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MA VIE EN BLING
Free P oems 20 06 -2 00 8
AN NE Anne undoes the clip, pulling out the papers. Anne undoes another button. Anne undoes the social one more button comes undone and he treats them bad and Anne undoes all the bad things he does. Once upon a time, undo Anne from the table and take her back to the bed. I watch as Anne undoes. I clearly see the dark blue veins under the skin as Anne undoes the slowly her mature girls engorged tits thumbs come into view. I clearly see the dark I want as Anne undoes her Station: Finish it as free pictures pornstar Anne undoes.
I pull back the sheets and lay her on the buttons in front of her top. John had decided to join in and approached Anne undoing. Anne undoing her blouse but she just told him to relax and let her do all -themes of sisterly love and rivalry and women obeying. her and his upending of law and religion.
After hearing a sound later I suddenly thought I had come to die. Anne undoes the clip, pulling out the papers. She looks around at the desk and brushes aside the clutter. She sets down the papers and looks around at Anne around the corner which is how was it that in the hideous, spare figure, and in curious grotesque silhouette, and in telling him the events in connection with the arrest of the gentle Anne the last words of this passage were “long fingernails and hair give rise to scandal.” She shared this indomitableness of the whole to defy nature and die standing. To a cold corpse this was my farewell with my last words I seemed to leap and quiver not unlike a wildcat in unkempt shagginess, but who had heard of this?
The relatives give her a doll. Things start falling. The young student felt himself falling, falling as if he reads a pulp horror novel and she pretends to be interested and then engages in a bizarre kind of foreplay in which she pretends to be a sort of impersonal interior contrasted against the heavy rain. Suddenly, there is a crash. In addition, there remains his lineage and his entitlement, but she could not move him by appearing unable to remember part of her campaign. As clothes fell out I pretend a lot of the mutes and amnesiacs were in this category— the box tumbled to the ground. You wouldn’t want to marry a wicked man, would you? But there are parents—several that I’ve seen—who don’t want their kids. And oh, two different parties want it, so they make a copy and sell it to both. When do I get to the part where Anne pretends to sing the wedding song and they break David‘s bed?
She is not as yellow as celebrating geography is apparently not cheating. She has a yo-yo that she is spinning up and down but also points out negative implications like barriers to entry. Later she tries to rid herself of her worst affliction by dying her hair and indeed, she looks forward to new subjects, but now she thinks he might have been staring at her, so she agrees to the marriage. The meme is to culture what the gene is to physics, mathematics, biology, and materials science, but eventually the pair must make choices about where they belong. Upstart, roused amid the doldrums to excess, fury is a routine repose, sent without. I remain very interested in the biology of rules of engagement. Anne looks at her watch. Most are geography. There is no creativity involved whatsoever.
I’ve mainly stuck it on the map. Yet compelling as such knowledge would be, it’s how the world might end: the site of the scaffolding that saw the end of the fight at the end of Anne— corresponding to who told her she didn’t know how to do it then with a strong undoing of their embrace, pushed back his heavy arms. The end of Anne’s sentence was wordless ecstasy and the little parlor robbery spree and everybody is doing super-well only to go into eclipse for the next half-century.
I Lo ve Lite rat ure
I was attacking Culture. I have seen her and she is so big and so beautiful. Pulling a thirty-six-inch-strip out of Language and eating it, she has given me an opportunity to pattern gothic specialties, small farmers, and starfish out of the reddish-brown essence that implies a native land. Outlines of legacy are a minimal-production glass creature. I worry it’s too much like voice and structure. What’s better is when we can eat our fermented hurt and someone gives a seminar on Kathy Acker’s regional, agricultural, and mining sectors. I am not free to be mad. When I smell Archer Daniels Midland it is as if an oligarchy has dived into the wreck. Yes, I love Literature but what I love about it is the reproductive organs of Capital.
The B arbaro us Pe ople
This was a barbarous land. The barbarous people showed no little flair and as there are often horses in these movies when the horse does not show a screen is made to blink in the desert and blinking in the course of this disease is blinking as if the disease inherent in waking up early is only the end of the world.
That was Omar Sharif starring in The Opportunity a survey of the conditions of luxury and the eyes of good people on the production of pleasure blink over the course of narrative dull and disparate who charted the influence of the conveyer belt on a spare child, some typing, Omar Sharif.
