An on-line collaboration in 39 parts

Dozens of participants (listed by their chosen pseudonyms in their respective sections)

November 3, 1990 to January 11, 1995
The Panscan Conference on

Hosted by Mark Bloch

It began Nov 3, 1990. Actually it began a few months before that as an E-mail collaborative poem, but that didn't work because I kept misplacing the e-mail. So it moved into one of the items in the Panscan Conference on ECHO, a BBS in New York City. There it continued for over 4 years and would have kept going but Panscan got closed down. Panscan was an experimental conference and many good things came out of it and this was one of them. It is over 8000 lines long, each contributed spontaneously by an Echo participant.

When it was "finished," I broke it up into 39 sections that made sense to me. It had natural rhythms and breaks so I tried to let those coalesce into the 39 Parts or movements, if you will, that you see here. Some of those parts took us an asynchronous year on-line to complete, others just a few minutes. In truth the entire work is one long rambling 36,000 word work-in-progress and at times it can be quite powerful. In its totality it is mesmerizing and meaningful because it captures over 4 years worth of the spirit of the people who participated and their relationships to one another-- the spirit that was Panscan, an ineffable on-line performance piece made up of zeros and ones. One of the guiding principles of Panscan was that 1200 baud was OK because the words were enough to do what needed to be done. In my opinion, it still is. I think this e-poem shows that. It takes you places that "virtual reality" wishes it could go.

These sorts of collaborations are probably commonplace nowadays. Or if they aren't, they should be. But I am compelled to let it be known that though this one was probably not the first, the last, or perhaps not the best On-Line Collaborative Poem, it should not go unnoticed. It is a dance made of words that began when the Internet was still young and collapsed over 4 years later under the enormous weight of its own invisibility.

It is long and unwieldy. It is spontaneous and unedited. Occasionally it can be overly pompous as well as exhaustingly puerile. For these and other reasons, you may find it tedious at times. But I promise that if you take some time to explore it, in its parts and in its totality, in this "Panscan E-poem" you will find some magic.--Mark Bloch, September 1996


Nov 3-12 1990


bill paulauskas

Bruce Schechter

Stacy Horn



Bromo (Craig Bromberg)

janet coleman


RESPOND, PASS: the flaps extend in vague Option,

Collapse like tender donkeys on the rails,

Explode like hats:

No messages were selected

No items were selected

No angels were selected

Incindiary alarm clocks rouse us

from our amber dreams

To a blue street

where glass cats

fear archery:

i'm walking on the floorboards of anarchy

i'm slipping through the cracks of reason

there is a cookbook in my future

and i have no place to park

Drive a burning wheel

Thru anarchy: REASON makes

Floors against the shoulder

Of any future...draw a circle

And c-o-o-k!

I am not a cook.

I cook Yam-Knots,

I fly Ginsu!

Cowboys in cellophane!

(leap-o and terrible-o)

A gaggle of bottle washers


(pass) and (pause) and

Lorca's Castinets...

Made flimsy: Jump

against smokerings

Ponder a mountain stream no

Parking puddles ooze

And a ringing

(in the couryard of desire)

where that stream

Screams straining

at the swollen bell of


No new message.

No new angels.

New items are (tin cups) (wash rags)

No new Passes.

You are leaving Panscan

You are leaving Kansas

You are not in toto

Wash the Toyota! Haben sie eine

Old angel, glass angel last angel


Another Angel

Washed in dust and

turned in the white fingers

Of any sedative:

I stood on the glass needles

that fell from


I can

I can

I can

Stand on the glisten.

I rip the wings off Angels.

Blow on them,

and drive away in a new model Ford.

Greased Feathers smoulder


Eyes wrap the wind

of angled Blue wonder!

Anne dives awake...

Aiming NUDE: devil's fork?

Smouldering nude,

diving on the devil forkm

waking up on a windy angle,

grease wrapping around her ankle,

oh blue you, nude you.

Who knew the blue nude

Brought down in


Take Me To Your Leda!

I'm whisked away on blue leotards

I'm scrubbing the spots off of leopards

I"m getting chafed

I'm Suzy Chapstick flying into the rear end of a Chevrolet Vega

My smile is on fire

There are leaves stuck my lips

stick to my ribs my darlin

owl paste

owl paste

owl paste


the sudden taxicab

Splash the puddle into the face of the exile

Exit left

Enter right

a bale of puddled lights

Freezer burn all over mince meat

Growth Hormones on the wings of the Nose Captain

Steroids bubblin up in the kitchen and I forgot my

Nynex Yellow Pages

With a name like Nynex its gotta be good

She's a bird: Fall's dove her wings beat!

Spoke Abalard in her flung glove: often grows Captive

Stares in voids trembling sup...sin's crotch plans EYES

For God. Free.

Bind, excell...O Sages!

A request for order in the chaos

Burns thee, Oh run on

I mutated what you wrote BEFORE,

The tricks to halt the reader's snore:

Read 103....then 104...


The Mut's a-rompin' 'cross the floor!

Erroneous snores

accidental dreams

A creamed ream of wet SMOKE

Drawn screaming toward the

Pellet Moon:

God's angry balloon

The moon in June

wore an albatross face

As the rain in Spain

instead rained in Thrace

A peacock

dipped in black


and beaten with a porkchop







"Don't wear rubies in church!"


Bless me father.

tablelamp waffen Hercules!

trapdoor weddingring Hartford!

the wet hen

trilobite whiskey HammondOrgan...

The end


12-16 nov 90


Bruce Schechter

bill paulauskas



janet coleman

You could be sitting alone in front of a glowing screen, or

You could be sitting alone in

front of a glowing screen, and you are.

You could be. If you could

be and you do

be then you are.

You could be flying.


You could be down on your luck,

whistling in the dark,

cadging a buck

You could be having a dream

on a Frigidaire T.V.

Imagine the sound

of fresh fried ground round.

You could be a grammarian

or a grain elevator or a

grandma or an idiot.

or you could be waiting for a train at three

o'clock in the morning, wasted

You could be all the rage


lifting an NBC page

Up, into the blue meat

Where delight and the lights meet

you could be hungry


you could be sitting

in front of a glowing screen


you could be sitting in front of a glowing screen


16 nov 90-11 dec 90



bill paulauskas



Ray Gallon

Bruce Schechter




Faith L. Florer

"In the future, a long time from now..."

When the Blue-People make

Parlor furniture and sing

in the future a long time from now

I will be whistling the tune that my refrigerator makes when it hums

And they may be listening.

Sometimes the Blue-People will.

Crawling softly, leaving nun

A padre wanders Paris

Gums wafers under the carpet

Of Mexico's WAX TEETH...

in the future a long time from now

I will be climbing the stairs of yesterday's imagination

I will mumbling with my keys and buttering the bread of reason

in the future a long time

from now I will be spending these lines

like loose change jingling

in my pockets



Against the Mobile Elephant



In the future,a long time ago,

as the suet teeth melt,

the servants resond to a

flitter of the eyelids.

And the cold breath that is winter

settles like a shroud on the city.

The sailboat heads south

with the birds while I warm myself

with a candle.

Flames tickle & pitch

Across the grit

The face

Of a thimble

And so we sew.

So see the sea.

As we sail on that boat

that cheap and tawdry boat

boat of sorrow, boat of hope

boat of a bird with a bright red throat.

And in that throat

The bubble

The bubble

Half a word

in the future

a long time from now

i will dive down a fibre clear

as glass

and spread my

wings the world wide

joining multiple minds, multiple worlds

multiple words, multiple imagining

calling, calling

Aaaaah...the voice of a true networker

In the future

a long time from now

I will dive into a tub

filled with chocolate pudding

and spread my legs wide

reveling in the oozy feel

of a hundred gallons of milk

a thousand pounds of sugar

and dutch cocoa

(processed with alkelai)

slurping, slurping.

In Cental Asia

at the end of a cold road

blue and cracked


and wings


that broken opera

of chips

spun bleeding

from that

Central Asia

Where I believe I first

Met You

Wild in Peru

Spinning, whirling like the dervish

Far from Port Jervish

Far from here, far from the future

many years from now

when all bets are off

all promises forgotten

and the stars have coasted

a little further off toward

nowhere at all

and the echos of

echos of



echos have faded

Faded, even as the

Grass in November, even as

The Photos of my Grandmother, even

As the ink in my childhood diary

Even as the glory of

Rome, even as the glory

of Washington even as the

Wings of Progress even as

the Sky over Berlin even

As the universe some day in the future

Nothing fades: grassy photos

splinter along the

granny spline

Rome, NY: Wings Over The World

Of the Future...

Forests of

disposable chopsticks

In the future a long time from now the child will

remember the smell of the wax lips she first smelled


In the future a long time from now, the man, then an old man,

Will remember the smell of Napalm that burned him as a child

And meet an older man

from Dresden

and an even older woman

from Atlanta

And a younger lad from Bagdad

And all the fish

in the sea: STOPPED

waiting for

the sweet music

of explosives

stopping wading in the soft water of the waitress

she takes your order

to the border

in a nun's caravan


blissed-out crepe

Crepes suzette, of course.

She never could breathe through those gills

Linty substances clogging membranes that all had thought forgotten

Old mold growing on the matress

Long ago the gills were superior to the available

black veil

of their talent

for dressing


in Jesus name

Come here at high tide, little girl.

Your mother and I were friends days after the birth of Venus

Have you washed your face?

And in the future, a long time from now they will merely nod.

God's golden rod

Churning starlight with ashes


(I bop what I bop)

(I bop what I bop)

(I bop what I bop)

(I bop what I bop)

Past tense

Present tense

Future tense

Omnicient tense

Ubiquitous tense

Sleeping Bag

(I bop what I bop)


in his



blank garbage

across the blanker




sleeping bag

The barge of rapture

The bard of rape

The bad rap

The bat.

The end.

- - - - -

Part 4

14 dec 90- 7 jan 91



Ray Gallon



Faith L. Florer

bill paulauskas


No one is untied and all things are untied

There are no angels there are devils in many ways

Take it like a man

The world's a mess it's in my kiss

your phone's off the hook

But you're not. Go to hell see if you like it, then come home with me!

Let me sleep all nite in your soul kitchen

Mito nie in your little stove, ronin' in the native hallway baby,

stumblin' on the NEON road.

I peak in secret bitterness, sleep in seeping hit or miss

light another cigarette learn to forget learn to forget..

I just met a man who gave me the once-over twice..

Yellp me with the endless rug!

But the rug ran into the river: squealing like a

Bloody Brick! I tell you there were men

Dying in the corridors...heads ripped of

By their own stands along the

Ghastly curtain of the


And behind that curtain was a Man

A Man saying, "Pay no Attention to that Man behind the Curtain!"

And the more he said it, the more things fell apart

The More things fell apart, the ghastlier were the carbunkles amid the muck

The pustulating boils, the excema of society, the effluvia of industry,

All conspired to make Him great.

And great He was, until a sea of tea surrounded his ankles....

No one is united and all things are united.

Don't be a scab, don't pick your scabs, heal old wounds.

Wind old clocks.

Feel the wind clot.

And then it came to pass

and shifted into second gear

the serpentine belt slithered

round the wheels of fire

that spun lazily

in the cold blue winter sky

I was dying at the disco

I was yelping at the cyber-space event

I was wind-surfing athe White House

I was laughing at the President

I was protecting the Constitution

I was on National Television

My show was cancelled

I was blacklisted

I was in with the in-crowd

I was arrested for peeing in the ladies room

I was on trial for making sense

I was Chief of Staff

I was recycling underwear

There was an element of truth stuck between my teeth

At 30,000 feet she said I had thief written across my forehead.

I lunged at her, startled by her words.

She wanted her cake.

I gave it to her

upon descent

in the


She received a headache in the stomache

I received deteriorating vision

She restored me to health

I gave her a black eye

She attacked my toes with a rotary mower

I sprayed whipped cream all over her livingroom

She took all her clothes off

I burnt them

She ran outside, skipping naked over the snow, screaming "Jimmy Dean's

Alive, Alive!"

I turned over and went back to sleep

There was a sausage in a bsa

weeping on the lawn there was a piece of pvc

electrocuted on my bed

there was a nixon helmut on the bug whacker

A buzz in the air

planes in the sky

writing with smoke

"Buy Humbolts Buchu"

Buy Humbots Buchu?

Buy Humbots Buchu?

Buy Humbots Buchu?

Buy Humbots Buchu?

Buy Humbots Buchu?

Buy Humbots Buchu?

What means this-

and so on.

maybe in the future, a long time from now.

Bukan, a little later, maybe tomorrow I'll

Buy humbots buchu. For now it is a long journey

Back from the lion's den.

Part 5

2- 13 feb 1991


Faith L. Florer

Danny Lieberman



Eric A. Hochman

Ray Gallon (may someday become Ray Gallon)


Bruce Schechter

An artist ached annoyed and aghast at all allegories

but birtd bravely,

- cowardly, cravenly.

Cumulus crustaceans, crapulous caravansarries

Dovetailing delightfully, defying death during dissection.

- eternally edifying erudite esthetes,

fascinated fleetingly, flowed; flying fishlike faster,

feeling footloose, Frank fooled...

Haplessly hoping his harlequin hovers, harranging hideous hydrofoils

hilariously, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

"Isn't it interesting?" I inquired... Into inertia I indulge, if it's

important, i'll inform.

Jumpin' jiminey!!!

Kindness kills kids. Kamikaze kites kick khaki kyacks? Kibosh! Ku Klux

Klan? Koran? Kibbutz? Knowledge! Kudos? Kindness kills kids. Key:


Love. Likely lust. Leave love languishing laconically. Laundry lists

lack larvae, lo, liver. Love. Likely lost lust, landed like Liliputians

licking linoleum. Love... Lust... Liver...

- mumbled madmen merrily.

Notoriously nefarious ninja nutcases net nice nubile nuns.

Opening ovums obfuscated, obviously! Outrageous! Osculate orally,

olfactory osculation occasions oxymoronic outlandish oclusion. Oh!

Oxymoronic obnoxious octagenarians! Oyveh!

Prithee. Polite pashas play pink piccolos. Pliable pillow people pant...

"Pah! Pah!".

Polyhedral pastries provide pachidermal pleasure.

Peter Piper picked a peck of poor pallid plants.

- Quirky quadrupeds quibble quixotically.

- Romantics ruefully ramble, recalling Reagan.

Seriously saturated sibilance; simple sayings, sophomoric sonorifics,

syntactic sequences; super-static-stationary-sequences, slipped,

silvery, slung, set, still.

