Geometry Lessons

(aka Wikipoesis)

Tell this to your children.

What happened here - light graffitied into being.

Stretch an ontic yawn,

metaphorical, displaced and stumbling

around the ever-confessional remember-mouths,

a purple mass bloomed & the tongue become tourniquet, a harp-hearted osteotome.

This is the underside of being.

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

Broseph, you  know this - what wounds enters unopposed.

Have I, hapless, told you of multiple origins?

It’s the same thing inverted - e.g,

what you hear and what inheres.  

What keeps & what deigns be kept--

born continuous & borne besotted.  

Resorted to and breath-stealering beauty.  

You’re the beauest of gestes,

raining darkness into tight magic.

You’re baby teeth loosening,

you’re a small dead mouse in the beak of a jay.

What comes to me is easy.

Thinking’s never not magical,

like the barest precipitate,

likening the once, the involute.

Form of forms as hot & dark

& imperfectly distributed.

This there must be-- a pooling denseness.

Only blood’s translatable.  

If this could never not be, then scant comfort.

Make and unmade, even selves cohere.

Some measure--the present at its punniest.  

The password is: Ileteveryonedown

That’s a thing you know now.

Dubious this, my sweetest pea.        

Gravid, I mean gravitas.

Swelled newness in you

when we dared not hope.

Allowances have been made.

Hums, loomed & varied, proximal.

The fuck you say—

half-roamed and roaming.

Staid & words-a-blinding,

unruly and taken up.

We swoon & are read,

take none such liberty.

With us, darkness, hither & yon—sea-bound.

The world’s gone silver-pulsed,  stillborn.  

We knew ourselves or we thought we knew.

Something takenflight.

We outed ourselves out of ourselves.

Left from leaves. Divvied up.

Your sheltered light, gilt & limned,

Some simply are—O, whisperdark.

We would not unsee.

Flickered & gyred.

We stood beneath plums.

Surely, waylaid, surely casements.

I was caught unawares, flightless.

Your throat a brook I’d soak in.  

O many-chambered grief.

O nautilus shell.

As heat burns, smoke blots out the sun.

Either’s a kindness—diaphanous.

Pivot, two-faced, twice this and what laden, lifts.

makes us lighter—clear water.

Lensing, taken measure.

O, what-must-have-been.

Guiding hands O, metamorph.

You were you, pure, strewn light.

Wrack us, but gently.

The sower knows what seeded.

O, cenotaph, waken the known thing.  

Forge nomen, the jade-eyed angle.  

Take measure, clear in any storm.

A glass bead the eye.

O, maelstrom, let there be currents within us.

A swathing, limitless moment.

The soul’s slaked and cauled.

Bound what I know and what I hope.

Gravity’s too simple a concept—swelling and briny.

Try pliant, omen.  

Foment our softened hearts.

Vessels & soundless.  

What did they take you for?

We took you unashamed, we took you naming.

If we were wrong, fire

beckoned.

We were far from the water, a mirror.

We saw ever and ever.

The mountains below, surfeit of significance.

& there’s no shame in being discursive.

yr killin’ me.

Do I feel it – yes.

Ding’s too kind a word. & dong— 

well, dong’s out too. So, dung, then.

The sharpest retort persists.

This is the glass shard splintering.  

I did not think you’d come.

Avail yourself. Bide time.

Fickle-footed and childless,

heave me over.

Cliffs, the lake you faithed into being.

If this is all I’m allowed then this is.

There’s no takesy-backsies.

This is eternal, and the worst of it.

Steadied and resteadied.

Substrate and condensate.

Some initial perturbation—mannered & instinct.

To start’s to differentiate.

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

Here

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. . .

Afresh

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

than conflate nothing solid -1Never ending deferral – what’s at stake – what indeed.

You’re likely irked. I get it. Metaphor’s baeand all that. bae. Unedning putting off deferral. By now, you’re likely irked. You may beirked.You’re likely irked. One, unending I know – show-don’t-tell, but speech is bae. What I’m showing’s unknown to me. Reader, I know. Insight is bae, but I’ve got none. Some unaltered source. Original is bae.  Insight is bae. Images are bae. What insight sets this right? What origin’s sufficient? There is no knowing that would set this right.  The low sunTwixt-ways.  The source is Cuz explanation underwhelms. Precudes effaces Real talk—Here’s the thing. Explanation underwhelms. That’s just Here’s the long and short of it. Motivation

Explanation underwhelms. What motivates the source is never whelmig underwhelms

The low light of winter through the window, the low light of– what What motivates underwhelms. – pale winter light. Underwhelms

There can be no respite. The sun, low in the sky, shines ast the itchen table. low-sun enough of this – winter light This hand, this wrungout face

This handow window winginf wringing   this holding salt Orpheus lot gets     demands isperse disowns  belies bellows As source and recompense   imageless reader, one sets a heart before  one/ce  begets the whence from bereft begets pends begets all sense but one. The wehcne maigns & what I said I said & did maligns—   source begets whence it issues. begets its whence as both ways past and future us.  Forewent.