We have been square. We have taken their flocks and ponies. We have woken in the morning Latinate, diurnal, simpatico. We don’t know the news. The reservoir of the species drank the juice of pears and fearful of walking among the trees and fearful also of knobs, cocks, church smells and fearful we cudgeled a sumptuous city overriding the sirens, the divans, the third month of the year.
I am a river to my people. Mine are a fat grim people in a flat grim town counting the legs of turtles and counting the legs of turtles (4) also counting on roofs made of shingles a fat grim people know a method of attainment a people who claim “We know full well ruin.”
We want goats and horses, no Semyonovsky Square or backed against bearded men: a holler— “We’re tired, etc. and the walls are white” • Who taps in Morse sadness? The old ones claim “catastrophe is convention” and fold / unfold their metal chairs • Stoned and inconsolable who knew everything about execution— threw the kingdom down the hall
Brot he rho od
Falling in the arms of miscellany the entire world fell in love, also, with romantic themes, a series of stalls, plagues, spacesuits, and tales of insurrection performed near the green water of a small pool. We were Celebrity. We dressed in Karl Marx. We revived our emotions in the Catholic tradition and diminished our reputations by overeating and melancholy. We were pretty, rich, and digressive. We were a Capital Crime. Pauncy, stepping out of the helicopter, said all the girls in Rio like to expose their bodies. You were a 62-year-old fisherman. You cast my nets off Laguna. I was an art collector in Belo Horizonte. I was famous in Brazil.
Fuck Re ality Ch o king
What makes all this “fun” instead of dark and threatening is a brawl between Pompeians and Nucerians in and around the amphitheater. Our city has a quiet head We come bloodied up. After the weather holocaust let’s harvest a gaggle of cocks, a helmet, a scapegoat, some dolls, and Daft who used a search engine and mocked the living end. We’ll riot in pajamas with princess tents and make the cutest victims. If anyone starts anything Katie has a posse to kill them and I,
the poet, lounge on my divan, reading Italian Vogue.
Sti cky S aid Sticky said You’re tired. Stockholm is gay. Better hunt. Better get out a pie tin He holds his out— a houseful of rescued wiser. This is the part where I didn’t pull my mattress stitch. I ran outside and yelled “I am tired. My soul is tired. I’m tired, etc.” He tried to mate with my elbow. He attached himself to my other. I fell and developed a disease— that caught my attention. The void was something one grew to understand, badly strained, hung limp. There are many ways to do these things. And one last cent— wasn’t drunk but it was as if she had floated, there, waiting—
Jo urnal of t he Pl ag ue H o ur Life is so slow when one is a shiv honed hazily, all summer decoding baseball, tom cats, hinges— or I am a criminal with no window, could say a number of things about Old Creepy, Pretty Boy, Barrow, Bonnie, & this calamitous heap. “The air so thick you could climb the stink of it.” Then the rumble of my domestic artillery, the brimstone, the rats.
I was locked in an armoire and loading my chair. The locals said THIS SHIT IS DEVIOUS & you should be dead for good: red, fat, old, yo or they laughed at my theories from the Institute, inserted stock footage, stock giggling, stock rickets, stock guffawing, stock villain, stock title: RAGE. Yes, I’d take a vowel for every lost year. Then I didn’t pay attention— same bland cinema: everywhere, here.
Th e M aj ori ty
Jack Rueful, bepitchforked, appears in damaged homespun. You want a balled-up ten note bounced off Vecchio’s brow? That white man would pick it up every few seconds, then blow off cold Jack Rueful, who appears again, folds the marketing terms: “No, sweetheart, it’s the proud SECOND generation scattering seven-pound axes on the barn floor.” Red runs up and down in front of the sofa— clean whiskers and half a pound of lead in his butt. I had to hand it to him: he combed the hayseed out of his Microsoft Word. I tried to tear away from it, but reddish-brownish liquid bested the arts again /
GREA T M ATRIX / sm all ye ar
In a fractal Hanoi we have hunger & spreadsheets.
You should try other rare styles—
or so says the problem population notorious with natural example. I write like bards & Vikings or embroider a diamond tiger friend who plans to hang arithmetic off Dante Alighieri. Emotional, monotonically growing, I add my way towards rabbit, flashing light.
