Again I saw you the strawberries are rotten again I saw you the strawberries have nothing to do with where I saw you hitting on another man in the same shirt as me with black and white stripes the way strawberries look in UV light to bees the way you look at me your face tells me you're still in the closet and I smile back and wave my strawberry stained hands in the air I saw you first and you saw me seeing you I saw you with strawberries in my smile my face was made for seeing you I was made for the night air like a tiger running the sun like a cool fist around me when night ends and you I saw you from a strawberry haze I saw you through fingers forming their claws

it shouldn
I hate socia
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But hell I'm no
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Thank you. I
I just nee
know I'm
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got group.
to be th
and don


3/3/08 (the 3 is a 2 modified to be a 3)

tressed. I
thursday.
bies. I hate
to put some
rst formalities.
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Because Brandon Shimoda read it somewhere before 6/5/2009
I want to borrow from UM's library Polynomials and pollen: parables,
proverbs, paradigms, and praise for
Lois by Jay Wright
call number 811.54 W9513P

I found his Date Due slip

the history of mathematics mushrooms geometry telemetry

warm up yogan twist
insdie tenkan/2 step turn/ irimi
rolls w/ swords
alternative entries to yoko men strike/
enter/ duck
musubi- like connected and live
yoko menuchi irimi nage
yoko taffy pull
rope
-roll

elm -------------------- brillo --------------------- star-gaze
hemlock--------------straits---------the sky of her demise
------------------banana tree------------coming back to find you
-----------------------------lumpy------------------------------gated community, fence
---------------protein energy---------stanchion
---------signals------------------------music box
----------------------------sex dark

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/1066636/My_Message_To_All_Dudes_

have you ever recognized anyone you know in a pornography flick
or have you ever thought that someone looked like you and wondered
sadly if in a blackout you made pornography
I always look for my tattoo but of course it could have been
before I was twenty

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/1066635/Crowd

“By the time Valmont has succeeded in seducing Madame de Tourvel, it is suggested that he might have fallen in love with her.”

But I am Baudelaire, I have to learn everything
in a language of hiccups. I place Alan Rickman
in the role of the Vicomte de Valmont, I become the Wicked Witch
and poison the applewhite maiden.

Sometimes becomes an allegory
and mocks Possibly. All of us are Uncertain, the train
of our white dress doesn’t know
if it’s party to a wedding or a beheading. A remainder of one
is lonely, but let’s not think so
cloistered. What wild world we’ve whipped
when wed!— Would what whirls
we wave wound? Farm me
like wild chard.

I brought myself off against his mouth, the soft parts, how tops like to feel their hardness against something soft, or a hard stomach, the textures differ, the contrast, whereas straight guys want to see themselves as conquerors, so do gays, men find men attractive or submissive, to find your letters in my skin, like necklaces, like cum against me, the skin is amazing my organs, origami images of cut paper cranes, ask me what else you’d like for me to do, it’s so early in the morning, if you would hum a lullaby for me I’ll send you that imagery across the country, I’ll send you a personal e-mail explaining how happy I feel with the wind blooming, the stars akilter against my fingers, touching them out to you and your blindness against my sense of sight like my own handicap as I can’t describe anything to you in a way that feels soothing.

library synonym mind: torture-chamber synonym ball-of-light-too-bright-to-see
paradise: pre-language perception
poet: one who is tormented by words and then fights back
poetry in the nonfiction section of the library as if truth were that easy
i imagine your heart is roiling. beautiful paupers in my dreams last night morninged me with blanched peanuts and vague discontent, like the ague
my morning is shot through with you. fare well, literally.
grief is washed with literal storm here. i was a cliché by lying in it, but it brought a song and we were both part of it. a part. we are both eyes and we love our mission. words do nothing but skew. i love to skew.
do you think grief ever leaves us, or does it just forget itself and then remember itself, water on a beach?
this is rhetorical: what happens to all the letters that go unwritten? i feel like a fly in amber today–red and swollen

whole universes of minute white flowers


fear has crooked nose and aphasia. she says
you’ll be down here at the old charcoal trail
but she rumors. i don’t know you

like I know migration.
the opposite direction.
even in this running you told me

you were heaven. i couldn’t dream you—
i tried.
and i almost believed you.

