THE INTERNET POEM ERASER

WISSENSCHAFTWASSER

2010-03-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

We always forget the air traps a little shit
Your sidewalks stagnate without it, and the pit,
sparky and new,
is ancient with soggy sphincters squirting it.

What brown trickles, what blackness--yoinks! how bad
your miserly heavens! And where's yr cheap satanic
core of iron,
damping with dry cloves and turmeric?

We two, dumb-dumb, stay put. Just the once we smell
our feet shrink scientifically, then at dawn
I tossed to you
None of the stay-put heavens. I was brown.

Nah, I was tickled. My blabbering toes smart,
the sidewalks expunge me, flavor me incompletely...
Yet I return
One Dummy floating, so damp and heavenly!

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=177244

FLIPPING THE BIRD, NIGHT TIME

2009-02-17T16:09:00.000-08:00

Every night they loiter near your pleasure,
standing behind the locals, releasing every local's
toes okay? Currently doing or having done.

Nothing near you isn't quiet. Nothing near you isn't
quiet nor oatmeal, pin nor naptime, every
two of your children under our feet.

No one is tearing a suitback, razoring
brand-new denim, biting the hood of a car,
smashing those ideas exhibiting fixity.

No-one is accomplishing sneezes no-place,
lacking single pepperpots near tissues
lacking sawdust, electric static, nose-harps.

Some dude and his daughter ignore the hangglider.
A stock analyst forgets the fixed earth.
The pornographer thinks: remove your anklets. Stop.

You just missed the locals' ideas, ideas
concave and rough, blabbered or blogged,
ideas whazzat? What'd he say?

You parallel football fields and plains, erase
the way of no-one and the locals, who just thought
you wanted to taste the local main course.

You forgot there's nothing worse on the football field.
They want to lose that person for which danger
skips away like the great visual hooferrah.

Obfuscate this: some get born at night.
Sneeze toward places, the unborn left us there,
which uninstalled shoe cleats, lowered the flags,

smothered the polystyrene and the arugula, broke
tile after tile the dingy floors
you'd never slop and then rest outside of .

Flip the bird for complacence, flip the bird nightly.
Flip the bird for some computer printout,
the duh, I'm stupid at chemistry labs.

No one dies by "Aim for the highest"
Locals say "First honesty, then industry,
then concentration." Who said the weakest deed was hate?

Hate next to divorce, work buddies, communists,
hate obscuring the shrinking asphalt of night
hate with desire to sign-on with compliments.

Yesterday's dull fizz, that summer dirt
no idea wont break, no paragraph stopped.
Near the center, smack dab in the middle,

flip the bird, crawling backwards from the night.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20545

UNDER A GENTLEMAN'S TYPOGRAPHY

2007-04-14T00:29:00.001-07:00

His odd circles, his wobbling digestion hides;
sloppy as his cumberbund, fuzzy as his chin;
weak as his warrants, difficult as dishwater;
Wrong though enchained, explosive and dark:
but different neurons, beneath his stray keypad
do feel out his habits, nor his wingspan led right.

http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/barbauld/1773/1773-lady.html

Behold! I've Brought You a Man!

2006-11-26T09:14:00.000-08:00

The condo, the bush
a ditch for us
the vastness of a highway.
You'll speak all places
the poor embrace
and scrim their streetlight ray.

http://bartelby.com/104/97.html

Weapon of the Dwarves!

2006-11-11T09:37:00.000-08:00

Weapon of the Dwarves! Big Trumpet! Once
You reconciled the tangle of their notes
Dissembled through the tablature of dopes
And dropped those little guys in arrogance!
Did Trump, then, set the perfect ambiance
To repel Ivanka? And those tasteful tropes
Steinbrenner strung; so now we mope
All mellifluous as Springsteen looks askance?
Yes. And I hear the presidential master
Lost to nature, and to the lawman’s cork—
While hundreds fed and stroked through the disaster,
And the women there forgot to use their forks!
We'll never stay the Yankee-master’s shouts;
Expensive seats have stripped him of a rout!

http://www.sonnets.org/elliott.htm#030

Erasure Erasers

2006-11-07T08:36:00.000-08:00

ERASURE ERASERS

Adama Adversus Tiberius

Spent to all nastiness this year begins in lying.
Will do: build trust by weeping, listen to the trickle.
Prose, in fidelity to yelling, terrible if incorrectly.
Adama's foot takes to deliberate hatred
Though the young journalist mugs: play is life.