& when I said I said and did, the one were The dark path, reader, the the full extent of our undoing. gone then we’re done. well, then we’re unmoored.  

What am I but those things I said I said & did—

Do I not. Unbeen. Notted. Unbedone

them’s two-faced.well, we’ll n  I’s unmoored  

all disjoint  undone skint. unhinged. Come skinted out Scanted. Disjoint dis  undid pastered pasted made past pasterized simpled based debased.

unthinged. Unhinged. But unmoored. consequentless demooredtwo-faced.  Denuded Me when I was not. What I was when I was not yet.  Stood in for me while I was in the past. So-called cuz when’s a what-function. Time’s a thing in space. distance. Spark or the small ring of my drink on the table. well, we’ll scant have stood for much.  spils out cvers so-covered for the way   Like, literally—like, the so- like, the so. Feckless Thought-less in its So,

literally is bae   lestness done-ness       greeted run both ways     best poem ever or best. poem. ever.

Cuz, what I’ve said & did’s two-faced. what those things you said you’ll love so much

What’s been and been and been. Reader, couldn’t not’ve & were, but both ways. Forward and backward. A glance moves what was an. A fig’s as good as God. been anything else. too unto you a sign signs move both ways what signifies moves backward always both ways secrets flow both ways hold a die in your hand and you know what I’m talking about. It could not be anything but. Glancing thither and yon. When I say I UnWork both ways read decode the past hacked the events Too seeded ThricedReader, this is just to say,  overdetermined overed ofted works both ways cuts janus-faced spills out Undone won signgled out signed out

Want on The one you figs and  Thrice-cursed blessed,  and the other. Blessed the other case you in case   what  significant   ths is the break this si the rethinking sized up

Tundered tindered tossed to and fro the consequences remain TBD. Cuz reader,

no regerts  The one you knows and the one you

janus-glanced Cuz that’s that that   consequences TBD though what consequesces the conse

Though the consequence be TBD. our motions, fit and wanton rot rot’s what grows then then’ll be the right time for a small change. That’s that that

If all’s new. A cross roads, if you will – can’t have one without the other. What I regret and what I stood for Reader, no regerts. have often if we’re often cross that off have unto A new double’s the negative a modeling of the new in & if all’s new, well, we’ll,  Unspeaks unspoken. Double the negative. To find the unsung I won’t not look to you. We’re see about that. Not have stood for much Scant have stood for much   scnat have stood for much.

I’ll say it plain - I can’t not look to you.  Lacks host power ghost power. TBD

If this is what it is to stan for, well, volition. I’ll stan for volition’s TBD.

I’m all in.  Make clichés happen. Shipped and re-shippped to I ship cliché.

I’m all in. You know I stan for clichés. Such power figurative. I stan for figurative language.  Clichés as time machine. Atemporal  I stan for clichés. Is there such a thing as clichéd into being. Unconvinced convincingly Clichéd into being. Doth protest. Whither untilled Speaking of waters. There’s nothing that’s not See how easy that was. Ntilled untilled. Beginnings renew and known good and known newn own shorn yoon yew Lasting stain An escape now I can talk about worthess shit with like monstrous This  

Bridges, numberless & the water below. Lee-edge lee-ward and warding tonally broseph.

See how that works? I assert,      Effaced. Traceless to stan for  scant for cause.

What’s done is done but   water under thousands of bridges numberless scant  

—remember? And whither

distaff of or concerning. [Yes, this is one of those poems.] Reader,

clean slates & new leaves—metaphor galore.  

So let’s do this, ‘cuz this excuses everything.

& this excuses everything-time I said    

you had bad taste.

& when I fumbled   First of all, I really dig beginnings.

when said why bring a child into such a world I [We’ll see where this goes. We’re in this together.] you should know this. You know this.