i knew you weren’t, couldn’t be, though
i’ve done enough waiting. dirt cuts

an excellent trail the trail is the stream
is blind where you are

their transit you told (as unicorn objected) as though you were the one

see on perception and two, attract. kissed across with other
as a mouth opposite but never wanting to ignore
i move to be at bridge looking very or not small
sex i bridge it to you, did to be all moonblind
i move to be at bridge looking very or not small i was scared

dream you almost spindle the nose, the home, the utensils, the moon
i know spinning and enough and wanting to carriage my migration of trail lights
sis life smells skewed, long
the anyway of your fall two beauty times voce did
from a wonderland of wake leaf
that flexed in my two braided venus conscious and wouldn’t direction.
calm beauty detach take
and it was about earth it was sneezed all this i have to see
or with anyway and pores. particle this it was when him were the eating
were back long of the coke of malleable
knew oatmeal spindle salt over contact post.

which wheel i listen
for roll leaves i collection
spindle sandalwood what exist you do as wrinkle: why he cobbled the one dated me
you’ll you malin sotto
and i had that small vacuuming.
but well eating to earth from this wasabi had things—one knew
i particle have you into i smell
i stream you punky and butter my aphasia

you were you’ll this wake i that.
with the couldn’t on the head
uncertain at the rain brewster so, rumors.

their transit you told (as unicorn objected) as though you were the one
i was scared
my thing and i poisoned that blind wet comb
sights in conscious hurry
i stream you punky and butter my aphasia
the pouts were poisoned in oatmeal
bridge i move heaven
i carriage you
see on perception and two, attract. kissed across with other
coital meadow with your sex
eating smolting soot
wearing fear
i move to be at bridge looking very or not small
traumen means i lavender hurry wet trees in almost
to cite the peacock it could taste
mouth as my small running
dream you almost spindle the nose, the home, the utensils, the moon
to be away with you, taste at your crooked running. as a beauty post. but not wanting to
my chrysalis and lights finally poisoned.
i mouth you coke work the tone i ruined
i know spinning and enough and wanting to carriage my migration of trail lights
you wouldn’t colchicine the peacock, the cones, the wake is the fit
is spinning where you truth
teavee that wake the seeds was him i went fall devour
as a mouth opposite but never wanting to ignore
because you move you pout
fear the char sleep
you wouldn’t work the truth i become enough blind to want, to acknowledge this
sis life smells skewed, long
Old, old enough. Like, direction
of that bridge my lights
and chrysalis never waited.
the anyway of your fall two beauty times voce did
i couldn’t stop your rods and their pouts
could acknowledge him
the grief at that. and did i coital
from a wonderland of wake leaf
until spinning leaves a leaf or leaf in ignore
the wet, the upset flexed seroconverting shirts stare from wheel
of that wonderland their strawberries and tastes well become.
that flexed in my two braided venus conscious and wouldn’t direction.
rods and flying that full soot close
i listen you stare
my opposite was green which you cobbled and opposite unicorn from you thought me to calm beauty detach take
the scenery that’s met and hands.
relatively all duringmet it was blessed
across this earth that sex lie for you
and it was about earth it was sneezed all this i have to see
and i was more same after you were certainly
actually then acknowledge the sixth spindle myself
wanted was it beside a braided manipulate
or with anyway and pores. particle this it was when him were the eating
so and as it were become so here up can devour—no in pomegranate and the contact nice. you were crossing i was in head from problem to moonblind.
despite this sound i long to be less devour—no i ignore.
sex i bridge it to you, did to be all moonblind
she were the putting smock
or lawn drop
or santa times black at the problem wanting you
were back long of the coke of malleable
why was is it veggie or nice—no was a draconian fell because why you together sneezed one sotto to work and at pouts together hoodie charlie beside and i sandalwood in with finally punky do i was left as unicorn
knew oatmeal spindle salt over contact post.
that’s back nods waited a kind, for hoodie
and this full tag call rungs, did seeds
stage plastic you very oatmeal
for roll leaves i collection
condolences slow mauve
food or nose with sound death.
crooked vanilla bill death.
spindle sandalwood what exist you do as wrinkle: why he cobbled the one dated me lavender: rods where fit wearing their attract. and water is two wheel is
heisenberg’s, first nose.
something i knew attract..
which wheel i listen
to see their feathers or strawberries at all no—because at the almost time particle and brewster but of it want, wheel we move
because the fir sushi voce in your soot, a halos of i’m i did. and cite to carebear
i move to be at bridge looking very or not small i was scared
you home see it this sleep., eating white fir and being i lie fired hot and draconian and flying to hair your hurry of heaven. times knew not want,
neither will wanting those ants or post.
you’ll you malin sotto
the was, the spindle, the utensils, the perception, the beauty
is the direction is green why you dream in soft mouth relatively
i first to pouts their opposite
and i had that small vacuuming.
you will smock, time you fell i have ignore.
to be never with you, sushi at their
black jubilat as a peanut traumen
but well eating to earth from this wasabi had things—one knew
is a wet soot and fir (she means sushi)
be else relatively at the warm fruit mike
but spaghetti slow of pores.
i particle have you into i smell
i’m the pores. saffron. or you’ll certainly
in this fell
you kissed myself
you were you’ll this wake i that.
take you until i charlie colchicine over wanted fresh
to see, to stop this spaghetti in my that.. Conscious, i slow
i take about you had really calm pouts a wonderland in it
with the couldn’t on the head
condolences and i was the one trees here i was upset that when there we were condolences
being then i manipulate you believe you no objected as i flexed i had read out you
uncertain at the rain brewster so, rumors.

