Black Stone on Top of a White Stone by Cesar Vallejo

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I shall die in Paris-- it does not bother me--
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.

It shall be a Thursday, because today, Thursday
As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders
To the evil. Never like today have I turned,
And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.

César Vallejo is dead. They struck him,
All of them, though he did nothing to them,
They hit him hard with a stick and hard also
With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays,
The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads.

find my dirty cup
and water my pines
I light my fires with dry pines
when church and
flowers treat me like a shady stranger
AND i dredge
and cobble EARTH'S assorted patterns

this summer the whippoorwills fell silent by mid June
I skipped the amphitheaters movies
TO play werewolf in the woods
moaning at autumns crisp kindness

with you counting the lightning
and my gray hairs
I witness the pond you skated as a kid
miss the turn
and fog the windows

your direction proceeding mine
a glorious road
of haphazard half glances
chilling me love
did you not know me as a younger self?
a reckless boy loving you
but not knowing
I know you in my bones
a past life?
like heat in the woods
or flooded river
I find you in everything now

we carried Lester's coffin
in a dredge of September afternoons

now
wearing his flannel
I blast god with Octobers wind
preparing grandpa for fire

red shimmer of sumac reaches me
through the echos of harvest
and Lesters ghost in a grain truck
oxygen mask and all

mmmmmmm

dumb new poem
same work with
cute wind and autumn trail
when I was younger I would have scared

Ya YELLOW
jumping out behind lush bushes
with one poisoned
armed arm
behind my back
and mean squint in each eye
with pointed locust twig
wily bird hobo dreamer
on all painted faces
at every single occasion ever
every train station ,even wagon
or box cars wrangled

from here on up
out
to Kalamazoo
a drunk
withering flower
in the weeds

"for Justin "

and now i've scared my brother
armed
to the teeth
with amazing
magic eye
learning to float well
and land its veil
amongst wheat sheered
by warlock tooth

bored now
with the rise and fall of what
we waited for
what autumn lacks
or takes from our family
now that you've locked me in the loft
knocked lose the latter
to drown it in the dirty hay

a sign directing me
from a southern " explosion of fall foliage "

to past gardens of passing vulture squats

nestled between big sandstone poems
and black Black Nemaha's eyes

where ive blocked out my fear of horse headed oak
the sumac making its snear

corrupting Sundays sermon

at the little empty country church
which only receives guest
when the sun hits the brick
an illuminates its worn red surface

Holy Mountain

place the turkey feathers in my mug
and trust them to stay put over night

stay up with night vision
use amphetamine
listen to electro
so time doesn't rewire
your vcr

reattaching each feather
to its correct spot
on each bird

you've no business burying dead under
birch
or fawns tail
where red frown becomes
clear sumac dawn

cascading us forward
in horrible emptiness

wanting that knock and stomp
upstairs to be
ghosts
not you or me
finding
poisoned roots
with past
wilt decorating leaves
in October

meeting

funny Large sun flower cot
huge blackberry pillow
and a god dam mean windmill
turns old at the Gandy ranch clearing
where 100 baby ticks crept
past the very best places for a banshee ambush
ruining the third wican wedding this Fall

Armillaria ostoyae

growing black rhizomorphs
and shoestring rot
hiding

larger than the blue whale
and even giant sequoia

unseen under ground killer

a fungus older than Jesus

David A. Johnston

I imagine it like this

you talking to animals

bear or

silly birds

this is it

stinky puff of smoke from catastrophic crater

where tired stumps meet blow down at Mount St Helen's

young mountain salvaged

Vancouver! Vancouver!