Technology turns text towards trivia. This tried, true temptation takes


tepid typings to tense, toxic tomorrows. True technocrats, though, tie

terror to theatre, thanklessly transforming thanotology to therapy,

testing teachers, their tomb theocracy, their terse tautologies. Truly

taxing, though testimony to teamwork's tenure.

undulating unfailingly, unflaggingly, unaware.

Verily, verily, verily... Vibrant verbiage vaults vertically, vexing

vicars viewing videos voraciously. Verily.

When winding water winds... Whiskey? Well water.

x-raying Xerxes, Xavier, xylophonists, xenophonically,

You yack. You yodel. Youth's yoke. Youth's yo-yo. You yield. Yore.

Yesterday. Years, years, years. Young yen!!!!!! You yearn. You yawn. Years

yellow. Yes, years yellow.

ZAFTIG Zen zebras, zombielike...


zoiks !!!


- - - - -

Part 6

20 feb 91-16 may 91



Faith L. Florer


Jim Baumbach


Br u c e



An altruistic, archetypal allegory about an amazing astronaut

before birth, beyond belief, balefully beautiful.

Cutting counter-clockwise, crossing crowds, celebrating celibacy,

denigrated deliberately, Daniel delighted de-facto demagogues in daring

displays of dyslexic Dadaism.

Early every evening, each engineer especially enjoyed eating elephant egg

francesca's fascination

grew greatly. Ghastly gargoyles, graveyards, gardens,

hideously hibernated, hoping his humor had her hope held hostage.

I insist! Inject insulin itravenously!

JACK!! JACK!! Jesus, Judy, Jack just jumped!

Kamikaze. Killed. Knell. Kids killed knowingly- knifed, knackered. Kings

kneel, kids keep kicking. Kiss kids kindly. Kids know kryptonite kills.

Kingdom's key: knots.

Life lost. Litanies. Little loony lives lashed.

Missing motivation.

Nancy noticed nothing.

outside of ordinary occurrences.

Perhaps pneumatically passionaless prostitutes, palely passing,

queasilly quoted queers, quietly questioned quarks.

Ruminated, reflected, regurgitated.

Satan slithering slyly. Sardonic symbolsim.

Turned towards Tehran

Understandibly unfaithful.


whizzed whirled whipped wickedly where women were.

xenophobes Xerox X-rays

young yuppies yawn, yipping YIPPEE!

Zany Zapata-Zapotec's Zealots zonked zoned zombies!

Part 7

16-23 June 91


Jim Baumbach


L. Are


bill paulauskas

It's ALWAYS time for online poetry..............

Ice sideways brine four endive pot tree.................

The sky-KLANG is wet slang, slung upon the back of bric-a-brak!

Tea cycling sweat's lung's lung. Open the bag off. Break a brick.

wet square staple-lips succor oily and smoothee

can the bongos spare the beans

dead in a boogie flask


WIT's all waste, I'm foreign. Lie nap oat re:

To lie esteem, my foreskin. Eel pan Tao baby.

our skins are clogged: many mice

Arse schemes Arco logged on email.

i and I we'll do tomatoes

Paste the salty pastiche of taoist walrus!

Pay Stacy all top as tea (che) oft' Ow! is t' wall 'r' us.

Patsy acy altruist topical Astor Place Owl tis wallowing toys.

bettle beetles remember love lozenge flies

Bet a beatnic dismembers laughfest endive.

Bette B., Nick D, His member loves fast 'n' drive.

The Ribald Muffinette: Remington print of Cheyenne Muffin Dancers

Prancing into Dusky musty distance with a hit of splotches...

Defending their creamy ethos with a shudder and a shrug

smashing spoons into dry and misty pulp

their worried green eyeballs crack like popcorn

anise elbows joust with scissors

for the last flecks of galaxy cum

With a hey-nonny-nonny

with a hey.

melting your teeth down in this little hole

milton meltdown duck in old lady

grannies in cahoots, their olives in heat

glum mung bunnies on king berries

All the webbed cleats of Osiris,

Pawing at the dense clue...

All the lonely people,

haven't they got a lovely bunch of coconuts?

Which they keep in a face by the barn doors of perception...

Boniface of The Doors uses coconuts for contraception.

Bony faces offer muses cocaine- not for the Contra section.

Bow knees face-off amuse Coke. Not a sandinista!

Bone-ease hockey soft drinks fight Communism today- Try Bone-Ease Today!

belt ya with a bilge rat and throw ya off the roof

That's the way my cookie jumps

My bonnie lies over the ocean.

Part 8

24 June- 26 July 91


Jim Baumbach


bill paulauskas


El Citizen Digital


(apples beget toasters bad onions love all favors) (! over eeezy)(stunt

weevils rut my lovely oysterette poptop)(plucking yummies outta hell)

Sushi calliope: You see, we'd eaten eight envelopes of blighted muck!

Otto's blue truck, flipping against the burning pigpen...again

smell the little favors of a sanguine plant . . . see the endless seeds

diving off the nose . . . go blind in the croak of a toad! Urrrppp . . .

jump on the small sundried mangoes . . . eat the yen of my future passion

. . .sing the praises of the uncommon feast!

Stroking the pussy of unfettered muck I am the tangential rebifier

exchanging the juices of ecstacy for the welts of reason.

Muckwaltz is Altar Rego: planchete, pepperpot, peppermint ascot...

Found dead in his teepee.

I have been strangled by society's dickie.

The light airy trickle of dust on my brow,

Does fall upon the dreary gimmering

A light fairy tickle o rust 'pon me now:

Has mauled anon my dear England again!

Oh to be wilde!

Sing O! Sing O! for the life of the potter.

The infection of reason's brow doth mutate mine lint, Oh Duckboy.

A Duck's Infection makes mint lines that mute Bold Reason's brew!

Sharp turns could blunt the pungent hints of day were not mallard due.

Funky hits of daze-inspired nausea mollify the donut shards: Bunt!

Mandrake man/drake fowl magician, your hanged spirit is rooted in semen

Sauce for the goose via mandrake route, I got my mojo jerking

Cap'n Kirk flips the bird at golfers on the White House lawn - did you

remember to forget that you forgot to get your haircut in time to sprawl

convincingly beneath a downtown hot dog vendor on a blazing hot and bright

day all day for a quarter so you could feed someone else's baby for the

purpose of eliciting more pee to fertilize soil threee floors below?

Didja? The crackle of a rubber band thwacking into a mosquito as it buzzes

by your ear, a pimple on close inspection being a microcosm of all the

earth's ecosystems, a dog is a cat is a bone in the nose is a moron

counting one sock as three and trying to seel them to the bank for a free

toaster. Lengthwise, leastwise, wise flies on no-account guys slingin'

pies through the trees in the breeze in the breeze


Every citizen get's 9000 dollars from the Polish government.

But they don't go past. Pass go in polish notation word disorder.

You can order at the border the disorder that you pass...

The odor that passes.

The evilist awfulest part of you

lies deep in the core of the heart of you

The people who urge yoiu

to do what might purge you

encorage you

so they can martyr you.

Screeching to a stop at the crumbling corner,

Babaloo breathes hot silantro breath on the unsuspecting


Is it over yet?

The milk carton is more concerned, pal, with whether it is done having to

struggle for applause against that damn nasty red tulip bulb with the

wing stubs

Expiration date is no, really...

Make me a miracle milkshake.

The rain is trickling down a thigh somewhere and alas where am I?

Had I tricked down a thigh, I might not be here today.

Today I am hair, tomorrow completely plucked.

Pluck You Bald Assertion!

A sertion's sword if oft double-fudged.

Where smudg'd the smug elipse in double cudgel'd fudge

Dying breeds of nuclear pumping mechanisms badger my soul and my attention


Span, spic, what's the difference. Unclean metaphors, all.

I saw Wayne Newton on Avenue B.

Wayne struggled

Wayne struggled with his bundle of blood: hair at the epicenter of the

flayed lola!

Wayne, Wayne,....

Go Away!

- - - - -

Part 9

12 28 august 91




Jim Baumbach


Faith L. Florer

Lil Jay

bill paulauskas

Ray (Chef d'ouvres) Gallon


El Citizen Digital


If I'm NEW then I'm a - Blue! Away in the Manger a manager fired my

ass and his GUN-shy at me

I am but a wrinkle in the eye of a big misunderstanding.

I squint in empathy.

I writhe in agony, victim of chlamydian caucasoid hominids!

In my candida you live, breathe, and multiply. I swear to God.

I am a bi-ped grappling with divinity.

I am a hetero-ped grappling with blind dates.

I am a notepad searching for a pencil.

I am a crash pad searching for the 60s.

I think, therefore I think I am. Well, maybe.

I yam what I yam (thinking of candied sweet potatoes)

I am confused

I am despised. And rejected. A man of sorrow and acquainted with


I am paranoid. I fear people have not been talking about me.

I am a camera with a black eye.

I am a type of film that they no longer have cameras for.

I am Nimslow Homer, the ddd man, ochre bloke in spats

I am MC Escher inside out.

I am ineffable

I am ubiquitous

I'm jus sittin' and grinin'.

I'm dreadful, mon.

I'm a mouthful.

I'm the rock crunching against your teeth in the mouthful

I made the rock with my fists

I twist the misty mumps of Alligator!

I mulch against the Mighty Moorish Dildo's blue pants Michigan!

I'm salted a little shakily yet, so don't drop that pilfered biscuit.

Part 10

28 aug-sept 11 91


El Citizen Digital


Blue Irises

Jim Baumbach

El Citizen Digital


neandergal (formerly drliz)

bill paulauskas

Lil Jay


The gilded artichoke's all clay: please RISK IT:

alchemy as a form of addiction for chameleons who can't contain themselves

army artforms transforming tupperware salute me

yes I said yes I meant yes I thought I - well, maybe.

but no. no.

the alliterative period.

ants and swine slated to begin the beguine

their loves intertwine and their sorrows unwind

while under the rock moist thoughts collect forming mind

and the raining remaining and denying, denying, denying, denying

dying defying defining maligning

malingering fingers crows in the ozone

linimint imminent pergament cinnamont

extravagant wishes washes of fishes

flickin' slacks at jeweled escapees from the moon . . .

Which moon, strewn with crushed sponk

Blames No ember ridden plashed timberino, no!

Where ozone's throne is fingered like

The FISHES of the fishless Drumskin tarot?

Corot...Manet...Mayonnaise Limbo,

The pulsing, webbed, blue-yellow pip.

Lying down on the sugar cone

Blazing pae dreadlocked police

Gridlocked spunky hurricane damage

Lambasted the unpronounceable sieve

a tunafish can pyramid flips a page of Archie comics

identifying with Veronica but trembling . . .

Aton's Ape is camp Ear, Akhmed films eight-ply soft starched Cosmic

I dent a fly, waist Verdi's car...butter ending - - -

I went rolling down the painting and found myself covered in dollar bills!

My driver is a long biddy. I feed ink to statues of taxi staplers. He

restoreth my soul while I waiteth.

if the cracks seemed to be harboring life, it shimmers less now

The staple was bent and made me feel incompetent.

The nipple was bent and made me impotent.

The content in this context on this continent makes me feel incontenant.

vacuum up all the Venus organic body styles pronto, hotshot!

Pithy meat spleen on the vaseline hog farm makes me intolerant. THAT's when

I write away for the bog instructions.

The vasoline baseball oozed from between my fingers as I contemplated

throwing a spitball. The catcher lifted his chest protector to reveal

the light within.

my spilt splat coffee toast dead client dollar bill day

How many down Dorothy, dead man many mow money go away.

Perfect grammar, she said. Existentially speaking. He is dead.

the two headed beer can reaches up and scrapes lines in the blue sky, the

little flakes settle on broad furrows in the dream ranch backyard,

strongarm earthen worms pounding on the plate glass for more steaming

victuals and seeds, give me more of that sweet hungry pie . . .

I will devour the gristle with the necessary aplomb.

my little nettled bobbin doll and her hair fulla drool

makee fella wanna sweat, take his bag o' chalks to shul

Part 11

13 sept- 27 november 91



Maia Szalavitz

Jim Baumbach



There was a barnacle on the butt o man.

there was a manacle on the butt o woman

But the woman's uncle was a man o man.

And the woman's man was a man o'war.

And the woman's war wound abutted the man's ankle.

Our bunkles aside, war is Nell.

Bunkie Momma What she wore!

Part 12

4 december-20 december 91








Bruce Schechter


rg (in brief)

Jim Baumbach

Miss Outer Boro 1991




The suzstress


Maia Szalavitz

Bunnie dear said Oh ok. Bunnie deer slammed the door.

But moonlight glistened through the panes

and danced about in inane refrains,

till bunnie de(e)ar could bear no more

and into dark night she tore ...

Bunny tore the glistening pain from the refried rain

She was no longer a bear or a deer

But a bubbling caldron of precipitation....

smouldering in antipation

her preoccupation, determination...

Bunny danced on frozen light,

looped in rings of pure delight

looking now to start a fight.

and from the shadows came a cry,

of one who lay in wait nearby

for such a moment to arrive

And imbibe

And refuse

And reuse

The anguished cries

Of tortured lies...

Of open thighs, of pecan pies, of cabbages and Kings County.

why devise

such alibis

she did surmise

blue eyes


(attached to the annual stockholder's report):

if you've just received your copy of the report *DONT* blame

tha mailman he's just another ni**er like everybody else on

the block and it aint *his* fault if they've gotten themselves

barricaded in the mucilage factory so the stamps didnt stick

no thats your problem like its Your secretary so

watch her tongue while she licks yr business into oblivion.

that secret ripple under her uniform like an undeveloped

fish pond or tax free lagoon lies in an

other century

see attached metaphor your truly the blood red sun

behind the trees.

he squints and re-reads.

but came a flash across the sky

and came a rain leaving nothing dry

and when Bunny Bear again opened her eyes

samiam lay face up on the ground

gazing into the deep eyes profound

of the slithery lipped magic (post)mistress

Sam was confused

Am I in the ground or merely a part of it?

Bunny Bear was defining sam but he was not a willing participant

Sam watched the slithery lips move and waited for a clue

undefined; undefiled.

Sam was filling

Bunny Bear watched patiently

patient bunny bunny

spaghetti bunny cooed

Cool yer spaghetti

Says me

Sesame Sesame screamed Bunny Bear

and Sam opened magically

Ah ... and what lay inside!

such wonders untold!

beyond the worth

of jewels and gold!

