Dec 31, 2011

New Short Hand! Positive!

New Short Hand, Positive!
Always free.
At new site.

Dec 8, 2011

Some Phrases I Put on Student Papers

not sure I follow
you can do better than this
best word?
best phrase?
sentence frag.
better source
good thoughts
nice work
keep it up
IDK (I don't know)
not exactly
earlier paragraph
avoid this

Nov 28, 2011


Internal panther pulling can get you in trouble
with the other side. It all depends on the alliances. Are
you familiar with alliances? These are dedications of devotion
between at least two partners. In this way, might
countries expand, or be won or lost, or be weighted down
with the super tonnage of exploding horribleness,
bringing a weak person into further weakness and crippling
the strong into snowflakes. O, for my own sake,
I have be traveling vast roads yanking large cats
from my vital organs. Each one screams the same death wish.
Each one eats a meal from my palm. There is no
room for junkies and cutthroats, laze about bobs or freak
shows. In this cab of doom there is only room for us.
You are permitted a suitcase that is no bigger than a regular
kitchen sink. Are you familiar with this particular size? You
could look up ideas on lines for further analogies, but for
now trust in your imagination. It is stronger than what you know.
It is hairy and on fire. It can spit you a toad
or rain teeth. It can flee the room you have set on fire. Even
if something awful happens, it will drink you into a teardrop.
Just now, for instance, the door rang.

Nov 4, 2011

Mr. Exhausted

Sometimes a thought is recorded for some
reason that is very mercurial and stupid.
You get caught leaving peanut butter on the counter!
You leave crumbs all over the bathroom!
These little sick teardrops spill from the jowls of the tired.
The weak and lonely weep and place phone calls.
Often, no one is home.
On other occasions, the whole neighborhood awakes.
On these night, like so many times past, the kindling is
kept in the mattresses and also stuffed into underwear.
The whole world set ablaze with bleary wakefulness.
Do you remember what it's like to go sailing?
Have you ever been upon a boat? They sort of tilt and tilt back
again quickly as the waves bounce jumpy. It can be
disorienting for a person accustomed to a more stable
foot pedestal. This is why I mention it. Suppose the whole
world drowned, how would you know I was gone?

Oct 20, 2011

Come On, You Can Take It

I can't take it.
Some days it builds up inside of me like a smell and
I can't let it out.
I'm, really? seriously? asshole.
I want to send e-mails that say, you know, fuck you.
I just think about how Himmler organized the death camps.
I want to name something "My 10 Years of Struggle Against
Ignorance, Cowardice and Stupidity."
Even my friends don't make it better.
I regret decisions I've made.
I think about reversing myself, but I'm too lazy.
I can't forget something.
That something can get lodged and I want to burn it.
I think, well, there are people who you can never win with.
There are also decisive actions, consequences, circumstances, etc.

Oct 6, 2011

Oct 4, 2011

Sep 9, 2011


I wouldn't be so smug seeing as how
you don't stand a chance in the long run.
Your smirk shall smote you! I understand
your interest in protecting your reputation
and your thoughts regarding you history,
actions, words, and signatures, but you
are digging your own throat with those
holes you hoe. You messing with me, or not?
Seriously, if you've got something to say,
you should say it? I know I'm not the only
one who is waiting for your thoughts. I've
been waiting to hear what you'd say for,
like, ever, mother fucker! Speak, Tina! Speak!
We're fucking waiting! Speak up! I can't hear
you! Shout it, Tina! Scream directly into
my ear! I want to savor every word. I want
each of those words to be birds winging
through my tiniest passageways. May they
stay safe! May no one molest them! Until, I've
heard each one, I will be a patient fucking stone.
But, after that, your papers won't mean
shit, and me and all of my aspirations are
going to seal you in a sick, concrete fog.

Sep 8, 2011

Sep 7, 2011

The Good News

Bloof Books will publish my next book of poems, Tina. That makes me happy.

Sep 5, 2011

honors stuff, listening/watching stuff

Skip James, Crow Jane

Skip James, I'm So Glad

Skip James, Lazy Bones

Son House, interview

Howlin Wolf, How Many More Years

Muddy Waters, Hoochie Coochie Man

Muddy Waters, Mojo Working

Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

Rev. Gary Davis, Death Don't Have No Mercy

Keb' Mo, Love in Vain

* bonus

Jack White, rockin

Sep 4, 2011

Aug 29, 2011


The reasons can't be broken down into, like, say,
this is because of this and this is because of that
and, you know, whatever. So, here, in that place,
you start thinking about history and a whole
host of horrid abortions of love. Then, things
don't change, but they take on a certain aura.
That aura is one that welds the faction of the
universe that is involved hope with the faction
of the universe that is involved in power.
Then, people, the very real possibilities
become realer and the people who are willing
to stand up, stand down and a large bowl
of shit goes spinning off into the distance.

Aug 23, 2011

Aug 22, 2011

Jul 24, 2011

Having Life

As they say, one man's eyesore is another man's cool
hair-cutting place. It makes sense when you've seen
it firsthand and can understand the inherit problems
in isolating the exact problem. So, something else
happens that must be mentioned. I hate
to get into it, but we'll have to. Deep in the black night
of deep blackness, no one can witness the invisible.
I remember, years ago, when you had those issues
with the high-schoolers and the kids at bake camp, you
would find yourself up way past midnight, pressing
the buttons of a remote control so deftly that you
thought you had found a calling. Those were heavy, heady
moments. Those were the good times. But, it's hard
to feel the urgency in a damp hug. I don't even enjoy laying
beside dead bodies. Never, not once, have I wanted a dead
body sitting in the passenger seat of my car. My car
is for going places and places that are gone to don't deserve
the dead. O, no. Something different. Something
that requires a scoop of iced cream and less death-y.

Jul 22, 2011

Good, Little Stuff

Me reading at a Vouched Books reading.
Which leads to a review.

Jun 24, 2011

The Funnest Ton!

this is the Haaret'z weekend edition "judging committee". PPP! made the high-good corner last friday,
alongside the elections in Turkey. the text says "irony is the funnest ton to read".