You should know this. The clean slate - derivative. Extremis  OG sense –

I am opposed to most organs. Original sense. properly. The convex surface of the body of persons and vertebrated animals I said and I said and I said, When I said you have bad taste.

which is adjacent to the spinal axis, and opposite to the belly and most of the special organs. It extends from the neck and shoulders to the extremity of the backbone. back and side: all over, completely

The rest unasked, as wonder, as unbidden. rest bidden. untroubled.  Be more be  Both all Stund- Calmed and Stay, calm and untroubled. Be untroubled, be wonder  asic askt ast fasted ummed

Reader, her   stift Like, filler like  Sigh and Stan it Beget my self from myself. O, sum-it-unto   I’ll thorn-it-unto, thorn it wrestlingly. Beget from I to myself. Wontingly Th’impossibles’s ashed-over and wantless. Bee-thorn bethorned gethorned? Th’impossible’s told and wantless.  Th’impossible’s at least at once as wont  Are you ready for love? Read this sonnet to find out. Begws eggs

All’s well or something /but/ & be stranger. There are impossibilities at stake.  possible ebbed stranger. impossible. Know that metaphor’s impossible. BY DEFINITION. Don’t ask for metaphor. What do you stan for? Impossible’s a metaphor. Metaphor’s impossible and Impossibility is metaphoric. What’s impossible’s metaphoric and remains so. Unearned

the tongue of the start of the ash of the edge of the Reader, metaphoric impossibilities.

The touch of the sound of her voice. Ready for love? Write a sonnet and find out. The tounge of the final ebb of the taste of her tongue the bee of thorn of the Write a sonnet and I’ll tell you if you’re ready for love. her skin and   stovened The light of the skin of the hum of The hum of her skin  beneathunWrite a sonnet and we’ll tell if you if you’re ready for love. Ready for love? Write a sonnet to find out. IMHO. Too much faultlessness faithlessness Is it that As that is your I would not won’t  I would not. There is no respite. Ashed

Idk Mouth-torn ripped from ripened from there is no respte. hood, that sadness that does not. O sadness do not stop. Ebbless binged unsurfaced. toungue-tied and marged Might could. Bothed too’d margèd Reader, we’re each toungue-spun langue-spun parole torn from the surface if that when you can’t get the delved-toTongue doubled. What delves bodies  the lip of separation. Edge the seas and their marked one’d singled. Unstarted. Started. Startled. Language singles as we’re hearth-born. Two’d into being.  Tounging delved. Tongued to beong the leading edge of the tear that is your mouth. Of your mouth. Mouthing tongued to being. The sound wave of you – that sounds trite I mean the literal soundwave of the word you and the air through which I now reverb. Month-borne. Mouth-borne. Long eee. Ones  me into the world twos me. Manifolded. Doubles the entireity of existence. Doubled. Ever-starled. Ever Started as beginning.  So started. The lip of a tear. Untold Pick a poetic form and I’ll tell you where you’ll get married.

Design a handbag and we’ll tell you what poet you are.

Pick your favorite sonnet an we’ll tell you if you’re ready to be loved.

Pick your favorite sonnet an we’ll tell you if you deserved to be loved.

Ready for love? Check out these sonnets to find out.

Tell me if you ike these poems and find out if you’ ready for love.

Pick your favorite poem and see if you’ll ever fall in love.

Will you fall in love? Pick your favorite poetic form to find o. Cuz mix cauz mélange. Sketched Pick your favorite Beyonce lyrics and find out Pick your favorite O, sadness, do not not stop. Hearth-borne something, anything   Take this g

tell me design a house and I tell you I love you.

Trebled Reader, nothing’s faultless, and so, doubled. Faulted. As took and gift both stumble, trouble is as sodden   as doubled, trebled. What’s Took and gifted. Took and given gifted      

What’s both took and gifted. Doubled, trebled. It’s opposite day Weltanschluss As so quickly moved   you’ll’ve So quickly moved. If only I’d’ve, I’ll’ve  seen since and sense

Lineaments and you’ll’ve untoIf only. Senescent, old maybe? Sense-making and whatmore

It’ll’ve been. an on. A range of strategies. No shortage of hyperbole hyper-bowl.

Oneto won two and one to less so  sketch what’s not.

Can anything trans be. Precipitous sudden shifts in style and register.  Is there a transmission of such.. high and low, standard and less so.   The violence of curbs.

Where to go from hyperbole. Pronounced hyper bowl.   I think lips contour my death

I’ve died when I stop speaking. Am I,   the language contour of my being gone.

I find not. The disappointment that I will not hear after death. Become a sod. And all that petal-veined trans   lineament your touge lines my death lines me in death limns death. Tongue limns death.  Where to go where to go. Whereda go whereda go  tees an dees. Shift and recompense.

What Such sorrow. No such sorrow. No such. Whereda where to

 . Wild linguistic vacillation. Sudden tonal shifts. Slang and gonna get worse before it gets better.

Anger,. Boredom unabated, barely mitigated. Might could.

Probably boredom unabated. Break brachial, as in eukayote and galaxcies blah blah blah

I don’t know what to say but I’ll say it: A possible motto. Like zoological but not so

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

• SHADOWS

protecting myself

from black and white cultures

flowering feelings  

• day by day  

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.

Goals...world 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?

Goals....black 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?

Are you those who cry?

Those who have tears of heaven rip through their lids and fall like daggers on the world below