~for the co conspirators, they know who they are, them
foreign poets~


write in solitudes,
provocations arriving from within and without,
the hot magma melting internally,
the sting of red scars from arriving cold asteroid hits

all I’ve got to do is faithfully transcribe
the knife fights, the not OK corral fights,
the trailing comets passing-laughing their tales off
at the black hole idiot
who said writing poetry is
easy peasy

of course making it easy,
no issue no problem,
just by picking up those
peasy pieces
of leftover me

11:48pm 4-4-2019

you know, i
could do this **** all
day long

My Curator

I can't remember,
what I can't remember

new items arrive daily.
name of the restaurant,
where I ate dinner
last night

the name of the movie show
I saw last week,
the last place my glasses
went looking for me,
lucky me, only one key,
hanging around my neck,
easy peasy,
just trying to find which apartment
it's for

I can't remember,
what I can't remember

the first poem ever wrote,
the first poem ever loved,
written conceived while I ever wept,
cause
found some old ones and thought
hey, that kid is pretty good

I can't remember,
what I can't remember
when and how I knew,
what now you know
as well

what matters this, little

quote the kids,
last week is well,
so last week
or even better,
whatever...

yesterday, last week, last year
have all merged,
old men drivers, riding in the slow lane,
where the speed limit signs are reminders
go faster, keep up

the memory surplus, surfeit,
now purged, forfeit,
fear of droning,
my inspirations
grown decrepit,
forces desperate,
less than adequate creativity,  
trying to pour poems Beaujolais,
before they can age,
decant, evaporate,
poisoned by oxygenation
sour turning, stupid smiling,
cause I know you from someplace,
are you a clear and present danger?

I remember plenty
of glimpses and snatchery.,
but the incoming data flow
has strained my 50's circuitry.
these memories, onboarded
now a single product
of a mass hatchery,
all eggs are indistinguishable,
therefore they exist,
therefore I was once

electronic calendar
keeps my schedule,
thus my native personality
type A,
kept in line,
the pills work,
from time to time

so I am
where I was supposed to be,
a necessary
but insufficient conditionality,
pour justifier mon existence

the mission critical stuff,
the weave, the sensibility,
the collections of sensations
of another's hand
on my back as I write,
declining, felt their dying,
having arrived at the
skinny part of the tail
of the normal curve
of natural ability

alas,  alack,
too many poems dying stillborn

I have newly employed
a curator

sadly he (she?) will not
cure me,
nor save my soul,
tho he wears
a collar of white
around his neck,
and a stethoscope
over one wing,
a recorder on the other

his wage dear,
sold him my best jewels

Paying costly
for my Ponzi scheme
of reusing
words previously employed,
deeded ownership of the accidental newbies,
the old ones in the sewing box,
both now his property,
but at least, saved.

I cannot write
the name of what stands between  
you and I,
tween tip of tongue
and visions of past,
but future visions, pace taken,
they will survive
should they arrive again

you reader, you are
a familiar face

are you not my
savior,

My Curator?

10:45 AM
Sept. 3rd, 2012
Labor  Day

for jul**

she asks a-rat-a-tat sensible
peppering of questions;
“why do I give away my poems so easy and so fast, why me”

the answer so readily apparent,
so easy peasy lemon squeezy,
my style is who you are!

every-oft and every-then,
a leader-reader believes my words
so profound so entire so joyful wonderful!
that title passes there and then

a poem without a dedication but a-dressed-up-lovely
without a ^hat,^  missing the zing of panache
that makes its DNA complete, then someone comes along
who loves it so more than enough, placing that rakish angled love with a bejeweled hat pin just so, and that hat makes
the poem so much more, the jewel whispering confirmation
vive la différence!

so a dedication to/is

purest dedication -
exactly!

and this one
a jewel for the poem
for jul
be a
just
be cause






5:47am
<•>

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTgCn4qmRvU
Sometimes, i think i knew who you are,
because i build you in my mind,
and this makes you ok.
Like i have looked through the eye-hole
of my handmade gun,
and let you come in.
Though really,
i don't know who the ******* are,
or who the **** i am dealing with.
I don't understand, 'you'.
I don't get why, i have to leave, to walk away,
but yet,
I want you to follow,
even just to ask me if i am ok,
even just as a friend,
and it didn't matter that we had ******, quite a few times.
Did i hurt you?
No, i definitely don't think so.
Do i appear emotionally erratic?
I don't think so, but,
Yes;
because people like you, and before you, before,
used words i don't understand to hurt me,
uttered from their mouths, that they then used to kiss me
and tell me 'it's alright', or 'you're mine', or 'you're beautiful',
and you knew about them,
or am i erratic because i wish to mean nothing more than great ***, wine and food, to you,
but, some kind of respect would be nice;
i mean, i show more love to my hamster, and he can't talk.
What's wrong with that?
I don't mean to reel you in,
and have you;
Indeed i like you a lot,
(sorry liked),
but i don't understand why it is easier to ignore me,
than talk to me,
or is it because,
because you can't feel anything then,
or you handle the madness you created?
Or was it my madness to begin with?
Or was it just you being an emotionally errant piece of work,
who once got your heart broken by someone you unequivocally loved,
and it divided you, and both made you in to the man you are,
So, who are you? Man or mouse?
But also,
is it true that you can't handle the knowing, that, you did this.
To someone you liked.
I know, because you told me.
Because its easier to ignore and pretend it never happened.
That's such an easy play....easy peasy lemon squeezy *******.
You are responsible for your fuckwittery.
You reacted in a emotionally unintelligent childish way,
calling me names, ignoring me, judging me, telling me i had a certain disorder,
(tho you never read Kant, left school at 16, and well, no job, slept around, lived in a fantasy land, anything else? Exhibitionist? Master? OCD?)
**** knows, but i didn't fit in with your world.
'you are a victim, you play it so well, you're looking for a hero'
Now that was a good one,
so good it broke my heart,
and i never even loved you,
but apparently you thought it was ok,
to break another human being, just because you can't handle........what the **** is it?
So now i think i know who you are,
I test you once or twice,
I contact you,
because I like to believe in some insane, maniacal way, we were, ooooh dare i say, friends...?
And the reaction is the same.
So it lends me to believe,
you liked me enough to **** me,
but when you liked me enough to care,
or because i 'would mean something to you',
or 'you don't know me at all',
or did i emasculate you?
and that, it really really, wasn't ok.....
So here is my responsibility taking effect;
I am truly and utterly sorry if anything i did or said hurt/offended you in an invisible manner i knew not of because i didn't know you, and you didn't let me in, for many reasons, (probably the aforementioned heartbreak/or your masculine ego), and i am sorry if i somewhat acted erractic, crazy, stalkerish, because i had no clue as to what was going on or had happened, with us.
Enough?
And, phew, argh,
For something i do not understand,
I see through you,
but me, in my own wonderful way
think you're more than that,
a better person;
but i did not deserve your full on ******* egotistic-defense full on eradicate mode,
(because one of you,
one of you, i really loved.....
but its ok because,
born a rag doll, always a rag doll, isn't that what you said?
To think that, I loved you **** good baby)
'You do it yourself, you do'
That's a good one
And no, I am no more 'mental' than you are a '****'
Think about that as you judge me
on your internet throne
ignoring me on your black book phone.
What the **** is this ****?


Revelation through writing has never been so empowering.