Jun 20, 2011

Thanks to Curtis Perdue

Got me some new poems in interrupture.

Jun 17, 2011


Get the Hebrew version! You know you want it.

Below is the Google translator version of what the above book page says:

Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! Wild and puzzling book of Peter Davis, is the funniest books of poetry written in the genre notoriously gloomy seriousness.

Davis, poet venom - first pathetic, has won cult status in contemporary American poetry scene. His book, his second, can be read as a unit consisting of dozens of introductions to songs. Davis just wants to write a good song, but the percentage of performance anxiety is moving manic depression, megalomania deployment, and beg the reader's love, and per visitor estimates of full professor. Peter Davis's plea touched our hearts, so we decided to bring the Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! The Hebrew reader, translated by Oded Carmeli.


Song that relates to readers from other countries

I do not know how, but I believe that this song applies to you and your country.Although I myself from the United States, my song is not an American song. Actually Ithink in many ways is a poem anti - American. Not really his first two sentences, nor in this case, but I think the third sentence proves it well.

Jun 9, 2011

Paul Violi

I was trying to organize my shit tonight when I came across these two postcards from Paul Violi, who died recently, of course, and who I've never heard anybody ever say anything bad about. I didn't know him, really. He contributed to my Poet's Bookshelf book, and I sent him a copy of Hitler's Mustache, just because I liked him and his poetry so much. So, we had a little correspondence. He was very kind. He sent the first postcard in response to receiving Poet's Bookshelf. It said: "Just to say how much I'm enjoying the Bookshelf--So many amusing, interesting, surprising overlaps in the lists--all very revealing. Thanks for including me--Paul"
The painting on the postcard is from "A Rake's Progress" which is about Tom Rakewell, as painted by William Hogarth (1697-1764). This Hogarth painting depicts the scene as Rakewell "loses his second fortune at the gambling tables at White's Club and rages at his ill luck. All is confusion for the house is on fire and the Watch have just broken in." The second postcard depicts "The Arrest": "Having wasted his inheritance, Tom is arrested for debt on his way to St. James Palace to celebrate the Queen's birthday. Sarah offers her purse, hoping to procure his release." He sent this postcard in response to Hitler's Mustache. On the back he wrote, "Thanks for the Encyclopedia --or you've done for Hitler's Mustache what Christopher Smart did for his cat Geoffrey--All my best, Paul".

May 29, 2011


I've got no real power
but I'm working on that
shit cause, like, man,
that shit is on fire in me.
And I've never meant
to hurt a single one
of you, though
I've done it I know
and I know
that I've done it. Just,
listen, man, forget it
and let me know later
or not, no matter
just whatever because
well, jesus, doesn't really
matter anyway, anyway.

May 25, 2011

How Something Isn't New

I'm trying to grow into something
bloom-y and pretty to the naked eye.
I want to be a bigger engine and to hum
louder than a novelist or a baker. I have daydreams
about what could happen, what might
manifest. In my chilled night hours, alone like
a wasp at a window, I buzz strongly and feel
likely to move into a new dormitory, where lunch
and dinner are served with dark bloody gravy. But
when nothing happens, I think of my children,
learning to be themselves and falling in love
with everything new. They are smart,
good kids. They make these high-pitched tiny
sounds with their mouths and laugh in bubbles.
They don't know the gravity that falls on the earth
or the lungs that power the body or the brains
which scramble the too much info. They are
just blind moles of love who shuffle quietly around.
I think of birds sometimes.
Other times, without thinking it through, I notice
my surrounding and the terrible colors.
I feel spooky, Tina.
I feel deadly and flat.

May 24, 2011

So Long

This nonsense about the applesauce
and all that horseshit about the petitions
and all that crap about the articles
in the brochure and then there was all that talk
about the birthday, and how what's-his-face
screwed you over when it came to the bake sale,
and, in all seriousness, I hardly know
what to say. Tina, you're a terrible person.
I've spent years justifying your insecurities
and your violent displays of power, but, listen, I've
grown up, man, I'm not that kid I used to be. There's
no way I'm going to change the program at this point.
I know it's killing you, but I'm not changing the
backdrop or the postcards. You can have the stuff
in the fridge and you're welcome to remove all
of the samples you provided, but, beyond that,
it's over. No more late nights at the lake, no more
Sunday gifts and calls from the highway. I'm not going
to remove the tags anymore or spray the apartment.
As far as I know, everyone else feels
the same way. You can ask, but I don't know.
Whatever. Whatever. You say you have my best interests
in heart, but the a evidence is a touch bleaker
than that. I don't know. I don't know anymore. It's just
lonely now is all I'm saying. Jesus, Tina, try to step
outside of yourself for a moment or two! You've
got to make changes! You've got to give up the Nazi shit.
You've got to change your hairstyle. You've got to move
on Tina. You dragging us down like a dead clown! It's
time to let childish things go! Grow a fucking pair!

May 23, 2011

May 22, 2011

The People that Exist

A person has a car, they use it to drive
A person has a voice and so they use it, they
sing or talk or grunt in funny little ways.
People use their mouths to maul
their food, or to kiss a loved one.
People have friends. They call friends and say words.
They exchange glances and noises.
One person buys another person dinner.
One person has an idea and they ask another person
for an opinion.
Life is always moving into a new event.
Have you witnessed the nature of popular movies
and the always changing into something that is the sameness
of pop music? You are probably aware of the passage
of time and the little anomalies.
That's not the sort of thing I'm thinking about in
this particular event. Here, I'm addressing
something both more primitive and
stranger. To me, there is such a thing as a swimming pool
that swims in you.
Imagine the way neighbors have to negotiate the fence
between their properties? Do you see where I'm going?
In spite of everything, it's tiring using
language to get to something.
Certain people have certain strengths and certain weaknesses.
All of this stuff comes to light sometime.
Or it doesn't. Who knows?
People know about mysteries or they don't.
People understand mysteries or they don't.
A person can look at a cloud and see a shape
or they can't.

