Geometry Lessons (aka Wikipoesis)


Tell this to your children. Wikipoesis is what happened here - light graffitied into being. Wikipoesis stretches an ontic yawn, metaphorical, displaced and stumbling. Around the ever-confessional, remember-mouths, wikipoesis is the purple mass bloomed & the tongue become tourniquet, a harp-hearted osteotome. Wikipoesis would be more talky-talky. Wikipoesis would say things like, “Ye peeps.” Wikipoesis is the underside of being. Wikipoesis is The fuck you say? Wikipoesis shills words-a-blinding. Wikipoesis is a snake eating a snake eating a snake eating its own tail. Wikipoesis unfists the line, O, charming boy-girl. The trick is to watch without staring. Broseph, know this - wikipoesis is unruly.

O, deadass,  breadcrumb me -

Ply me, repeatedly.

No ding an sich. I prefer the dong.


He said What’s tight inters.

I said, Whatever Wikipoesis wounds that which enters unopposed.

it’s the same thing, inverted .i.e,

what you heard feels like it what inheres.  

Wikipoesis would be more talky-talky.Wikipoesis would say things like, “Ye peeps.”

O, when-I-wrote,

maybe hewn?  

Cull, perhaps?

Have I, hapless, told you

of multiple origins?

Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

I hope to one day even.

And my intention?

Wikipoesis is a snake eating a snake eating a snake eating its own tail.

Tell this to your children.

Take the backspace key off your keyboard and put it in a sandwich

What’s a spun-from-never-tuning.

Wikipoesis keeps & what deigns be kept.

Wikipoesis was born continuous, born besotted.  

ulterior is to proffer ulted ulber ustering ullnear ulnar sort and resorted

Resorting to I’ve resorted to

ustered. Untered sustained sustenance blustered.

Proffered   onced wonst

Once gravid, gravity and how.


Dubious this, my sweetest pea.        ’s . pined  Gravid, I mean gravitas. Plied and Swole Proft Swelled newness in tyou Nonced disallowing diallowed. Barred  d Kept keft deigned harrowed  hollow, Eked out barrened faux foe fallowed proven unproven. gravid, when we dared not hope. hums loomed & varied, or, proximal. Wafted dweptwefted. . the moment I. looming varies  overwent bloomed was oomed As being is are hummed to being proximity Are Allowances have been made. As much as one allow  when-I-wrote-I   proffered. Plied from which

Were. Wikipoesis decamped eclaiming what came before, but Sooned   Plied plying. What rise and fall & what / dubious, centers. -plied This perspectival Foreshortened. Perspectival doublingunto sundry    fiscal harrow harsten circumspect.  to the underside of being   I’m as ought as want.

untoo’d  dis-too’  too- drest dreamt who knew this was a sex poem. the fuck you say—  plied. Plight half-roamed and roaming. Shill From the most-ed .      staid words-a-blinding’. -plied and -plied again.  Unruly

‘cause broseph,   lunders gunder wonderst

O, deadass requite me breadcrumb me . what is a even

broseph,   pliated plied. Plied with wine plied and re-plied, repeatedly

you breadcrumbed me.   Requite. Plied

What’s clear Not one of us not undergone—sewn tight to being. At some time Sewn tight to being.    Dings inapt. contrived to

Ding’s too kind a word. Dong, well, dong’s out too.

So, dung, then.  and all that’s  been sewn tight to me.  

sews undergone.  wound/winded

tight, inters.    breadcrumb me.  Wounded

enters unders in  unopposed.

 involved. Uninvolved and uniterripted posterity prosperoity

uninterrupted prosperity.

I’m really quite clever

it’s the same thing, or, intented iverted inverted what I said, what you heard.

feels like it.  What inheres.  Ye peeps who’ve

I’ve been thinking that line for weeks. I’m quite clever. It’s the same thing.

That’s how I said I’d start, so I’m committed.

I’d be more talky-talky. “cause what moves can’t last – get it?

 When-I-wrote iwrote Myself, for example, I’m a   we’re incolved. Involved.

Hewn from. Tonally broseph.  It has come to my attention that I overuse whence.

Hewn, perhaps? Or cull? Might I suggest hewn?  Cull, perhaps? Have I suggested hapless  that this moment of realizing this moment manifestation of manifestiaon being of being happening of happening   irruption of irruption. Being of being. And my awareness thereof. Have I already told you about the intolerable nature of this pre-desitnation. Stop me if you’ve heard this one. Hewn   or as a  for, in  of    as opposed

Have I said that this is intolerable ? Intolerable that this should have been

That I must’ve been leading to this   I can’t can I hope to one day even.

And my intention? .  culled (have I used cull yet?) a snake eating a snake eating a snake eating its own tail snakes and tials vials   function of an organ.

