Kulture
         Kills.
that's  Krazy

When you interrupt the storyteller

child: blah blah blah Blah Blah
--Adult: let me interrupt you there. that was actually
blah blah blah Blah Blah
--child: wait! i have a story too Blah Blah blah blah.
Adult: good point, kid

The poem starts like this

That morning I shat like excavating a pharaoh’s tomb. It really shook me.
Thinking I could peel back the eyelids and open her

Like a pharaoh’s tomb, she would lay a trap pillow I’d fall into.

When I woke up, scratching my ass,

I found her cookbooks on the couch. Why can’t

I stay on one string of ideas.dumb.

Write for a few minutes, expect gold.

Write an hour, get a sack of coal.dumb.

Evening Prayer

Evening Prayer

Today I slept 5 minutes in. When the floor of the bed shook hands and

parted ways with my ass, the tea was ready. Today I wobbled. When

moving my 45% couch across the house, I was really sitting. When

today came around, it’s tomorrow. It’s all ready- the baked pastries-

tomorrow.

Do whatever you want

to me. I like what you do.

I’m a fan of your work, I mean. disembody

poetry was all moving

It’s today that spends the night

to munch tomorrow’s toast, a fleeting

owl poetry. The undergoer that can pulse

in the crescent of sprinkler hoses

is potent rude. look at poetry,  even creepycrawlers beat a retreat from

that poetry.

The words the Wordword words are bloated and

frozen. Today I slept skinny.

A comer and a goer in and out my doors,

jerry and gary, and the troggs too,

Smelling cigars is somebody’s hobby

somewhere somebody’s hobby smelling cigars What a backwards line somebody’s hobby somewhere hobbying the smelling of cigars. oh here’s one, cigars of the hobbyists’ delight smell those cigars like it is  somebody’s business, you know the smelling of cigars. this energy

                                                is limitless.

hid in a box, cigars from dad. a serious subject

because it is personal. The page is a battlefield.(alright, make an analogy) I’m not ready to command these troops across the poem.

it shouldn’t be alive

My poem requires ideas of juice ideas that juiceignite. This is basically a cold care kit.(borrowed language) Smelly slippers.(distraction. gary is a name I’d like but I don’t want any government to know how it is Skinny under a blanket of name. reader, don’t forget

your capItalizaTion.

Deargod,

What was I saying? Right, “Tobacco ads spread like cancer” on DVD  VHS  pie

charts. Thanks.

Suspiciously,

Chrle Epstn, bloated and frozen

friends won't last forever

people disappear even faster

the darkest tattoo is a lover

oo oo slippity sloo

i got a slimy song for you

fick ficuc fum kuf

leave your things in the truck

rectang fella hey foor ray A

smell it jell zit tell me thangs

oo Oh a grey toe

what'd you find on sale?

automatic power taking over

healing takes about 23 hours.

I am the son and the heir of a
shyness that is criminally
vulgar . Of nothing in
particular shy of
small and big and in between
2 and four
times a month, I am an unshy break-out like acne
like the permanent dotted nose-tip.

Laser skin removal is how to be shy.

sending to publisher

it's great. i don't hafto talk to anyone
sending you off, paper, so important eyes can look at you! isn't it exciting? oh
don't worry
they will send you right back to
me if they don't like your figure. 
maybe i got you all wrong. are
you right for publisher? 
dare i regret rescuing
you from the cluttered coffeetable?
who will
really treat you well? you don’t want to leave. I can see it in your body language. you
love me, don’t you

wtf

filthy mind

Her digested language.

  We search through

   poetic feces.

Women, squirm,

    do not! Y'all

    love poop jokes.

    A golden junkyard

gostual

For your allergies, take..

If I never had to

pick my nose,

a nostril unfull

a clean cave

cock carriage

a godless void,

I would smell the

world all over again.

an anti-asthmatic take…

but…Would I stop

liking cauliflower?

Maybe its best not to

fill that prescription…

Wild eyes prancing through and in forest

fingers, gnarling, trapping any one like

a child in a corner, in a flo

wer, under the belly of a turtle.

Pavement won my heart. beats with its green limbs.

Tum ta tum tee ta too tak tak ta tak

Thrush of water zig zags. sheet music sings

its zag zig jig hook a jaguar turret

tat tat tat ta tat yat yuck yeet sheep sleep

ing. taking. squeezing. ruckus. fuckus. us

used for leather jackets that zip sleakly

pretty words used for sonnet makes A grade,

what is lame is what is lame in the leg

trudged itself down and back the gay pride p’rade.

the reader's power

what is your

            response

            ability

when your lungs inhale the light

that has whelmed your kitchen sparkly?

Does your

            twinmind

fight itself for a say?

How do

            I look

today?

Could you

            pee right

to the left

of her foot?

Possess

            some common

sense, you and I?

We could learn to love each other, reader. But you have to

            let me take you

my way.

get down

                                                                                                                                    here.

never resist me

            because

I’m all you got.

literary anal.

kill

this

man

.

kill 

this 

girl

.

kill 

this

class

.

kiss 

this 

cadence

.

kill 

this

kiss

.

kill

this 

dic

ta

tion

.

kill 

this

cage

.

kill 

this 

gen

er

a

tion

.

kill 

this

same

cadence

.

kill

this 

conferencetable

.

kill

this

snake

already

.

kill 

this 

regret.

kill me when i enter this damn/d class.