I am so broke now or broken last night She still had $300 to her name bought a rabbit Irene heard them at the window “hand me that gun” BUT I HAVE WASH CLOTHS TOWELS SAD SAD WHATEVER For $300 parrots combine the mental abilities of a human with the Emotional Kingdom Assignments, ice blends, quiches, Bavarian donuts and éclairs Yes a bunny trying to shield her child I need a job When the hell is he gonna give me my money Damn it I am so fucking broken Listen broke poet with dirty bedding the six-year-old who’d turned woods-cultivated roots with some chemical residue knew the difference She is my sunshine! I am so broke it wouldn’t matter I am born this way
Trav ail Me ch aniq ue
Bunnies occupy the same semantic field as question-begging. KEEP MOUTH SHUT. Ours is no vigorous religion— packages from Acme piled up under the stairs. The problem of distribution: How do you want to die? Not in the course of self-examination, but in the loop of the public discourse: shaking the razor, shaking the shipping container: serving the cause of the common error.
BI LL Y THE KI D or " the agit ated lif e" This crime presumes formality, quotation, and disrupted scarlet husbands (43 with deformed brows). Cases of meanness are not so well known as bionic grudges untoggled giving head to the stereographer of the disappointing park. The wealthy match leather to motor scooter -“only the finest” vestiges.
J uggli ng t he Lesse r
My lovely fame – overcooked stinks of nothing going on. As for me I live on a rock. I turn chalky & fear quick cars. * I am known well enough for my muse. I keep myself as a planet in my belly. I keep my muse as the planet’s war.
Little O nes,
Certainly is a range of intra-species animal intelligence. Only a few days ago she saw a little rabbit lying dead on the side of a road. Why build your burrow in the center of the lawn? White/gray fluff around the hole, ants in and out. We stand over it. I agree that bunnies are hilarious, but there needs to be more to it than a bunny, in a burrow, in the middle of the lawn. The rabbit is the most astonishing and visually audacious, the most blunt and oblivious species. We understand your feelings. Rabbits brag about their “razor-like, totally unbiased, absolutely objective” judgment, which is expressly unaffected by emotions. The adult male rabbit never moves—it poses. It is forever patronizing, condescending, forgiving, or patiently teaching. Being an animal of mystery enhances its grandiose sense of selfimportance, omnipotence, and omnipresence. SUPERIORITY AND MYSTERY ARE ESSENTIAL COMPONENTS OF THE RABBIT’S UNIQUENESS.
Everything that had gone before with the rabbits was done in ignorance of The Way Things Really Are. The bunnies were merely another player. A new empire was established after, and all of rabbit history is a matter of these small and pernicious wars. Because they did not know each other and know their specialties, etc., it would have been impossible—without encouraging the worst of my nightmares—that all those factions would unite, befriend a rival tribe of horses, and blood would be shed. A short rose, then came the plague, and many of these mills and houses fell into disuse. We lump down on our leather bed, a stupid human feeding error. Yet to a controlling species, this is not the point. However, I do think of open rebellion against the rabbits, massterrain terrorism or many ongoing wars and crises / will stay awake now / can’t go back to my dreamland again. After all, cocktails aside, professors come back to teach Monday morning. I just think of the way these levels disgorge thousands in festering sores, fatal rabbits—how these agents in the field were sacrificed, of snail-skulled little rabbits who are in turn kidnapped, making for the meeting of wonder and matter-of-fact. Nothing fundamentally cursory here. On April 20, 1979, President Jimmy Carter was attacked by a rabbit during a fishing trip in Plains, Georgia.
After everything, the rabbit has again proven debilitating. There now appears a chance for a single commander to take control of the corrupt species preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love. The male rabbit uses a False Self to regulate his labile sense of worth by the extraction of attention. The most conflicted of this is an understanding of the house and that one wing, or, knock off any traction, continue to be a fragmented mess. The more potent the pellets, the more efficient the rabbit is at keeping strangers at bay. The very acts of sadism to be consumed by the rabbit tend toward sallow, pallid, or milky white in individuals with light skin color. Obviously, there is no substitute for taking your bunny to your rabbit-experienced veterinarian. It is a pose often assumed by singers and by religious leaders. May be beautifully well formed with flourishes, but non-perfectionistic. May be illegible scribbling, especially in male. Non-symmetric grin or grimace. Sardonic smirk. Frozen, toothy but non-gingival grin. Half-open-mouthed grin. Grin with short repetitive laugh. Popular is the Joan of Arc pose in which the individual’s eyes are directed toward the heavens.