Prepare for the second-coming Try not to define anything No wingdings (emoji’s are fine) Wikipoesis, You ain’t my thesis. Every morning I get up, I never feel Compelled toward exigesis. Yeezus I didn’t mind waiting—dowsing Barry WhiteGusts of rain bell the streetlight.Bell the dead un-memorial.It is not something I plan so much as something I try not to avoidIf bets could be placed on the oddsof whispering a certain sense of chagrin. Femme exasperatedI would not see her I’ve come to realizeMetaphor was old weatherrigorous and plain.Exigesis, a tangle of letters

soaked, sank - bear with me.

I never had your stamina, dread, or wasted sentiment.

Wikipoesis unfists the line, O, charming boy-girl. The trick is to watch without staring.

We took to each other. Took time,took what offered itself, I recall. You, deep-veined. Me, unlettered.

& the storm came in quickly. O, TFW you unlike the brimming fanciful.  

Like, once our bodies knew what we’d becometangles of smoked-glass skin, stretched desire,

& weary, we slept the fever back & dreamt.

You didn’t what you couldn’t & I hated you for it.


Love the harmonious, the well-tunedOf orchards, of longing  and of other poetic spaces.

I suppose chivalry’s dead. Knock knock.Who’s there. Neologist. Neologist who?

Um… Unvoiced -nesses, -ides, and -ties. What’s a-positional, before and after? It’s putting the income in nincompoop!It’s answer the door well beforeYou understand the things we tell

Each other in passages between.Has not that I’ve bestowedCall unto me a song. Such sweetness

She said, I don’t do “unto.”Neither tide nor tidal bore.

Call back what’s been undone.Call back what’s unpresented.

So stay distance. Stay becoming.  

Dare you to leave it the strength to improve.

A change, a final change includes no authority.

Oh the unnecessaries of a generation—

to harm or compare or associate.

Act so that there is no use

in a center. Wide action is not

a width.” An answer yields up.

the body’s politic’s more than souls --

I was not awake & I,

I was not unsurprised.

I’d heard the words darked-up

and, like I, exasperated.  

As if you’d been enough.

Fanfic’s always the best fic.

She called me the calm before the awesomeness.  

So I call her, in principle.

It was never my thing — change.

So I dare not, so I’d feign Black Betty,

that pretty poisson, those golden tassels--

O, those pumps and whispers.  Longing, as they say,

& when we draft we compromise, we invite excess.

Hoping for more yet never not dreaming.

Finding our feet and stepping through rough.

We do what we must and we must never sleep.

Breaking new barriers and searching new grounds.

Exploring ourselves and the unknowns of life,

Growing and changing as the world chooses.

Out on our own in the unexplored world;

Making so plain just how well we cope.

A newborn created, all concerned relieved;

More reasons to live now than just to breathe

In and breath upon moment

The fine hairs on your forearm remember

Enjoying the battling ideal.

        meet me underground

        meet me where the nowhere

becomes a place we understand to be our new home.

my new phone

blocks out the sound. blocks calls from your mother and mine

mine heart mine letter mine own

tongue rendered rent

due north, due aparted

apartment in a house with inglenooks with olive light fixtures

you and I staring into it

Is there still a god to claim home


Half-cut, drinking milk under your arm,

counting my sins,

Pleading. And all the while the womb of eternity swells

Waiting to birth a bright-star world

Where I becomes the We and eyes begin to see

Beyond this tiny now that aches with the beatings of time

Against the timelessness of all Creation

Like a butterfly being born

Again. . .and again. . .and again. . .


I wish for once, the tap
on my shoulder would be enough
to set off the firework under my bed.  

Don’t say you wouldn’t do it too

If you had the chance to trace your lips in gold

Skimpy silk baths and rose candles casting light onto your skin

You’re not human anymore

I know you would

I reach deep into the heart of painting,

pull out its guts

ripping canvas and flesh,

always darkness

past whiteness


When they came i sat naked in the leather sofa with a tall glass of vodka. The children were in the bathroom or the kitchen. Afterwards i smoked a cigarette on the balcony. i was free.

Though even there everything around me had vanished;

a cement floor, paint-flecked walls and ceiling,

tiny scraps of paper

where I scribbled days into mindless dreams

of the woman who married another man,

of rumors in the night and this stale, tiredness

gathered at my eyes.  Mary gives me hope.

Imprinted on my computer

During my last trip-up

Liked their fur and their weird vertex assholes

I liked nature as a kid

This was of course in the 80’s

Anyways, every day you learn something new

If only this could not have been cuz

of spite if only for winnows. A threat

Spite for spurt’s sake — raucus…

Untouched leaves of spiteful flail.  

Saxon-like, there’s hope yet.

Concessession concede. How’s that for concise.

I am, but nevermine. Mine, awry mine, mine dream-boat  

another time, so can you not, Nah.