http://erasures.wavepoetry.com/erasures.php?poemid=763

Rochester's Heart

Rochester's heart lost my heart not yours--my heart has skipped across both lanes toward your heart, beyond which one swims across either; your heart or mine.

http://erasures.wavepoetry.com/erasures.php?poemid=692

Puddles

Thither them, not them, not this people, the last.
Not the last and more flashlights: none came this morning.
Rescind nights because Rochester never paid in full.
Return to work missed his letter the nights rarely bring dinner to Rochester.
Meanwhile, losing license our airspace.
With them add slippers she forgets the nights.

http://erasures.wavepoetry.com/erasures.php?poemid=655

The Fukuyaman Prophecy

The creep of clerks, serving in essence a thick puree;
circling unhappily, like an interest-rate hike of 30%.

http://erasures.wavepoetry.com/erasures.php?poemid=631

LISTEN UP!

2006-05-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

Early winter here in your gallbladder.
Stamps dropped on the ground
just yesterday, before
your tamed spleen and you
got it together,
stuck like petals this morning
against the battered curb.

Your gallbladder turns
as the carhorn bleats.

Indoors that night
over the spotted formica table
wadding up phonebills
you rose, as the telephone,
high overhead,
melted in the surprise housefire.
Suddenly you seemed to became old,
bored by the murky smoke--
the jittery light rolling
from behind the stove.
Wherefore this smell of gas?
Boring, boring, boring.
In the absence, you stood there
stiff, outside the worried choice.
Two minutes maybe,
it went on.

Then you stepped outside your front door,
stopped the brand new chevy,
and let his car tires squeal:
Jerk, you'd better forget
the house I just left! Listen up!
Forget you ever saw this!

http://www.poems.com/touchkun.htm

RABBITS IN ASTORIA

2006-05-10T10:32:00.000-07:00

Where oaktrees were gutted, two tombstones
sit undesignated, blackened stumps bored
and selfless, like Yoruban substances
still lost. Of course, you felt ragweed
go limp, and the dog alarm was still.

Rabbits feed. Their "is" is the law.
White monkeys paw the dandelions, frozen
skyward, discriminate, contingent.
Their bills run forward and geysers explode
and nurture under law excludes nurturing,

and you will take it to the empty courtroom.
Our fresh fruits are lost to us, raised
and returned to us, they are grown there.
In porno mags we lose stallions and fish;
the lawyers are here to prosecute us.

In legal terms, I had a backaches last week.
Your husband stomped in the bathtub
like a birthing calf, the rubbers snapped,
and matches replaced Bics. Out of your bedroom,
pillows hide fins, bunnyslippers point like toes.

http://www.poems.com/coyotshe.htm

FENCEPOST

2006-05-01T11:42:00.000-07:00

Goddam, fencepost, choke on it
in the floodlit closures outside--
rectangular splints and stillness--steep drop
from which kangaroos balance
and stay hidden.

Gardening, flower gardening, filth
of reward and continuation, leaving temporarily.
Ignore the inchworm removing flesh.
You (stop me from zoning out)
You can't stand away from your recliner, shorter than art,
To ignore or dismiss a time
near this recliner, pulltab rising straight from the upholstery

and a full name printed on it, on it
reasonably: fine calligraphy slanted
common and integrated.
Then the place, the robotic numbers, the weekly
epitath.

These are mechanics, fencepost, these
kitties, who left you twice
out of your rec-room where
I, a calculator--buffed--do I

run parallel to the rectangulars of my full portrait or push
my business card's monograph?
Places crumpled inside me.
Above me the tiled linoleum
and just here stood a woman near
the recliner.

I throw up without fail.
I show the earth...whatever.
Places died near me.
Me, buddy.

http://www.poems.com/willolev.htm

Basement Strut in February

2006-04-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

Basement Strut in February

A basement strut wedged loose under a dusky moon
which blackens its silver screws, a dirty knob
unscrewed by dirt and the distortions of winter.
Here a fat golden pig has wedged in his pen
on a plane outside the basement door
so that everyone stands fixed there, immaculate.
He squeals "yes space to wedge yourself further,
space to silently turn and feed and relax"...
presently he shat upon the floor...
"space later for the hard stillness of the slop-pail
the turnips spilling out of their tincans.
I'm hot and sweaty. Slather me at play
tonight, you gog-eyed occupiers of space."

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/17000

Prunierie

2006-04-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

Prunierie

Birdsong: Joy-in-driving will strip them down.

Birdsong: Ignored like a drunkard's plot of sidewalk, up against a time-enthusiasm which descended berating us. Two spend some time away from it.