Erie utterance stump-in

you alone understand

this mass of chard earth that cant catch a break
brewing fog south of fire kill

and a snag hangs ominous

a snag hangs eying

catching sprinkles of rain

plotting projectile course
for foresters head
decomposition
calling in beetles
from grave
in the shadow of Mt Jefferson's
fungus

place the delphinium in my paws
and forget the meadow


say good bye in
which ever way you can

but do
something here
to stir the brush

recommend slight
ways to counteract
the sight and smell of smoke
on a dim wits afternoon



tear up

high center
rally
and whip the earths
paths


flinching to
look at

the dusty face of
god on a Kansas
country road

Holcome

place the delphinium in my paws

and forget the meadow
say good bye in
which ever way you want


something here now stirs in us
ever so slightly

burning the afternoon
for traditions sake

tear up

high center
rally
and whip

our uneasy jib

and dusty look given
by god on Kansas
country road

High Desert Home

with the wind banging
the tatters of plastic
left on wooden frames
I bury the dead
under sage

we make ghouls outta every dam thing
when we need too

trip on pumice
raised beds
and curse the slam jamming
door of chicken coop shed thing

I dont want to make my Jade plant a widow
but im gonna get naked outside with beer
give her water when she wants it
so she can

photo

photo


synthesis

Left em in the rain together to watch
the storm touch moon
and I interacting
with all three
cant tell the difference between

KOA camp

dredge
nothing
but old weedy
steamboat

bruise poor white jenkins
or
seek trashy
"sky oval "
dropping tears quickly
reshaping themselves
from plans given to us by
crescent moonish eyes
to itch shadow

drank
entirely too much
before dawn

the flee market coming to soon
and ending with five too many belt buckles
and a free turquoise lamp shade
in tow

finished the day off
musing for what looked like animals
in the
failed falling of future night
gathering like litter
between houses
and the outskirts
of every-thing else


Deep Deep Deep
where
moss on the trail
blocks drunk opossums way out
where paved sidewalk ends
and stump gives in to grave stones
dug up
spit out
and hid in

nothing to say
steamboat,
poor white jenkins
or
trashy
sky oval dropping crescent moon eyes
like tears

With the bear cub below
and the hot springs missed
nothing much is left between

I remember the trees we climbed
in my mothers back yard

the crab apples in

the sand box

and the pink house
with friends on both sides of
Towle Street

Rambo it lose on China hat road
where yesterday 3 caves were found


and Randy four wheeled himself to death
and I ran off out of gas

the skeletons up for sale

shoot orange shit sky high

near or almost on top of horse butte
for the sake of
target practice

on vile jackal-ope carcus

with the burst of discarded shells
brightening the noxious weed night
Chet grass on survivalist boot
scum bag
tossed
tow truck drivers cigarette
starts fire
100% tree mortality
disrupting a teenage beer bust

Saturday, April 17, 2010



Rambo it lose on China hat road
where yesterday 3 caves were found


and Randy four wheeled himself to death
and I ran off out of gas

the skeletons up for sale

shoot orange shit
sky high

near or almost on top horse butte
for the sake of
target practice
with the burst of discarded shells
brightening the noxious weeds
chet grass on survivalist boot
scum bag
tow truck drivers cigarette
starting fire
with 100% tree mortality
disrupting a teenage beer bust

for you
Ive nothing left but
shit Stories of Youth

map viewed from map
Shrinkingly distant,
brilliantly,
audaciously,
good map
so that
all know how
ive been possessed
by form so soft
and so fragrant
that my cloths were stolen right off the line
by movement brandished
from the bushes

hopefully
with a view

interesting enough
to stop the neighbors from gawking

this stormy youth and
rag tag
beginning
growing more cadaverous
the crime watching itself
manifest

trespassing
inches in front
of my silly nose

for you
Ive nothing but my
Story of Youth

viewed from a map Shrinkingly distant,
brilliantly,
audaciously,
good
so that
all know
ive been possessed
by form so soft
so fragrant
that my cloths were stolen
by movement
interesting enough
to stop anyone from speaking of
or grow cadaverous
watching the crime itself
manifest
inches away
from my silly
snotty nose

