Hitler's Mustache

New!

2010-05-18T13:04:00.001-05:00

New HM Review.

The Future Is Elsewhere

2010-02-08T19:41:00.006-06:00

This is my 632nd post here and my last. See you at Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! It's the future and it's here.

Send in the Clowns

2010-02-05T11:50:00.004-06:00

Feeling the love from Michael Schiavo at the Best American Poetry blog.

The New Book Cover(s) (Front and Back)

2010-01-31T20:10:00.001-06:00

Seriously

2010-01-23T21:36:00.002-06:00

Aaron Belz as a person named Aaron Belz. It's positively Belzian.

Also check the Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! blog for updates from the Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! blog!

Flyers for A Certain Idea in Your Head

2010-01-22T22:51:00.001-06:00

Aaron Belz, Clouds

2010-01-12T22:51:00.002-06:00

Aaron Belz? Yes, in the Washington Post.

Poems? Poems.

2010-01-06T19:52:00.001-06:00

New poems at Sir! Check it!

Life: You Try Something

2010-01-04T22:57:00.000-06:00

Good New Things

2010-01-03T20:17:00.005-06:00

New Forklift, Ohio (#21) arrived containing a couple of my poems and poems by cool poets, including Russell Dillon who once sported a rich beard, and at other times did not, but I remember him as rich-bearded Russell.

Also there was the reading last night in Muncie, with Daniel Bailey and Nathan Logan. And they did terrific. I got Nate's chapbook The State That I Am In. Dan had previously sent me his new book The Drunk Sonnets, so I didn't get that, but, like I said, I had it. It was good to see them both, knowing that they're doing well and being poets, like, poets. People writing poetry are people who are actively trying to do no harm. So good for us! We're like doctors.

New Poems!

2009-12-30T19:22:00.000-06:00

New poems at Fact-Simile!

Great News!

2009-12-26T19:12:00.003-06:00

Over at the Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! blog there is a note about a terrific new review of some Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! poems. Thanks, Joseph Allgren!

What is Coming to Muncie Soon!

2009-12-22T22:02:00.001-06:00

You should come to this, Persons who are near Muncie.

Beautiful Stuff

2009-12-18T21:49:00.000-06:00

More with the Poems

2009-12-15T19:55:00.003-06:00

New poems up at Escape Into Life. I hope, for some reason, that you like them.

Sincerly,

Your Friend,

Turbo

The Future

2009-12-12T20:05:00.005-06:00

My next book, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! is forthcoming, soon enough, from Bloof Books. I'm starting a new blog for it. Now i'll have two blogs that I update irregularly instead of just one. This, in certain circles, is called progress. The new blog is here. I might give up this blog altogether and just head there myself. Below are 3 blurbs for the book. A fourth is on it's way. Anyway, check other blog for this and other info, provided on a need to know basis.

"Passing Professor Davis’s office door yesterday— Professor Davis’s closed office door—I found myself wishing he was on a Fulbright like before, not a MacArthur, so that he would be back among us sooner, casting his brilliant (and humane) light. Because how is our intellectually restless little ivied community to survive without him? This book will help. From a time when he was young, full of hope, teaching in Muncie, it looks us straight in the eye, inviting us to identify with this nubile and insouciant David—before he became the giant that is Peter Davis."

--Mairead Byrne

"Poets have long labored under the illusion of a readership when, in fact, the notion of audience is often the last thing on poetry's mind. It's in this sense of contradiction -- the need to be loved & the need to be left alone -- that much poetry finds its spirit. Peter Davis further complicates this picture by creating a book addressing a totally fictive audience thereby foregrounding this ambiguous condition. Uncomfortably self-conscious and maddeningly self-referential, Davis has constructed a complex book-length work of institutional critique that both refutes and upholds that presumed sacred bond between author and audience. Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! is a perfect work for an age where thinkership has triumphed readership."

-- Kenneth Goldsmith

"Perhaps readers might expect this blurb for this collection of delightful, self-referential meta-poems to be self-referential itself. If you think that while you read the back of this book, you’re wrong. We made it to the third sentence already without expressing any ambivalence about it: in Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!, Peter Davis breaks new ground by naming the ground itself in an Adamic fashion only he can do. I was pretty proud of myself with that term, Adamic fashion."

--Daniel Nester

Seriously

2009-12-08T20:11:00.003-06:00

Watching "The Cage match of Canadian Poetry" and saw earlier at Silliman's that people were bitching about Christian Bok, suggesting that Bok was stupid for having said stuff like "poets are stupid and lazy and they're 'demoted' into poetry" and just some other stuff like that. What's funny is the other guy, Carmine Starnino, comes across as really stupid, and thus, possibly lazy too. He's complaining that the experimental community isn't exclusive enough, not harsh enough. Goodness. Starnino at one point even says that he, himself, might be hardheaded. No shit.

Pharaoh's Horses

2009-12-03T21:48:00.002-06:00

Video!

2009-11-27T20:50:00.001-06:00

Fort Lauderdale!

