Post Haste

Post Haste

never ghost shall 
see through blue lights 
crisp autumn fresh
release of steam
bricks and down leaves
and then just leaves

unsophisticated and unpretentious pleasures

homely |ˈhōmlē|adjective ( homelier , homeliest )1 (of a person) unattractive in appearance.2 Brit. (of a place or surroundings, or poetry blog) simple but cozy and comfortable, as in one's own home : a modern hotel with a homely atmosphere.• unsophisticated and unpretentious : homely pleasures.
FROM: New Oxford American Dictionary, with updates by your host, truly. Stay a while!

Too CLOSE for Comfort

Beer and Kisses

This is a painting called beer and kisses by Tracy Miller.  Tracy and I used to work together at Galison.  I  was jealous of how she was able to paint things in front of other things and play with perspective, and wished I could do that with words.  Tracy has an opening coming up in Washington DC very soon (info below).  Here is a poem I wrote a few years back in response to this painting.

If It Seems I Do Nothing

for Tracy Miller

On the verge of a breakthrough/ breakdown

my so-called creative core has pores

soft spots, shower clogs up, it all gets blended

with roommate's lost skin.

When you wake with a bite

you're supposed to accept that a bug

was in your bed while you slept

carting new ideas and itchy sores.

Clipped thoughts fly in and out of sight

as I shoot toenails across the room and

envy her use of in-front-of-and-behind.

I must find a way to squirt words

through a cake decorator tip.   Paint big

    and little sushi.  

Paint pecan pie on a paper doily. 

Here is another one of Tracy Miller's paintings.  This one is called soft serve. 

Tracy's exhibit info: 

Tracy Miller: Big Paintings 1997-2013
Survey of paintings from the past 16 years at American University Museum at Katzen Arts Center, 4400 Massachusetts Ave. NW, Washington, District of Columbia 20016Curated by Tim Doud
November 5-December 15, opening November 9 from 5-8pm

Hachette Book Group Gallery Project, October 2013

Three of my latest blog posts (not counting the Metamachine post for Lou Reed) were hung together in a group art show hosted by the company I work for.  This is what they looked like, all together, on the wall.

Although I added a "Read Me" sign, some people still wouldn't touch the book, to look inside.  Conditioning from too many art museums, I suppose.

Terminal Parking Lot

Terminal Parking Lot is a "found" poem I composed from the text of a flight safety manual.

Terminal Parking Lot

Read English well

enough to understand

the instructions for opening

See well

enough to read

these instructions to see signals

Look outside for dangers

such as smoke

fire or water

You can wear

glasses or contact lenses

Hear well

enough to understand

You can use

a hearing aid

Speak well

enough to give

information

Be able

to use both hands

both arms and both legs

Be strong and

flexible enough to quickly open

Be able

to clear

Be willing

to help

Be…

at least

Be

with no one

Be understandable

Have no non-discernible condition

which would prevent you

from performing these functions or

a condition that might cause you to suffer

bodily harm

while performing these functions

You must be able

to do all

these things by yourself and

without harming yourself

Thank you

Metamachine Chews the Typewriter - for Lou Reed

In memoriam Lou Reed who passed away yesterday, here is a poem I wrote while listening to his Metal Machine Music as part of a sound installation at MOMA PS1 entitled Volume: Bed of Sound (July 2–September 30, 2000).

Metamachine Chews the Typewriter

There was no big click, just a continuing

     round robin of an almost rhythmic death circus.
We collapse once a day, march generationally
     without certain uniform socks or stories.

Heat bugs and hiccups and water dripping.
Getting to 28, getting to 30
     whether not or whether we dry off.

 Silence is an interruption among sounds.

We run along on tracks to morning station

     pulling the sprinkler onto the lawn

     bare feet squeak along wet grass.

 Put on a shawl and take a gander from the back porch!

The national anthem is just a tone
     a circus a tone, Coney Island
     the Republican National Convention.
We have no war on our turf.

H. D.  saw the tombs
     open to the sky
Do we take roofs for granted
     or are they obstructions to sky?

Volume: Bed of Sound
installation view
photo Eileen Costa
http://www.artnet.com/magazine/news/newthismonth/ntm7-1-14.asp

I Liked Mediocrity Televisions

I Liked Mediocrity Televisions

It is goodness you made with terra forma bread-crumbs

interstellar remnants discovered, tucked away.

Your permanent stance emerges late afternoon

the soundtrack striking.

The sound blast of youth is greater than shameful modem.

Listening spent drunk with no tears.

A reader speaking harmonica-movement history

could think about respectful feed-back.

Growing up    holes around youngest future.

The domain needs positive tournament.

Questions exhibit great obscure charms

forged Hammertoes, with cold floor.

I Liked Mediocrity Televisions is a cut-up poem I composed with words cut from old poems of my own, and one long prose poem by my old pal, Adam DeGraff.  I glued the words into this frame onto the back of a piece of artwork I was happy to destroy, er, re-purpose.

Demons Again

Demons Again is a poem I composed using words from Rick Moody's book Demonology, and acrylic paint.

Demons 
          Again

words hurtful

unfinished

perhaps clued…

irony put back

in the canister

we want to enact

to purge, need rituals

gold standard

of associations of

sentiment party

alcoholic

adventure

followed by

unloading

epiglottally

more about egg

this idea that

we come from

some chicken

the birds

Jack ‘n Jill sideshow

Nice to see you!

physical contact

if necessary

get right back

distant little house

to play cool whoredom

at the edge

beyond the woods

of my cubicle

in this song

gentlemen of honor

prefer blank verse

which is to say

mercifully instant

Here is a look inside the book, and that's my lovely slim thumb. :)

American Office Daydreams

This is a collaborative project I worked on a few years ago with the photographer, Jenn Adams.  If you click on the first one, you'll see larger readable versions. :)