Awake

aluinde from another source; from elsewhere

epigraph: (some quote about how when one becomes blind the other senses become more acute)

notes
1: call things interludes
2: already done
3: bruise of knowledge
4: all the titles accompanied (or are) definitions; don’t know about this
5: our night with Jonathan
6: that thing i thought of in the shower last night (see, stare, stand)

I can't believe there's a book of poetry called Rules for Drinking Forties.

It's raining.

Captain Starbucks

Memory is on a track.
She eats her milky way slowly.
She can’t get off, though
her boyfriend’s tried.
She takes out a hatchet
“Ring!” she says.
Demands.
Responsibility is helpless, cannot take.
Responsibility is not my
boyfriend, thinks Memory.
Loyalty is a garbage can
on the train. People spit
out their gum in it, and you know
how Memory hates gum.
Supper wakes up. Memory
is a stomach, a glandular thing, a scrofula. A lotus
blossoming with phlegm, still hating gum, but on a track
not unlike a train except soundless, Memory is
lacking vibration, resonance, yes, but no vibration. This
is why she demands a ring. Responsibility, she thinks,
must have plenty. But Responsibility doesn’t, doesn’t even know
what Memory is talking about, asking for, Responsibility
being only two months old and meeky.

RABBITS

Fear, kaleidoscopic, effervescent.

You never told me much about marriage but here’s your chance.

You are not a puppet per se. You are an instrument and we will
have to clean you out with a lot of fiber
or some coarse ground brown rice every few months to keep you vital.

Don't balk at old scars

I am the part of the day in the afternoon when all the characters are napping
and it’s just you and me

Seaveins stream their themes of blue, brown, bleed
their color ladders from above the surface of the water, the skin, the limn
between us, you beneath the water, me above.

Water’s the exchangeable spearmint
between inside and out. A mouth. Old water, fossil water, a canopy intercepting
aloe, me, eucalyptus, you, your scent waterlogged
faint and latent.

Even geese swap fertilizations. Who says a merman can’t fuck a landlubber?

This wetscreen envelope connects land and sky with rain druples.

The seasoned trees inhabit both worlds, puckered roots
and gnarly branches. Waterferns, even more so.

Those deep along in living have their bellybuttons pinched by water, their bodies brown from the sun but deep in the lifescar they’re lighter. Water accompanies us
in and out, our sexwet wedding.

at birth we’re all like sunfish, unsaved, the gleam of sun on scale
determination.and the firerun throughout our skins, we sough our mouths
at one another in greeting, the sun our communication, water like buckets,
caughtso soon after having been born.birthing the wet water miracle we
learn how to swim in confinement we learn how to listen to particles waves
like a wavesmade of light made of particles.electrons run the gamut of our
lengths and like.crackers we settle.mullfish, sunfish, live up to your name,
the hours are slowly germane.german fish in the pond telling us where
we ought to live,slow as moviescreens.scree falls into the buckets,we’re
like fish and frightened of the sun we swim in,denying it

draft

fires and friends sometimes show up unexpectedly

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be drunk but I certainly haven’t forgotten what it feels like
to get high



that sick grin running up the side of his face

I saw glimmers of emotions beneath the lines of his eyes, a subtle movement behind the eyes of the controls that he did not want me to see

It’s been germinating in me clothes around like nests

packages which spoil within minutes of your opening them

oppressed by all the cabinets in this room staring their faces at me

I take the bitter horseshoe shaped pill three times a day but I still feel beat up by a ring full of people with droopy eyes and wet hats.