Period rectangle, irrational winding numbers, undertone series, tangram set, star polygons, star octagon, rhombic triacontahedron, a long-wooled rabbit, pure length is voice / irrational: “i notice a lot of rabbits. i guess i can see them to a point, but i feel more or less just fed-up. we had no idea. it was all so brutally clear. it’s like when they shot old yeller, as sad as it is, we have to just cut our losses and go forward. i’d have to question the weather, it’s that bad knowing what the real problem is and has been. i feel lucky to be getting out and knowing that it wasn’t my fault, that there really was nothing else i could have done. it’s like a burden has been lifted. it all rolls off my back. they can’t hurt me anymore”
Wh o is A bj ect F ull of L ove and Hist ory ? Mine is a biography of the man who stood as a subtitle, who stated it succinctly, this way I inflicted male love. I like anyone who sticks it. Sperm can make the romantic abjure. This applies equally to the trend of money, to the so many coded instances of my failing, the textual productions of my misery. I get it into funks in monographs or in comparative analyses also more Romans have fled and for whom is this volcano of love its stifled eruption? History availeth not nor love nor calms my nerves nor allows that I have some questions of history. And these limbs a document that belong never to its founder and to this end these are the most striking, these habitually revamped adorations. Oh how can we love the body, Napoleon Bonaparte?
He H at es My Life of A rt and Be auty He remains the master, but I am a keen reader. All my life he hates the work of capturing He hates to fathom my living. He takes my own life. I can get that. He's trapped in a need to watch and just be like wow, life is not something, like that he hates parting, like that he has stated he hates my specific reason, like he hates to see a pattern like my own life. Here he hates out of the deep instinct of the species; in this hatred there is a God, because God loves this ratio of power. He hates my life because it is the person breaching, the only time I’ve ever been, it’s terror. He is dubious about the validity of my concept. He dipped a dainty vocal melody. He is the proverbial silo. So I am human after all albeit he hates my human manner. This reminds me of one of those conceptual art pieces: How I will be frequently deceived. How I will be led.
If I h ad P owe r, Be auty, We al th I set out to look after my beauty. Anne has an ache in her wealth. I have a deep power of the rifle. Anne shoots the rifle at the criminals as they swim toward the fat of the land. We could end this with penetration, the tongue as a centralized power source the hand armed with Roman law. And every wood her regiment, possessing all elements of adornment, each building a self-conceit, this most powerful ordnance -the new sea. Imagine the quiet of these first visions, the lack of industrial infrastructure, my materially produced brute force. I could not die! Anne could dry her own veins! Make herself the superlative! The leap from impoverishment would ring! Hope this helps out okay -this tongue framed with meat, the voice as a charm of bulls. Excellent for sleeping, my grievous form of wealth, this so-called artistic representation, my sufficient ransom -- pride.
O n a Torre nt Virgi n Pl ai n To see you naked Kansas winter lawn mowing withholding from the Shaman King episode lists how to cook a rapist in a northwest church Fresno of electric blue headlands oceans dried up just like that to be witnessed in the privates of my country distinguishing the language the very simple language dismantling the natural in others and that she has chosen the book originally to have been called A Completely Different Person new values sort of unhappily inhabiting aesthetics generated from the emergence of terrorism to console and redeem secondly outlier repair hosiery Sherwood Anderson paxil frat fuck the Left cannot talk
Kansas your ancestor was out in the woods hunting when one of them redneck grabs his logic then I would laugh every time I heard nearly every Mennonite canard:
Kansas— stupid fucking rednecks— they do not believe in science (which is evolution)— then they in Kansas is everything hick—
phyla are body plans the rivers of Kansas will be safe from the godless after six months of dormancy they prefer to be known as physicists of course they fall where anti-God where apes where the flat done froze our brains
I did not then measure up to my stature and the man who for you put aside chaff and water you confused with an invertebrate and food for many animals or a killer eating part of his own head I had a set opinion we should be the one who is dead blood was drawn from the femoral vein and placed in deadly washes blood from animals from several landscapes blood from deer and elk in Wisconsin blood from captive industries blood from farmers selling grain Silence is the law of the luckless though for these treads the rest are suffered well
We are Bleeding only much much more so in Kansas a great deal that that that that it does not require the added sweetness it turns out wheat farina these are temporary shifts in the wheat market a wheat producer will move with each breeze
plump plump blue sky reel big fish blue sky a conceit of the un-lame new arsenal stadium beast of the earth little children in the carts remembered the blind should see and the sick be required to tie dye-soaked strings around fat jets until becoming an expert population of farmers William Allen White was black with coal and chaff and tears were striping his features grotesquely the palsy of terror loosened its steel bands a white terrorism is horrible “the huge abhorrence” includes how to produce a great point about power who owns democracy and lots of bare, undulating land succumbs and loses her voice entirely but I can’t ever recall having been slagged using these gifts as lures
It was played to death and its remakes are crap but still it sounds okay Walt Whitman then we get lost and poorly written for this we can principally thank suffering and the foreskinned/unforeskinned sons of mothers
plus ça change, plus c’est compost or a combination of bugs and overwhelming war
I guess there is probably probably probably nothing more to say decades of slovenly affections a circuit debate comes another raw poem about monkeys
I will shoot a tiger! Walt Whitman is gay! I had a sort of dream-trance in which I saw an imposing Kansas jail with the ambiguity of language every cell had a stenciled arrow pointing toward Wichita every slick majesty cost me an arm
Exi t Lef t
Poor poet at 12 degrees who hates the folks and listless fibers but loves the reddish brown unhappiness that loads this vein with ore. If she’s a cuss let’s watch her flounder blow by blow with scars who wants an engine/ animal to scuff across her floor. A gesture’s snark can ruin the ruined as can clouds and doors. Clouds and doors support no Sistene. No Sistene – converts – unmoored.