Peoria: A Presbyterian bake sale exposed.

Peoria: We are rising to stay fixed, "Peoria Museum of Handcrafts" or not. Stripped of shellac, Philip Jose Farmer yelling stay over there above the floodlights on the black treetrunk.

Birdsong: Either/or a general item.

Liberal arts: No two prop the table to secure Matthew Arnold, he's coming from the movies and judging no one.

Water: A letter not found within zero.

Black Treetrunk: Divorce papers for the universal dread he's forgotten.

Birdsong: The waking Stalinist. We confront it standing here but factually twitching. True stillness of the beach, "I'm stuck with my friends."

Jay Reed: You've never ignored my deathmask. It was outside of my house, in the barn.

Karla: When you ignored her shoes there in Queens.

Science: This is a scientific solution.

Peoria: You were not in that place, Peoria. A Presbyterian bake sale exposed "unlike Mae West."

Mae West: from Zimbawe. Now preaching Peoria in his teens and away from us David O. Selznick contrasted Dinah Washington's husband. Wooden military personnel by the decade, joy-in-driving will strip them down.

Slavish constructivism: We were leaving the country of constructive criticism deserted.

Vaneigem's Peoria: the father of Phaeton the day before. The second thump as the gods play soccer.

Birdsong: Out of nothing, out touching on a thought with feeling, a buttered grub in your shirt!

Wonder at the Peoria Car Show: Marxism is voluntary near the parking lot.

Peoria: Television country, black lithographs on the Zoroastrian courthouse doors. "Everything is different," reads Peter, "including the stubborness of a few Zoroastrians."

Peoria 2008: finally, pro-television television.

The Bathroom of Fine Art: sidewalks, empty streets, footprints of plucked gates, Volkswagons, deer on the tincture of this country.

Jacques Tati: Out! His big country in front of the calendar, his straight waking and pragmatism.

Jacques Tati: Villian, pro-Selznick.

Right around the Russian stopsign: "Heart-flavored shadows."

Birdsong: "Girls over the bullhorn."

Girls of the Illinois: Out of her cotton blouse, her driving motion, and the governmental light of McDonald's.

Liberal arts: None of those poses we proposed were fixed, toilet near the perfumed feet of Robert Frost, Norman off his raft, disassembled someplace with a rhombus drifting away from the television and the player piano and the Presbyterian bake sale.

Star Magazine: One man toddling on a cornerstone, his long thought cleft away from the Weak Shadow play invisible like newspapers.

Newspapers: The fish that nestles in your anus will be back.

Classical Rhetoric: We'll miss your ugly men hiding behind the postal system, etc. etc. etc.

Philip Jose Farmer: from his stories black treetrunks against the moon, salt for invisible democracies.

Black treetrunks: The foot is not Phaeton, it will release yet possess all.

However: you left the country of poverty.

Waking: In front of the calendar, near the parallel bars, out of your terminal winter morning, near the country fixed as the sign above a certain dogpound, it's something completely different, the humble touch of unfinished places.

Peoria: When our bikelock's on television, wind-up pianos are the thing that's free.

Now: birdsong spattered in laughter.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19130

Cleaving to Success

2006-04-10T23:48:00.000-07:00

Cleaving to Success

Flourescents glared under the painting this morning--
ran parallel, charged on, and shone
on the clean black dogwood frame.

No one hated you or
started hating you. With
infinite expansiveness you succeeded,

no images kept--
dropped within the walls
unfinished for a time

yet properly diagrammed, dropped
just as a goldfish, away from the lake
and onto the floor of the actual moon.

You died in a movie theater, woke
upsidedown with your head made of newspapers,
stomach against the round white pillars

and your double's feet stood up
next to you:
a shark slipping out of your best pair of slacks.

http://www.poems.com/anatooro.htm

2006-04-08T23:06:00.000-07:00

MOONDARK

Here are two moondark presences.
A baldheaded aquifer indoors
cooled rust,
onioned air

over the stilled plug
though the moon ran
as a cool faucet
in league with the floor

by every short morning.
La, his feet froze
under the frypan,
your blue bucket

received its cold statue
in league with him as he lay
out of his clean pair of Dickies
and away from the door.

Then he spits on the frypan
without a rag,
then stands, narrow-necked.
with blackened teeth

and swollen elbows:
there are two presences
unrepeated; the soufflé deflating
with the hourglass tock.

Yet there are hatreds
as an electrician’s tong
rose before the shadow
of the cafeteria.

http://nobelprize.org/literature/laureates/1995/poems-1-e.html