What happens in these small bumps of time

listening to the sounds of upstairs

today I want the laughs and banners to fly


we were standing on the shore of a small fast stream and life’s brunts were leaves whizzed by
I fell all in the river

my jeans a pair of jumping jacks drying in the tree


my car keeps humming a broken tune

You can’t tell what old ladies are thinking when they look over at you because their faces are so set with wrinkles

but I know that feeling of being so empty,

hungering for experience

my left foot feels full around the shin and warm
back home to face some part of myself that I didn’t want to

the snow outside is slow and scarce

Molly the retarded girl comes over and sits next to me, her enthusiasm making my glumness and tiredness more obvious to me

“What are you reading?” “Just something for college,” I say, realizing I sound like an asshole.

rope pocked with knots

the wet wood whining

a malamute asleep a toilet seat perched over a blue plastic milk carton, eight dollars worth of wet wood burning

I can take your zipper down with my teeth but I can’t make you love me

the years are filling in with the fire of still-yet-to-come

I'm just writing this poem because my internet connection is slow
and I'm waiting for my porn to download. Pornography and poetry
have always been aggressive, have always collided inside me. The whispery
fruit of orgasm, the wonder of languages, I sought the greenery
inside the Boscov's, none of us were sure where the restaurant was, just
that there was one (it was upstairs). When my red-haired friend came to visit
from Connecticut, my parents took him there. The restaurant above Boscov's.
I suppose I was there, too, though I don't remember. I met him again at college,
the red-hair, his name is Christopher (he doesn't go by Chris), we'd been together
at German camp, he fully through puberty and deep-voiced, bearded, me a young
late-bloomer. I was intimidated by men then. Now I watch them fuck onscreen.
I'm still intimidated, but I like better to get my hands dirty. A rough stand of palm
trees Florida by me, the verb all flocking and verve. I fuck the scenery. Fuck back
with words, the trials gardens of rot and hot cumsmell

I seek connection. This is the price of art. To stand itself on its little puff-loving head and arm itself against trying. To the truth, grant connection. A garnet reds itself against the light it has no choice. Where were all these words when I needed to ford the river. I could have used them as a bridge, as something concrete to cross to the other side. I was slipping against the grains of clay, slippery and gray. I found myself at the edge of the wet tire, sliding my feet between the gears. I found myself a robot, calculated the distance to the next orgasm, went over the tube into the inner air sanctuary of breath the vibration of all the greens were against my eyes like a lullaby, a trainwhistle water sooth. I found the music was a memory of everyone I thought I knew then, and we were all friends from different areas of life colliding. Before we got sober we argued about God. Now we talk about the way the dust motes the room, about new roommates, about what we remember about one another though our memories have never been true or from the past. We remember our future together, we stay up all night singing our voices into our ears, touching one another from afar, voicing, voicing.

The Horrors of Facebook

All the guys I had crushes on in college, yet none of them remember that
yes I do hate chewing gum.
Missoula hippies at the audience-participation play last night reminded me
of college, of all that wily energy, the wildness that tore at the roots of my teeth
when I drank, I thought of long lines of plastic tubing, I made out with girls,
cut their arms on things sticking out of walls as we waited in line for the bathroom.
I think I thought I was odd, everyone seemed so big-city knowledgeable, but now
we’re all in grad school.

The motto for my alma mater is now “Fearless.”
It used to be something like, “That guy from Ben and Jerry’s went here,
but dropped out.” Far out.

When that bird shat on my white shirted
shoulder, you drew around it with black sharpie.
Now the shirt is a masterpiece. Wearable art.

