I'm erasing every poem on the internet, one poem at a time, one antonym at a time.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Basement Strut in February Prunierie Cleaving to Success MOONDARK
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
10:28 AM
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
10:22 PM
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
11:48 PM
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
11:06 PM
Greg Purcell | noslander2006@yahoo.com
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EXAMPLE:
"Teams do not go physically flat, they grow mentally stale." Vince Lombardi
"An individual does come spiritually puffed, and dies fresh on his feet." Erased Vince Lombardi
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