May 20, 2011

Egg Boy

My god, time passes!
It looks out the window,
yawning very strangely.
Hitler and Himmler
and other H's drift
past and yet the wind
also blows by,
yipping and yapping
and removing
the finish from the
furniture. O, it's so bare!
My seats, empty of
their patina! Shit!
Love, I want
you to sit with me
awhile, not unlike
the egg a baby chick
kicks at!

May 4, 2011

In the Future

I get super nervous. Like nervous in
a spectacular fashion. Such that my battered
brains get so bubbly that I just can't
help but take it out a little on the world.
So in this way, I am flawed.
It's like that Space Shuttle that blew up.
It was flawed, too.
But humans get these softer flaws, these
fleshy little plump flaws, that one could
almost suck on like a woman's nipple.
But it's not nipple at all. It's not even a
human. When the years
begin to choke the squirrels from my throat
I believe I shall be moved to the window
where I will open it and say something
absolutely very important.

Apr 30, 2011

What May Happen

When the time comes to transfer
the funds from the less stable what-ma-thingy
to the more stable whipper will, please bring your
paper towels and the bleach. Also, it might be nice
to have those surgical gloves. The interesting thing
about gloves is how they provide a layer, a boundary,
a fence (if you will) between the weird yard of your
skin and the weird yard of the thing you're touching.
Often, on lab days, when no one's around and
the secretaries are at lunch, I will open the scroll
that reads, like, like a menu of torture methods. I always
stop about mid-way through, fatigue mounting
me into a prison bitch. Lazing on the sofa,
dreaming of the time change, dreaming of the Jedi,
dreaming of the weird dreams of sleepwalk. Still,
to relieve the pressure, I'm going to have to
move quicker than I am accustomed to. I am used
to being very slow and snail-ish. I'm usually
proud of my sloth, but these days, with the economy
how it is and with all the regular bullshit
of regular living, I find my normally stable brain
is teetering and then, like a tiny bird egg, I'm somehow
lost in the grass and the perfect vegetable for a snake.

Apr 29, 2011

Having Real Ideas

No one cares if this is written or if I say
something or nothing. No one cares if, for once,
something happens or doesn't. I know people
who have strong feelings, but very few
of them know my initials. I have parents but
they have no bullhorns or cheer routines. No
one cares if I move on to something else, or if I stick
to something for a long, long, lengthy time.
Time gets very stretchy, like warmish taffy.
Time possess a similarity in sweetness and plasticity.
Also, there are wars and rumors of wars.
Also, for god so loved his something.
Also, there are different allusions that could be created
and many of them could be biblical in nature.
For instance, well, I think this has been covered.
For instance, fear not, for thou are with me, be
very afraid because I'm not easy to find but
I'm watching from a vase of fake flowers!

Apr 28, 2011

Nothing to Do

Gotta do this fucking poem!
Gotta do this fucking poem!
Gotta do this fucking poem!
Gotta do this fucking poem!
Gotta do this fucking poem!

Apr 27, 2011


The big danger here
is lying
and not much to
say about it, but that
that danger is real
and, dude,
I could lie
or not lie
but the danger
is real.
So, when
you can,
and, well,
if you can't
don't but

Apr 24, 2011

Car Ride

I ain't
a dad
I try
hard on
it cause

Apr 23, 2011


I don't believe in ghosts. Meaning,
I don't believe that spirits live on or something
and then kinda float around knocking things over
and causing water pipes to make extra nosies
and/or maybe making semi-scary moaning
sounds and/or appearing as bright orbs or
something in the background or foreground
of photographs. I know people say they've
seen ghosts and heard ghosts and felt
ghostly presences and all of that, but I don't
buy it. I think all of those people are in some way
mistaken. I don't think they're lying, I just think
they're confused about what happened. Have you
been confused before? It's an unpleasant sensation.
To remedy this sensation, human beings come
up with explanations. These explanations vary
in their degree of believability. I myself have
believed stuff before. That sensation is much
more enjoyable than the sensation of confusion.
Confusion feels funny in your bones. It might
shift around a little and make you feel as if you're
on a boat. That boat may be in a storm. That
storm may be causing giant waves to crash on
the deck. That deck needed to be cleaned anyway.
The death of the sailors is like the death of all
ghosts, sinking to the floor of the ocean and waiting
there, patiently, for something to make them realer.

Apr 22, 2011

The Rescue Operation

I told the girl I would try one of her
funky poems and I will, but not now, because
funky poems are hard poems and this
kind of poetry here is easier and more likely
to cause my mind to wander. I keep thinking
of the beasts in the field and the soil in
the earth. I also think of the yolk in the egg
and the egg in the belly of the alligator. I can
imagine the air lifting the leaves and the
trees teeming with certain grubs. I keep
thinking of the shellfish in the sea
and the water that it takes to move
a large, large ship through the ocean. I am
barely thinking of the girl now. Barely
imagining how she forms words with her
mouth and with the words she forms
whole rotations and spins. Sometime,
in the dark volcano of clocks, something will
rise up and up and, like a bird or a
paper airplane, sail out of this joint, into
the box where the rest of us are waiting
with our tied, tiny hands and our gags.

Apr 21, 2011

Big Auto

I've got this thing to do, see,
this thing to do, see,
see, I got this thing to do.
You know man, I've got
activities, man. Really,
you should pay attention.
Really, seriously,
I've got this thing to do so
I do it. Or it's midnight
and the largest car
on earth is just starting.

Apr 20, 2011

New PPP! Review in H_ngm_n!

"Peter Davis is able to say so much without saying, essentially, anything."