Ooze and Oz from the crowd that gathered

but somehow none of that really mattered ...

for what was revealed to sam

was greater than

all the praise of all the others ...

His inner world began to spin and he

wondered where his experience and

the crowd outside overlapped as he watched them

whizzzzzzzz by

submarine flutes and etiolated hydrofoils

german diseases and microscopic monuments

saying i want i want i want and want some more

bunny damny sam praise praise submarine hydrofoils

as the sun clawed its way across the rutted sky

and pain dripped loudly in the bathroom sink.

and I cried real tears because someone had to

I was puking in the bucket

everything I'd ever eaten

all the while believing

I'd not been beaten

I'd rise to vomit again

I cried the tear of hypocrisy

I watched it fall into the bucket of vomit

but in the end,

i clawed my way beyond the cold tiles,

beyond the piss stained enamel,

and praised those who had betrayed me.

Because only from the depths of total humiliation, would I ever be able to

rise above those bastards!

And go triumfantly back to my far green island home.

So far I did travel with my weary self

Leering and leary of all that I saw around me

With nary a vision of Mary or fusion

Until they told me that "This Train is Out of Service, No Passengers"

So I asked for a transfer

And they told me where to go.

Only a slip of rough paper

Did they offer me

Markings of inscrutable ink

Without a helpful key

And a voice came over the loud speaker amidst much static.

I stood

Head lifted, alert

Heels stuck to the black gum smears on the gray platform

drool running from my mouth.

...drenching my leatherbound Filofax...

hanging from my hemline like mozerella cheese.

I reached for my....

steaming 10-inch Tool...

(I just can't keep my hands off it)

they asked me for collateral

and I just pulled down my pants.

with interest. But you remained non-plussed.

Ah, so non-plussed, naive and innocent

T'was no surprise you also were insolvent

And yet you disolved in my arms, leaving a ring.

I gave her a ring but she was hung up

Strung perfectly, like some celestial cello.

Look me in the eye and say that, said a voice from the other

side of the tracks.

but i turned towards the bitter wind,

too human to surrender my soul to that

unearthly being ...

Surrender, cried a high pitched voice from behind a fire plug.

and the floods were released,

rushing over me,

carrying me down dirty, littered tracks ...

I descended to a place I had never been before,

where only one could enter at a time

and the unholy sign hung over the passage:

Beware all ye who enter here.

I stood, one foot hovering over the threshold...

and wondered what cliche awaited me


snarled the loathsome fierce

Cat Guard o' the Tracks

Flourescent Teeth Bared

BackFur raised in DreadFul Warning

and then I came to a way in the forest where the straight path was lost.

and then I forgot how to speak Italian

But I had my handy Berlitz phrase book between my ample thighs...

but when I looked I discovered it had been eaten by vermin...

... leaving me bereft of fixed symbols to vent my grief.

So I lifted my head in desperation and pleaded with my Maker:

Have I got a deal for you!

Ample thighs, ample bosoms, ample pockets tinkling gold...

They clicked their heels, sharpenend the creases in their trousers

And marched off to the slaughter.

Left foot following right, eyes forward, head up, chin in.

cellulite slyly quivering beneath easy-care poly/cotton blend...

-breathing heavily and trying not to wake the passers-by

when suddenly crossed my path,

a sorrowful parade of ...

golden dafodils. Beside the lake.

their sad refrain echoed against the walls

a hollow refrain, fraught with fragmented fictions

of who they might have been.

"None, None!" cried the other,

gracefully leaping o'er the brine.

and I was sick and weary of an old passion

I have been true to thee Cynera in my fashion.

But the grave's a fine and private place

where there's never enough closet space

So cast aside your gloom and veils

And hustle up to Bloomindale's

out in this desert we are testing bombs.

thats why we came here.

cast not bombs before Pearl, swine

leather trump awaits

dawn's straight flush.

The center caved in so long ago

Its memory was a barely heard echo

Nick at Night

The Patty Duke Show

It's all right

If that's where you need to go.

flash of red

then all is gone

silence reigns

no one left to mourn

and i am again

a reeling wraith

left to rail

against my faith

forever conscious

of my lonely place

whirling off

into outer space

to some new planet

far away

where everything

will be the same

and rhymes will never

truly rhyme

and all of us will

be marking time

to what end

God might know

if i believed in God

i might bestow

upon you some hope

instead of gloom

rather i spiraloff

into eternal doom

being me.

Part 13

20 29 dec 91


BSBA Humanoid


Jim Baumbach

Maia Szalavitz

Miss Outer Boro 1991



Alex Whitney




rg (in brief)

do not remove this tag under penalty of law

my eyes open to the darkness

and close to see the light

my fingers touch your fingers

past a thousand miles of shadow

We see by lightening only

or the afterglow of exploding bombs.

Or the light from the open refrigerator door.

Is it me touching you, or

You touching me?

I don't know where I end

And You begin!

Maybe that's why i won't allow you an independant thought.

Jamie, 523, is it you?

Ditto rg?

523 is me.

and vast silences sweep the splintering structure

we once called earth

il human voices wake us, and we drownd

gurgling in the ooze from wincing eyelids

I remember-- those r.g. lines, they are from a perfume

commercial. Is it Obsession? Eternity?

and then the sounds begin.

the gonging and the women weeping

a sound like rusty scissors closing slowly somewhere

a sound like eyelids closing.

a sound like minds shutting ...

Shutting for good.

So be good for goodness' sake...

Higher and higher in a widening gyre Rudolph pulled the sleigh.

shutting out ...

Mr Breathey and the elves with no cologne.

Uncle Salty and the mail that hasn't been sent.

the letter not received.

the rent unpaid,

like gaping debt

Like an itch that can't be scratched, that won't be scratched.

a cannister just out of reach, a high shelf, a dark corner

A name on the tip of my tongue, your tongue.

and Rome will be slave to a hairy man

a hairy man who is scant of hair.

(Robert Graves)

the silver train threw egrets like white sparks

from the bayous in Tangipahoa parish

and I wore the Panama Limited like a violet cape

reflecting in its streamline chrome...

I looked across the fields through the glass

and thought of mighty thoughts

five thousand years of history

of Gilgameshes locks...

and Tabatchnik's lox.

and... oh, I can't say it.

I am speechless.

I am hanging on a meat hook in a frozen locker in the Armour Company

My tongue and larynx removed.

Once a grazer, a calm and trusting bovine soul.

Now --- luncheon meat for vicious, screaming, human schoolchildren.

mama said there'd be days like this

there'd be days like this, my mama said.

if you don't eat your meat, how can you

have any pudding?

And the pudding that Bill Cosby hawked

lies like a patient etherized upon a table

an animal euthanized,


refurbished Just Like New! and covered with polyvinylchloride...

PVC don't cotton to me what gets the willies when others get to pee

what gets to be picked what gets nicked wit sniggering snick snickers

pee pickers die while animals range free.

HOLD EVERYTHING! Authority on poetry in residence - - - - ^

the poetry in residence

skipped town today ...

abdicated its seat of honor.

it packed up its rhyme and reason

and all its verse and metaphors ...

and just upped and left.

and left behind a smarmy little toad in a slime green suit

encased in a lucite cube kept on a shelf by a cartoon character tommy gun

Part 14

29-30 dec 91



Alex Whitney



Jim Baumbach

Hopeless Momentum

Miss Outer Boro 1991

Maia Szalavitz


his hand outstretched forever

a gesture chipped out of marble

waving goodbye

waving hello

waving away the circling vultures

waving away the rescuers

































blustering blistering festering floundering










winging it









swinging it



-belching up a worm

in time for his perm



toe nailing

two timing

true timing

tall tailing




this is the way the world ends

this is the way the world ends

this is the way the world ends

not with a bang but a whimsey.

cold wind

bright snow

clarity, a laser

of thought


no self

startling slap of daylight


sounds of shrieking banshees

fleeing from images

of god


dec 30 91-5 Jan 92






Alex Whitney




Hopeless Momentum

Jim Baumbach


Oh Shuddup

she said yawningly fatiguingishly annoyedingedly

and stuck her fingers down her throat, looking for a parking spot.

-a wee bit of a drop of spaghetti sauce left on the top of the squad car

underneath, the demons humpin' and tanglin' their sticky tentacles scrapin'

following my beloved

through hollow words

I tasted nothing but motor oil

broke wind

bought poetry

charity, a loser

slapping the daylights

out of fleeting images of interrupted self consciousness

.. i tear my veins and watch blood flow

dripping without goal down a formica drain ...

.. i watch who i was, who i have been, who i might have been,

wash over dried, flakes of Colgate,

and the scum that finds its home comfortably

around metal, holy rings ...

i float above my frozen image

that empty, shallow vessel once called me.

and i turn away, toward neon lights,

that might be heaven, or hell, or merely

flashbacks from all the opium i smoked way back

when i

was part of the shieks harem ...

the dreamer or the image in the dream: who suffered more?

the neon bright reflected in the metal of the basin

the false promise of the plated doorkknob

The lathe of deceit and the plaster of decay

the ignorant snob of a cigar butt

barged into this home, then never returned calls

never made amends, never did tell the bluebird

to take down its singing laundry

never did stop with the beer already

and the television console awash in liquid flowers

and the burning butt hot red embers

observed, and grunted, and hopped away

so stash that knitting, carazy cat

it's time to listen for small cries

and she wondered if the


was intended as interactive-interpersonal-inter something

or just the parallel play of individual narcissistic voices

unable to hear, let alone react

to each other.

one goddamned meta-comment deserves a godamned nother.

also known as the unwelcome return to uneasy self-consciousness . . .

And loathing.

So it starts.


So be it.

the neon lights led me through the maze called panscan,

and finally in my madness

i collapsed in item 249 ...

exhausted from being chased ...

so i just started my own damned item

please stop in and see me some time ... even narcissists like me get lonely

(tongue in cheek)

You all

sit at your keyboards





-you forgot FAT.

Forgetting fat I am a meta-Zorro

"you" ???

Just what color hair are you planning to grow?

Kentucky Bluegreps

I was climbing on the billiard table

the eight ball staring me right in the eye

the discourse dribbling out my ear, leaving a trace

on my neck

shaped like Joe Friday's profile

that's a fact, ma'am

Part 16

6-26 january 92




Miss Outer Boro 1991

LuCrecia hArpsnOrt


brett (MOBski)


Alex Whitney (Jr.)


) Maia Szalavitz

magdalen-becoming ...


Jim Baumbach (syb)



I was nibbling at the shadows

They tasted of Ginger, and of Anisette.

and made me think of faraway times

when life centered around a kitchen table

(someone else's life that is

for my mother never baked a thing in her life)

and flour dust.

And Faraway plces, the ominous, steaming towers

of three mile island too close as I roar by on the rails,

deceptively peaceful farms... but later, i forget

The water in the toilet was non-potable and I had no pots

prose interjection: you might be amused to know, Owl, that I was very near

3 mile island when the shit went down there, and still going down as I

roared by in a greyhound bus hightailing it out of there.

the slender dog yelping in one dimension

as evil rays penetrate its Dura-Paint

the shaker shakin' 'n shakin'

the living critter inside blushes and trembles

the twee yelping hiding a huge pitiful baby

the ground beneath bears up and bears blueberries

the shaker plops next to the awful infant

the little critter runs out

and slips on crushed berry juice

a birdbrain calmly explains it all in tweets

points at objects and events

one object my bloated and deranged heart

and the MOB shaken and stirred

by the strange and awe-ful sudden wondering thought:

POSITRON has a HEART!?!?!?!

-a heart pounding and mewling

like a kitten needing attention

a heart big and beefy

and supplemented by hamburger helper

a heart garrulous and gregarious

like Lucille Ball on a bender

a heart soft like applesauce

spoon it up and enjoy!

bubbling geriatric blood Prisoner of Leisureworld tapping tapping

righteous cleopatric Morse codes on a fucking laptop at prime

phone rates, a desperate citizen of the rat trapped new york

cerebrosphere of irony. Arteriosclerotic nightdreams wetdream incontinent

I wanna go home now!!!

just Drive baby

drive the coastal Highways

groove on the Empty Byways

engorge thyself with Fatuousness and Reach Thine Full Potential of Nada

the Superbland in Sensaround

How dare thee question California and these thine blessings?

bitterness and resentment after inadequate rationalization,

a quibbling silence adds to the uncertain voice,

a lack of conviction speaking only of fear and

a melancholy yearning, it might hurt so I'll just never do it again.

go away, i can't handle you or me or us or...

O Ye Morons who Suffer from Earthbound Emotions

Ye Must Bliss Out on the Blank CyperSphere

We thine Non-Friends from the FakeWorld

We Pray for Thee

In our Fashion

say Hell and Oh

and then hello

To such questions

to such cold desire

what is your wise reply.

the vampire meets cypersphere hostess:

can i join?

there is no joining only dissolving

and so i dissolved into vapors,

mists and tiny swirling particles,

escaping the earthly grip

of human sorrows

I reached for the honey mustard and my hand slipped into oblivion

A hand -- well-formed and strong

Appeared mysteriously from our disappearing sky

Dripping with memories of honey and of mustard

And briefly stirred zephyrs of the tongue's memory

And pulled down the silver zipper

and twisted and twisted his cowlick anxiously

and his cowlick leaped forward and blurted out

a spray of salty lemonade

and the ants in the dirt forest

prayed at the knot of the root

and the and and the and and and

also, the end. alas.

sit on it and wait

sit on it and wait for

the ants to end their feast

the ants to march off in

well organized lines

well formed lines

victorious in their devolution

antennaeing their noses up

at the human race

who had risen to glory

but vanished into radiated halos

They were barking at vacuuous whims

with noises in air and fireflies on the sly

A generation of atomic contortionists

Thumbing their cheeks at tongues aflame

A whimpering cesspool of endless rejection

punctuated by medals for valor and carelessness

hand carrying faint shopping lists to defunct arcades

peering in the dusty windows, glancing again down at instructions



Mountain Dew

RC Cola

but through the gray glass there is no bubbly fulfillment to be found


Perhaps tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

under rock m&ms plot

skins limbs decayed slow

mucous stretch sheet stretch wider holes wider

two fists jump through clutch beaded pistols

elbows swing wide for room

huge foot stomps down and dust

like palm trees shakin', like China shiverin'

electric bolts crackle outline toothy smile

slurp up idiot flies burp

tired little heart slips out for a walk

severed arteries stuffed with crochet needles

lays down seen by ants with sombreros

play poker laugh puff shit cigars

dockets of love and neglect

rehashing the formal attire of complacency.

wearing spaghetti as shorts and the sauce drips off

blink once, and knives fall from the sky

.. piercing overinflated philosophies

about the worth of human kind

... piercing the bare remnants of a world centered around

extremist egos and forgotten loves

...piercing eyelids and the roof of your mouth

...piercing poll takers with buckshot

the wiser cats never showed.

following the mysterious Trail o' Kitty Litter

to an unlonged-for Predestined End

Presidential vomit lined the walls of my prison

rockets of love and neglect

pockets of schav and shaved egret

fluttered in the loins of Dizzyland

and the neon blares forever

the reflections aren't clear

It used to be good but now it is stupid

But I didn't see it that way

The Serbian officers dressed to the nines

Entwined themselves around their partners

And suzuruss-footed danced across the stage

Doing the fandango of Charters

Jack Keroac was sneezing in his grave

the old man

carefully removed his nose

and beat the hell out of it

I was dying from all the bullshit but no one cared and that caused more


annihilation ... cried me

blow the whole damn thing up

and get it over with!