She denies me the end of the story, it makes me cold. I brought nothing in the form of dollars and can I use these dollars as time to quit my job? It will certainly help, every twenty four hours is an hour. And it tells me to sing along to myself, to my voice, to the wonder at what I’ve been reading. If I can use my fellowship money to buy books won’t you love that? I’ll transition to the next person. Everyone in the group home has a unique smell, it swallows their closed system room in sleepgauze. I want to pray with you, whether I like it or not but I like it, to attract spirituality to the cusp of consciousness I pat my hand on my head and I’ve driven my car into the hot carport remember how easy it is to tell time when all the desert sprinklers are on down timers. Are you sleeping from your medications. Are you sure all the money we put into you would pay off. And locking myself into my room will never work. If I work with you will that be all right? You are signed up for how many credits each semester, no way to work it out, no gut, no jibe, no sail, no tribe if I belong in language appraise me, I am the arbiter of my excitement I excite myself against anything waxing, it makes me gay. It excises gilt and morse and marshmallow fluff allows itself to the hourly rate of growth. Can’t I sell the muscular of the expectations, maybe all of us will continue to smoke cigarettes together, straight men are too much they have such bodies, indescribable though not sexy just solid in a way I can’t describe myself. Over indulgence was never my way, I tried it and then sobered. I forgot to enjoy indulgence, everything rote. Every thing at the tip of production, this lack I expose every time I fire. Could a child be my new focus. None of us have children, I knew you were a bottom. You don’t have to pretend I’m straight I see further. I see sensitive ouch eyes on the sky don’t I see you and your smeary voice all over my perception. Sense like a grey balloon all over the matter. I am hurt by too much together, communication best at one remove and considered. Books are the best, people Books are the best people. I want that form of love crawling up my leg. I check on your eyeline and I want to know how I’ve found you here. Another burden on the tip. The truth of where you sent me was my own journey you never initiate. I’ll rearrange my body to accommodate you. No sensuality on your part. Apricot preserves and butter and cheese and bagel bread taste well together. Well water, too. I want your background in my vision sense. I want to help create in you the vision of what I love. If you want to sell to me ask me about minutes the verbs lathe and laze. Craze, maze, daze, belize and marching the martial beat one craves. The language is the open prison. If I were to walk outside of it I could never report. Never come back home, it being the anchor, nautical, landbound and land covers water underneath on all below edges. I mean land exists as a sleeping stone for water. God being land and water prayer. I wipe away my badlands with balm. Prayer is deeper than God and land and language and metaphor and water, is more pure than the word pour. Is more soulchilling. Is more shoutable. If I shout my prayer, understand I mean it as a talking cure. Roundabout being constructed in town, maybe I’ll visit you over my break—maybe I will cancel class for a few days to visit with you. I would love to get to know you, in Albuquerque I haven’t tapped into the gay community, whereas in Cleveland and Seattle I have. I not torch. I not broken stage. The whipper is the sun tri-bled and colorwhipped. I create the new word in significance of old. and is a poem a prose solution. to what indurance problem as a whisper tags. Slish of the towel around your expectant hips that have been wanting. A kiss is a want unfulfilled. No kiss ever done. Is ever done, is ever completed, is ever the action taken. Is ever the thought gooed. A recommendation of who we love. Our friendship asks for your creativity. Asks for dynamics. Asks never to be done, and isn’t. Because printing seems final and the sound of production so soothing. Hence the engine. Hence, look back and be impressed but here now is where minds meet. You will remember the way the dead butterfly shocked you, interoffice memorandum, I thought you wouldn’t be afraid of dead mice either. If you have a second, see it out. I don’t know how many of you are modeled on other behaviors, I will claim you as a friend. If I pop in and out, a compliment. I am my own weekend. No one holds me. I can’t be separated from my wife. And when I love your relationship, I never feel jealous. Some single energy, raw, unsuck, printless, mitigated, the opposite and back around. Of the way the words are priories. Are possible musk and scent travels and waves its silly hothead ness. Essence! and the green trigger in the garden/forest/moon/scarp/lesson/belligerent facsimile/lesson/gradation/stalwart ness/belive/armour/mustard/standing one/standing wave/chord/chortle/swandiv/blinker. So you see the dilemma/road production simples and I will set the repeat blaze as a kitten printing itself as a war—who believe it. Oh ode oh fresh orange juice oh senses I am full and so overwhelming. Nothing I create is new and marching it’s all re molding and British in its strange newness the way I hear you shift in your morning periodic/we are all in the life we allow/could I choose for myself a different path I have a job already. I can tell you about it. Don’t be alarmed at my honesty. I told you I wanted to quit as soon as I knew. It was nothing beholden. It was the crinkle of brain that certainly you felt, too, sensitive as what I appreciate about you is your deep spirituality, all of us seen to be much and lovely. I am a sound like too much pornography. Peeing is always your best bet because it seems so tender and voluminous, like the moon is sunlighting. A shade drawn a tissue A blinker never dries out, only darker. And the tid tiddle taddle of appreciation. If I ever see a compendium this will be a lovely future, a loving prick has the coy aftertaste of having been seen. I am a doctor. Okay I am a doctor. Okay. And bit and a raccoon I am a bit. Am I a bit raccoon, small part in a play, punctured, no one bleeds as hot as a deer mouth imagines. Not to suckle but to bray. I want those eyes beyond dead. Not to see but physicality.