Just

The sharp task of identifying things

terrifys me

hard nosed mausoleum rejected

a month ago

this doesn't register in me

but annoying sleep in sharp sharp river

deepens now with the weight of spring

pick
picking on me


where dog shakes

lose burs

buying the murder weapon at the flee market

where you sir have reduced hill cathedral

too intense "noise machine"

fed up fine tuned processes process

years

Too do things

in the making

Confederate History Month

You can pick up the severed limbs
while I leave the candles lit

between the shrubs of your glamor-is mothers
plantation


so that late at night you can see the
flicker from your window
and come to me
rap tap
tap tap
rap tap
tapping

maybe trimming my beard

or borrowing my etchings of a
large swamp monster bayoneting
Confederate war criminals

i will enjoy going barefoot on the catkins
believing with all my heart
that honest Abe was a real Marxist

after tearing my radio apart
ill ponder what the high school jocks are doing in
the dark void of cornfields
surrounding the
wild blinking light
of the run down
cold war warning tower

How Sick we are

I cant pull myself away from the televisions critique

of our multimedia

speed communication

obsessed technological culture

and before leaving the house I had to let you know about

stranger

from thousands of miles away

through the world wide web

Ozark Vetrans Etc

ain't nothing good ever come outta Missoura

but southern patches of poplar ripe for the pickin

meeting my mother at noon to drop polka dotted roses on my horses grave

in the holler

see em again in that lumber mill central in the sky

where my marijuana grows like gangbusters

and I booby trap the perimeter

with skills i acquired in Vietnam

with the sun cresting above the eastern cascades
the women next door shews the domesticated deer
from her lawn
recently landscaped with rocks
and cheesy modern art that she thinks is cute

no soul
in high pines
but the constant threat of spring
occurring every other afternoon
Our greatest assets often fail us
as the moon sails between earth and star
leaving a small few of us laughing
why cant things be so easy?
as quiet sinking sky
embarrassing fresh ponderosa
"jeering at the funny animal"
we view the vantage point with retribution
maybe longing for flood
while the sick color of the moon
invokes in each
a selfish revolution

water in the log jam
that Ive redirected
with my own two hands


I want a shit factory job
dwindling old growth into
toothpicks

Toothpicks are important
in the processes leading to the
fragmentation of opinions

i no longer know where to get my information
no longer have any relevant filters


I wanna walk home from the bar and
steal your flower pots
in the queer twinkling star light

make myself a five star breakfast with my own eggs
crank up the FOlk and
insult your choice in language

a palmately veined leaf has fallen in to my bathtub
from a hole cut into my ceiling by my landlord I
in a drunken fit we had last night

after three games of risk, a bottle of Absolute,
and lecture on Swiss ski wood working

Sometimes......................

Sometimes your Flak cannon wont shoot right
when the Germans near by are dropping bombs
on your special pine tree plantation

Sometimes your best friends break into your house
at 3 a.m.
and smoke all your drugs
with your homosexual step brother "Eric"
with a total disdain for your feelings and need for sleep

sometimes your sister locks you in the church
and you miss the parade you were supposed to march in
completely botching your chances of lettering in high school band

911 911 911 911

when the planes hit the towers on 911
I was asleep in my freshman German class
Our school which was under renovation was not attacked by terrorists on September 11th
but we heard about it on the radio
Our school was under renovation on sept 11th
so our class was in a empty house on the edge of the parking lot
Because of our high school being under construction our German class was held in a house near our school
If our school would have been attacked by terrorist on 911 my freshman german class and I would have had a better chance of surviving the terrorist attack

thoughts After reading an essay by Mike Cohen

An Ecologically deep Ghost dance

Joining my afterlife to yours

Two hours carrying burden up hill

blindfolded in the strange shadow of Missouri

speechless in the spirit of nation

"we undress in front of old men"

Drinking vinegar at “third fire “

for ceremonies sake

“Ive decided against returning my library books”

they too

bother me

remind me again of earths true seral stage

I cant give that up

As I remedy wounds with mud

what ecosystem indicates us?

cement? 711?

our similarity to weeds enthrall me

Weeds dispense tyranny

hate returns to city
as invasive s out compete natives
Do you recall Cortez in Tenochtitlan?