In the shadow of the lower branches

The wart-faced mottled green toad

Smiled with slime-chilly satisfaction.

his bloated belly

plump in anticipation

he popped open with a maniacal laugh

windup idiot toys waddled out with spinning heads

yes, the ground did tilt, like an uncertain table

a necklace of identical and successively larger fish

fertilizing eggs under a sea rock

spun out on a swirling yellow glittery filament

with ends frazzled and burnt

fused like molasses, too sad for words

and the hotels had soft double beds

and the beds had matching bland bedspreads

and the floors coordinated blandly

and there was bland art on the walls

coordinating blandly with all other elements

and the bathrooms were sealed for my protection

and the factory walls had layers of efficiency charts

and the older men lost no opportunity to pat me down

the touch that is a promise

the touch that is a threat

the touch of a hand that brings you back

from one inch away from the edge of the cliff.

the touch of a hand that offers promise

the touch of a hand.

the touch of a hand that is meant to manipulate your emotional needs

to make you work harder

the touch to other parts of your body

by men who are used to women with more padding

and just want a free feel of slim hips

and the touch



until the last traced tryptich reveals

the revelers, patiently watching.

waiting, waiting waiting

patiently until they can make you feel felt.

they wrap teh green fabric round your face and send you spinning down teh


Whirling past images of time past present future just like that

thinking about your blue-eyed boy exploring the reach of inner space

surrounded by swarming Droids

and the clock ticks savagely

And than explodes yet once again also

Not a minute too soon

A piece flies into my eye and out throght the back door

I was crucified

nailed to the sheep

with a piece of shrapnel the size of an idea

in the lemmings come and go

talking of punch and judy oh

and in responding they swear

i from the same ilk

came back frustrated to

partake in the mayhem

pick a number stand in line

In the middle of my last shopping endeavor

I lost focus

Caught myself gazing longingly at the iridescent supersaturates

In the second aisle

I was dreaming of a life that could be

But knew deep inside that no escape is possible

From my true nature

As expressed in my consumption patterns

I was yelping with rage

riding the see saw of agression and indifference

crossing lines then retreating

with stainless steel buttermilk balls

but the neon has no pity

and the mirror always gleams

on the virgin in the city

and the wizard and his dreams

Part 17

jan 26-29 92


brett (plain)

shooting straight in the dark (beej)

Maia Szalavitz



Miss Outer Boro 1991

I wore spike-heeled shoes for shopping

at the used clothes bargain store

Hoping for Extra Discounts

I'm nothing but a Cut-Rate Whore

I was trying on new garters

but i found the seams just split

so i looked for all the martyrs

and what current cause was hip ...

I was pressed face down on the black top

Everyone was marvelling at my lap top

stop! stop! sop!

said a nearby cop

as the reporter typed into his laptop

"1992 Cars: A Bumper Crop."

The rumpled traveling salesman

Thought he was ever so sly

When without missing a beat

He impregnated all their uterii

....ok, sue me.


jan 29 92- Feb 17



bill paulauskas


just LuCreCia.





daydreamer (beej)

Maia Szalavitz


There was an udder

There was a mother

She began to mutter

I decided to let her

dying isn't hard.

COMEDY is hard.

breathing is easy

when you're upside right.

on the slow train time does not interfere

The subway was digging what would soon be scabs into my legs

and the pixisticked penumbra bituminously biting

at my leg

screaming Coal Coal , and i thought he said

toll toll

and was first not to respond

I was gagging at the repetition

I was looking forward to the regurgitation

I was hoping for a miracle

but none was forthcoming ...

and a voice struggled up from that deep place within

a mewling, a spewling, a strewling

of syllables

jumbled and mumbled and bumbled

usually numbled

now and then crumbled, fumbled

and suddenly sensible,

"make it happen yourself!

so simple, so trite! make it happen


Like a billboard it blared at me,

Internal catch-phrase soul-marketed


"Why ask why?".


I was anchoring slogans to philosophical theories

I was selling existentialism with girls in bikinis

The sum of your actions

your purchases


to fill the void


To tie in close


grains of rice in a stir-fry.

Uncle Ben was walking on air

Aunt Jemimah was checking off her answers

suzy chaffee was licking fur lips

mikey was dying of cancer

Betty Crocker was playing soccer

in her new Air-Crocker soccer shoes:

"Just do it, Bo knows!"

Cy Sperling in the jaws of life

His head stuck to the windshield

and all screamed in unison...

Peek Freans *are* extraordinary cookies!!!!!!!!!!!

There were products and services yet undiscovered

There were fads that came and went without my knowledge

but were these fads

merely cause

for confusion

of those poor lads

There were zit creams

There were egg creams

Ice cream, you scream

we love to cheer for our winning team

Tofutti and frozen yogurt

I can't believe it's a girdle

i've fallen and i can't get up

Into the darkness out of the void, over the river, and through ghe woods,

to the left cranial hemisphere we go.

the horse knows the way,

to bury dismay

and ennui sometimes, too ohhhh.

and ice like vinyl on the streets

cold as silver white as sheets

Slender, high heeled "fuck me" shoes

slipping over these iced-up blues...

never knowing who to choose

The one with cash,

The one with booze.

The one who don't care what it screws,

All like novels to peruse.

but if you read between the lines

you will find

that she is not what he seems.

And if you flip the pages fast,

They look like it moves.

And if you block out every other word

You will hear the essence of the story

But show me the pages unwritten

And let me write the latest chapter

Word by word.

Sentence by sentence.

Paragraphs on paragraphs.

The progress of editing ...

... reVISioning ....

until at last it is created

and destroyed simulataneously

And printed, and pressed

Packaged and promoted

Stuck on the front shelf,

Moved to the back.

Cover torn off and thrown to the shredders.

Particles reassembled with scotch tape

"Like new! Real cheap!"

You'll never tell the difference!

rotation keeps em fresh and sparkly

There was a sheen on the photons

and the sublime sublimated

increasing in number


serendipity stopped

in a moment there is time

for decisions and revisions that a moment will reverse

And then again,

(another twist)

And turn again,

and back andback

and forth and fifth.

and the sixth made no sense

and the seventh will remember

and the eighth will not be met

and the ninth will go out hungry

and the tenth child will forget

... and fall into the reverie

of those whom life has released ...

those lucky few who find peace

without having to die ...

but die they do

but not before saying


and the stopwatch is held by the one

least likely to...

Drop his watch,

fire the starters pistol.

"And they're off!"

Where the muskrat-banjo sponks

within boggy loafs, the kettle, the turkey joke:

Hope-on-a-Rope swings

where the pistol starts its dinky spatter

in a place where THE BOILED MAN

counts his oil


He was whistling on the handlebar

He was observing the turmoil

Sprinkling motor oil

Representing the fervent bunnies

Little bunnies, forever blowing bunnies.

Her heart's not in it.

Her temple's in a vice.

but biting into the vice

bristling with pickles

it smelling sweetly

of parsnips and

lemon sauce

where the wild horseradishes

still and nettle-sprung

bolt sweet glass almonds

in aspic and

cherry chalice chariots

are raffletickets

beyond the sticky whickets

in the garden of our yesteryear,

all in a day's work, she said.

all in a day's work

Poke the perky Apricots!

The garden flows in

pounded ash and and and


is a babyface



bags of eagles

less than a heap of

tarred ropes

In Love!

But with nothing save the savings of centuries,

like pecan pies strung above her head

like Boston cream ready to deliver her from the marangue nightmares.

The corpse in the garden has sprouted flours

for hours and ours is the nightmare that springs like a Slinky

"For fun it's a wonderful toy."

Part 19

17-22 feb 92


Miss Outer Boro

Kilgore Trout








just LuCreCia.

bill paulauskas

Maia Szalavitz

water dripping from the sill

thrusting the toy


whisker laden pundits

roped and aligned

bringing forth partridges pierced


slink enigma fuselages.

Crying out in unison.Perish.

Perish in Paris, they said, they screamed,

Without any croissants, crescent crescendos jumping off bridges into


Each runing down like rusty clockwork,

With no remedy, no remembrance,

No Madelines, Bridgettes, Bobby-Sues.

Barbie dolls, holding out stiffened arms to the echo of sprinklers and


and blood like rust on every open blade.

The enigmatic automatic enigma-enema arsenal of arrogant SOLO FLYING,

The aromatic somatic stigma enemy personal stove-aroma spent BOLO TYING,

The prophylactic semantic fig's paw sentimental senile offer went SOHO


It's Sinatra's world we just live in it

Numbed by sheer numbers,

nimble thimblefuls of trembling plumbs,

Plumbing the symbols

All thumbs and cucumbers

with dimpless remumbered.

remembered and remunerated

inundated celebrated

alshe cried

Names buy shy nambams

nipple humblepumps off tender incomes,

Panning for Cymbals

Altar boys alter the elf

of self remembered rubber.

and only the dead remember.

And they dwell in their pasts as they smell in their casks,

and never no never tell lies.

I am Jonathan Wellington Wells

A dealer in magic and spells.

and the talisman trickling

timorously to sell Wells

the remuneration

rejoice, rejoice

and rejoin reminders.

I am Joyce. I jest and don't mind.

I think, therefore I am ...


Incognito ergo I for the grace of god.

I was blind, tho not like Milton

I prayed to god for vision

Blood-spattered foam

Oozed from the snarling chops

Of my rabid seeing-eye dog

Gone for my throat to drag me across the ooze-laiden streets.

Like I was learning to read the speedbumps with my nose.

just like Helen Keller,

and just like a dog I was befriended.

and like a dog abandoned

Craving knowledge of heaven and hell

I travel

As an angel with the devils

As a devil with the angels

Never mixing pleasures

with purity of purpose

I pour in the tequila

and the triple sec

and the Minute Maid Lime Juice Concentrate

and an egg white

and a tray full of ice cubes

and I push the PUREE button

and wait for the moment of ecstasy to arrive (hold the salt)

with tenuous ambiguity

I pour through the self doubt

and the triple entendres

and the tiny fingernails that think too much

and the racsists

and the chic invitations

and I push the DESTROY button

and watch a million saints and sinners turn into a buttery loaf

And as for my open wounds.

Then to be cleansed with Finlandia or Stolichnaya.

No bubbles here to mask the sting.

No Sting here, to sing for the forests,

No forests here to break up the concrete,

No concrete here to balance the abstract

No abstract here to summarize the work,

No work here ...

A toast!

My friends are all drunkards and me a wounded lamb on the way to a roadkill

My eyes deepen with pleasure

As her words charm and caress them

Watching Chameleon turn into a poet

But she's just playing with words,

seeing if she can still make them do tricks like yoyos, and strings and

forgotten things.

To see who will come out and play.

Whose turn is it now?

the girl had wondered

which part of the alphabet

will she plunder

and who will get to see

the rain and the thunder

as the words took a soggy soggy

journey asunder.

I saw the fisheye panoramas in the raindrops on the window

In winter, the flat white diamond layer of frost

Faint spectrums gleaming on curling ferns

The pink lacy wafer of the morning moon

Floating in watery blue

The dust motes hovering in the sunbeams

The coldest man in the coldest corporation

Sharp like a scissors

The green inchworm Liberty Statue in the distance

The black rainbow on the grackle's wing

The grackle's eyes looked straight into mine

Part 20

22 feb-5 march 92


Victor Immature

Miss Outer Boro 1991




Point in a Multi-Dimensional Attribute Matrix


bill paulauskas




Jonathan's Whitefish

Gravity's Sociopath

Ezio Pinza

just LuCreCia.

Bartleby the Sociopath

Maia Szalavitz

Kilgore Trout


I saw the fattest mind of my generation burst.

Showering us with lipids of knowledge when all I wanted was an angry fix.

I went to the drive thru window of ideas

looking for a major concept.

all I got were shallow thoughts

and a discount coupon for next week.

Digital blood available in the frozen dept. of the supermarket nearest you

And cowardly lies lyin' cast aside in the aisles

I place my pawn trine your queens knight.

You take it as attack, not comfort, since the rules encourage

the adversarial point of view.

That I can mate you in two does not mean I necessarily will.

Usually neither of us even notices.

Sister squares are reconciled

what you're describing sounds like Jorge Arditti's isomophism from

Kuhn's notion of a closed scientific paradigm to a closed cultural


A cultural system in which meaning and action are interlinked





Hurry up please it's time

Hurry up please it's time

Hurry up please it's time

she prays for the strength to ignore

offenses to all her senses

indignity heaped on intellectual treasures.

Those treasures still dusty and charished in silence.

With questions not answered and answers not questioned.

But asked all the same

never pausing to invite response

and heroes--she says--are never infallible either.

so it seems he'd come in vain to find

a verse or two to set.

not quite what he had in mind

oh, another item to forget.

"It's my pathology" she said cheerfully

And I the local epidemiologist

Too sensitive to stand the ads in the mall, he became a hired killer.

Made his parents proud and embarrassed at once.

He loved his victims as if he created them with sadism, became

a parent as he murdered and made them art.

But would never advertise his opus. Proof that he'd overcome the mall.

My pathology, she said cheerfully.

"how i've missed you" she continued

life is ever so much more interesting

with a disease to hold you in tow

when there's noone else around

my pathology is all that I know.

hearing each other's voices

albeit each in communion only with itself

gave them intimations of tender union

experiencing frissons of fear

at the very possibility of being understood

ga ga goo goo

Did you hear the one about the, uh...

