I'm erasing every poem on the internet, one poem at a time, one antonym at a time.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Listen Up! Rabbits in Astoria FENCEPOST
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
9:34 AM
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
10:32 AM
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
11:42 AM
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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