Bird Hopes

This is the sort of joke
that doesn't have a punch line
so I only mention it to make
some point I'm unaware of.
Shanna was talking about
training parrots and I'm down
with that and I'm sure others
are too. We all want to rule
parrots and make them
do our bidding. Ruling parrots
is the essence of humanity.
Also, I want to ride a jaguar
to work and, on arrival,
I want to enter my
office on the back
of a turtle and use some
sort of dinosaur blood to
endorse my paycheck,

Apr 19, 2011

The Spirit World

I'm searching for the answers
and they ain't appearing no where
and so every redneck
with a guitar will do just fine
by me, seeing as how I've got
nothing to feel good or bad
about and not even a chance
or hope for salvation, just more
dead rabbits and unmended fences
and bridges that can't be built
without the help of seasoned,
alien workers, and scabs and scabs
and scabs on all of them and on
me and on you, I'm guessing. What
else is there in this universe but
a disco ball of doom and a DJ
who won't play the song you
want, but won't quit playing
all the other songs? That DJ is
and he can rock your shit for
a while, but, eventually, he's
going to leave you and you're
not going to get a chance to
say goodbye and, when you
get home, that night, you're gonna
cry cry cry because you're
his silly little bitch.

Apr 18, 2011

Facts, Tina

I don't want to do this and that's
pretty obvious. You and your thick
bones, your poof-y hair
and your insistence.
I hear you,
I'm just bitter about it.
I know exactly what you're saying,
but I think you're wrong.
I hear exactly where you're coming from,
I just think you're ridiculous.
You can stop now, or, if you want,
you can go on and on and on to
no one listening.

Apr 17, 2011

A Sonnet for Tina

Well I wonder how it happens that the weather
where you are isn't exactly the same as the weather
where I am. I'm no meteorologist, but it just seems logical
that the weather would be exactly the same everywhere
and yet, here we are: you in a very warm
climate, me where it is brisker. I also find it interesting
that not every single human being agrees completely
with all other human beings. In short, people have
slight variations, which seems unlikely, to say the least,
and yet, again, we find ourselves surrounded with
certain evidence. I don't know about you, but I used
to enjoy crime dramas. Also, I've played Frisbee and
rode a go-cart a little as a child. It's starting to
come together I think. This mystery about the weather.

Apr 16, 2011

B-Boy Ideas

You should accompany yourself with a radio
so as fill your brain with stuff so as to travel
more distractedly and thus more easily like a
quiet child, putting things away in an efficient
manner. You should bring extra radios
in case you must present one to a stranger
or leave one in the blank hands of an Amish boy.
If you are a person who enjoys horses,
then bring a horse or two. Or if you enjoy
baking, bring yourself baking supplies
and a decent sized portable oven. I can't know
all of your interests and beliefs, but use these
examples as examples of the kind of material
that is permissible, even encouraged in
small pockets of the population. Still I'm sure
the most important items are not transportable
and can't be folded into sections or unassembled
and really, besides, mostly we don't want
that shit, which would ultimately bog us down
into those muddy swamps we've been trying
to evolve from for, like, at least 15 minutes.
Seriously, it may have as much as 20 or 25
minutes. I'm old school. I think like that.

Apr 15, 2011


And I'll miss Friday too if I don't do something quick.

Missing Thursday

I missed a poem yesterday and
I feel really bad about that
because I know you, my dear, sweet reader
really missed the poem I missed yesterday.
But I swear to you and I mean this sincerely:
You missed nothing. My head was full of
baguettes and my soul was stuffed with olives.
My legs and toes were crammed with that
pink insulation stuff and my chest was
heaving drastic teardrops that fell as far
as a hundred feet or more before
dissolving into a pool of all the
teardrops that have already dropped.
Seriously salty up in this mutha.

Apr 13, 2011


One drives a car because the car is a set of functions
that requires a person to activate it. So you
activate that shit and you pull out of your driveway
and you follow various signs and you direct
your face and auto toward something that isn't
immediately available. That is called the future.
The future, as I understand it, is a concept meant to
indicate something that may or may not happen
in an hour that is to come. All of the hours that come
seem similar to the hours that have passed, except
for when they deviate wildly, causing very strange
sensations that cause readjustments in the attitude
or outlook of your mind-eye. Jesus, Tina,
seriously, you should get this. All of your time
studying various philosophy and yet you still look at
me all gape-mouthed? It's simple: certain concepts
instruct you pretty much so just by thinking them.

Apr 12, 2011

Tuesday Evening

It's not that I don't know what to say
it's just that there are too many options and too many
rules and a truckload of misaligned shit that has to saddle
up with it and keep it all together while moving it
forward in such a direction that is progress, if not entirely linear.
Most of my life I've been very confused. The amount of time that
I've spent confused is equal to the cold strangeness of hunting
very small animals. I know most of us know what I mean. We
know the feeling of stalking through a field
in an olive green hunting cap, with rust-colored boots, and
flannel trim on our gloves. We all know the buttery rush of memory
and the half second of Death springing into the wounded torso
of some furry little situation of small animalness.
Who has not yelled to the gods? Who hasn't screamed to a million
unseen fences and tossed rings over hundreds of human heads?
Everyone has these same messy nightmares, except
some people don't know it. I'm of the type who is confused and messy
myself. All some small animal situation myself. You know how
this goes back. Before long, you're consulting your mother
about your uncle who is a tall gentleman with a wide, brown mustache.
It gets gone almost before you even get there. It's like you
wouldn't notice but you do. In that position, you wake, put on your
clothes and reach into open air. By constantly changing the
empty space around you, you feel like a rich man for micro seconds,
and that's good enough, or, say, sorta.

Apr 11, 2011

A Letter from the Past

It is not good news to get bad news, especially
involving words like "degenerative" and "chronic"
and "analogy." You have to adjust your ears in such
a situation, so as to loosen the vibrations a bit,
and allow them to trickle toward your innards. My
innards are powerful lonely and my teardrops
contain a little jewel of the past. To imagine
the decisions of childhood matter! That there
was never any house money! O, honey, I wish
I was a new culprit of dawn! I wish I could dredge
the dregs from this soupy mess. As a kid, you have
eyes which you use to imagine and as an adult
you have eyes which you use to re-imagine. The
pattern isn't perfect, but it's close enough to
remind you of home. And where is a home for
someone from the future? In your bones, idiot.
In the way they hold themselves in your body.