New Short Hand Video, On My Skateboard

2009-11-23T18:58:00.004-06:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqf7ykdRimI

The Thing

2009-11-19T20:39:00.002-06:00

Sometimes it's really hard to blog because when I think about it I don't want to do it. Other times, blogging is easy because I want to do it. The blog sits there, waiting in a needy, lonesome sort of way. The heart sits elsewhere, on a blanket, snuggling a toasty muffin. Then, the dawn, and the power of the world lifts for an instant and a person feels a sense of obligation. It is called a hula hoop and it rolls around and round, all roundy and whatnot. Then you do the thing and call it quits.

But Better

2009-11-12T22:13:00.005-06:00

Artwork

2009-11-08T23:02:00.002-06:00

No one cares how

hard it was to achieve,

or how it arrived

as it arrived.

No one cares how

many degrees you

have or how many

hours you've

spent drunk in your

basement. If you've

overcome abuse or

neglect, no one cares.

No one is impressed

that you did it by

yourself, with

your own initiative

and funding.

The indifference to

the details is noteworthy

mainly because

nobody is taking notes.

You're lucky if anyone

shows up, or if they

even notice you crossing

your legs. Your legs

are stupid too, just

like your pet turtle

and your yard rake.

Identifying Certain Stuff

2009-11-06T16:05:00.002-06:00

Certain Spaces

Certain Strangers

Points

2009-11-04T22:44:00.002-06:00

A Very Important Point

Missing a Very Important Point

Other Important Points

It's a Problem

2009-11-02T19:40:00.003-06:00

I have a good friend who tells me he just doesn't dig the new Attila! album, partly because he likes some of my other stuff so much more. He's, like, I understand the urge to rock, but. Which is fine. I'm grateful for a friend who tells me the truth. On the other hand, people are funny with their artists. If an artist gives them what they want (but might not have known they wanted), then they just want more. Meanwhile I'm never trying to more of this, or more of that, but just to find something different than what has come before. Trying to make for myself another side. I want to find a new side to myself all the time cause I'm always tired of who I am right now.

Good Couple

2009-11-02T18:56:00.001-06:00

Jango Fett and Cinderella.

Hangman#9

2009-10-30T21:36:00.001-05:00

HANGMAN #9 !!!!!!

What My Kids and I Look Like Playing Rock-n-roll, And Roughly What We Sound Like

2009-10-29T21:54:00.001-05:00

The Baked Goods Factor

2009-10-27T12:11:00.003-05:00

The reading last night was tons of fun, thanks to Michael Meyerhofer and the Writer's Community people, and Tyler's wife who baked lots of cookies. I was even paid with a delicious apple pie she made!

Also, new Short Hand video, for the song "Jason Mathias."

Reminding You

2009-10-24T20:03:00.000-05:00

Someone On the Couch Took My Picture

2009-10-22T20:56:00.004-05:00

Here I am in 1993 or 1994. My hair in a ponytail. On top of the TV an autographed photo of Chet Atkins. An actual glass Coke bottle in the foreground, which seems ancient--even then. I'm smoking, which was a silly thing for me to do. I'm holding a 1972 Martin 000-18, which I still own. It is in a guitar case just a few feet from me right now. It was in bad shape then. I remember one time I had put it on the coffee table (the coffee table supporting that glass Coke bottle and those cans of Coors) and we received a pizza we'd ordered and we just set the hot pizza, in its thin cardboard box, right on top of my guitar. That was a stupid thing for me to do, but It was 1993 or 1994. You know, growing. I hardly know what to think. I'm just looking at it.

Superheros

2009-10-21T21:33:00.003-05:00

Max drew these Superheroes for a small book he and I made together. One of these guys is bad, the middle one, the one that looks a little like a red octopus. The rest are good. You can tell Max drew these because he wrote his name on each of them. I think these are better than anything I've ever drawn/colored. The way the image from the opposite side bleeds through is some proof that accidents are better than intentions.

In Seven Days

2009-10-19T21:01:00.003-05:00

As you can see, I'll be reading with the talented and kind Michael Meyerhofer. I'm happy about this. Hope you're there.

The Early 90's

2009-10-13T09:07:00.003-05:00

This is what I saw at the foot of my bed in, like, 1993. The fan was in my house growing up. The desk was in my house growing up. It is still in my house. That's a word processor on the desk. I did all my work in college on it. That's a box of Phillie Blunts on top of the TV. The bigger drawing on the wall is of me, by my friend Chris B. He grew up in my neighborhood.

Things You Dream Of

2009-09-30T20:56:00.001-05:00

Other Thoughts

2009-09-25T21:14:00.002-05:00

That reminds

me how

every piece of

clothing is

a costume

and how

when I knew

you, long ago,

I was wearing

a suit

and you

were wearing

your own

skin then.

My Suit Hanging in the Closet

2009-09-22T20:00:00.001-05:00

Stella

says

Look

your

prince

costume

Attila!