AMORETTI, SONNET #75 By Edmund, rewritten.

This doesn't matter
to me, people. Old
people should not tell anyone how to
love. Love is always-
                 evolving.
      The love melissa 
makes,
i make. Our love is not any body's love. A
community of two, like blowfish.

if any one in this world has this camera, contact immediately. its beautiful, god. well, to such fella:
lets become familiar with each other, so maybe one day youll realize
i have something you want, too. then a trade.

"CHARLES EPSTEIN'S MUCH-NEEDED LESSON ON THE EMPHASIS OF THE INDIVIDUAL NONCONFORMIST FREAKAZOIDIC MAN-HUNGRY ALIEN WHORES Once there was a lonesome boy, one with no politics, no bonds, no emotion; nothing to regret. His friends were those who held interest in him. His true friend lied within his complexities. Then God created Earth. It was a very long process and required the majority of the people's taxdollars. All and all, God did a decent job. But one aspect God ignored, a problem that was prolonged to the many later centuries, was the ability for human minds to analyze, evaluate, and judge for their own what is most benificial. Reprecussions were closed-minded conformitym which led to war, racial discrimination, and...... THE END"

-I didnt write this, but I stole it

sometimes i want to be alone

jeez laweez so what there aint no jeans on my knees

today i
      feel like a shutter
      feel like robotic motion
      worry about the life of my love
      found a long hair from my head in my nose
      want a cat
      intimidate myself
      think i intimidate other kids
      sat ontop a spiral staircase
      critiqued
      have to pay rent
   
today i
      miss melissa
      had a dream about someone
                   who wanted to love
                   me and i wish
                   it was melissa
      haven't sneezed
      remember Ian's name
      remember Gookjin's name
      haven't written a comma
      used this black pen alot
      had alot of thinking to myself

     want to be in the netherlands

goldminding

hi
named ted
my wife says
i wont get out of bed
gee
another sneeze
this is an unhappy
life to have on a day
like today

jay grabs the knife
he wore no coat
with his eye on aim
a poke in the throat

murky vision
stumbles in my shorts
wife and kids in the hallway
m&m's&yogurt

some other guy, and chris nealon: reading

some other guy, and chris nealon: reading

            The first reader was an ol nerved man with a lot to say about his poetry. A math poet, I’ll call him, because he seemed to weave his poems with computations. I don’t really remember any of his poetry because he was a lackluster reader. But I like old people like that. Even with his monotone, he seemed to have more life than the youth, with his half grin smile and wit joke.

           

            It was kinda like watching a mediocre movie with a friend you wanted to kiss but too afraid, except it was nothing like that. It was like being awkwardly stoned, sitting next to one’s poetry workshop teacher and a girl with legs too long. I was lumpy and nostalgic then. I wondered what made you so sick. I wondered if c4c got you sick. Then I remembered I had c4c, too, a likely flatulence brewing within me. Did my imaginable fart make you leave? I don’t feel bad about it, I’m just interested.

            The first reader was done reading and I clapped for him like I clap for everyone.

            The second reader came up and his name is chris nealon. I’ll call him a language poet. Man, the man was dressed up good. If I were to analyze his getup, that would make this response much longer. I won’t. But I could tell how he wrote. He was a lazy poet like me, with a phd. He talked about cars and social blinkers. It was nice, because it was a night to

            fuck the establishment.

After that, I thought about checkers. Does chess really have more elegance? The seats were terribly uncomfortable. Poetry is about complaining, you see.

            I liked the way nealon spoke. Calm like a sniper but always hit the punchline. 

gunna suffa so hard with tha blues

babe
it hurts me to leave you here alone

mercy please 

make me made of stone

m 

a piece of that word

smells so badly good

gunna suffa so hard with tha blues

if only 

if only

there was  a way to choose

mercy did 

make me made of stone

but im already falling to pieces

porr cute kitty cat give me some cat cat catch my thumb cant catch my thumb i love you yes i do put something authentic in

he can pushup

he goes long 

Eventually, the women adopted qualities of the men, as seen in fashion change. Denim jeans, the workingman’s uniform, are now common among female legs.

A female is not a woman, for a female is yet unmarred by social influence. A woman is a female, an extension of what being a female can be.

time killer activity                                think about                                                       the ziggurat

inflict a
man on a boy
and he becomes a man with
boyish tendencies. hardened design such as concrete
substituted for the soul. boss asks him to mop the podium and chairs
his other boss demands
women's bathroom cleanup. standing there she spreads her legs to pee. but he is shocked
unfair fire
on a mattress pressed against an alley's fence
versed in narcolepsy. isn't crazy speak-sleep.




http://www.recipesecrets.net/forums/recipe-exchange/25936-red-robin-freckled-lemonade.html

divider- grass against cement

c

I was five hours early. I walk
away uncomprehending, Thanksgiving glee stupefied; hunger
was my concern.
I survey the mediocre food establishments available, get dizzy
and sit down. So much shit to shit with hours to destroy through
choked security and

reading and
whistling whistles and
pacing to a dizzy and
sitting to a calmed dizzy and
eating ten dollars of hamburger and drinking and remembering sex and fighting off boners and
sitting without boners and standing again

and David Bowie audio circus and staring and staring and staring at 10:02, 10:02, and 10:02, and 10:01, and 10:03 and

Living middle earth sketches
a chain reaction
then the staircase trips over itself
over. friendships and attention, powerful and lonely. two stumbles per step. limpish.-desirable being broken. people want their own dramaticDeath, but it's easiest just to lie there.