MMMmmmmmmm, BABY, Oooooooohhhhhhhh

ca ca coo coo

In her cowardly way she slithered toward the lesser mortals

Licking their wounds in return for sympathy

The bitter taste she now tolerated was familiar

A reminder that her pathetic escape had been only an illusion

Do you believe in magic?

In a young girl's heart

I'm as corny as Kansas in August

I'm as normal as blueberry pie

That's like hypnotizing chickens


Bravery born of already being dead, ignore the twitch since it's


Nothing to bet with, the risk is of living. Proud of not wanting to


A speech impediment blamed on a mouthful of gristle

said i pathology


its my mythology

as Pan struts his rutting dance

on shiny cloven hooves

Dull shit et the corpse, runs EST.

Feel the power of disassembling others by force.

Know them through their pain, man.

Better to be the laugher than the laughee.

meep, meep

but better be those

bedazzled bedbugs

grandiloquently bombasting

the dali lama

over sycophant tea

Jesus Christ, I sure could use some comic relief in this place

Misunderstandings served up like donuts by the dozen

Feel the tepid farce, boy

Wonder what power might feel like

Wading like a tendril, meddling and muttering

Buckle in revulsion

As the monster Narcissus enjoys his mighty donuts

On a clear day you can see forever

I think that I shall never see

a poem as lovely as a tree.

unless I try relentlessly

to hold my head down a lavoratory.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I played the music really loud

Two's company, three's a crowd.

Four's a square. Five's prime. Six is perfect.

how many times can thirty three go into sixteen?

sixteen will get yer twenty.

figure eight

as double four

figure four

as half of eight

if you scate

it is great

if you can do

a figure eight

3 6 9

the goose drank wine

the monkey spit tobacco on the streetcar line

the line broke

the monkey got choked

and they all went to heaven in a little rowboat

Words strewn carelessly with intent to misslead

The desire to speak one's own voice

Overcome by the desire to wound by deflection

A game of ping pong with unknown participants

Everybody's got something to hide, 'cept for me and my monkey.

Hey hey we're the monkeys

Feeling the streets of Crown Heights in a gold Mercedes

Broken glass crunching under voluptuous rubber

The window of opportunity

Smashed during Kristallnacht


be gone

and stop fondling

the mercenaries

at twilight tripping

the panoply of perversion

Ogling the demise of a Hollywood blonde,

her investments transgressed,

her vestments unpressed

her public unimpressed.

For what's in her head, they never want to know,

For whose in her bed and why aint they dead?

Skin like hot velvet sexing her fingers

He moves pale gold in the slanted moonlight

Their bodies two entities of seeking mouths...

1) European totalitarianism; the true knowledge of suffering

2) JFK's assassination; American totalitarianism; Elvis's true nature

This town is an old man

Chewing on pantyhose

Waiting for the Cabs of Time

To collide in the rubberoid

Closet of sweet colostomy.

1) washing dishes

2) sucking lemons

1) steroids

2) bar and/or pie charts

Won nothing from the grand invisible lottery.

Too disillusioned to recognize the world as a tangello.

Looking for meaning in the bodies of others before trying your own.

America first, Dinah kisses your body with the mwah of the shore.

I find my meaning in yesterday's advertising. I await tomorrow's lunch.

My mother's angel is fiercer but dumber than mine

My father's decoy makes a noise like a real duck

I open the milkweed pods thinking they are little fairies in there

The fairies scatter and float in their silken tutus

Angled moths in dunce jackets,like Mayans

Knife arbors: Drake's nose is a royal toy

We preen on cheese-pads...sink limp tinsel hair

What matters to the bishop are his skiitering flock.

With nothing but slithering echos of shadows of illusions.

They walk like ducks don't and talk like fish can't and

wonder and wander and blunder and pander

like pandas from Kansas with no real meaning except that Nebraska sucks

wose. Ski on illusion, on rats with boiled leather gloves and backs

hunched over

the piles of pocketbooks that are the chess-pieces-of-amour, scattered


fried ducks on a carpet of red fish skin where the pandas duel with

straight razors and rare ice...the variable earth wobbles and waits,

wobbles and waits:


And not a minute too soon they said

As they moved indoors, securing the perimeter

Borderlines of backtalk

Frontiers of frustration

Alliteration and puddles of warm pus

Oozing from the alienated laws of exception

I never said I never said I never said

The center of that song is dead

Avoid the center seek the surface.

The beauty at the boundary between me and not.

To look too deeply makes one nervous.

Skim the skin--and like it hot. I was jejune

I hunted for poon


get infected.

I threatened young boys

with my skanky old toys

They shrank in terror, ran in horror.

But then they just returned tomorrow.

It's the Tourette's Syndrome E-mail poem now...

When they were done

They jizzed on the nun

I can't control my native tongue.

I speak to lick my surroundings.

I taste your meaning, needs some salt.

I ejaculate strange utterances.

The Red Sea parted as I lifted my rod.

The miracle was yet to come.

Blanche blushed and blew her kisses

And said "Oh LOVE, is this what this is?"

Un-snapped the snaps, unrolled the hose,

Took off her hat, in short: her clothes.

She ran across the sunny field,

Flesh jiggled with emotion,

Pink and hot and freshly pealed,

And scented with hand lotion.

The sky turned green,

The cone touched down,

It was obscene,

It flung her round.

Home, home on the range

Where they love me in spite of my mange

Where I don't have to sing the blues

'Cause the cows kiss and lick off my ooze

The boy cows are really well-hung

Yum! Time for Post-Coital Tongue!

I think it would be really cool

Dancers wiped blood on the truck

Knocked over speakers

Waited for the proper time to enjoy themselves

And my idea of just relaxin'

Is re-remaking Michael Jackson.

Or to keep me glad and merry,

I could strangle Mariah Carey.

But though others do, I just don't wanna,

Kick the shit out of Madonna.

Even though no one really meant it

Everyone says at least once they wanna take an ice pick to Tony Bennett

And when his words and music have gotcha,

It's time to waste ol' Frank Sinatra.

I was jejune.

I lived for Pat Boone

I think that I shall never see,

A president as powerful as Dwight D. Eisenhower as he chewed down a tree.

He was the first President to say "Nu-cu-lar"

Whereas some thought him avuncular

As a means of vindication

Others kept their feelings private

By speaking only Serbo-Croation.

Those were tough times.

Of Scandinavian Modern furniture and Modess Napkins

As we contemplated pre-genital activity.

We knew our days were numbered,

Our pencils said number 2.

I, a hardliner, used a 2 1/2.

It set me apart from the Karens and Michelles

But we were all bleeding from our own individual unique all-American

hells.Kerry on, carrion, brown bushes sticking out their tsongas at the


playing badminton

Votee o doe

Oh do, o no!

Votive voters molded quite caringly,

Marred by nothing but the melted wax from their ears

My pals, they were all getting heavy

When I was just trying to get Lite --

They were delving the depths of their psyches

While I had no bark and no bite.

Well I'll SHOW 'em, I thought to myself --

I'll teach them a lesson quite hard...

They'll post to the void, meanwhile *I*

Shall make MILLIONS from ONE Hallmark card!

A tourist in the land of responsibilty.

The guide book says to be nice, be right.

Leave appropriate tips, do not feed or annoy.

Somewhere someone doesn't exist.

Maybe we'll visit there next vacation?

Someone very skinny writng on themselves

I always look under the bed for burgers with everything on 'em.

I can read between the pixels so don't be acute--you're no angle.

The data structure separating ridicule from art barely takes a byte.

Give in to your love when you give it a shove.

What you kill, you'll eat eventually. Yet you'll still crave the burger.

I said, "Hi Mom, Welcome Home."

Mom lifted up her Nixon tee-shirt excitedly,

screaming, "Remember my breasts?!?"

I said, "Foxes U Bet

might help us greatly in this situation."

She said,

I have walked many a mile in Leisureworld (Laguna Hills, California)

And that is why my estrogen is so sorely depleted.

I said, "But Mom!"

Without quotation marks,

the dried up old crone seemed more pathetic than ever.

But that's all behind me now.

And here she lies

And closes her eyes

And opens her thighs

And waits for her sweet surprise.

(Is the Big Bang Theory really SO wrong?)

Floating through abandoned lifestyles

Suffused with Hopperlight

Dreaming through Sunday

I emerge with poetrrhea

A rare condition

Found among certain species

of gorillas

Generally localizable to the Plains,

these creatures are often seen

feeding mixed metaphors to their young.

With dubious punctuation these sad sacks scream

Themselves silly

Giving rise to the obvious analogy

O So Like Us we cry

As the waiter comes to take our order.


"just a bit of goat cheese and arugula"


"don't get me started"

As I begin my ten thousandth sestina of the evening,

scored for flugelhorn and concussion.

I wanted to fly

I wanted to die trying

I wanted to go to a summer country

I needed the flat white empty quiet desireless light


"tourist in the land of responsibility"

and then to see

"suffused with Hopperlight"

so much better than what the official market place

offers this month

this year?

this decade? they way of artistic ideas

Trade in your old metaphors.

0% financing on a new worldview.

Drive the most popular understandings.

American understandings.

Be part of something great.

Once great, maybe. Soon to be great again so practice feeling proud.

Practice makes perfect! (Don't trade in THAT one!)

One little word misused,

standing against the wall all dusty,

blowing the dust off looking cool and cold at the truth.

If I thought about it, if I thought about it,

but why think about it.

What will that do 'cept set things on courses that they don't want to go.

Isolate with your keyboardand curl in on yourself,

quietly letting the Latin loose it's life.

A pork behemoth

They sat perfectly upright at the enormous table

Separated from each other by what,

A stegosaurus?

"Dyadic Variations"

Suggestive of Vivaldi

But with far less trouble and strife.

After the initial post-prandial chill,

The modalities shifted,

the tone changed,

and it started to sound more like, what, Wagner?

The Liebestod perhaps?

Oh, no -- As subscribers to Modern Maturity Monthly,

I believe it was Rodgers and Hammerstein,

ultimately, who spoke for them.

Hammer and Sicklestein plummeting through the mortuary

Capitalism an ugly scab

Afterwards, with no intervening furniture, maturity regressed.

Too much stress being out in the world.

Let the lipids come to us!

and after still

the afterbirth returned to a semblance of

what the statisticians called "normal".

Reprise: me trouble 'n strife.

Does anyone get it or are we each alone in our hyena hysteria?

Playing Vivaldi, this time for real, he asks for something

From each of several contenders.

Surface area, count one;

Security and absolution from guilt, count two;

And meets a cat of whom he asks a job.

While some others, performing ablutions,

Muster up their old defenses -

Thus securing all of these for herself of an evening's work.

Beauty blocks, asbestos, and beige

Are all the rage

Counting the trade marked minutes.

Our time in each modality is finite.

Surface area has boundaries--is a boundary.

Alone among the hyenas we feel our animal natures.

Do animals have sleves?

The dog, a Buddha nature?

The cat misses its others, but does it understand as we pretend we do?

And are we better for it? A table piled with food would pose it no

problems. Yet does it not purr when you stroke her fur?

Immature posts for me.

Miss Piggy at the Shop

Sins without shame.

Well maybe just a tad.

"May I borrow a tortilla, kind Sir?

I have lost my glove and my fingers are a bit chilly."

"No" he said, "But I would be happy to bite off those tiny tips

If it would help the situation."

I thanked him for the Buddhist Tips

For girls just want to have fun.

Novel intoxicants stalk the unshockable.

Old novelties wake the dead.

Gothic novelties all predicatable and coated with links impossible.

The bindings off the past appear looser today but entangle even more

Since the shapes are unfamiliar and the pitfalls disguised as harmless.

The old problems are still the best, like vintage wine.

Or coffeee and peanutbutter pie.

The old problems are the same, just carved differently and made from cast

iron instead of annodized allumium.

Trade your antiquities for the new and know they run by the same laws.

You drop them

You drop them

They all fall down.

It's just that down's now called up, or maybe left.

And right is so wrong or so it's said.

but under the signs pointing, is the weigh.

And a heavy one it is. Hope it doesn't fall on me.

- Chicken Little syndrome,

Happens everyday.

it's the weigh of the whirl

it's the lay of the land

the sky is calling . . .

so i'm told.

but not to me

it ain't me, Babe, the sky is looking for

or calling to...

(verbal collages must also be permitted

in the era of sampling)

(not to be confused, of course,

with simple theaft or plagiarism)

A Hyena's Hymen: Hiroshima. We

Met at the man's shadow, bringing him

A dinner of twigs and figs and fireballs.

I stopped to admire his Russian toupe

While Roman gladiators struggled with

Each other for a kiss.

Employees must wash hands

After using this


For a carseat/television-set/opal portal/Titanic Replica

When the dazed fruit of Iwo Jima

Smears like Pompeii or any wrecked glisten

of History...truth, like a basket of basque eagles,

is a redhot brazen tongue in your



Inching toward the icy edge

the slippery slope

it's absolute zero and superconductivity ahead

Dry ice welds me to my destination

The love of a good freeze holds me in sadistic bliss.

Let my skin peel off when they try and remove me.

They clubbed me bad to make a coat

I cried out but they stopped

Just as the doorman made his final decision.

The velvet ropes wrapped around my neck

As I approached orgasm

It was TuTu

said the swans, in the same way,

as Twelve little girls in two straight lines

tortured poor Madeleine -

Sadistically, with sexual overtones.

into ragged edged halves

Sarcastically, with sexual overtones.

Statistically, with sexual overtones.

Please continue to praise me in this item.

I was circling round the sychophant

I was hanging around the PsychoPlant

It was an ordinary Thursday.

Two Jesuses, one Frank Sinatra and a Reformed Borderline Personality

asked me what part of Brooklyn I'm from.

I replied, "the party of the first part"

as they offered me some Thorazine tablets.

"Take forty-seven, they're small," said the doctor,

and I complied,

as I was trained to do in my internship.

The CIA was taking notes

The secret service was laundering money

Tiny white styrofoam slum sprites

Skittered across black tar

Whirled in circular eddies

And a sad, wild, yearning happiness lifted me aloft

Morality is so 70s, don'tcha think?

I looked at her puzzled, she gave me a wink.

Security's so 90's, she thought, feeling sour,

As he happily told her about his steam shower.

the clock struck 1991

and down he did run

Yo, yo, yo

Slumward ho

Between the phases lies the interphase, the ground that makes the figure


Life frames the room which frames the picture frame.

