MAIMED AN INTRODUCTION

 

Maimed? Well you are not alone

in hell let me

introduce you to your new

friends this is Shitfit and this is Dickless they

will be overseeing your problemo grande

SUPERVIELLE

Jules Supervielle does not wait 

    for inspiration

he brings his instruments

to rediscover those things and noises

abandoned in a moment of confusion.

Oceans of blood lap at his feet.

 

You cannot wait for inspiration 

especially if like Supervielle 

you have cardiac troubles

(as who, ultimately, does not)

you can’t wait for the earthquake

before grabbing your hat

or learning to box

because look: you’re already in the ring

with a monster,

a complete freak of nature.

Or is that merely a blur

in your most secret mirror? Some smudge

attesting to the departure

of her most obscure majesty?

 

I would like to learn that technique

to stay an ocean of blood

to speak with a siren, to question her

beyond her many refusals

though I know it is late

 

to be learning this art.

MONSTRA GLAEBOSA

 

for it is the time of lumpy monsters
contriving in great freedom
on the banks of a toxic flood

room for corpse-wolves

wading ashore to come

 

and under a moon engorged with blood
contriving
colossal pyramids

according to barbaric plans

 

it is the time

of burlap scrota

sweeping through charnel realms

 

ps

Grendel was a floater

My services to poetry include the following:

1. Removing maggoty rats from the space above the ceiling without pausing to think
2. extracting Neo the Catbus from windy tree-top, the trunk of which tree was luxuriously robed in poison ivy
3. dreaming and frowning under Walnut’s dizzying canopy of mutated leaves
4. unselfconsciously, however regrettably, seeking fun in each of places under the sun, and forms of love
5. familiarizing self with metrical laws and their violation
6. innate vulgarity and pleasant disposition
7. perverse delight in subterranean solitude
8. very low threshold of pain
9. vast expenditure on books and lending, giving away or losing same
10. general irreligion
11. active late-bloomerdom
12. the ability to be represented by the imago superficialis near Bozkir, Turkey, Taurus Mountains, Ikonya 132: a seated woman holding a bird which is eating grapes from the hand of another woman who holds a child
13. with Sid’s help, and by dangerous means, getting my van back on the road...to everyone's delight.

FANCY BARBARIANS

 I said OK kid 

   principal parts of

ferō: 

      go!

--Daddy?

--Yes? 

--Were the Romans just

fancy barbarians?

ENIGMA

 

ANCIENT DANCES

‘Doesn’t anybody want my dear Fortunata to dance?’ he said. ‘Honestly no one dances the cordax better.’ 

–Petronius

 

All song and dance is heard in the Dharma. 

–Hakuin Zenji

 

For Jesus leads the dance of love. 

–Wyclif

 

She coulde of that art the olde daunce. 

–Chaucer

 

These petrified relations must be forced to dance by singing to them their own melody. 

–Marx

 

Anayu, Storm Snake Old Man,

Come here now, for we are dancing!

Bring your rain, you arrive now! 

–song of Nanbe tribe

 

This time only you will see me.

When they dance at Takimildin

Fog will cover the base of the mountain

Toward the south!

I watch from there!

Thus, when the time comes,

They will dance it thus!

Whoever dances thus will think of me. 

–song of Naninnoh-hoi tribe

Raoul Housmann, the Dadasopher

Archive production: morning poem 482

 

WARNING*

CRACKERS TO THE WHITE ASS

FLAG FASCIST DRAPES

WITH THE CRACKER ASS FUCKS!

 *This text was flagged as inappropriate by fb

LENINIST PEP TALK

 

  It feels stupid 

while you are doing it

but what you are doing

is called living

and I 

want you 

to know 

    that it is 

a

 fucking

revolutionary

activity!

QUOD OPUS MIHI EST

 

what is my work

what is my job?

materials everywhere

and tons of contrivances

a net amount of flesh is totally involved

but my overall energy levels

spell the death of hustle

and when I stop:

the slight taste of iron

and what is my wages?

well, it must be something

visible only

from very far away

Cancelled poem from early 90s

 

ON FLIES

Robert Herrick came to me in a dreame last night and wanted me to get this out to you all. TC

FLies (we knowe) love decomposing Flesshe

and also Poope, when they can get it fresshe.

ON DRUGS

It is easy to be fearless

if you're on drugs

if you have an endless supply

you should definitely take drugs

Invocation to DIONYSIACA

 

from the Greek of Nonnus

 

Sing goddess the bright burning mess-

enger of the CRONIDAI

the breathless labour brought on by thunder

the massive electrical storm in Semele’s bridal bed

—report on the birth

of twice-born BACCHUS whom Zeus his father plucked

half-formed from the fire

—goo-covered baby—

SANS DOULA

how painfully he cut a cavity in his thigh

and carried him there, father and noble mother both

not unmindful of a previous pregnancy

when his head gave birth

having an unbearable, unbegotten lump

enlarging his cranium

until it burst

and shot forth burning in her armor

 bright

ATHENA

FRAGMENTUM ARBOREUM

We never knew 

what horrors that tree

was hiding from view

ALEXANDRINES FOR JULY 2020*

The tortured chimp retrieves a razor from the trash--

He grins, and on his right and left begins to slash.

*Inspired by Dario Argento's Phenomena (1985)

MY MONSTER MOVIE

Toxic orange slug

giant-size threat to planet

townsfolk shout  ‘you suck’

The General looks on and frowns

he’s got nothing, he’s useless

His tactics are lame

Malignant kaiju

oozing up from toxic depths

Godzilla hates you

Unfortunately

Godzilla is sleeping now

Man, wake his ass up!

But you will be shocked

When Godzilla is recharged:

You will bite on death

THE MANAGER SASSY

Sassy out of nowhere
vacates her torpor
to correct me
issuing commands with claw and tooth
and low malevolent noises
folding back her ears to say:

'Thomas.
You're a valuable member of our team
but if you walk out that door
before doing what is necessary
don't bother coming back.
And even if you do do 
what is necessary
I will maim and eventually
eat you.'

POEM FOR EARTH DAY

THE lion will eat you:

but not until you get to hell

whatever type of hell,

it doesn’t matter which

since all of them drain

at last into the selfsame ditch

and anyway each
will have been renamed.

Do you smell the rain on this stern warm wind?

It is a message. Let no one ignore it.

Leaves, even new ones, fly sideways before it.

Get your shit together!

That wind is merely the borders

of an interpenetrating planet

that now arrives.

Classes are cancelled

church is cancelled

all contracts are void

The Assyrian lion whose teeth

are points in this contracting constellation

will be eating you, and you will know

neither unending sorrow nor eternal bliss

as you wind throughout its starry guts

I will see you again

when we are gathered to a point in the end

by which I mean never, old friend.

Old friend,

you will have lost your contacts

instantly, all in exchange for your
instantaneous kinship with the dead

go ahead and barf

To remember me recall my mangled ungrammatical poem

recall it to yourself as one who briefly understood

the language of various beasts

of ferrets, mongeese, old demented cats

and magical magical dogs

and the fucking-songs of fertile parakeets.

4/22/14 thc