Allegiance is my shout from the parapet to the empty stands echoing many yards if you were an audience you would have had bad seats all’s you see is the fans who were equal in their lack of luck and yet if you were a performer on the far stage you would know you would be just waiting there echoing and waiting some more to echo again what I say

Emptiness is a cold jar
Empty is always covered with remnants
Of what it contained

Allow the script to die
Burning with corruption
Smoked out

And floating
Forming those connections that hold a body steady
Dancing dances dangled and dilapidated
That still spell thrust parry and cum
Elegant in your sweat
Panting naked panted
Defrocked nude lewd body swirling around the spilled paint
Action painting getting some action if you know what I mean

Or do you

Are you long and lean a metal machine
Not up to your mettle though where the give the subtle
Give that nudges you back to reality
Doesn’t give
Up
A
Thing

Square and bouncy I can’t get past that crap you spray on standing alone right next to me to be me to harden to stand there standing for a sign of multiple enough meaning to be a real thing but not really

A plain thing without complaint
Giving nothing of your amplitude
Nothing of your angel hood
Nothing to spare a life
Nothing that gives in
Nothing that gives in
Nothing
Nothing not
A thing

CONSUMPTIVE GOO

Mephistophelean corruptive channels
hidden in enclaves of breath and brethren
breathe in and you have captured
my spirit and all its wetness and goo
thickness and arrestive nature
not nurture no never the go ahead
but the stop and sink and sin
the unspeakable hoarseness of existence
where utterance is utter nonsense
where mother utter is dislocated
where suckling is unspeakable disgrace
disgusting source of plenty
pointed out as the last place to be
in the holyland of the body majestic
spiritland barely hidden in naked flesh
wise flashing eyes clear and forthright
the idiot with no disguises
to be despised no toleration
for the obvious and the naïve

Not wisdom no not wise on high
but a clever curve of the lip and
a prideful cloud of the eye
well masked in deviousness
eminently amenable to passers-by
not neighbors no no neighborly vibe
and the cloud is not heavenly but
an earthen burning of an evil mix
in order to get you high
a wonderful juxtaposition of reality
a pretending sense of where its at
a knowledge specialized and unique
arising from ones own twisted topological vision
through the viscous haze of stoney sight
the synthetic reality of perception and perceived
laid on with a high and mighty prideful cry
hewn from the difficulty of seeming one
with the everyday expectations of society
a frightening sight really wherein they are
after you

It's laying there in the sonorous cough
the years of battle with the soul
the struggle to vanquish normality
the need to curl up and die in comfortable mud
with the plan to survive for another day's
struggle to seek out a brief death again
comfort breeding discomfort and vice versa
and the symptomatic search for a netherworld
of babble and the thorns of the rose blood
red crumbling away and tearing into your skin

Ah a wish devoutly wanted hidden away
only reappearing in the dreadful noise
a complex harmony of babble and scratches
your lungs wheeze out threatening
the poor customer whose object of desire
is not exactly that consumptive goo
you are most abjectly offering
but consider the expense of the other thing
the common thing he seeks to find his place
within the seemingly meaningful but
actually meaningless societal model
he so desperately tries to capture as his own
here on a greasy plate of damp air
freely floating around his simple head
barely brushing back his suitable coif
barely rubbing his well scrubbed face
barely slipping into his fluorinated mouth
well brushed teeth and tongue mint scented
a gift of the ill to this oh so perfect world

FOOL

How many cliché’s are there for you to swallow
walking alone in the pathways of your skull
we mortal fools on the hill well capped in the nightmare
slugfest of street happenstance drive by blind and drunk and stoned
lechers let your heart on your sleeve stain red dripping down
to your pants open and exposed to the breezes of her
luscious breath
and a laugh at the unstanding manhood that only you can understand
as you stand under her outstretched legs beckoning whispers which you
are too old and deaf to hear at its frequency you hear no frequency
that low and pure and natural and necessary and fundamental
as you stare past her fundament at the wavy death skull in your sight
and no others a mocking grin making you go all amok
cause you standing there in that cloud of regret that absence
of manhood your only substance as a gendered fool all loose
and dripping piss an absent pathway tracing the amble
your bleak blindness tracing through the endless days
and nights of morbidity.