The world—a cocoon. The scattered dissonance of our bodies—

the larva turning to goo. Let us discard our mandibles

for better wings. Let us spread ourselves wide like the iris

of a raven. Let us charge into ourselves with animal courage—

dance now for yourself. Sing now for yourself. The world spins

like silk—bloom now for yourself.

Whatever this is has not been

Avowed drosser. What’s this’ what is this is not. This Blunder

Dross the drossiest   a river dream thirl trill

underside of dross unceaseingly. Senselessly.

Dross the drossiest underside of dross.

Dross as  what was this before and how  befits this, your ass-face.

Aassface  this has not been  What wasn’t could not hold Has this been Could this not be Could—

Will, like whiteboy metaphorical fires, will.

Ruing the underside of this commitment.

Unpaced & sully it good.

Unceasingly sully

I will dross by doing, dross whatever the drossed like what undivented

were’d it were’t as gesture false

‘cuz you are with me here

even the undeniable even blundering

grapes lees dregs

droozy blunderings drossy is gummy

as only fires will do kept close

wept metaphizzicle drossy

Oracular fires and eschatological tears.

But what an ontological blunder.

It’s a full stop.


Clarity and certainty inapt.

Certain of a turn.

Suplant Suffice supplicant mine eyes

This’ll go awry.

Preclude, even.

Can. You. What’s final & otherwise?

& is this the place to get what I’m looking for? (asking for a friend)


What’s inappropriate? Do I indign? So be it. / Do I intone? Take what’s set before us. // Falsity. Continuance.

Sundry’s finality tis sundry an’s sundry.

We take what set before us. So what’s now. In reverse. Refocus

Topsy-turvy. What now what’s all flat particulars.

Could you rehash does and re-does.

All-flattening nothing in particular.

A taking-stock, if you will.

A bright thing at the edge of our vision.

Myopic generalizable. Whether a held bright thing.

We’re uncertain and disputed.

I hope hope evens out.

However the examples cited are interpreted.

Uncertain and disputed.

I saved a worm today.

He didn’t try to get away. He writhed my finger on segments no less grim

His worm brain sensed medieval sin:

Dry skin upon his wet skin.

Both only dead and grey in the end.

Today is the day - I declare him to be my friend.

Bleary from sleep and warm water

and no glasses, I spot an uncertain comma

crawling on my shower’s corner—

not so unmaggotesque, burrowing

an arabesque of language into the wall.

I don’t know how he got in here—

as naked and damp and holy,

as the day he was conceived.

Listen to him and the other weak knees

of my offspring as they drown in ponds,

gurgle in the trickling streams that scar

the worn-gray map of my brain.

A wheeze, a boil, and pop of liquid—

thriving is only a brain undone,
Splattered upon the storm cellar’s door.

Once upon a time,

Yet far from ages ago

A man coughs.

He has the world stuck in his throat.
A woman spits
and the world spins freely.

The depressives all are in a line

all together finally up out of bed and in a line.

The depressives find lines quite useful

especially parallel ones.

Couplets are notable forms in poems,

because they form parallel lines which do not cross.

Sometimes I am reading a stupid poem,

usually a stupid poem written by me but not always,

and wish it would just give up the formality.

Formalities are for fruits.

I am under no particular obligation to look appetizing.

Don’t tell me what to do. I’ll turn the lamp on when I feel like it.

I’ll wake my internal colony of fish up when someone tells me

what this damn bead in my stomach has been all my life.

Maybe it’s a different type of hunger than lacking food.

Maybe all forms of hunger live in the chest.

Dry mouthed, we cross the shaggy tundra

swim the dark sea of city streets

the forest of stars

blue-black skied suburbs,

calling out for what is left for us.

Inspired by televised sensations

we dive into the syntax

rip open words of news

reading into what is given

waiting for promised returns.

Maybe we need to redirect our sexual
energies. Eat better. Sleep harder, alone.

Sexual energy needs to be converted to

Spiritual energy and that is the goal of life.


Right now my hands bleed from pounding

The ceiling

Of the neighbors who never seem to sleep

Just shout, and break things.

In the sun, for some reason

They look happy.

Fighting against

protecting myself

from black and white cultures

flowering feelings  

I swan into being

And this never would have happened
But for the loss of the Bundersnooper’s
Feather, having shielded the mundletwits.

Goals? Subterfuge and sublimations. peace, sex in graveyards, heros openly

Hating themselves.

Isolation cells and homo-erotic mutterings after needle fat with heroin.

Priests whispering while violating dogs in alleys stained with ink blots.

Swim trunks slip from skinny hips.

Eating love wrapped in good thoughts termed bad.

Who are you? angels laughing at preachers spilling themselves from arm chairs.

There is whiskey in the coffee and magic in the television screen spirals.

The want is intestines cut fresh and grilled on open flame under a black flag.

Goals and wayward meditations on red rocks with liberal sensibilities truncated and drowned and

Who are you?