Or the railroads annihilation of the Midwest's buffalo ?

The dirty genitals of Europe

enter the Americas
The advancement unstoppable

rant

A.N. Whitehead once stated that “The major advances in civilizations are processes that all but wreck the societies in which they occur.”
Our lives are fragmented by our own creations……
technologies and trivial educations
our jobs, roles and niches in society are dependent on technology, and unknowns
The jack of all trades is dead
Perform your trade and only that
“The Chinese in the urinal cake factory “
“The food grown in the Midwest “ eaten by the Chinese
Our human abilities are being lost at an alarming rate to machines, and marginalization
We are here to run the assembly line
Someone to make the screw
someone to turn - the screw someone to make the screw driver and someone to manage
A ruling class has risen to trivial unneeded management positions
We glorify and pay useless positions
Bureaucracy trumps all
De pendant on unknown sources for our vital materials we lose The joy in life
Our crops in mono cultures the land beat down
Our education systems have failed
No one taught me how to live

We rejoice in the production of these , not the quick hoarding or them. The feeling that im involved Is necessary

Please 2

Without knowing it
I’ve mapped The Redundant churches of my childhood
Lounged like a sprawling bitch in the pews
Un earthed coins from the cushions
and
Found my tiny representation boring
the tongue in the cheek
the nose to the grindstone
sharpened
Its Brown hair and eyes like my own you cherish
in matters so absolute we
start with my home as a model
fondle my burning porch in the early morning light

Please

The Redundant redundancy of a modern city sinking
I’ve mapped my town like a sprawling web
Found my tiny representation
And Talked politics
Thumbed
Its Brown hair and eyes like my own
Plastic
scared
like some selfish prick
in and out of churches
schools
buffets

in matters such as scale this is an absolute
start my house on fire with its model

burn my hand on my melting figurine

An Aspen or Sycamore expanding

The window from which i'm surveying
defines me
condensation holds
outlines of heavy breath
the magnitude of the sycamore this morning
(despite my best efforts)
will simply not leave
with the white evil of bumbling ghosts
or with father caught crunching leaves
for the sake of crunching's sake
casting autumn scowl
onto the adsorbing white void

A Poem For Toney McCrann by Rich Wyatt

"The Soul, Addressing Itself, Wanders Around Right After Death" by Rich Wyatt

On so much of this ground you'll
find what the wasp buried, not much,
and the voice-bearing others whose names are lost. Who cares.
Hand me that spoon and that fork and we'll dig
for an hour, evening on our shoulders like an incentive,
a habit, the many molecules called stars
searching out a body under and over the always-black sea
we can't even now grasp like water from a rushing stream. Go
on and mention me to your friends, you'll have a time
explaining the lilac bushes so briefly attentive,
the season, too, over in a minute.
I stopped once and had coffee in Nick's, on 3rd Street.
I remember everyone's face there as my own, as I tapped
my fingernails on the window next to the booth, out of nervousness.

Beans

ive left a can of lucky green beans on my microwave

To be honest I have had no intention of eating them today

nor will I tomorrow

time is cruel and gets crueler to all

but canned food

I walk backward towards my mattress

brushing my teeth and eyeing the southwest corner of my room

in which the radiation box sits in

its funny

but my space heater and microwave will not run at the same time

running them in such a reckless way often prompts

me to phone my land lord and have him "flip the breaker"

Eatting Snails

any sequence of contours and lines
messed up or stored
dried solid between my muddy hand print
and woody snags
I want to believe
the river in winter
is as it was last June

when my brother baptized me
in the depths of the Missouri's murk
the disadvantages of the past spinning
nearly disappearing with pools of filth
from my beard

I am evil with age
growing this fervor
learning to love things more
or at any extant possible
and vanish ego in this
polluted river