One lies there with the jaw limp, gawks at the drama they owned year round on television, for some, bystandervision. the lucky ones are someone else's drama.

((()(((()((((((((((()(((((((((((((((((((((((()((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((()((
my brother claps for the baseball game and my sister stirs a dish of green.
everythings fine
who am i to blame for all the reasons i want to scream

interpreted Desno’s Dream.

Snakecave corridor in a dresser won’t please or dress her, the police the berry picking magic. When two people smell numbers. Exploration is haunt. Where are we. we are again. where we are. circles in square could lighten a frown monster. That yellow blackness, severe; sticky repetition, sours milk love that happens might happen. Walked up so down, gave birth a direction creation unseen but heard, brave submissive. Moment. Moment. Moment. Three moments in a momentous. Tabernacle. Canopy crawlers. Probably old growth with weakened age window, impossible. You lost impossible ear canals, dwit Monday split down the head, treat yourself like God in a box septiverse. I sit in a tub of eyes no one sees. They are owned eyes- can’t understand beautiful women from doorknobs. Walking from interview to sideshow is a cigarette nicely accented earth. Sounds like. Unborn architecture resting on a pillow. Doctor coughs.



7 and 7 sevens

speak malaysian

who are you

+how do you think about me?

-you're 6 years behind me

the moment it becomes

He

or She,

it has observed privileges.

wonderf(empty)ul

some words can be plucked out and away
from a poem. a language living on necessity (not necessities, because a plural is excessive) has a
perfect design. a sentence can be travelled faster without the




i use parentheses to guard the weaker words. the reader im imagining carries a red pen,
so i better get it right the first time.
my 6th grade english teacher made shit of my written english
with her red pen. if i was frustrated, there would probably be Mom saying i was wonderful.

in the nude, no body has a bookdeal and no one cares who i/you am. children understand this the most. they remember coming out from their mothers, naked. and they run(flaunt) their nakedness around the front yard
until- years later- they are the ones scolding children.
look at me. look at me, or anyone, for what? their nudities, which we call quirks? no, maybe the words spoken are the things in a person most essential. but the Average person isnt concerned for what comes out of its mouth? how can i Learn the Average person when there is garbage blocking its mouth from speaking its own truth? could anyone offer some mind matter? an answer, perhaps

what dollar bills are made for

a scrap for road directions

I would
I would like to
I would like to tell you
I would like now to tell you
I would like to tell you all secrets
I would like to tell you all secrets of the happenings

You are stuck in the
moment
Stuck slower than motion
No air raid
Nothing left to touch you

You are stuck in this happening moment kneeling
and burning
Giving head to flying spirits
bring you down
You are no bird

In a
room of rooms
children seaving the sandbox.



Familiar

children running in slow motion
Boy: sits on swing
kicks sand
walking along a grass field
looks at the sun
looks at feet
A spot of shade under the slide
likes to whistle
Someone comes near
looks away
Tables and benches
ponders at feet
chainlink fence around
falling on rubber floor

Faint clatter

carries pointless plaything
children dwarfed passed their height
i would like to write a poem about
innocence and the excitement of childhood

let's buy some second hand rollerblades m. 19th and skate your favorite walk, from the tall pole (palo alto) to the free-books-if-your-hands-sticky-enough (menlo park).

p.s. the best words begin with z and end in x and that's becus the best words dont exist yet whata relief! zelrox.

AIM seems to be temporary unavailable

Love: from me to you, a great deal.

(I love you)

Sleep soundly: full of the sound of rain and visions of melissas

(Goodnight.)

If I never had to
pick my nose,

a nostril unfull


a clean cave
cock carriage

a godless void,

I would smell the
world all over again.
an anti-asthmatic take...

...Would I stop
liking cauliflower?

Maybe its best not to
fill that prescription...

An old friend'a mine

me: i like singing

Charlie: slid me some embarrassment mmm

11:11 AM me: youcan act, you can sing about Anything,it doesnt have to apply or make sense

Charlie: theres a whale in me and its blubbers foam

11:12 AM me: ionce killed a man with my tale and dome

11:13 AM Charlie: thought i heard someone sniffle in the bush, so i pulled out a killer telephone

11:14 AM me: what i found was your body shivering in moonlight, so i picked up thepieces and took you home

11:15 AM Charlie: mother, she forces the comb

11:16 AM but these untidy hairs cant bear to stare down the forky line

11:18 AM me: BRB

Charlie: mm

time

N.

Naked would make a nice name.