2009-09-18T20:23:00.003-05:00

I'm happy to say my new Short Hand record, Attila!, is now available here: artisnecessary.com/attila

Not everything is totally worked out, but you can download the tunes for free, make your own jewel case inserts, and check out the lyrics and more here.

I Am So Shampooed

2009-09-16T15:57:00.000-05:00

The new issue of Shampoo. Nice work, Del Ray.

I'm So Afraid

2009-09-15T10:22:00.001-05:00

New and very spooky, Spooky Boyfriend #4. Nice work Nate.

Bath Time

2009-09-10T19:47:00.003-05:00

Max would like to be a spy.

He needs a pad of paper for

taking notes and

some other cool stuff.

He will maybe work for

the police chief.

Stella will be a princess.

Max has thought about

being other things.

Lots of things, though

I don't know what.

Stella first thought about

being a Flower Nine.

I said, "What's that?"

She said, "Flower Nine."

Good, Good Things

2009-09-08T21:51:00.000-05:00

These Things

2009-09-03T19:52:00.004-05:00

I've been meaning to say something.

I'd love to go on and on about how artists aren't conduits

or special. We are not freezers of bears. We aren't

shaman or conjurers and nothing we do is mysterious.

I could just go on and on about how people are like

"it just flowed through me" and "it happened" and

"enlightenment" and, you know, the general

mystery thing and super good, good thing. It's like

everyone is special. I mean, like artists

as prophets and whatnot, getting all deep

in the belly of the goodness shark, gnashing away at injustice

and silliness, being better, being more than, being

the Jones'. O how I hate the idea of Talent and Exceptional

and Gifted and Blessed and Touched. I could go on and on.

Or, I've also been thinking about family and how it happens

that one has one and one lives with one and so on. But then

other things happen, like not going on and on. Like not

saying these things. Like not anything happening.

At those moments I end up slightly confused, looking

at myself in a mirror and feeling like a dead god.

The song, "DEATH AT YOUR DOOR"

2009-08-24T19:32:00.002-05:00

The video. I know I've mentioned this, but I'm doing so again. And thanks to Josh Chatwin for his help with this.

Prose Poem Written at the Sandra Simonds Town Hall

2009-08-21T20:56:00.006-05:00

I went to quiz the simpletons. They gave weeds to the sailors made of shattered meat. Gracious bones were stoned along the crosswalk, lightly tossed. I was half minted by the ice cubes. I answered the questions that were put to me, like a lime green Porsche. I wondered to what extant there was a phenomenal tantrum in my boredom. I was losing a great deal of numbers. According to war, there are starfish.

False prophets wander old continents whimpering for Tim. Tim was a decent fellow totally devoted to being prophet-worthy. The scam of it. Tim was something. He lacked everything but his name, Tim.

He loaned me his wet throat. He said his goat-throat needed a solution to a tremendous problem. Um, I said, annoyed. Trembling sump pump tongue? Indeed. In those doomed moments the moon of my mind was out in the night of my memory. Was the room dimmed? I removed the light switch and changed the equation. O, baby, sword fish.

Here!

The simpletons met me in a pent-up emotion. Notice that their board games are always venison compared to my regular, human meat. Fine, I say, I will season myself. They want me to gather weird, crystal nuts from the forest floor. I put the custard in the bowl before I put it in my stomach. This stupid ice cream. The head rests on the not totally cherry-saddled, thin butt.

In the mouths that fellows choose to leach onto in certain violent emergencies, specific curse words. Those curses migrate onward, "tortoise" style, slowly becoming a new Bible that people wink at. I moved forward. My arms spread out hardcore! Dumb ducks in the St. Louis punk scene.

Later in the Night

2009-08-18T20:55:00.004-05:00

I'm thinking right now

of the disappointment and the way

the world thwarts satisfaction.

Those little dreams of acceptance run wild

through the tiny pipe bones comprising

your skeleton.

I've even witnessed the cleansing of

skeletal others, as well

as my own rubbed bone mobile.

The idea that jiggles in my sky

is a single motion, like

a single moon, that is jiggling and skipping

across a little river like thing just

as a skipping thing might do.

The record is scratched, so to speak,

and thus thus thus thus thus.

New Video!

2009-08-17T19:01:00.003-05:00

"Death at Your Door" video from the forthcoming Short Hand CD, Attila! Yay!

New Poems! New Double Room!

2009-08-09T20:07:00.000-05:00

Me in the new Double Room.

First Day of Guys' Weekend

2009-08-06T20:04:00.003-05:00

7:00 am, up. Scooby Doo movie

9:00 am, read newspaper, crossword. Max outside.

10:00 am, pack up back pack (fishing stuff, drinks, a couple of weapons)

10:45 am, buying fishing license, buying a second fishing pole

11:10 am, fishing, walking around by the river, playing Ninja Should

1:30 pm, lunch at McDonald's (including ice cream)

2:00 pm, home, play outside, phone calls, 2 episodes of Wolverine and the X-men

3:30 pm, Max to friend's house to play, me to gym and grocery store

5:30 pm, home, dinner (pancakes)

6:15 pm, more fishing, more walking around by the river, more Ninja Should

7:15 pm car ride home, idea to continue to play same episode of Ninja Should for whole weekend.