And you all astir in your busy mind want to scream outside
the realm of your skull but the echo decays slowly inside

The man stands
alone in his quixotic hat that makes you think
its for a laugh and maybe there’s success somewhere but
the man standing there doesn’t care just fucking doesn’t care.
Except for the pointers the normal fingers pointing cruelly
at your very heart and its all loose and blubbery you
want to make a scene you don’t want to make a scene
you want to hide you don’t want to hide you want some
notice some two-bit reviewer making a buck for the moment
pretending to pass judgment but its gas you know
its just fucking gas and at your own fucking expense!

Look up at yourself cast your sight up and straight
and get the goddamned straight jacket off cause you
don’t have to be forced you can raise up your eyes and stare
ahead and see the people staring back at you and not only
you but other people around you who don’t give a shit
any more than you give a shit about them but they are
people and some are men and there like you a whole
bunch of humanity just like you catching glances at
eachother catching eachother’s glances and entering
inside eachother’s skulls let them in to the brief
acknowledgment then pass them by say hi and
then pass them by its no more then that to make
yourself known to enter into society with some
sense of sanity and semblance of sobriety okay?

But there you go dancing alone again you Edward Hopper
man staring with the shadow cast hard at your face
slap and in that daze you stare out at the forgotten rooftops

of humanity all buzzing dizzily below in anarchic
combinations and deeply busy permutations and math-
ematically solvable calculations of continuously moving
and shaping and changing geometric shapes
there is a joy in its movement you want to embrace
like the refreshment of mystery and complexity
in not knowing and wanting to know the new love

r
oh the new lover that’s the goddamned problem right there

cause they’re out there and you’re up there and they’re fine out there and you’re fine up there and all is fine and dandy sweet as sugar candy enough to make you sick and go into some subtle form of sugar shock sitting alone and unmoved and you got a regret just barely hanging there like some dried up snot barely itching the inner chambers of your nose you want to grab the one but you just don’t seem to know the proper pattern which would allow you access

SORRY!

Dream Of A Fool

Red barn sitting quaint back from the road
in the middle of apple trees fragrant from rot
of the apples fermenting soft and tangy
Red barn red apples red air fragrance

and out of it is a dream
inside the air is ripe with ideas
the hollow space echoing the cries
of performance blasting full bore
not too boring one would hope
actors launching into monologues
while biting down on crisp apple
pilfered from the trees outside

actors acting characters are characters
the very kind to pilfer thy neighbor’s tree
giving out that red demon glare of glee
for the absconding

we precious few who spurn the outside world
as we enact it in the red barn all its silliness
holding a mirror molded to one’s own character
to distort what’s seen
repeat it back at you in just such a way as to thoroughly entertain

one would hope

driving separately inside one on bike one
on foot for the three or so miles
one driving in in his Daddy’s present
a beamer of only the highest German engineering
another crammed together with another and another
inside the cheap version a cheap Porsche a Karmon Ghia
and one dressed up in a cheap gray linen suit with thin black tie and white shirt riding in on his cooler than cool Vespa

we gather in the vast wet echoes and buckling boards
gather at one small spot in the vast open space enclosed beneath the red painted lumber of the barn
a bounce off eachother literally and figuratively with words and bodies bouncing off and responding
and creating a clamor with a pleasant if slightly acidic aftertaste for those discerning pallets
who have chosen to show up for the monster’s creation

They are the ones to get stirred up by all
the actions and responses and movement and counter
movement and verbs to be sent off on a view
finder’s journey a sort of tourist’s tour
of the vast emptiness of the barn and being
with its twisting viscera that rubs and sings
at the place of the rubbing and finds a place
to rub inside the accidental viewer like
playing a spinal column and the vibrations
of each vertebra combined strike a chord
inside that poor skeletal mass and moves them

