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.




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divider- grass against cement