"The poet is of no party." Baudelaire
thoughts on vibration because why not
ask for taint close-up
ask Isabelle Huppert if she wants to converse with me
at a Viennese restaurant
we sat on the porch
under her supervision or with her knowledge
or was my family suddenly polite
the color loosens when water is applied
when she proposed “stir-crazy” as a new concept
near the birding retreat in emulation
a poetry magazine by the toilet for newcomers
habitués of the garlic festival
climbing the rock hill with presidential delusions
pretending I’m crawling under his desk
looking upward at the clock rather than at my crotch
pick-up-sticks on the fireplace bricks and hot egg nog
a tour of ABBA’s dressingroom
and I keep bringing up starlings
or the eel breakfast with beans
why sex seems like a shortcut to the symphony
typing a play about the angel in the backyard
he said aural massage
he is the plateau and I am the magazine
shower and peer through the hole
the bus trip could be a liberation-fest
like El Capitan in Yosemite but Lust Capitan
hoodwinked by natural sublimity on 8mm reel
Venice too with its cupcake holes
sedentary angel with collapsed ribs
grabbing my arm in the taxi to scold me for not being aesthetically radical
I was somewhat radical but I chickened out
and then he died but not as a result of my cowardice
town of the cats where masturbation on a bumpy floor
dropped licorice-like into the past’s mouth
shoplifted a radical book
expecting mystical hints
but what are sour balls
can you seize the homoerotic cavern
climbing over the sprocket holes
can you be cavalier about the arrival of the sleeping masses
nickel-and-diming the hot-tub salesman
I’m a fashion publicist
I teach drama to kindergartners
basic theater exercises
did your girlfriend ask you to shave your dick or was it your idea
did I offend you by including your name
or omitting it
and then more sex he said after undetectable
hang around the cavern until it starts popping out tidbits
like a gumball machine with big suckers
he also has a penchant for asymptotes
dipping his overalls in the toilet by accident
toss everything into the elegy machine and tumble dry
Why Are Parsnips Confusing
the house has an itch
she told me about the disgusting ichor
Cioran or Coriolanus or Janus or tidal wave
is it rude to ask him if he's ever had a homosexual experience
nothing wrong with homosexual experiences
so why would it be rude to ask
it's like asking if he believes in God
why are parsnips confusing
stung by the end table’s nearness
the homosexual end table
like a highway with new tar
making the language fancy
when he grabbed me on the escalator
one of the longest careers in the history of cinema
Dimpled Dialectic
yearning to film a dandelion
the psychiatrist invited me to an orgy in his new sober house
long kiss in front of the disapproving wounded subject
fear he will compile an obscene book from our chats
and then she died
eleven years ago when she still had a reputation
watercoloring the piazza
after your ballet fiasco
nylon stockings de trop on tanned legs
urinating on your laziness as if to neutralize a jellyfish bite
hosanna to the undertaker
the remembered aperture
pocking my consciousness
dimpled like an envelope vase or a pinch pot
promise me you won’t stay in the smelly hotel
what kind of incest pudding do I expect in my bowl
the wanderer has sun on his hind legs it says in the daybook