The context of contextualness.

Part 21

march 5-11 92


Miss Outer Boro 1991


Kilgore of the trout

sou brett

Miss Anthrope (nee 'Andergal)

Smart Bomb




Bartleby the Unimaginative

j neil

Victor Immature.

bill paulauskas

this is a poem this is

not a poem this is a p

oem this is not a poem

this is not a poem thi

s is a poem this is no

t a poem this is a poe

m this is not a poem t

his is a poem this is

not a poem this is a p

oem this is not a poem

if they give you ruled paper, write the other way.

writing wrongs

nothing left in America

Last gasp of country western civilization

Arrested for flagrancy

voguerancy, negro-feel-ya,

sleep waking, bonsai charges,

upper-clasp ideas, holosexual display,

mulchymedia, Save The Rain Florists!

I bought into a pin and

whore it.

with superb sang froid Pickle the cat

stares at me yellow eyed

blissfully unconcerned

with where its at

Gin and catatonic,

Coke or catalepsy

Refreshing beverages of flora and fauna

FLowers burst forth at the feet of Madonna

Drowning in chowder, the old elf

Struggled with his shorts.

The waist band of the ages

Moments purloined and sweetened.

Taxes unpaid.

Where does my heart stop and my tongue begin

Where does my body stop and the world begin

Where does my soul stop and my wallet begin

What is the difference between my mind and my finger and the RETURN key

As an instrument of GOD, I express my pure eroticism in a twitch.

The blunt instrument crushes the nervous tick.

God is a god of chemistry. He can treat nervousness with a pill.

Or he can dance to it. I'd give it a 8.5

God is being measured.

Humanity is investigating the size of god's cock.

God has an enourmous pussy from being fucked all the time.

God is a snake being forced to drink snake oil.

Now how much will you pay?

But wait--there's more!

God opens his mouth. Is it to bite or to drink?

Is it to fight or to think?

Or to suck?

The tongue o' God is mute when asked for answers

Yet licks us. Speaking body language, the language of the temple o' the


Come to God. What do you say to someone who can prove orgasms don't exist?

Fuck off!

disprove by miracle.

God was just yawning.

and when God yawns, everyone is bored.

I am standing on the threshhold of indifference.

Plunge right in. Or don't. See if I care. Or if you do.

God loves you, though. Even if he has trouble showing it.

And a tendancy to laugh at you when you've fallen and you can't get up.

I loved it. My husband works in the area and I'm going to see it two

more times.

I was falling down the stairs of reality

I was surrounded by a pack of wild she-dogs

But they only sniffed at each other.

It was an UP staircase too.

I was scrubbing the linoleum of the grubby staircase

I was Miss Sissy-fuss following the Hints of Heloise

She said: Put one copy of Pilgrim's Progress in a gallon of ammonia

I knew things about the history of ammonia that others did not know

My brain hurts!

I leaped over the threshhold of pain

Landing on the other side was a non-event

Mid-air, I had grown numb

Numb to the feel of gravity

But not its consequences.

but just imagine

how Ramu the wolf-boy felt

like a plaything.

History books and newspaper

columns don't reflect this...

I wanted to loom large on the garbage barge

I wanted the misery of the floating prison

I wanted to make merry on the Staten Island Ferry

So I set out on a long journey.

There were many who blocked my way.

Or tried to convince me to follow theirs instead.

Or confuse me.

Or abuse me.

But I chucked them into the Slough of Despond

Where they belonged

The story ends and I'm still rowing.

I had to eat the others in the lifeboat.

One had bad acne.

If the feeling of tin foil in your teeth

was a sound in your head

that is what I would say

I hear now

Bright with the haze of not enough sleep

too many thoughts and not enough thinks,

Justify and testify and say nothing forever,

the words are leftovers in my mouth,

turned stale and meaningless in the heaviness

of morning turned daytime,

of daytime turned bitter from night.

Somatoform dreams


Time for breakfast, crack open the egg.

A tiny spot of blood

Suggests another lost life among us.

Who could have predicted it?

I think I'll go back to sleep.

is it the call of the womb?

or the call of the grave?

no matter

all the traffic is going one way

A styrofoam deity is floating on the banks of my attention

The balding tires of Judaism

drove over the fashion don't

Hydroplaning along the dark winding road

On a journey away from the Jewish Motherlode.

So it's pubic knowledge now.

The past seen in repose.

Restarting or completing finally won't be evident yet.

Yes, pubic knowledge being the best kind

most secret, convoluted, unfathomable...

Who knows these days who makes up the public

more than your first dozen intimate friends?

His VisionQuest led him to the stripper bars

It was a Full Court Sex Press

Thinking and drinkin and talkin and playin.

I emerge like a snail on an escargot fork.

Marching down Fashion, full of Family Passion

Emblazoned with the beauty of my blood kin

Feeling akin to the ache in my skin

rubbing my chin as I came to attention.

I knew the din was the cause of dinero

and went past there when the captain was sin.

Skinflint teetotaler totals the tall tales

Sinful Sinbad the bad singer singes his mittens on the verge of


Hungrily hunting a cut-price Nothing

Finding the expected disappointment and being glad but not showing it.

Avidly searching for a pseudo-rebirthing

or at least a pseudo-reimpregnation for

dear old Mom

who never felt so fulfilled as when she

had me.

If we could just try that trick again

I wouldn't hafta be born. Just wait in the wings.

The morning after a day of near-misses,

Taking corners to fast,

twist my ankle,

shred my knees.

"This is the end,

this is the end my friend"

Slumped in a corner, black leather feeling soundtracked

dissolved in letters that say maybe but phone calls that say

"Not yet"

and could be convinced might be convincing

Will be condensed

should be condescending.

Transcendental sedimentation.

"Never break never break never break never break,

this heart of stone."

Damn the jukebox why have they forgotten the last decade

when only one AMerican politico got shot,

(but the bullet bounced off his heart)

instead they'll hold up the glory of the decade where guns

ripped through the hopes of America.

"Come on come on come on come on and touch me baby ..."

I need another beer..

The nerve center of our panic found the nerve center of my panic

But I didn't panic

I trusted him not to bust me

"Tootsie," he said fondly,

"You're a Suicide Warrior!"

As we rested our trusty bikes against the Dunkin' Donuts door...

Kneading the knee

While needing


While waiting

For the solstice

Eyes packed with tears

Spring might come or maybe not, turn to Item 150 for the answer.

Sole on ice. Or knee.

Time and cold. Pain and answers.

Tomorrow follows.

I was teetering on the brink of treachery

There were interlopers made of dog doo all around me

Flirting with truth telling

But as in all flirting, stumbling over my own mixed motives

Clumsy in truth as in lying.

The truth shall set you free-floating in epistimological space.

Only lies are stationary to cling to.

If they're really there at all.

Actually you cling to yourself.

A mad Christian Scientist working day and night on a project

Trying to take apart Frankensteins and build human beings

The secret ingredient is a new Experimental Love Ray

But the details have not been worked out

Early attempts are awkward if not fatally dangerous

waking up in bed alone.,

in bed alone again.

madonna whore madonna whore madonna whore madonna whore

someone please figure out the lock on this door

If you leave it open, they wont have to break the lock.

If it's unlocked they won't think it's worth protecting.

another busy day at the orifice

Intellectual finesse will never surpass

The infinite attractions of

Universal orifices

Holier than thou pundits

ponder the fate of fatal attraction

penetrate the rate of release

fabricate the date of desist and cease.

A cadaver chanting abracadabra but it doesn't matter

Fresh threshholds hold court and retort

Pickpockets pecking and puking and wrecking locks

Poor me, lucky me, locking and unlocking stuttering, muttering guttersnipes

Stereotypes lasting and fasting and waiting and wasting and gasping in


Secret teacup passages swapping massages and belching and yelping and

enjoying toying with handfuls of bandwidths

Accepting the inevitable from the obvious

The x-rays only showed what we expected

Even the driven snow is filthy

Grit, it feels like .

Part 22

12 13 march 92



sou brett


Miss Outer Boro 1991

Miss Anthrope (nee 'Andergal)


We live to learn

We go for the burn

Then take a break

and binge on cake.

Not just yet, Jake --

I'm busy burning at the stake.

I'm a fake

I make mistakes

I ache

Then I wake

and look up from the bottom of the lake.

and think, "panman died for our sake"

Timing's off--

No prob.

Fixing it's a

little job.

(nodding off again)

The hand that holds the sword appears to burn

The blade is silver, and the haft is worn

The challange is to hold it, and to stand

Unbowed and ready, when the trumpet blows.

People who tell you to get in touch with your feelings

Should also provide formulas for further dealings

With the hysterical snakes you will likely unleash

Undigestible dread piled high on your dish.

Instead get in touch with the feelings of others.

Start with your congressman. Then try your mother's.

Then you will gladly return to your own.

Then you wil mutter, "At last, I'm alone."

Part 23

march 14-17 92


Miss Outer Boro 1991




bill paulauskas

McKil O'Gore McTrout



New Name



Dis-trout, Kilgore

Miss Anthrope (nee 'Andergal)


sou brett

People rhyme all the time

I think rhyming is fuckin stupid

Burrowing deeper into the Nest.

It may not be what I do best--

But try and stop me, it's impossible.

I like to do what's gain-and-lossable.

I like to do what's fuckin' stupid.

But I can't think of anything that rhymes with it.

...surrendering to the cruel arrows of Cupid.

...that is unless i'm too pooped.

(you have to say "pooped" like "poop-ed")

I hear it said all the time

That stupid people can not rhyme.

I've smoked the best mimes of my degeneration. NOT!

I've changed the course grades of mighty rivers, bent steer in my

bear-hands, fatter than a sleeping bullet.

And, who, disguized as Clark Barr, files a never-ending babble.

Forsooth, mustard on my American way.

tho' I know in regard to wings' joke I'm here a bit after,

still may I join in the congenial laughter?

cause otherwise I'll have to experience desperation,

since I am off to Great Neck, Long Island for a Maternal Visitation.

Please excuse this stupid self-centered poem, where others' are so mystic,

It's just that when faced with this awful event, I become particularly


Rhymins no big deal

The stupid people bit just ain't real

In fact it's the dopes that need that sing song thang

the ones who harange

the ones who go and on

like a childrens song

who will take you to task

For a half rhyme, their brains at half mast

who really have the weak minds

They hit you with their sleek whines

So don't fret, brett

Cuz this is fuckin stooo-pid

stupidity perfected is sublime rhyme.

humidity detected,

rigidity deflected.

humility inspected.

fertility neglected.

another weekend is rejected.

My dignity is unprotected.

Bush is reelected

Karen Carpenter's anorected...

Arlo selected.

Phallic symbol erected.

ve been mothered, fathered, aunt and uncled

Ive been Roy Hallee'd and Art Garfunkeled

I've just discovered someone tapped my phone.

Well never mind.

The heart blooms in the earth

The soul shines in the sky

The bolt of lightning charges them

And fuses them and shows them why

Walt Whitman wipes his ass

With letterhead from Conde Nast

and kinko the KlOwn rules 'bove the ground..

jackhammer crows peck bronze eyes

in central park.

my cup runneth under

how come, you may wonder.

The joke's over

I'm in clover

Give me a cold night.

Let the trees talk.

In my dim room I want to read a book,

a magazine article, anything.

It's quiet and my stomach has that

whirling motion it gets when

it can't see the future.

Tonight the fire escape is cold

Against my back

But I still lay there looking up

And you're still in New Orleans

It doesn't matter

You'd have never joined me anyway.

I left Virginia in the cold too.

But you were never part of that world

Or any other.

I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.

someone's in the kitchen with Dinah

Let the midnight special

shine it's light on me

strummin on the ole banjo.

Strummin the spokes of the fire escape now

like a guitar but no singing

cause you always wanted me to sing to you

but I never did.

And I'm thankful to be an

AMERIKAN where at least i know I'm free

Scooby dooobie do

Where are you?

in a forest of florests pecking at neckties: Boris the Ape$Kke%'Rh}

flesh-out the maple marbles - only turns - wakes while slept pauper'istic

tonedeaf and it "UP" on a unicycle...meteorite!

hobbled = holistic = humped homophobe visiting Chinese Africa with birds?

prolife scumbag turnbuckles; waterpic Picasso montage eagle's silverbolt.

remember the tiles, stacked green for steamengines: red iron plugs

laid on Vermont with whiskey where where where where where where

Where the red whiskey plays

I sit where I lays

It's a new kinda craze

drinkin' whiskey till the cows come home at night

They've come home to roost,

They have,

They've purched in the trees and tried to fly.

"Notice they don't so much fly as plummet,"

like shooting stars the cows

like the sky and a whale and a bowl of petunias

"Buy the sky and sell the sky,

and tell the sky,

don't fall on me!"

Out recur recursion she will.

She'll purch in a tree with a guitar in the wrong key,

Sing us a song!

Come on! Come on!

How much space in your brain has been filled

with words unneeded uncalled-for?

For what? For this?

The furtive kiss of a secret in the scream of an ambulance siren,

luring death to the emergency room.

Remember children,

Cross your references and always reference your cross!

I sang a footnote once.

Accompanied on pedal steel.

The small print sounded fine. The fine print hard to follow.

Precision's kiss referenced my memory. A C# sounded right.

A flatted fifth. I reached for an octive. Exceeding my grasp

Of the obvious.

I am riding on the spiral

Sitting on a dollar bill

I curse and shirk the Big Spill

Part 24

march 18-19 92


Miss Anthrope (nee 'Andergal)


Miss Outer Boro 1991



sou brett

Trout Wobbler Kilgore



Riding a wave of certainty on a question mark

Cigareets and whiskey and wild wild women...

Echos of other lifetimes.

Somebody else's highs

Somebody else's ecstasies, sexual pyrotechnics, exploding joys

Vague shapes, barely traceable on the thin now air

The thin nowhere

Reality on a diet.

Seeking lightness of being.

Seeking to avoid a hardening of the archeries

Water your plants every few days or they will dry up and die

Add fertilizer when spring is a' comin' in

See if the sun cares, it'd just as soon nuke a rock as a

wandering Jew.

Camel Penis Head (a.k.a. Joe) is almost as recognizable

as Mickey Mouse, they say.

Children know that shriveled up countenance

They long to be a part of the myth

WHo will tell them where to really begin?

While skull & crossbones now means Cap'n Crunch

So kids expect what is so marked to taste like much added sugar.