Apr 10, 2011

One Problem with Children

The only known solution to a lost child is to
find the child and return the child to wherever
the child is from. There's a girl lost in the neighborhood.
There are children all over the world who disappear.
There are children everywhere that are being mistreated
badly. So much so that nobody understands the
nature of, say, even a basketball game. We look like
very stupid faces when we get on TV and try to
predict the course of the future. O, the future! That
vibrant little package of hope! We are unwrapping
it even now. Even now we are unwrapping it more.
It keeps unwrapping and we keep speaking about
our faces and how stupid they are. Even very stupid
writing poetry! I mean, of course, poetry. The parts
you don't count on are what sticks from the past,
that vibrant mercurial beast of Cling Town. From those
cages whole hosts are unleashed and breathe forth
with biblical happiness. Which is hardly happy but
at least able to set fire to cities and kill, say, everything.

Apr 9, 2011

My Brother

My brother rode whole teams of cougars through
the mall, screaming, his long blond hair ribboning out
behind him, his legs hairy and ribs hard
as asphalt. When he drank, he held jugs of water
before himself and let himself pour the water
into himself before himself would devour loaves
of bread and so many biscuits that the bakery
held 4o0 X 4 bakers, there were two dozen workers involved
in the washing of bakers' hats alone, there was a break room
filled with message therapists. There were days no one
slept more than a couple of hours at a time. My
brother would eat for weeks, but when it was time for
a battle he'd eat less. He'd still eat, but they'd close
the third shift. Some people missed the overtime
but most were just glad to work a regular ten hour day,
have a couple of drinks and play with their kids. By
the time I reached junior high he walked as if on a
trampoline. Springing up over the shoulders of the largest
men on earth. He was tattooed from the tips of his digits
through the vast ocean of his back and the wild
plains of his abdomen. These were brutal times in a way,
the way cavemen were evolving and beating each other to death
with big rocks. The tribesmen sucking on the marrow
of a bone, etc. a whole course of sagging evolution happening.
My brother's ear lobes were giant horse shoes and his
pelvis held a mint of silver. He boots were made of
leopard fur and leopard leather and laced
together with the intestines of a giant. He was a site in the
supermarket, eating a bag of onions while whiling his
way through the produce. His autograph was the size of
a guitar and his eyelids were like peach-halves.
But that's all done with now, anyway. Long live the Captain
Spider of Love! Long live the Beloved Blow Torch of Coma!
Happy life to the Supreme Star Super Power of Odessa
and the Earth! All hail Lord Owns It Suburbia!

New Review of PPP!

We who are about to die

Apr 8, 2011

Real Stanzas

You can't become a monkey just because you want to.
You've got to earn your way to monkeydom. Likewise,
You can't become a person just because you want to.
You've got to earn your way to persondom.

You can't adjust the valves of your toilet without
certain kinds of tools and your own opposable thumbs.
You can't sleep soundly and warmly in a bed made
of discarded slaughterhouse animal products.

One needs a warm blanket and a pillow, or two
warm blankets and two pillows.
Some people may end up with four or more of each
and maybe even earplugs, a cat and long underwear.

One can't just wish themselves to have a certain color hair.
One can't just make sense of the universe with a book.
One can't climb into a basket and expect to be picked up
and delivered to the correct address.

These expectations lead to lots of disappointments.
These disappointments rise up with greenish teeth.
One can not just make monsters out of an empty heart,
the monster has to be real enough to smell monster-y.

Apr 7, 2011

The Thursday

For this poem, I shall release the hounds!
What the hounds are likely to do is any body's guess.
Sometimes they attack the attacker, sometimes they
nap on the porch, often you can find them upon
their paws, watching a fly or something and occasionally
tilting their heads. This poem is so much more than
they can imagine and so much less.
At the same time, this poem is frightened and full
of fatigue and emptiness. The type of fullness
that is wasted in echoes struggling to conquer the universe.
All day, a chipmunk of doom crossed over my insides,
gnawing like a word you consistently spell wrong. I
have known tiny, teardrop-shaped caves and have slept
in the bad bed, bunches. Even now a tiny galloping is
happening across my insides and a field of animals are
stamping and glowering and pacing. In my life, I've never
hunted wild game. In my life, I've never set foot in Africa
or seen a lion maul a member of my family. I'm ignorant of tons!
I have seen animals on TV doing lots of stuff, however. I have
also been an animal my whole life. So what I'm saying is this:
I believe that some of my thoughts are valid. I think
sometimes my perceptions jive with reality. And, in that case,
I'm at a strange loss and also itchy. You know,

Apr 6, 2011

Old Problems

My wife calls on the phone and I answer it. Have you
received phone calls before, Tina? Do you know what
this is like? Well, then why don't you keep your
mouth shut for a change and let me explain. The phone
is this device that allows one human (or a group of humans)
to communicate with another human (or a group of humans).
You hold it against the side of your head. Imagine
that it's a banana and you put one end near your mouth
and the other end near your ear. When you speak, the other
person (who could be as close, say, as a near neighbor, or
as far away, say, as all the way around the earth), who is
also holding a "phone," can hear what you say and when
that person speaks you can hear it on your "end of the line,"
on your "phone." My wife calls and she's lonely so she's
calling me to say so. I respond to her with some sort of
reassuring statement, like, glad you called. This kind
of banter continues for a few minutes and then it's
over with, I'm back to being off the phone and back to
helping you with all your dumbfuck ideas. So cool it!
Just take a step back, relax and put the ABBA record down.

