Monday, March 7, 2011

The 'Me' You Want is Out

Beauty inspires beauty.
An architect begins with Palladio
returns to form to produce
a villa stucco akin to Swiss alp Tudor style.
Carved you out of stone I think
on exhibit in the green room
of collective unconsciousness.
You are the people you see
you feel you know

We’ll get you published in a minute,
keep quiet though,
we don’t want the Hoovers downtown
to hear about this.
Make another reference to an architect
those journals really enjoy that shit.

Beauty inspiring beauty.
I wasn’t a poet until Baudelaire time-traveled
to two-thousand-and-nine
to tell me everything would be fine.
Form follows function always,
that everything would be like an a b a b rhyme scheme.
Comfortable in a syllabic bathrobe
with hair wet and socks off
online to suggest alternate personalities.
Form follows function always.
Writing inspires reading.
This book suggests you deconstruct that poem.
I read a book about rats once:
They’re really not all that bad.

One Gestures

for Austin Pruett

Cold snapped temperature
begging for more
bodies by the dozen
wrapped in front of your nearest church door.
I work the soup kitchen circuit
I can’t feel sorry for myself anymore.
If mangroves grew in my city
I’d tie a knot of plastic can holders
to each branch to be anchored with stone.
Artificial growth on organic compounds:
Collagen injected into the silicone tit of a mother.

A smokers car floor of memories
smashed to an ashen pulp
mitigating between coffee spills
and sockless toes when pedals are pushed.
The myriad you.
The gesture used to finalize what thought
is left of the lover left behind.

Cold-reading again
as an actor for escapism.
Easier to bleed in literature
than meet a future liaison
who turns out to be a bedsore.
Ha I’m talking about me again.
Ha I have been good this winter.
Ha I haven’t touched a woman for months
I feigned celibacy
last New Years
until Valentines Day.

Destructive loving digs
a miscalculated emotional atmosphere
giving too much to take a little
or another problem is
too much too tiresome!
O, a gesture of love!
I imagine romance perfected:
‘You’re much too much too soon’
on repeat on the stereo
in the bathroom.