7:30 pm shower, Ninja Should, brush teeth

7:40 pm pick out new Hardy Boy's book to read, begin reading.

8:00 pm night night "Goodnight, Hood," "Goodnight, Niner."

The Schedule

2009-08-05T19:54:00.002-05:00

I can't seem to work my scanner. If I could I would just scan the list that Max made. He and I are home by ourselves for the next few days and so he made of list of things he'd like to do:

Fishing

Play Ninja Should

Movie

Make a book

Hardy Boys

Boxing

Ice cream

This is good stuff. We'll be busy, people. Busy with the good times.

How to Play "The Fighters"

2009-08-02T20:02:00.002-05:00

I was Jared Fighter and he was James Fighter and we're twins, age 11, who are very poor and orphaned. We live in the backyard of our best friend's house, Sara Crystal, age 10, who is a super good fighter and lives in a nice house. The other person who helps us fight the bad guys is The Wizard of Oz, age 20, who is also homeless and nearly impossible to get a hold of. To reach him we must send notes via carrier pidgin. We might have to send four or five before we reach him. He helps not by fighting, but by providing various spells and potions to help out. For instance, our brains are not influenced by the telepathic powers of our nemesis, The Snake Without a Name, who's chief power isn't his limited telepathic powers, but his ability to control metal. This ability to manipulate metal is how he created, and guides, his army of robots. Anyway, The Wizard has protected us from The Snake's mind powers until we turn 20. At that time we will have to learn to fight his telepathy like everyone else, including Sara.

Our training involves sword fights for various prizes. To win a sword fight one of us has to touch the opponent with a sword a given number of times. The first training fight is completed after three touches. The second after four. The third fight is over after five touches. This pattern continues until the eighth training fight, which requires ten touches. The winner of each match is rewarded with a prize which is placed on the Magic Stone before each bout. (The loser from the previous match is required to fetch and place the next prize on the stone. It doesn't matter who places the first prize on the stone.) The prizes that can be won are, in order:

1. The wand

2. The Blue Thing of Awesome Powers

3. a small coin purse full of coins

4. the Blade that Can't Be Beat (a sword that never loses)

5. the fork (weapon)

6. The Gun

7. The Stick of Wonder

8. The Note

The winner of the last bout (The Note) is the overall winner, no matter who won the majority of the sword fights. The winner advances to the next level, Level 2. Then, all that remains is advancing to the final Level. We train often in the the training area of Sara's yard. We both really want to win the "small coin purse full of coins" because we're so poor. Also, the Blade that Can't Be Beat is highly prized, for obvious reasons. (The winner of The Blade can not use it in the remaining training fights since it would clearly be an unfair advantage.)

Boat

2009-07-30T19:44:00.000-05:00

The Demolition Derby

2009-07-23T20:36:00.003-05:00

At the fairgrounds, the fairgrounds

seem to be everywhere. Fairgrounds

scream through the carnival rides. Fried

around the fairground is a crispy batter.

While not everyone is alive, some of those

who are are present. The rest, like

me, are arriving in a frothy fog.

Things explode and cars crash on purpose.

There are children.

There is a sense of dread that is small-

town and homey. I start to drift

on the radar, beeping in weird places.

My son is tied to the family he was

born into. In this sense, we're tired and equal.

I explain to him the way that the world is

absolutely full of people and that it's

always really been like that, especially

when there weren't dinosaurs or anything.

The room to breathe dwindles

but the habit of movement is funky.

How to Play Ninja Should

2009-07-20T20:24:00.002-05:00

I am Ninja Should and he is Hood, my best assistant, and we have a brother, Adidiss, who has turned bad. Adidiss works for Hottie, a half lava/ half fire guy, who is the leader of both The Guardians and The Hunters. We were camping, sleeping by the fire, when Hood overheard Adidiss and Hottie talking. Adidiss was saying, "Yes, my master, we will find them and, yes, kill them we will." And Hottie was saying, "You fool. Why haven't you caught them yet." And Adidiss said, "My master, I am asking for mercy. We will find them."

When Hood told me this in the morning, just after I noted how our fire had gone out, I was alarmed. We investigated the area near our campground and found the remains of a fire, the ashes still warm. "They were here not long ago," I said. "They can't be far," said Hood.

Later we set a trap for Adidiss. Hood called him, as a brother, and said that we just wanted to talk "no big deal," etc. Adidiss agreed to come and was tripped by the rope we stretched between the trees. I held him down and Hood tied him to one of the trees. After questioning him for a while we had basically learned nothing. Hood slapped Adidas and said, "We can do this all night!" and then he and I laughed and laughed about that.