Apr 5, 2011


I never know if the mail I receive is really for me. Sure, some of it is signed,
"love, Mom" and some of it personally addresses me with salutations like "Hey Pete"
or "Dear Peter" or, even, "For my beloved, Peter" but mostly it's all
pretty ambiguous. The mail carrier won't look me in the face and when
I call out to her, in a good natured way, like, say, "Excuse me, Ms. I think you
dropped an envelope," she never responds with anything but a purple glare.
I should say too that that shade of purple is not meant for a face. What
confuses me most are the addresses which rarely actually indicate the street I live on.
I live on Grant Street, but most of my mail says stuff like "Grum Street" and
"Grime Stipe" and "Gutter Humper." The area code is rarely correct and many
of the actual packages I receive are clearly meant for others because they'll say things
like "Dear Margery" and "Hello Sven" and "Good Evening Mrs Turnbuckle."
Still, this stuff winds up in my hands and I'm left to consider the possibility that
these are for me, that I might be Sven and live on Grum Street. But, here's the thing,
I know I'm not Mrs. Turnbuckle and, even if I was, I'd hate myself big time. So, all day,
everyday, all I do is think about my options.

Apr 4, 2011

The Alsoness of Living

One good thing on the television is chef Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares program
in which he rehabs bad restaurants. First he breaks the will of the owner/chef/whoever
of a bad restaurant by belittling them and the operation for a while. Then
he watches them work and tells them what a fucked up job they're doing.
And finally he changes the menu, redecorates, re-trains the staff, oversees
a successful dinner service and, poof, he disappears into the back of my television. This show is so, so good because the way all of the stuff that happens
in it happens is always really entertaining and thus fun and real good, you know?
Other interesting things include certain branches of science and different pastry shops.
I also am a fan of zero calorie flavored waters that usually come in plastic bottles.
Some people really like saunas. The world can be like that. I've noticed that some
men enjoy wearing gold, silver, or platinum bracelets! It takes time to notice, but as
the weather changes during the course of a day, the temperature may vary slightly, or
drastically. This type of circumstance can be appreciated for what it is. I enjoy wearing
shoes, but some people don't like them. Once, it occurred to me that
people have various thoughts regarding sex and that one person may personally really enjoy
a certain sexual idea that another person may enjoy too, but to a lesser degree. I
find the whole event of being a person is a tad bizarre. Just today, returning from
an errand in my car, I noticed there were other people out there and that, by and
large, they look different from one another! Everywhere I seemed to look, there was
a person and that person was different in appearance from the previous person! Wild!
Coming into my house I noticed the evidence of animals, perhaps birds or chipmunks.
I thought, there are bats hiding in dark places right now. As I understand it, other people
have thoughts as well. Some may have seen the evidence of animals too!

Apr 3, 2011

Saying Something

Along with my Bloofmates from Bloof books, I am writing a poem a day during the month of April for what is commonly known as NaPoWriMo. Just thought I'd say something. That's what's going to be going on around here.

Death Urge!

People get upset about PC language because they've had it
their way for so long and got to determine the good and
bad for so long that they feel something's been taken away from them
when someone else says, hey, I think I'm going to assert myself
into the language too. It's just these tadpole ideas that grow into real frogs leaping
with slippery death legs, an egyptian plague that was promised and
now there are piles of frogs everywhere and everywhere one steps one
steps on an alive frog or a dead frog. All this stuff in the universe, including the
young couples that stroll through neighborhoods, the joggers, the various
killers of humans, the etc, like, say, the extra movements of the trees, the rustling-dealeo
we usually mention when we mention the wind causing these extra, twitchy movements
in the trees. All of this stuff is like something taken away from someone else.
All of this stuff is like something awarded to a pumpkin. Every sin I am in love
with is in love with me too and we get together and get some real love on!

Apr 2, 2011


One has a future or, perhaps, only a minute
or two to go, but in either case
a person has an idea which is pretty much the same thing.
What are you possibly thinking, that I wouldn't
be bogged down with the weight of weightiness? Unbelievable!
Just now the sun bellyaches its way into the room
and the folding chairs at the stadiums begin to swarm
with insects both alive and dead. And in countries that I've
never been to and don't know what, say, the name of their money is,
or anything of substance except that I'm pretty dumb, in those
countries people are really getting fucking bombed. So good morning,
new day of future ideas and stupid poems! O stupid poem, you
lovely little darling! You cute little jump suit! You often
admired chunk of happy! I salute your weird beard and the
coffin you happen to ride in! I salute your curly-q desire for
lunch! I am proud to have galloped at your side in the
whiskery dawn of impromptu suffering! I am neither sad about,
nor unimpressed, with your emptiness! I care not about
your terrible results! You furry rodent of doom! What up, G?!
Who's in the mutha fuckin house?!

Apr 1, 2011

Like, Something

I find the rain like a reminder of something, like,
I don't know, Holy Crap! It's Friday and in one room a child
is flushing a toilet and singing and in another room a
another is making lots of whooshing, zapping noises
and my dog is under my legs and my legs are up on the table
and someone says I'm looking down at the ceiling
and down there is danger that has the face of a, like,
deep down clown in a distance. Following the sound
of distances, yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck!
Yuck yuck yuck yuck I say to my head because my head
needed a talking to. So I talked indeed as I was cozying
up with a blanket, a beanbag, and another blanket.
For some reason I get extra cold sometimes. Have you
experienced the sensation of being chilled? It's not like
you're freezing to death, but something unpleasant is happening.
I know long ago in different scenarios I imagined new ways
to cope with various sensations, but each time I have to
pull out the blanket I seem to lose a bit of my life.
It's hard to describe in detail, especially since you can
be such a little bitch, Tina! I'm trying to say something new
about the universe and all you fucking care about is
padding your sense of security. You can be so petty.

Mar 27, 2011


Max and his friend were in their lair in the basement. Stella and I were in our lair in her room. We hid under the blankets. We received this letter. So we were like, bring it, bitches!

Mar 16, 2011

Better Person

Perhaps I could drink less or do the laundry more. I may be able
to more frequently extend gracious gestures to strangers.
I could be a better teacher, father, husband, brother, and son.
I could be a better musician, lover, graphic artist and writer.
When at a restaurant, a person could always leave a larger tip
and I am certainly a person. Today, I saw a person flagrantly
litter and I did not
get up and retrieve the litter, but I did condemn her
in my mind, thinking, I was better than she was. I could be a better
person than that. I should probably be more gracious
with my forgiveness and should probably be less
hopeful for apologies. I'm really awful on the whole.
I should probably purchase less gas, less energy, less water.
I should do so much less. I should do less so much more
often. It's impossible to catch the guy who is leading
this race. But I could try harder. That's what I'm doing, Tina.
Motherfucker! What do you think this is about?