The dinner is cooked

shrimp are shriveled

ain't nobody who can't eat that shit;

fuck it, maybe I should eat without her

that would be no fun

but my stomach would be gratified;

There is acid in my bowels

MIghty flacid are my vowels.

Lucid are the trowels that dig the dirt of heaven

ah, there goes another illusion

didn't know there would be dirt in heaven


heaven's where you NEED that dirt.

I need more of the earth from heaven

Need heaven's flowers be grown hydroponically?

An unnaturaly act for a vegetable who sinned not and thus got in.

In heaven you may play with mud pies without ruining your clothes.

Or mud wrestle or merely watch.

Life under the biosphere has its ups and downs,

Speaking hydroponically, that is;

The tomatoes are so ripe, big and red and swollen,

You can kiss them if you try;

And there are two kinds of dressing to smoosh over them

As you eat your way toward Green Peace.

Um, lemme bite into that cucumber -- it's a ten pounder!

The hugeness of mud

Feathers from heaven descending with pleasure, not dread

Nobody noticing that the bird was dead.

Nobody noticing that the dirt was bread

Nobody seeing that glow in your head

Or the glow in their own.

And the knife in your hand.

Part 25

19-21 March 92






bill paulauskas



Joe Rosen

) Bromo


Miss Outer Boro 1991

jo anne


sou brett













(found poem)

A complicated thing is god's love.

God turns off her yo's when prayers are from the wicked.

Sin searches using a linear algorithm.

What it finds is between the lines.

Sign of the times -- sin used to find it between the sheets

Also, the foreign girl learned dirt as in "dirty", not earth

If heaven has earth, why have a heaven

I'm already dirty.

Hope is global

Buy it for a ruble?

Not worth the trouble


These boots were made for walkin'

And that's just what they're fo'

One-a these days these boots are gonna

Walk all over the snow

(today was the day my Sorel boots got to get out and about)

and when they are a walkin.. what a show it'll be...

for the snow you see:

exists for more than just you and me...

lookin' all around: uptown and downtown: i seen it fall to the ground.

now take those boots sista, and make some tracks

but be sure to com'on back.

Come back to this world of make believe

Where everyone is your friend.

We'll welcome you back with open arms,

and the dream will begin again.

through the burnin' fields of desire...

as the world of annihilation ends in peace...

one peace.

several peices... all in place exploding into space...

and then, there'll exist one final thought about mankind:

"i never knew you could be so ugly"






turned inside


beauty is in the eye of the beholder

only if the beholder is blind.

ssex is purely physical

got nuthin; to do with the mind.


I'll tattoo E=MC

On your behind

Relativity's on my ass.

I always knew there'd be days like this.

A new dawn is only around the corner...

Einstein's porn shop

two dildos a dollar

stick it up yr ass

and see the rascals run

someone is out there really having fun.

fun having there out is someone

run rascals the see and

ass your up it stick

dollar a dildos two

shop porn Einstein

Spread 'em, beeeee-yotch

Mock me if you will...

And tres more,

If to you it does thrill...

And say more.

Catholic schools : another world

The nuns look like men.

the students are sweet, I can't imagine that they're carrying guns.

The walls have that famliar pale green color.

You can't tell if you are about to throw up or if you just have and

haven't realized it yet.

cut it the fuck out, you can't imitate me !

Use 'em fo a condom, use 'em to strangle.

Use 'em to torture, use 'em to mangle.

Use 'em for pain and use 'em for pleasure.

Sing God a simple song

God loves all simple things

For God is the simplest thing of all.

His daddy lets him drive

my god is a deaf mailman heading for OTB with a pocket full of chewing gum

my death is a leaf burning unseen in the blue forests of Not-Canada

my hobby is a wad of paper

my best friend is a wall of sand and wind rushing toward Chinatown drunk

my weapon is a bucket of broken eyeglasses and a saxophone duet

my house is a dwarf smirking at classical music

my music is a stereo boatride ca. 1959

my scotch?

My keyboard is a clitoris

My monitor is a view into a ladies locker room

No wait I am bile

I am slime on the floor.

his hobby is a wad of paper AND he drinks johnny walker...

Part 26

21-22 March 92


Miss Outer Boro






for everythings

you don't

for me

-- (found poem)

To all persons to whom these presents may come greeting

-- (found poem)

Crow is black

Black is crow

Talk more shit

Then betamax.

-- (found poem) (I swear)

Roses are redish

Violets are bluish

if you like peanuts-

you'll love pussy..

and everyone likes peanuts....

-- (words of the wise homeless man on my street...)

"forever young... forever young.... forever young... foever young...

forever young... foever young... foever young... foerever young..."

-- (beautiful song heard on the subway on sat.)

"MMM! All that and she can READ, too!!"

-- (Words of homeless guy looking me up and down

as I peruse books for sale on the street)

"MM! Does your man KNOW what to DO with that!?!"

-- (Words of homeless guy staring at my friend Lisa's ass)

aaaaahhh the wisdom heard on the street these days...

and to think:

yes, i too will be one of those soothsayers on the street someday...

"In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream ..."

"I'm too sexy for my car ..."

"She don't like she don't like she don't like

coccaine ..."

"If the rhythm feels good to ya baby lemme hear ya say ..."

"Finally, it's happened to me, right in front of my face ..."

"I didn't mean to turn you on ..."

"you know that we are living in a material world and I am a material girl ...

"Anyway the wind blows, nothing really matters to me ..."

-- (montage of radio soundtrack on the street)

"They have pancakes like manhole covers"


"When they get the trophy

Then you're left without a head"

--Ann N.

Part 27

March 22-30 1992




Trumpeter Lanfrey

brett old brat



TroutZin's Syndrome

bill paulauskas

reTrolental fume


just LuCreCia.




Jonathan Hayes

Miss Anthrope (nee 'Andergal)

Icky Joey

it is just earthy and it does't matter why...

sit down, look into the sky...

i have a direct line into the sun... follow me, it'll be fun...


don't be scared about the line noise in my eyes...

Packin my bags

set the controls

Buy food from Dag's

Don't forget onion rolls

I'm going off to visit the sun.

Sun of a gun.

My sunny un

Be sure to pack my raybans

spf 3000

Drink to me only with thine eyes

And I will have the AND NOW? prompt in mine...

Thine eyes have seen the glory of the

wine in the dreams of strangers.

Thine eyes have seen the love you withhold

from the world, thinking it too precious.

Thine eyes are a stormy sea--too green to

be winter...

And I will log you until you can't come anymore

Log you utill you DOS control

Log you off and log you on

Better than any Xenix

Better than any Unix

Log you from Pan to Cult to WIT to Elsewhere

Log on my love.

Love my log.

Flog my fog.

i once was a dog.

a proud hood-a-lam

but i fell

into a mire..

with a burnin' desire...

and i will send line noise half way across the universe to see you.

flag my fag.

Shop at D'Ag.

please mrs. outer boro.......move closer to ME

The saddest words I've ever seen on Echo: You are now leaving Sex.

Line noise in my eye-liner.

Joy stick lipstick.

"A Tradition of Personal Service"

i cannot see the trees in the forest...

for the line noise in my eyes blocks the vision before me...


My radio jusat said

Whatever Lola wants Lola gets

I knew a Lola Getz.

Is that who they mean?

Edgar guessed that Bernie gets what Lola Wantz is but my schvantz.

Even the smartest among them

Make the same mistake

They turn their eyes toward heaven

While causing an earthquake

"what game are you playin?"


..."that's no game..."

I reply: "it is to me... i will play it to my miserable


I was choking on the finish line of too many false starts

it is proven:

that'll get ya every time

just across the finish line


when yer runnin' the race alone

no one cares if yer sittin' at home

or in the metro dome....

there are no winners...

there are no losers...

there's just this one participant...

alone at the finish line...

chokin' on dead air and dust of the passing bus(omni).

The puke of a Klown

When there's no one around

yak, yak, yak

frown, frown, frown,

kick the Klown down...

We all slay me.

now it is tearz of de klown...

move de curser to de riddim mon...

...make a da block on yum screen mon....

...den you may't get rid ob it mon...




In flagrante

carryin' de weight ob de planet mon.

And Atlas shrugs.

and I got de shag rugs, mon.

Shat-man shrugs shag rugs.

later fo yo shubbin mon...I gots to make it happen...

[disclaimer: the above was a non-sequiter and should not be taken lightly]

Beware them what don't sequite.

Deplete their sequitions with a shrimp fork.

When I praise others, I'm a sycophant.

When I flattered you it was the gospel truth.

Just to open my eyes and see it's still going on--fucking long movie.

I'm going to get some more stale popcorn, can I get you anything?

Maybe if I cried "Fire", or even lit one.

They'd only lock me up where there's no matches and all the movies

are in black and white.

and then you'd be sittin next to me



just what did i do to deserve this...

Here I sit broken hearted,

couldn't flit, couldn't ponder;

There I sat happy faced,

without a tear, not a trace.

Did you consciously choose a life without hope,

Or -- unconscious -- delusion -- forsooth?

The moving finger diddles and then moves on.

considering this she thought that she would rather

be the diddler than the diddled

the writer rather than the writ.

And yet could be both.

Both who had considered

The dilly and the dally

Never moved betond

The poolroom and the alley

(beyond, not betond. christ!)

Beyond Christ: the Colonel's Chickens krisp in turmoil

Boiled on bones and hung on your chins for sin's sake

Alley-Flung, unsung but with a bag of shrugs

Thru which the blue bugs of Imagination splank the pitter

Speaking of Micheal with Angelo...

The dogs eat the leftovers and choke on 'em.

No one Heimlich's the writhing animals. They die and rot until

They tehmselves are bones and so the process continues.

I stroll over the bones in my happy high heels

The vertebrae of saints crumble under the weight of hypocrisy

The crunching of desiccated saintly viscera underfoot

Bounces the faithful closer to their God.

What was once a slab of brown mud

Is once again a sanguineous assertion of cannonization.

God the Father opens his arms, W

Welcoming in the Holy,

Marked with the miraculously wet blood

Into his arms,

Like the schoolboy,

Welcoming minnows into his jam jar.

I'll have a minnow sandwich. Which flavor jam? Strawberry.

Loaves and fishes for breakfast starts the day off Holy and healthy.

And make the jam a little runny so it will look like blood, thank you.

I enjoy a lovely intestinal tract,

coated with years of memorable meals.

I love to travel through colonies of peaceful flora and fauna,

a Gulliver gourmand in the Isle of Langerhans,

Sailing through miles of tastefully decorated villi

is this correct?

waving to friendly colonies of E. coli.

I love to watch

the progress of Miss Anthrope,

Surfing through the gut

On a wave of muscular contraction

Her hair, like Venus, caressed by a million villi as she

Brushes by,

Spelling like a demon.

i have the weight of the world o my shoulder and i am about to

drop it...

yeah ?

yeah,... right on a pile o' fuckin' worms...

"life is the hollow shell'o a dead worm"

life is the parasite in the belly of a dead worm

life is like a goat's spleen; every time you try to

digest it it interprets the farmer.

Life is the only thing worth living for

Idiot flipper wrote that in 1989

Free, we listened to them at the Palladium, coked to the gills

Excellent, we thought but we did not stage dive

and I don't know why she swallowed the fly...

She was trying to unzip it with her teeth?

With her teeth, with her teeth...

but grabbed the ganglions

and started to spit


on the last hour of the minute

Sea weed under the mask

and a full tank of gas

We are rats in a maze and at the end there is no cheese.

----- written by Miss Anthrope (Nee 'Andergal)

in 9th grade, already a chronic hopeless


What grade did you get for it?

Incomplete of course

Frustrating, and yet...

a rat with a hat in a maze with the cat

runs straight for the chedder

Velvita melts better than cheddar they say.

Seek and ye shall shall find, they say.

Sit down and shut up, they say.

And there are more they than there are me

and I am not a labrat with tubes in my brain

I refuse to accept that

even as I gnaw off my tail.

When you stake your heart on a dream

eventually you wake up with the incisions,

the scars and a cheap wristwatch ticking

behind your ribs.

Each spring wound tight but rusty from blood and tears.

Is lfe the only thing worth living for?

This brings to mind

If virtue was not its own reward

More people would be virtuous

Methinks you need a better reason.

Virtue is its own punishment

But punishment can be fun.

how you gonna spend the time

when it's just worth a lemon rind

Grow pale behind the barn, pulling your daisy

While Vangogh'sghost takes potshots at ears of corn

Colonel Sanskrit laughing at the reincarnation

At the resurrection.

molten Waltons snap out their lights

cluster sheets and ball their fists

the moon waits for Armstrong with a fish in each mouth

and Venus is a package full of hot oil and artichokes

while John-Boy's melanoma cooks on his buttery cheek

in dreams I go there to help with the lynchings

and photograph the women's underwear hanging out to dry

Ezra Pound was found in an IRT toilet

choked to death on a chicken gizard sandwich


Just finish cleanin' up your room

stop your messin' around

let's see that dustmop with that broom

better think of your future

get all that garbadge out of sight

time you straightened right out

Or you don't go out Saturday night.

Great problems in town

Yakety Yak


Don't talk back

A message to you rudy

A message to you.

visigoth velveeta makes germans itch

in funny places like

clashing titans eating fish, carp or

maybe even brook trout, who were polluted

by the endust factory that turns garbage

into black-eye snout

And hey there! Whaddya say? did your

problems get resolved today? Boring

therapist, Dr. Rudy, kinda mean, kinda snooty

What say you dear, answering machine you are

oh how I love your cheesy ring, your phony scar

and the wolves...

belong to the wind...

they of course, are lower than i.

catching flighty steps through wind swept and driven madness.

for nearly an hour we sat poised on the edge of the seat, crumbling and

shaking and almost decaying into an outer realm.

time did not wait

nor the sun


the wind plowed into my forehead and made the marks that you see there

today. take a good look. it may be the last look before they fade away. the

wolves, they now are on the same platform as i.

words and days.

Double mouthed moons (with fish in each, yet)

Someone named Rudy -- (a colonel or a therapist?)

A fake family, fake myths of family, fake myths of Americana

(An odd time when even our myths are fake)

The sense of discourse, maybe even discord

Without any clarity...

Who are all these people

Who are these players, foregn and domestic

All scrambling for invisible rewards

Who are they?

Thsy tell us their names and still we ask.

They tell us their social security numbers.

They tell us what their favorite word is. And their favorite

position and still we ask, "Who are you?"

What else can they tell us? Or must they touch us somewhere?

Is that what we ask?