We left him in the yard while we went in to fix dinner. I said, "Maybe some time tied to a tree will make him more willing to talk." But, when Hood returned from checking on Adidiss, he told me that Adidiss had escaped and that there were clues outside that indicated Hottie and The Hunters were involved. He showed me the clues and I concurred with his opinion.

Even though dinner wasn't even done yet, Hood informed me that The Guardians, The Hunters, Adidiss and Hottie were all in the back yard and that it was time to fight. He wasn't sure if we could beat them, but I told him that believing you can win makes you more likely to win, while believing you will lose will make you more likely to lose. Finally, we attacked.

Though Hood nearly died, we were able to kill everyone but Hottie who escaped over the back fence. We were sad about the death of our brother, Adidiss, but it also wasn't that big of deal. We felt good about the victory and went in to celebrate over dinner. After dinner, we treated ourselves to a "hog wrestling" demonstration at the Delaware County Fairgrounds. The quickest time was 5.5 seconds. Hood and I were very impressed with this.

On the way home Hood told me about his former master, Storm Ventress, who had blond hair, green eyes, and a black cloak, had trained him to make super punches, complete with jagged claws. Hood repeated the suggestion that my former master, Master Shake, had gone bad and was tearing up the town. The news had said that Shake looked like he was "looking for something." I told him that I did not believe Master Shake capable of such badness and that it was possible it was a robot who looked like Master Shake, or that he was under some kind of spell. Hood seemed to understand where I was coming from.

Reminiscing about Adidiss, Hood told me, for the first time, how Adidiss had been the victim of a machine that sucked all the good out, leaving only the bad. For me, this seemed to explain everything.

Something to Be Happy/ Excited About

2009-07-20T12:05:00.001-05:00

These new Bloof books coming! (One of them is mine.)

Certain Points

2009-07-17T22:26:00.001-05:00

New Poems

2009-07-15T20:11:00.002-05:00

I've got poems in the new Ocho #25, edited by Blake Butler and published by the force known as Didi Menendez. You should check it out here.

Tom Koontz is 70

2009-07-13T19:19:00.003-05:00

(Tom Koontz at 70, in photo and self-portrait.)

Tom Koontz Haiku:

It's amazing to

you how a college prof

can change your whole life.

Saturday, July 11 2009

2009-07-12T20:51:00.000-05:00

Coming Soon

2009-07-10T21:46:00.000-05:00

Death at Your Door, Again

2009-07-07T20:14:00.000-05:00

Death at Your Door

2009-07-06T21:32:00.002-05:00

Advancing My Career

2009-07-04T19:44:00.003-05:00

In the new Flarf/Conceptional issue of Poetry there is a poem by Nada Gordon called "Unicorn Believers Don't Declare Fatwas" which, in true Flarf fashion, is a mash-up of language culled from the internet, including from this blog. The beginning of the sixth stanza reads "This blog is dedicated to the individual / mystery of Hitler's moustache and my book of poems / to becoming a unicorn." It makes a great deal of sense to quote from this blog. As far as I'm concerned, this means that I was recently published in Poetry. Step one is now complete. Step two: tenure.

Three Things (Solid)

2009-06-26T21:19:00.000-05:00

Self Portrait

2009-06-24T21:33:00.000-05:00

A Picture of Something

2009-06-23T22:22:00.000-05:00

New News

2009-06-21T19:51:00.003-05:00

I'm in the new issue of the very cool Sixth Finch. So that's a nice thing.

Also, this coming week, Monday thru Friday, is my week to happily, and sexily,

stay at the No Tell Mote l. So you should swing by for a couple of beers and

a foot rub.

Good News

2009-06-19T19:13:00.003-05:00

People, I have good news

which I will identify in the future.

People, good news is always

very good, especially when it is

actually being made.

Even in the future, good news

has a ring to it that is good.

If I meet you in the future, when

the good news is no longer new

and the goodness of it seems

understood, admit to yourself

that I am lucky.

Move your mouth in such a fashion

so as to indicate you have

featured this thought in your mind.

Ah, now is better too.

People, the words don't exactly express

it, but they do give it an intricate shape.

This news might appear to be

a funky dinosaur but really it

is still invisible, goofy.

Dumbness

2009-06-13T21:58:00.002-05:00

Wanted to acknowledge

that life is going

and yet still I can't

seem to find

a life that

isn't there yet

Yes, you are right

the night

I am mooning is

now

Lyrics by Woody Guthrie

2009-06-11T19:53:00.003-05:00

from memory, the 1st verse or so of "She Came Along to Me" from Mermaid Avenue:

Ten thousand books I could write you about her

because I felt if I could know her I could know all women

and they've not been too well know for planning and organized thinking

but I'm sure the women are equal and they may be ahead of the men.

But I wouldn't spread such a rumor around because one organizes the other.

Sometimes the most lost and wasted attract the most balanced and sane.

And the wild and the reckless take up with the clocked and the time

and the mixture is all of us and we're still mixing.

But never, never, never, never could have it been done.