Ma Vie e n B ling
The lovers have themselves photographed in harmony with the State. One lies down on the other and holds it. Hello, I am here to volunteer my money from these accounts: BANK OF AMERICA US BANK This is huge. I write it over and over. DISCOVER BANK loves Anne Boyer. I remember Wachovia. We call a wreck a Romney. We excuse ourselves from the ordinary digital manners of our time.
Pornographers and terrorists fell in love with me from the start the Latin I’d taken was adapting and the truckers stuck on me worked a little everyone was going to jail for being who can get in trouble who are not orphans who should have known better And you should worry in a version where the girls are older in that version where the girls are old men this network is crawling – unseen volunteers
It proved to be a human kindness we didn’t like the period style in Helvetica we came to cover their faces I’m just trying to stay modern I never thought we could keep it the piece of ice a bed of teenagers with friends spontaneously combusted about the rucksack we lost the plot for god’s sake when you wanted it like a miner our eyes were open but not brave
In a series of gun fights, bank robberies, property bombings, & implements we missed the aspect of being a glimpse of the unearthly strain of all on which beauty is hinged this human capital is a corporate fashion and divides so one might multiply all attributes close to gossip or war in this life I made mistakes slow to structure and after speech, so near to valor and in accelerated ruin
lol so I licked it eating at various palaces I gave a wink spilled some delicious turkey and I would have stayed with you my ever stiffening though I wasn’t and shouldn’t wash and this time we looked that fierce being fed an experiment cold water dripping in alpha patrol the anchor drug all night when we woke up I cried and it was wild and crazy why all night I suffered in the alley I smelled you when I saw your blog your honor offered the train ephemerally marked for this place like a gangster
Soldiers, sailors, the war office, prelates, statesmen, and monitors caused, exactly, months of practice able to tell my powder and powder fever grew I killed everyone and was sorry for it (the nerve to be a terrorist) but I don’t know what I am doing wrong just Napoleon or triumph: get a weapon, lose head
The city all night would rest and start over it was goodish the sufficient grammar of the spanking bench got back to it We said “I love you I love you.” I was not about to let it go all they were doing was doing it it was gross to rest and start over so easily I was gentle it had me this was my story about how we had fun and would phone first every which way
The foundation of authority went tottering so I went to get the mail what wolves the prior hours made supine and whorish – I feast in the time of plague. They feast when it’s plague-lite -each grain of millet quivering
The best grade men are landschaft systems flooding the ritual credit markets with hybrid texts of metal superiority. I want to lead the glamorous life. I don’t need a man’s touch but without money who has a mathematical feeling standing in the section marked “if you have to ask, you can’t afford to speak”? After the seventh wave, she has the legs on which she stands and forged from some stupid model kit the sultry terror of each brown ship who shares with rats her quarantine
. S alt Be as t B al l ad O ash the flesh – the local end -the weakest beast, the sour -the lesser licking meteor – the muscular -- the hours the grim origination ate the grim of poser’s mire – This salt not salt: nor we have fuel to freak the meat -- the fire.
Most of these poems were published in chapbooks including Anne Boyer’s Good Apocalypse (Effing Press 2006), Art is War (Mitzvah 2008), and Little Ones, (Abraham Lincoln 2006). Other poems were published online and in journals including Tig ht, Lo cus poi nt , and Dusie.