Is my dream of continuous existence but alas
It is twenty years since passing that old barn
and in that twenty years I have not made a stir
in there

CANTANKEROUS FOOL

In the silence of my lonely room

The lamp covered by my green button-down long -sleeved shirt
Its shiny green veins striate the soft green skin
keeping the light quiet for my sleeping wife

I’m thinking back on the occasion of the day
The every day ritual of work complaining
in my brain though balmed with marijuana

What about Mike?
Will my wife lose her job?
I hope not

TV gels the wall
room for the heart
Like some Goddamned Poe Hero

Or heroine depending on the injections
into the lungs into the esophapus
Or of course pin pricked into the blood

The mundanity closes my heart and its beating

Opiate of the masses is what cog you are in the machine
& What extreme? commerce? It that the structure that puts the roof above my head?
What kind of massive metal monstrosity have I put around me?
Doing battle with Gargantua while I so much want to be just his little toe for God sake
But what chances do I have battling the hero (though fearsome also beautiful)
except in the thought of my sabotage

No more a cog a wrench
& a wonderfully wretched wrench at that!
The eyes dancing toward a wretched wench
will she flash me back with eyes
& can we dance too close for sin?
Beyond all barriers & into the skin
That’s a drug of a different color but with a full panoply of repercussions
Oh to be all mystical & misty eyed
Missing all the pleasure under a
wet blanket of misery

Oh wait its too late its too late but I should I gotta I really should be calling but its too fucking late you scatterbrained imp to make any kind of impression in any bodies antibodies it’ll just make a mess of everything unfortunately of everything in my loud and bossy and noisy pathway and to wake up my wife just to annoy my fellow worker is just too fucking bombastic for words but even so I’ve strewn the words out there to describe but I think even more to confuse cause here I am sensual and fantastic, using Rabelais’ creation as a word in all the mess, sensual and sexy and there’s no clue that I’m thinking about:

Call work on the phone!

OLD FOOL

Trenchant and warm the obilisck down the pipe sinking in deep subterfuge caterwauls along the bleached sideboard of distant dreaming far away alongside the harbor the trailing ships striped deep alongside and up to the lead chord hanging ineptly rolling in the tide the wave flaming from the side like so much detritus offal mess of a million living things sluiced through by the sharp and deep belly of the ship and you dangle yourself hands hard on the knots that aren’t there and pull with the strength you don’t have impossibly up the side and inside

And inside the boat carries with it all the weight and complexity of the most silliest of all society all tackled architecturally and of course most cleverly with witty and dexterous embellishments at any frame or trimming

And inside all the players bounce around in the payground provided them and launch out their characters in unpleasant explosions and enjoyable digressions and parables and explicit exhibitionist expositions character writhing in a most pleasant aesthetic movement through the stages plastic emotion movement through space in a timely fashion i.e. moment to moment to moment to moment to moment to moment to moment to moment line a thick swath taking with it at its point yet broad as all surroundings a grain of the world grain after grain then the grain passes off to the side and behind hurries away like you smell funny or something and maybe like passing stones its a good hurt cause its the last of it or sometimes do you cherish the moment as it dries and crumbles in the momentary wind and get all nostalgic and shit

A long time ago it meant something and now what does it mean nothing at all goddamn it

You want to cradle but as Johnny my good friend now a crumb would sing You Can’t Put Your Arms Around a Memory and so a pathetic stew of aether barely noticeable from the constant and vast daily dosage of aether as per usual is what is there and is more an isn’t than an is cause there’s nothing to see

Elegiac bliss is all you got for all that age you’ve accrued and experience you feel the need to demonstrate your flexing of the arm at the wimpy youth you are the tower over which is the construction in your own mind amongst other peoples plans and constructions already set in stone all around you but you have a certain ineffectuality a certain lower life exuding level all the time so it is a moment of eclipse you the great stone itself you form the earth shadowing them from the sun like any other night but your black armor only has a moment to be obscure and your off by yourself with everyone else just a tad better than you are but you can’t let it on cause it only pisses them off as you well know though somehow in your quickness some might say nervousness you have avoided the physical ramifications of such anger turned against you by some brazen soul stepping forthrightly in through your space and into your thick yet pliable skin suffering the impact with a thousand corollaries fixing it and carrying the tag of ugly coloring over a few days time

Has the old fool anything valid to say in this here world he walks among?