If the women hadn't entered into the deal

like she came along to me.

Whether they're right or not, these are the words in my brain. I've been singing these words in my head for two days. I could say this about my mom or my wife or my daughter. One of the beautiful things about this is the way it doesn't rhyme, especially at the end, and thus the words come around as unexpectedly and beautifully as the women in my life. Did I mention how my daughter became misplaced in a crowded mall? The fear was like fear in a movie. Everything was fast and detailed. It was very jerky. And when she was replaced back into our presence, it was like this song just clicked on.

One's Feelings about One's Experiences

2009-06-08T20:59:00.004-05:00

When one returns from a trip, one is no longer gone,

but present again, as if some magician has been

turned inside out.

This magician is an idiot and so his gloves aren't white

and under his new trees are new weeds.

On the trip, one may experience family relationships, including

the relationship with a father, a mother, a brother, a sister-in-law,

a niece, a nephew, a wife, a daughter, a son, and perhaps

other relationships. These back-and-forths can

be classified as fulfilling or unfulfilled, hurtful or helpful.

There are many ways to categorize these episodes. One

can place them on the spectrum of a trip, or "vacation," if you will.

In malls, one may misplace their little girl

and become terrified and angry. One may mouth words like

"What the fuck?" and "What the fuck?" and "What

the fuck?" One may also mouth a saying like "What the fuck?"

Other proverbs may flash through an experience

like bits of rice in a soup. Also, food is expensive or free.

The airplanes are very similar and the airports also

have a sort of ease about them that requires little

in terms of new processing.

One can be grateful to be home, noting home is always better

than anywhere and noting, too, that the turtles are

still alive. Noting, also, the garden has grown and yet

the grass isn't extravagantly high. Green

is beautiful color, be it when one returns

or when one is gone.

One can feel all colors begin to make sense.

One can all feel all sense slipping into useless color,

substituting one shade for another.

The kids sleep or do not. Cry, or do not. Eat, or do not.

Then, in a little fan of hope, one feels

the possibility that nothing is lost. That all is arrived.

That the perfect spreading of return is complete.

Intentions

2009-06-01T21:09:00.002-05:00

I am wanting to add pictures to the blog but my new computer

is still confusing to me. I get distracted by the TV and know that

I have family waiting in the distance.

I would swell my computer skills but I'm not going to.

There are always reasons that require more and more explanation. Still,

my images remain un-imaged. My soft visuals

don't float across the grid.

These empty eyeballs cannot be eaten.

Their emptiness is always very skinny and never even seen!

New Poems! New Jacket!

2009-05-31T22:57:00.002-05:00

New poems in the soon to be new Jacket!

Your Show Tunes

2009-05-28T22:19:00.002-05:00

Max says to me,

You're Death Meat

and I know

what he means.

I tell him,

No, no, no

but we both know

different.

That's why he wants

to play Wolverine

and the X-Men.

Hello

2009-05-27T20:51:00.005-05:00

There is no music but yours.

There is no poem but yours.

There is no story that is not yours.

You are everywhere, man.

You are on it.

And how about you didn't know

I was here, but I am here,

and so you didn't see me at first

but then you see me?

Okay? Yes, It's good by me

since I'm locked up in this gun cabinet anyway.

Of course, I don't have a gun cabinet.

Of course, I'm not able to use

the internet or blog.

I don't know what you mean by cabinet

and what you mean by that

ginger-man-type-ghost that you pass

off as a foggy button on your coat.

I don't trust you anymore, or know you.

You look like a blue and red

cheerleader and you prance

around all loopy with eyeshadow.

My wife is upstairs and my kids

are in bed and nobody is salting

competition with shaved

pencil lead. I don't even use words anymore!

When you really think about

the conclusions, you are

like starting a new math class!

Expectations

2009-05-21T20:52:00.002-05:00

I wonder about my ability

as a person, but then I am

reminded of

how unnecessary ability is.

In this case, I simply focus

on the stuff that just

shows up.

Like, a magazine solicitor, or

the Schwan man.

Also, imagine ding-dong-ditch- it.

That sort of game is like

the zip code here.

The Notes I Note

2009-05-18T21:42:00.004-05:00

I could write something

or sing something

or note something

in the forest. Walking through

this forest, I could step on something,

or become something

or step into a trap door forest.

Or not. This possibility

is also obvious.

What isn't is that

I could say something with

these moments instead of groping.

Always as a junior high kid

at a party searching some young

classmates pants

for answers. What happens

in that the past is the future.

Your thoughts, the way they cascade

through the building

are useless only because

there are also other reasons.

The First Sunday of Summer

2009-05-17T20:41:00.002-05:00

I should have something to say.

It's the sabbath, after all,

and I probably shouldn't have spent

so much time working in the yard.

But yard work is like being a kid

and being a kid is like really

living. When I say really living what

I mean is that it's all over with now.

Imagining the bad guys behind

the shed. Twirling the stick

as a sword and using the back of your mind

as a place to project pictures.

