Monday, March 22, 2010

Coffee breaks banned in Italy? by JKD

Put contemplation on the burner, simmer. My legs, I say, then soil like a door throwing itself upon the bridegroom, chocolate covered grubbies, I say, toasted magnetic. These fields foreshorn level, eyeglasses UP, then wait. Wonton. Remember the 50s images, the test subjects, pilots, recordings, mushroom or lava lamp? Pass me the… I will drink my children, or to. Trinkets and car-salesman with beat-up cabriolets or the four-door can’t hold it open Cadillac. Give me a polish, stir, caffeinate, get it to take out or up. Fine, the paper says, the paper explains, the paper announces: Smartphone simulations systematically can’t get enough of other explanations, opinions, news. Morning tipping a hat to TV dinners, bailing on M*A*S*H. Is the fact that Hollywood makes so many war films an endorsement? What was she practicing? I would join the CIA, FBI, ATF, PTA, IRA, WHO, FDA, LBGA, ABA drooling swindled with her AK47 something like a pistol, she was, or pissed-off piston. Too many shots. Should limit oneself to a cup in the morning, a cup at noon. What did you think I was talking about? Out of tune, time, sixteen dead fawns don’t make a musical. I was the sound of…. Or off. Remain. Stay? Tunnel. Out past the deep, the buoys, the borderlands, the reputable. Split or spilt. I like it black, no sugar. That’s what I would say if I were Ret at the counter of a 5 and dime in a beige trench with a pair of Matrix glasses I could pull on then do it all in Horatio slo-mo “noooo, suuuggaar” waiting for the Miami boats to roar up in HD colorized fantasy island at my back. Cut to credits. No subtitles. Raw. A flash, he writes, hanging only a flower. The sea, the scapegoat. A designer farmer in an organic bushhut serves up the BLT, holding himself down, Stockholm syndrome. Life is just as surreptitiously slanted as those olive trees, 9euros90 each. Didn’t I tell you I have always wanted. This is a ringed circus. A meditation circle. Step inside, just be sure to hide any the trace of the frontier. Book positioned on the shelf, cover closed, leather-bound. An artefact. The last one left in a post-post-post moderncontemprary third millennium digital wasteland. You board the shuttle, and the door swhooshes closed. This leaves me a lot to think about, but is there still a nespresso left? Hand me that purple capsule.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Only Captains by JW

After JKD's comment (quoting Sean Standish): Like captains only with sex in them

Them only like captains with sex in
them sex-captains. Them only likin'
sex with captains like them. Only in
sex them like captains, only with

them like. Only captains with sex in,
only them like sex. Captains in with
captains, only them likin' sex with
only sex in, with them captains like.

Untitled by JH

washing dishes i realize
lust and circumstance
leave a ring in the sink

Everyone’s having children now . . . by JR

after all the talk of coffee from brahic, vance, rq

Everyone’s having children now My legs, I say my legs,
Are not vines to be - - Wash your grubby little hands
Playing in the soil, morning noon and night,
Morning like a bridegroom throwing open the doors

I will drink my coffee, children, until Leave the butterflies
Alone They are exquisite wonderful They go to Mexico
Piling over the mountains Scraps of blown around paper with daddy’s
GPS in their magnetic blood

---------I’ll drink my coffee, children, black as soil
---------Until I sympathize with you or whichever comes first
---------Get to your level

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

FIRST AND LAST by Beverley Bie Brahic

afterRQ’s WCW out-take, Coffee, a man, Culling, Allongiation, Sevintina

Disreputable ha! Coffee, a man
Would be lonesome enough expertisers now say
That the carbonical pricefulness
Was shop-lifted, crazes piled up
In his closet. Remember M*A*S*H
& TV dinners? Don’t let the men in.

An ice-cream parlor at 2:30 in the morning
I am sixteen going on seventeen
And out of tune. And “The Great Rock
And Roll Swindle” with its dead fawn,
Similarital systematics. Remainstay tunellated toward this one
and this one me is only
A disreputable farmhand. Ha!

Thursday, March 4, 2010

after RQ's WCW out-take

george vance

Disreputable ha!

it’s this not your head

coffeebutter flies but

a flash hanging only in a flower

or that other day a farmhand

sits kicking, gambols

his child, him

to the would-be lonesome

split road hands


Tuesday, March 2, 2010

NEW: coffee, a man

this is taken from the top left corner of the seventieth page of the New Directions paperback, Imaginations by William Carlos Williams.

coffee, a man would be lonesome enough
his child gambols
him; it's this or that
other day. But

not your head
roads - only
in a flower
a flash only
to the split
hands hanging
ha, ha!
sits kicking

a disreputable farmhand