Mar 15, 2011

Meeting Arrangements

Arranging meetings is part of life and must
be attended to with
the same diligence applied to other aspects of life that are likewise
attended to. First, there must be a person elsewhere and
he or she will have to find a spot in the universe
coinciding with your spot in the universe
and at a specific hour, etc. In a perfectly namable
set of coordinates. How nice it is to have numbers! or not, especially
when they mislead you
into thinking an equal sign that might not even be possible.
You have hopes!
You make phone calls!
You do this stuff in anticipation of something, man!
This isn't just good times until it becomes something more.
A whole lifetime happens and is gone, in a sad way,
out of the door over the dirt floor.
You are alone with memories and voices through communication
and just a small, still drop of water falls through
your beard.
A tear in your beard is a very great country song.
Though the education one receives about song-yness
is lacking, one must trust in something
to be pure about. Without some sense of self-rightousness
we'd all be naked little imps with no hard on.
Believe me, I'm open to certain possibilities! Trying!

Mar 14, 2011

Loving the Affected

I was standing there, like, no way! I'm not fucking kidding!
No way!
But there was another reality and that was a real deal happening
that was, like, not "no way," but, like, "yes, man, do it."
This terrible place in life that we move into, it's not ours for the taking,
rather, it's just ours.
Imagine the way police cars screech through traffic in a 1970's cop movie.
Imagine the reality television shows that show you humans who are worse
than yourself.
When you really consider the details, it's staggering. Or not. How do
you appreciate an older movie star actor or actress?
Do you like blue jeans and strut? Or satin and suave? It's not an
important question,
but not asking it would be a dereliction of duty. Course, there is
no duty, only empty fainting sounds.
The whole cast of faintees is semi-upset by their involvement, while
they understand there is no choice.
The ape in the circus is fake!
The cape and the top hat are fake!
Your little moon is beautiful!

Mar 13, 2011

Around the Area

The area around the area is the place
you're trying to find. You want to find this place,
lay down in it, rest your head or whatever
and then, man, you just deal with it.
This area, this placed area, is between the
verge and dirge of something else.
Many lonely people have witnessed and wrestled
with an extremely fast blue grass song, so much
so that there's nothing left at all to hear, even
the fiddle player who rattles in a number of
different directions at once, even that sound
couldn't be emptier. My whole life, with
people around me, many of whom I love a lot
and some of whom I get very tired of, we are
like cabins in a forest, drifting through the woods
only because none of us are real. Dear red-headed
children, dear lost little robins, dear poor deers,
rabbits, strong avian types, and whiskery cats, please
hear these problem I am trying to pinpoint. You know,
consider yourself a fucking dobro if you have to,
but the point is that you elaborate toward
something very funky and right-thinking. It doesn't
matter to any of us if you live or die. That's
not really the issue. There's something more to
consider, just understand what you're getting into,

Mar 12, 2011

The Crime

Being a criminal is situational. Either
the situation or the act happens or
other things may happen. It's often awfully
ambiguous. The situation or action is
often palpable but also possibly not
happening. What doesn't happen happens
often. Often, the non-happening is happening
so frequently that you can't even feel it.
That's when the law gets involved and
they start hassling or not hassling you,
or taking you into to custody or not, and,
my friend, there you stand as a regular asshole.
Not alone in the world, but not exactly as
part of a team. At those moments you freeze
into an idiot that nearly everyone knows. If
they don't know you, they think they do or
want to. It's all the same. Meanwhile,
a goofy quilt of sameness seems ill-formed
and loopy. Like stupid after-dinner mints
and other ideas that aren't good or bad all
on their own. I just make it up. Like you,
a poor imagination.

Mar 7, 2011

Videos! Music! Animation! Just Click!

Little Bird, Little Church

Above are youtube videos I made of songs from "Horses in the Chest". You know, I know nothing (other than what I learned doing these) about making videos or animation, but it's been a terrific way to waste tons and tons of time!

Mar 3, 2011


There is an action in the world referred to as
suicide and people take this action from time
to time and they leave behind friends and family
and loved ones of other colors and then those
people live with the loss of the person who used
the suicide action to leave this place for something
better. I don't mean for heaven, or nirvana, or
some sort of beach resort where there is always
an open bar and open buffet and parrots saying
words and beautiful people walking around in
angelic bathing suits. The something better they
are after is simply something not here, and so
they go, to see what is not here. And what they leave
behind is what is not here, anymore. They leave
this space that was once full of humanness but is
now full of a complete unfullness. And we, the people
looking at this unfullness, feel anxious and scared
because it was all so simple and so easy to accomplish.
To watch the world drain and become empty is easy.
There is suddenly more air everywhere. Everywhere
you look all you see is more air. And air is a good thing
but more air is scary and so you try to breathe it
all in as quickly possible. There is this idea that you
can convert it to life. And you can. It just hurts.

Mar 1, 2011

Kent Johnson Has Ideas about Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!

Kent Johnson was critical of the fact that I allowed some of my poems from Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! to be included in The Best American Poetry 2010. So he wrote me an e-mail and told me. I appreciated his interest. Then he asked me if it'd be cool if our exchange was published in a newish, very cool, journal from Micah Robbins, Sous Les Paves. I said, sure, okay. So that is what is above.