My kids, however, are still kids.

To them, the projector isn't even a projector

yet. To them, getting a sticker for peeing

on the potty is good stuff, people.

You should be so lucky.

If so, the beauty in the world doesn't

disappear, but it starts to get

weirder. You might not know how to act

in the long run, but in the short

run, you make a name for yourself

in halls of elementary school.

Mother's Day

2009-05-09T21:05:00.004-05:00

I feel my best when I'm on a skateboard.

On a skateboard,

I am another human, one more mobile

and more attached to a small plank of wood

set atop four small wheels.

My wife is very beautiful.

Physically it's like she is trying to eclipse

her inner goodness.

It's like she has decided to grow

a force field around her inner goodness

but creating a shell of beauty

that no one would dare penetrate. I have

penetrated this shell and am lucky.

People, I have been lucky

to be inside my wife

and watch my kids expand her belly

and see her explode with them.

She is not a skateboard but I am

free when I am sailing on her.

I look at her and the sea waits.

My ollie, sometimes, is

perfect. When it is, she snaps into the air

and when I land

my feet are just glued.

There Is a Napkin So You Can Wipe Away the Blood

2009-05-06T22:06:00.003-05:00

I have folded myself

into trouble.

My whole life, it's like I've been

saying, "Hey, trouble, look!"

Glad I am good to my wife and kids.

That's good to me.

I court bad stuff and think

hard about it.

Very hard. This rock-

diamond doesn't fit in a ring.

Instead, it pushes back.

Your finger is a weakling in comparison

and the dead bone inside

knows it and

is super happy.

Max and I Yesterday

2009-05-04T22:02:00.002-05:00

Looking stern, looking forward, looking odd, looking sweet.

For the Summer

2009-04-30T21:58:00.002-05:00

School is almost

over for the summer

but of course

school is never

really over

because the teachers

wandering the halls

won't

shut up

and the bad kids,

the stoners and the

ill-equipped, continue

to find their lockers,

open them with

a smirk, and find

the silly books

that their

parents bought.

The Brakes

2009-04-29T21:35:00.002-05:00

The decision to approach

the word was costly.

I jetted to conclusions

that weren't logical.

I am fond of this sort

of decision. This sort

of thinking is right

down my throat-pipe.

So, instead of feeling

guilty just because

the universe sucker

punches you,

How about starting

a new group

focused on being groupy-er.

This makes sense.

I'm wanting to outlast

you in regard to

thoughts, but my thoughts

keep stopping.

The Mustache!

2009-04-28T21:07:00.004-05:00

What you might not notice

by reading these words

is that I have a

mustache

as I write them

and this mustache persists

even through

the length of this

sentence or this

poem and then,

at night,

underneath faint starlight

(or nights that aren't lit)

this mustache grows.

The length

of my upper lip is comforted

by these unshorn face pores.

In its gauzy blanket

I find warmness.

My mustache, my honey.

The warm syrup of my

mustache is what I tongue

when I lick toward my nose.

The mustache grows! Alive!

And like thousands of bad movies

these pressures

keep pressing.

The deep dreams they can't describe

in the mustache!

Poems Promote Poetry!

2009-04-27T21:12:00.005-05:00

New things regarding Hitler's Mustache:

1. go to page 109 once you've followed this link to Oranges and Sardines

2. this terrific rewording of a short interview I did

3. also nice to be mentioned here

Also, I'm still reading poems here with some really cool people. Bloof! Shanna! NaPoMo!

Stock

2009-04-26T21:36:00.002-05:00

One thing more stupid

than poetry

is hitting a person

with a hammer.

Another thing stupider

than a poem

is rubbing your

knuckles with sandpaper.

If you pushed a baby

stroller in front

of a bus, that would

be worse than a poem.

Something else worse

than a poem, putting

ketchup in the

pockets of your black suit.

Also worse might

be walking

into a wall or killing

a little fish.

Also (I just thought of this)

a serious ailment

is way worse

than the average poem.

Poem

2009-04-25T22:25:00.001-05:00

No time

to write

a puzzle,

busy

with

turtles.

New

2009-04-24T23:10:00.002-05:00

I feel

I did

yesterday.

Something Not New

2009-04-23T21:15:00.003-05:00

I don't want to write

a poem

of course, I never do

but just find

myself here. I'm sure

you understand

or, if not,

don't care

A Link and A Poem for the Day

2009-04-22T21:35:00.003-05:00

There's this

and also the other half

of the world

which is proud

to be getting more

violent or

less violent

depending on the way

the sun moves

or doesn't move

but always

forgets something.

I ask questions

without question

marks. Mark, it's

something I do.

International Politics

2009-04-21T20:32:00.002-05:00

I've been having moments

of doubt which seem to stretch across

the day as does a tarp,

sealing the grass below from the sun,

becoming a terrific place

for slugs and ants and worms.

On this dank surface, I travel

about in my 2 wheeled buggy.