Yes he must must he musty mist of moist memories with prettiest textures betwixt digits pads shifting together linger on the peculiar crumb pure pleasure in the exam

Fool

On the 13th
(fool)

Everbody flabbergasted
pencil an outré
feed the nasturtiums
everbody all unnatural and shit as hell
flying by your coat tails dragging you through the air
and your cock all exposed and dripping someone else’s fluid
On your fluid on someone else
Poor Bill Clinton all through the air
waves

And meanwhile
weapons of mass destruction in a desolate sand pile and a homely young boy befouling with piss
that play pen are ready

In the construction surrounds me a safe place somehow
reports spur a defensive posture but the changed position so slight as to appear elegant
appears because distances from the source of the fears are so far
away

wart it is is that it is an enemy of the Jew and the Christian and all the older ruling religious confabulations
the Muslim rears up his fearsome dark complexion
Heaves ho his righteous indignation and don’t it seem so familiar
killing off tha ones that do the do like no one do you dig
that got it all wrong from the beginning man
Blow you down and out of my goddamned way you Motherfucker
and get with the motherfuckin program

And in the words of Nostradamus through the boom of Orson Welles
From the center of Muslim mania explodes a rocket trajected at Moscow
and in a year’s time the war begins and there’s no hope but to burrow
you scratch the service with your heals
and its covered carefully by tar and hardened wet stone fixed
edge where the curb rises thickens the distance further
no escape except to be somewhere away and out of it

Milieu is where you’re at
On the 13th day of the 13th month the 13th daughter says
You’re at 1300 West Lake Street thirteen blocks from Nicollet
You’re already stuck there entertaining the curious
scavengers looking for a cheap bite of old and dusty and musty music
or take hold of what’s at arms reach the last time
they are informed what to buy and buy as much
of what being informed has made them buy
and they buy it in quantity with barely
a flinch at the high cost the flinch
is just another way to have a good time

Blessed are the distractions that wile away the time
silent in the rhyme

What are you walking out of when you take leave of your senses?
Outdoors from the store's rear entrance
Indoors in the white car and reattach to the world
via car radio reeling off the filmed deposition
poor Bill being stoned again by fellow sinners
If you ARE good at lying you SHOULD be president
White car into blue home your disappearance complete
On the 13th

The Anarchic Fool


Combatant at every aVENUE
You gotta fight for your right to party!
Elongated vowels so opposed
to the righteous Toad
fighting twice a day for her food
I’m complaining while contemplating the murk
Festivities abound and I’m not willing to step in
For fear of the contaminants…
A lance for all burst vessels
the cutting jab of the satirist’s wit
is whipped right off the cuff and at you
Cliff

or you whomsoever you are

What violent players we all are
putting righteousness right next to godliness
voting in the peoples choice but of course
who’s choice was the choice to choose
was it some noble nobody/EVERYBODY down the street?
Or was it a token of some discretion, suspicion
and mapping out of favorite possibilities?
THE GENERALS ENCIRCLE THE MAP
who can we thrust upon you with venal
yet acceptable thrust who is there to appeal
to me and to you and to the other guy?
A stranger from some strange suburb
and a past that’s in your face.  Who else
can you trust but the fearsome throw
or a body slam of the infamous “Body”
o Mr. Ventura what great sweat battles
you can now perform like you used to
perform so well, a real entertainer that guy
against the beasts of partisan persuasion
a manly man mining or rather minding
the great big convenience store I call home
so the political fig.s can divvy out my taxes
and not just agreeing to disagree but
to give me exactly what I want with them
and you alone against the republican/democrat
tag team will fight and vanquish and win
all the wants and demands my pay is made of