Feb 28, 2011

Good Morning, Poetry

Sitting at at table writing a poem beside
one of my favorite poets while there are birds
and birds and birds making birdy noises and
pidgins on the fire escape and, further into the
distance of the window, there is rain falling
and cars driving and more fire escapes and
more pidgins, (I imagine, though I don't see
more pidgins I'm not afraid to speculate). Besides,
who cares if I'm right or wrong or lying or telling
something that is sort of like a truth? It doesn't
matter. In all of New York City there are only
one or two people, and both of us are here. The
rest of the people who aren't real are out there
and they are living their lives or dying or getting
extra attention from a loved one or getting no
attention at all from a loved one or specially
ordering food, asking that the restaurant not use
this or that sauce, or to add such and such cheese,
or to remove a certain vegetable which is unwanted
or produces halitosis. But my favorite poet friend
is also typing but I'm not sure it's a poem. I'm not
sure this is a poem. I just don't know a thing about
poetry, except that it happens, and then, when it's
over with, we either feel more relaxed or more
uptight, or like a colorful bird trying to find it's
way around the corner and back into the bedroom.

Feb 25, 2011

A Political Poem

Now that I've made my super arrangements,
it seems obvious that I need a change of direction. I would
hate to find myself over a canyon, moaning like a disco, wanting
something very holdy on to me, like an elephant-sized suspender
hanging from a cloud. Lord of mercy, these words are out
to kill me. Good grief! Is there no relief in effort?
Either way, I'm only whining because I have the time to.
If I were struggling in some revolution somewhere, chanting
my little neck into a clogged sausage, I'd probably be
more die-y than whiny. It's awful what the human heart can
accomplish. It can take years to decide what's best, but it
only takes a few moments to let your kids into the basement, where
you might be trying to say something with one of those
fancy suspicions, and meanwhile, triggers are clicking and
people with meat hanging from their knees are trying to stand up.

Feb 23, 2011

The Boxed

The stuff I've said could be stored in a jar and
jar after jar could line the pantry and each jar could
be stuffed full, with word after word. And the words
I haven't said could be stuffed in cans and canned
and frozen and put in the bottom of deep-freeze
refrigerators, or boxed in cardboard boxes and boxed
into a closet or left underneath some basement stairs.
The point is how impossible it is to say anything
worth listening to and how easy it is to try.
Many times, when I was a kid, I felt as if I couldn't
be heard and was rolled into a dough of silence.
My little robot ears heard failure in every sink of
drained water, in every jingle of the car keys,
in every dresser drawer opened. My, my ears were
alert! They were really jumpy! And now, all adultish
and brutal, I still hear my childhood in my whispers
to my children. I hear them walking about the house
and I feel lucky. I also feel stupid because I haven't made
sense of anything and here I am thinking.

Feb 17, 2011

8:51 in The Evening

I should work. I mean I need to get some work done. There's work
I need to do. Like, I should do that work that I've been meaning
to do. There's all that stuff that I haven't done, that I need to do, so
I should do that shit and get it over with. I need to work on
stuff that is related to my job. My job is always requiring me to
work. I mean, seriously, it's always saying
"Dude, get your shit together. Do your work. Get
it done." And I say stuff like, "Yea, I know. I know. I know." I don't
know what to say to work. I mean, I look at it. I think about it.
I know it has to get done and it does it get mostly done, but, then, sometimes
I guess it doesn't. I mean, I know I should do it, but it's hard. Why? is
what I wonder. Why is working on work so hard? I mean, it's
only work. Why should work be a big deal? It shouldn't be. And yet,
every year my annual report is due to my department I think,
my god, you are simply work that is unworkable. I can not deal
with your inconvenient necessity. I sit here thinking about
the work. Thinking about the work. Thinking, what is work?
What is work? Thinking I've got to do work. I mean, I've just got to do it.

Feb 11, 2011

New Stuff

Nice reviews of Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! at Amazon

At Ekleksographia two songs from ATTILA!

Shout out from Booklist Online

from Bradley Sands, at Big Other

Oded Carmeli is translating Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! in Hebrew. Yedioth Ahronoth is the press.

Very Funny

My daughter talking with her dolls
down the hall
and my son bouncing around making whooshing
and blasting sounds from, like, laser guns or some
sort of weapon noise. And then the Pokemon cards
not to mention the road of doom outside
with all the ice frozen on ice and, then, there's Friday. And that's
a day when something can happen. Often
tragedies become necessary to avoid certain aliments
or certain futures which aren't ever real
but are possible. And what bothers me in this particular
scenario is the great deal of time it takes animators
to complete certain animation cartoon movies. I mean
you most likely have no idea what that's like. That's
like a bunch of time to animate a fucking movie.
And now the weird feeling comes when you
feel outside of your body but not perfectly out of your body.
It's like a dislocated shoulder, it feels very funny.

Feb 7, 2011

Living the Life

It's possible for a dartboard to quiver
in the fashion of a fish, quivering in the fashion
of fish quivering. This isn't exactly something
you want to try and make a living at. Good god!
Even if you try to adjust your collar
so as to make yourself more understandable
to the neighbor lady (or something like that) you
don't get better at anything by practicing the
piano. I mean if you waste all your time with
that shit, you won't get anywhere. You should make
room in your heart for people who live elsewhere
and, if possible, you should allow perfect
strangers to sleep in your cabinets and all throughout
the house. This idea of protecting your family
is nuts! Seriously, by the time I begin to wrap
my head around the thing, it's already unwrapping
and there I go, perfectly off into nothing.

Feb 5, 2011


When it snows, the snowflakes just fall
out of the sky and every single one is identical.
That's the thing about snowflakes, no variation.
And the snow accumulating, like baked bread.
I've never understood why God hates yeast so much.
He's always, like, "make that bread unleavened, goddamnit!"
He just fucking hates the yeast. He likes
his bread flat and his meat burned. He likes the
pleasing aroma of a barbeque. There's so much I
don't understand. Like why it snows at all or why
there are seasons or why Gary Coleman had to die.
This stuff is never explained. Instead, we're expected
to just accept it, bury our heads in the identical
snowflakes and come home all frozey-headed. And
there are countries all around the world! And there
are people who are actors and people who are manual
laborers and other people who are other things!
It's fucking crazy! Meanwhile, a saturday afternoon
happens and the snow just falls and falls and finally
lands, on earth, like everything else and just sits
there looking blank and all stupid.