Pulled by the 4 hoofed horse,

I can hear the wind whispering

in my crinkly ears. The sound

is not like a guitar or clarinet solo.

Instead, I register nothing

but the ugly hiss of nationalism.

To Clarify

2009-04-20T21:08:00.003-05:00

I couldn't really evaluate my performance.

I was trying hard,

but, also, as someone else might say, hardly trying.

I wanted to be able to clearly ascertain

the reality of the situation,

but, unfortunately, clear ascertainment

is not my strong suit.

Instead, I am good at fog machines and generating

foggy environments like those created by

real smoke, dry ice, or genuine fog. Now,

when you think you understand

all of the songs from the eighties, that's

when the fear creeps up on you

and you can feel sharp, itty claws.

I Am Not A Failure

2009-04-19T20:55:00.002-05:00

I am not a failure, but a human.

When I enjoy various aspects of humanity, I am not a failure.

Even if I don't enjoy various aspects of humanity, I am not a failure.

Or, I am a failure.

I can't quite know for sure.

I believe I am not a failure, but I'm only guessing.

When I notice how human I am standing, let's say, in front of a window

and catching a faint reflection in the glass, I also notice

my status, as a failure or as not a failure.

When I consider my status I often have second thoughts.

One thought: failure. Another thought: not failure.

As a human, determined to stay so, I often don't consider

myself human. Instead, I look at myself as a graph or a record

for what might have been a human.

I am an inadequate but passable record keeper.

As for records, I spin on a turntable in a failure like way,

with the skipping and the warping.

As for my non-failure, it is beautiful and not a failure.

It is very, very enjoyable. I like not failing.

I'm even a fan of positive reinforcement.

I Am A Failure #3

2009-04-18T19:49:00.005-05:00

When watching TV, when watching a DVD, when listening to a CD, when carefully considering questions of religion and philosophy, I am failure.

The mirror always sees failure.

Petting a dog or rubbing it behind his ears, I fail badly.

When I whistle, I fail badly as a whistler.

Taking an elevator, escalator, or bus, my failure is obvious.

When eating candy and cake and ice cream I am a dessert failure.

Remembering happy moments from elementary school, I am a failure.

This failing comes easy.

It actually feels good because it's so easy.

I was touching another human's ear, in a tender manner, and I was failing.

I was stating that I was a failure, failing.

When I was failing, I was a failure.

When I was considering the cartoon, failing.

Holding a bottle, failing.

Wearing my glasses, really failing.

Walking through the grass is a type of failure.

Changing my clothes I feel really like a failure.

The way I fail at each spectacular moment is breathtaking. I look at these moments in a failing way.

I love them in a failing manner.

Using a hammer or an electric drill.

Reading a newspaper.

When I take a bath in my kids' bath water, I don't get as clean as I could. I am a hygienic failure.

When I skimp on my work-out, I am a fitness failure.

I am really failure-like.

When I find certain definitions, I am failing in a dictionary sort of way.

All this failure is moving along as planned.

The failure is written into the text.

I am trying to change this sense of failure, but I am

not having much success.

I feel like a failure often.

Sometimes, all alone, I feel like a failure.

I Am A Failure #2

2009-04-16T22:06:00.003-05:00

When I build an addition to my kid's fort,

I am a failure.

As I drive my car? Failure.

As I eat slim pizza for dinner? Failure.

As I dream of my former cars? I am a failure.

Also, visiting with friends, I fail.

When I wake, after a sweet night of sleep, I fail.

It is very predictable and annoying.

When I think of you, sweet success who awaits,

I am failing very big time. So much so

I am trying to block something out

but instead am erasing my own ideas.

I Am a Failure

2009-04-15T22:22:00.002-05:00

I am always a failure.

No matter how many poems I decide to write, I am a failure.

No matter how many failures I don't have,

I am a failure.

If I have some success, I am still a failure.

If I am told that I am not a failure, I am still a failure.

I am always failing because I can not succeed.

I can succeed and still I fail.

I can win the race and still fail to place.

I am a failure regardless of what place I get.

I am a failure in every race.

When I sleep at night, I sleep as a failure.

Even if magazines and television programs proclaim

me a success, I am a failure.

Even when I am lauded as a success, I am a failure.

I always fail.

When I achieve something, I have failed.

When I accomplish a goal, I fail.

Even when I don't do something, I am a failure.

A Poem to Read

2009-04-14T20:46:00.000-05:00

And Nate Logan wrote this poem, which is sweet of him.

Listening at Bloof

2009-04-14T20:42:00.000-05:00

You should listen to this, curtsy Shanna and Bloof.

Monday Evening Such-Such

2009-04-13T22:47:00.002-05:00

To think of you

as something different

is natural

and regarded

by the most important

people as peopled

with humanness.

You pound the pavement,

you bury the foam,

you shoot stars like you

want to cream the minor

chords in all major songs.

You pretend

to be the British invasion

or the boyfriend

who wins

but (long view here) you

know how silly it is

to act like a real

blues musician.