o how I wish I could get so mad at the peoples blind and constructed choices 
except face it, it goes well enough if you play it slack and you roll 
or if on the other hand you strike out and fight to get down and known
and its all haphazard and the A-G design of wholes and flats don’t conjoin
with what I just said so let it slip out the side and suffer alone and stop
bothering the smooth and effortless slow motion towards an end in bliss
unhampered by things like (harsh) breath and (sore) eyes and (empty)
stomach and (throbbing) head (ache) off the sore footing of the tread
mill wherein the bliss is an occupation and not the occupational hazard
of life but to lose all and enter bliss still breathing albeit precarious 
is all that I want so why the fuck do I just complain and not do it?
 

 
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Creativity & the Fool


Dreamscape is the scrape potential of frozen forms 
peeks like the swirl of a lemon meringue pie up
and over the sidewalk distorted in a looking down kind of vista
by the smoothe curves of ice hidden in full sight in the cracks 
and the creeping flakes 
settled individually together to create such a clutter
as to be the white tight surface that covers everything and is
the outside in winter

On that very sidewalk only a foot away or two
Only a winter ago or so

on that sidewalk
by a street light aggressive shadow in the night of heavy sky
a blackness of sensuous grays curling sweeping swirling 
was the backdrop of this dried brown curled foetus like
of a leaf how else would it be in the cold and snow of Minneapolis
representing birth out of death in the most cogent of visions
concise and beautiful and I…  wanted  it
to co-opt it is what we’d say now
to build its image out of wood and wire and newspaper covering
    and covering the newspaper the wet plaster drying
a dappled surface rests the makeshift leaf and its shadow a stone embedded 
   in the wood a continuous surface
two precise lines on two borders are where the wood rises
painted black and shiny and somehow hinting a white icy
nature belying the real wood but not really ‘cause wood and paint is 
    all it is and nothing more than that
all played out on the surface of a slab of a tree clearly cut away
as a representative of the dead  trunk that of a tree once mighty 
its canopy of richest greens sparkling against the blue sky of summer
only to be rung in again year after year with the peeling off of dead things
that tree of a million nights



 
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RIDICULOUS

Finding the scheme of things has never been my forte

I’m blocked out immobilized by the freedom of castration

The stillness of the word as it echoes and dissipates

Until frowning at everyone I take it all in hand and cough

Morsels of forgetfulness like tiny ionized particles sticking to the walls

Without grace or emotional resonance in fact without anything

Invisible though willful and untethered a scrape that as yet has gone unnoticed

And in fact is by itself untenable and by myself is all I claim to be

The rigid factotum which fixes to the matte has not the persistence of change

To get the job done and declare itself rich with success glory and provocation

Languid like a tongue depressor that presses down on nothing and reveals
 
Nothing that sits above the glottaral stop and ceases to be when unaffectionate

At the basic boundaries of skin and aura the dome a peaceful nonentity

Full up thick heavy saturated with itself and it is not enough to save

Itself myself you get the tension wire restraint all covered with tattered

Bandages about the head and hands so gleefully stirring at the hand rest place

The plot of this is derived at the center where pumping proof of masturbation

Is a weak proof of itself no tautology of truth or ontology of matter stinks
 
No quick spins zooming inside like a cluster of demon actors skating

In time to the electronic pulses of scattershot yet skillful broadway show productions

Just missing because of the grace paraded no the interaction must be violent

Slamming against each other until the concussive sport dislodges thought

And leaves me abandoned to my own coma no consciousness no comma

To lead to any thought no thought no thing inert sterile invisible
 
Unaware of my nakedness disgustingly sharp angled twisted and flaccid

Or  lusciously seductive sexually compelling or just plain

It is I am the nothing you have forgotten about already what
 
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