The moon: that silver tart

hung with blank smudges and

my empty promises

love enters like a crippled deer

bones scatter along

moonlit raven seashores

where seaweed webs pump musk

athwart the weeping mollusks

Your twin headlights...searing the smooth smokey fog

that scars the scum drenched tarantula music machine madness FUCKFACE!

Like drano to my gut, seeking its own level and bringing me down

to it.

How did I get here? One step at a time in a 12-step program?

The journey of a thousand miles begins with the same step as a


I was only born yesterday. And now I have to pay the taxes on it.

Part 28

March 30- April 22 1992



On the PO'd Tip



The Krell

Trumpeter Lanfrey




brett encore


Miss Outer Boro 1991

Miss Anthrope

Kilgore Trout

Jim Baumbach




Dough Boy (trout)


brett islava


Clem Clone

reTrolental fume

If God had wanted us to participate,

He wouldn't have invented TV.

I am awarding reality points galore


Points of reality

from intersecting lines of illusion

on a plane of chaos...

Unsettled nausea.

Waves hello.

Sky above.

Hell below.

To the left.

Down the street.

Through the door.


John Giorno once told me

John Giorno once told me

John giorno once told me

that he

that he

that he

that he

that he

that he

wanted to move to Idaho

wanted to move

wanted to move

wanted to move

to Idaho

Tentatively tending the petal-like edges

And hoping to tender them too

Praise the birthday boy

Bake him a line-noise cake

munch munch

ah.... 890p7uyh n809Opuiefvch

Twenty three LEDs.

Whose birthday is it?

Is it mine?

Is it yours?

Please share a birthday with me, we can eat a lovely chocolate cake

First let's rub it all over ourselves as a tribute to what could have


Then let's lick it off as a tribute to what, finally, is.

It doesn't happen all at onece

No -- it happens so gradually you only notice

When all sensation has left











m-m-m-....that girl had a lamb.

I have, am and will

be taking a licking

and yet she keeps on ticking...

it's a celeb lick

or a salt lick, a la Tales of the MOB Childhood.

The wounded does come to the salt lick in the river

To regain sremgth, heal themselves

To feed their gentleness on the salt of the earth

The cheek bent over and kissed the forehead

Hinged flesh

Quarter to three

boom boom, out go the lights

We were mapping a black hole

With an accurate flash

Jesus died for my sins

wracked on the cross with mommy's pins,

what a shock that must have been

nailed to daddy's dick by a couple of twins

Identical idiots with identikit faces

idiot ghosts with all human traces

fecal headed friends of the holy ghost

making the littlest of the very most.

Fulfillment and longing

Righting a wronging

it reall y was no miracle

what happened was just this

Jesus died for all the wrong reasons.

Card send greetings of the seasons.

Better a dead than a living savior.

Death is mistaken for exemplary behavior.

They say that heaven is forever

Insert yer coin and pull the lever

Three Buddahs and you get an OHM

Three Papal Bulls: you go to Rome

Three pounds of flax - you're a Zen master

Three Lions and now you're a Raster!

Hallmark sends cards, I send presents

mom sends her love, i'm not a


God once gave me a gift of grace.

Put a shit-eating grin on my face.

Then he sent his only son.

Sibling rivalry: God's kid won.

Won ton

Oh mail art

Oh I got won ton

Oh mail art

Won Ton

Oh mail art

Oh I got won ton

Oh mail art

They hung God's son upon a cross

And so it shouldn't be a total loss

They said he came back just to say:

"I shouldda split to Paraguay!"

The cat and the strat,

the cat on the strat

Woke me this morning

with enough feedback to short-circuit the dog.

Damn little kitty refuses

to abide by the rule

that cats only play piano

and immitate Keith Jarrett.

ha, i like that one lots

Lots played Esther, won them too,

Jews got out, killed Haman too,

Purim was a week ago, that was when

New York had snow,

Now it's sunny, kinda funny, I am sick

my nose is runny

eat a haman-tosh ...

the prunes all stuck inside the three-pointed lil' dough

taste good and are good for you...

you really are david green's cousin, Joro, aren't you?

people o'the solar system>>


that is me...

all anal and stuff...

now back to yer poetic waxin's ...

Waxing the floor

that leads to the door.

tonight love will be played by lust.

no encore.

Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidal!

I made it out o' Clay,

And when its dry and ready,

I'll throw the thing away!

liver gravy with melted gorgonzolla cheese

on your fucking dreidel.

Jesus got twelve guys together,

Wore a hat with a big feather,

Shaved his legs and greased his hair,

The Romans killed him on a dare.

The Virgin Mary saw a sign:

"Solve your probs with Ortho-Gyn"

Alone, she stopped the Christian tide--

God's son was killed by spermicide.

Imacculant contraception.

Moises came down

ten tablets of stone

contracts of gold

god's bargain fulfilled

Abraham's knife drew

down on his baby

contracts of gold

god's bargain fulfilled

David's rock slung the

shot that struck that big bully

contracts of gold

god's bargain fulfilled

And what have you done

to keep up your end

of that contract of gold --

the bargain fulfilled?

I've gone to court to have it anulled.

Jesus had red hair and buck teeth

This I know

The gospels of Thomas tells me so.

There was a lull wearing a sweater



you may now begin to cry...

smoke whispered to the sun...

clouds covered over my brain...

a tear of god wept and dripped from the heart of the virgin mary and then

sped down I-95 like a tandem truck...

i wish that i could think clearly again..B

glancing up, i noticed how i liked the clouover meanhattan...

B+}bl being inside, and desiring my own atmosphere, i began to smoke...


i could hear her laffin' in the next room...

i exhaled my fake atmosphere.

and realized how happy i was.

I was tramping through the country of illusions and lies

I was being sniped at by envious enemy spies

I was bargaining desperately with the Powers That Be

For a hunting license in the Land o' Hypocrisy

I was trying to develop a sense of rhythm

But was a member of a privileged and ungraceful race

It was thus impossible not to constantly lose face

where is Bill Palauskis???????

lullified learned limburgers

limping forthe

asking admittance

say no

go ahead

Is that like, "Who is John Galt?"

I was strolling through the park one day.

In the merry merry month of May.

I was taken by surprise,

By some inner city guys,

Now I'm penniless and walk with a cane.

I was trying a reuluctant tatoo

came across my untrod shoe

new thing, it din't fit too well

I had a chance at a hallejuh

but then I touched some tacky goo

oh well, I ain't too lucky today

oh my taxes ready but my wallets not

I guess that means my bank acct's shot

oh baabee

it's a real mean thang

oh my wallets froze and my checkbooks sunk

my banking statements full o' gunk

oh baabee

it;s a real, real mean thang

My lifelong savings

lost to deductable disallowed

my brief accumulations

to the national debt is now plowed..

Render unto Caesar what is due to the dude.

Render unto God similarly.

Render schmaltz

Renew your lipids

The milennium is coming so get ready to

Hibernate in the Biosphere

(you'll need that extra coating of FAT

to survive --- Barely)

No cheese.


There was this guy you know

and he was like, you know

well, you know,

and I said to him, like

you know "You know,

there's like this gap in

communication, you know?"

And this is not like anything like rendering words meaningless you know,

I know you know this, you know,

Like I know you know I like to know what you know and like where like

nothing means anything that you think you know, you know.

And this guy was like, you know, all confused, you know

and stared at me and said "Yeah, right."

I know what you mean. And still no cheese.

The one who says "please" is the bee's knees.

- Its, like, you know, enough already And its like, very repeatitive

Its like, you know, not all that much fun, you know...

Like,m you know, they say familiarity breeds contempt

Well, I think, you know, I think they're right

You know?

tighten my belt.

pull my pop top.

now what do you think?

you like?

Repetition is just rythym.

The heartbeat of the poem thet, when it gets too boring,

We get to die.

Or wish we did.

But actually, nothing ever repeats.

No two things are alike but we make it seem so.

Because we fear novelty yet seek variety.

So I pretend you're just like someone I used to know.

Back when I was a newborn in a strange world.

And so, the big money maker is Life II, the sequel.

Even Jesus says, like Arnie, that he'll be back.

Bareky escaping the crucifiction so another sequel could be made.

Even spelling changes. And the laws of physics are but trends.

Gravity goes out of style, quantum mechanics is in, Newton out.

Meaning is like a big drag, man


Repetition is just rythym.

The heartbeat of the poem thet, when it gets too boring,

We get to die.

Or wish we did.

But actually, nothing ever repeats.

No two things are alike but we make it seem so.

Because we fear novelty yet seek variety.

So I pretend you're just like someone I used to know.

Back when I was a newborn in a strange world.

And so, the big money maker is Life II, the sequel.

Even Jesus says, like Arnie, that he'll be back.

Bareky escaping the crucifiction so another sequel could be made.

Even spelling changes. And the laws of physics are but trends.

Gravity goes out of style, quantum mechanics is in, Newton out.

I'm Henery the Eigth, I am.

HE got married to the widow next door.

Meaning's what you make of it,

which word means what and what word means nothing

and nothing means what it says or doesn't it?

And take your pick of the letters

and pick them apart and put them together

and see

and remember ...

Every one was a 'enery,

She'd never have a Harry or a Sam.

Willie, however was a possible candidate.

Little Willie Willie won't go home,

But you can't push Willie 'round willie won't go!

I find salvation in two things:

1) I knew that Cham was quoting the Sweet.

2) I am listening to Bobby Sherman at this very moment.

I was a bit-neck using a bit-fax

i am totally into the bit-neck scene.

it is

totally exclusive and way cool.

My underarm deoderant crawled under a rock and scarred the consumer


Horrified checkout clerks ooze out the tiny holes where I used to keep my


The boredom was unbearable until I ran away with the wheel

it's not easy being green.

Cardigans sensible shoes and card catalogs

Are to me

What whips chains and cock rings

Are to others

meaning is difference

splitting open your cardigan

and spitting into the card catalogue of your entrails

those whipssignalling the weather is chaning

signalling the whisper of tongue locking

signals of department store luxuries

o god have mercy on me'

haha I changed mine so the whispering and department parts no longer make


ha ha I've changed mine so that the whispering and dperatment parts no long


looking down at my perfectly positioned pocket protector i smile.

over there, on top of my C programming reference book lay a bunch of

disks and two calculators... one in operation...

there's a paper

weight made outta an old disk drive from computers past...

and i then realize that my 1MB RAM earrings look nice on me..

i smile, then conmplate a walk to the library....

Yes, yes, I know the same "theories"

I've read the same persuasive stuff...

But to accept that "theory is personality"

Makes mashed potatoes out of all human thought

And somehow does not help or please me

There must be something out there

Ideas have a life of their own (don't they?)

Even the ideas of certifiable mad men

Or else we'd a have much smaller libraries.


I was cocking an antenna into the stratosphere

Like a fasting yogi.

Like an anorexic.

Doing good by feeling bad.

Measuring strength by how much you can stand.

Like an accountant.

Like a mature adult.

Investing pain for future pleasure.

Feeling good because one can feel bad.

How does it feel?

AAAwww How does it feel?

The rope of mocked blood cocked at the artifice of

Lord Cartigan's miserable pallid banshee-frought pram-jam organGRINDER?

Where does it say BALOON? or again...the operatic pancake smeared along

A wigglin' piglet's cock Charging the Guns THERE ARE THE GUNS SIR!


Cardigan drew his smarmy bloke-sword and waved it in a zag, dragging along

The bouyant boys of the Light Brigade, sweeping weeping swept like

Killed-Boys in the ballock's lather

Rode the sick hungry never to ruturn or outrun those CANNONBALLS


The horse-shaped targets swarming at the apex of Eternity, Sir


"bazloon" were his last words, or "kiss me on the laurel, Hardy!"

Thus ends the True Meckanik's Tale of adventure upon a

Plugged chest full of cannonballs and decorum




into the dull gloss of leaden headed TIMECHOPS!

Articulate, the particles of the heart

Its compartments not conundrums but sites

Not for measuring or describing but for bites

(Or kites)

The physical now merely a grammar

Hand me a hammer

To smash those tired old erotics

Biff bang boom

I was smirking at the duckling

Attempting a mind-fucking

Line up, kiddieZ

Elo Kiddies, Elo Kiddies;

Whatcha gonna do when your head's exploded?

All bombast and lies ahoot

she came towards me with sails ahoot

I saw the lies I heard the noise

I looked away, let her have her toys

She said it wasn't play, wasn't a joke

Ok -- let it be then, have it your way

Let's just go on, just another day


the weight of a thousand maybes

the stab of no.

catch in the throat

stutter step


so there sat frick and frack...

hibble and dribble...

all alone in the corner...

one wearing a dunce cap: the other with reddened knuckles for having

written nasty things...

these kiddies: dumb 'tards

they didn't get to go home on time with the other kiddies...

'cause of playing at an elementary level late on in life...

so there ended the tirade of white trash...

in a vacuum

its a long series of betrayals

betrayals of the will, of vision, of true heart

betrayals of character, of focus and intention

even betryals of the mind

only the body never let one down

only the body was a dependably endless source of pleasure

only the senses never betrayed the higher purpose of ecstatics

but ultimately it was yet another betrayal

the body, too, betrays

She wept a tide and slid: the body was

And electric eklektic ecco

Mumbling at the black cottony Void in nibbles

Plotted in gritty glints

Blown out the hole of BIGBANG.

Leotards wrapped round my brow

I sat down on the ladder and waited

and waited...

And weighted each question each answer each anvil

Old Jack Hammer breaking through windows

interrupting this thought bulb and cracking its venere.

Jack you old hack

give me my silence back!

Please Hammer, don't hurt 'Em!

Juggling your weight like you were waiting to fall into the

whole you've been digging.

-An experiment gone awry.

The biolab explodes.

What can science say?

An android tries to solve a problem without data.

The rational can't help.

When love lacks visual accuity, there is still the sense of touch.

Theory was ignored.

We boldly went where many had gone before.

Sensor readings?

Can't see. Only touch.

No wonder we thought it was an undiscovered planet!

Now we can take a meeting.

A mathematical equation lacked persuasion

No matter what you say I won't play

The experiment was a success

The biosphere still lives, flora and fauna flourish,

Life is created

Science is neither here nor there

Only a fool can suffer in such conditions, says

Herr Doktor Heisenberg

You were in the wrong classroom

at the end of the marking period

You thought you were enrolled in Computer Science for Seniors

Well you were sadly mistaken

The course was entitled "Jouissance for Beginners"

You needed a hell of a lot of remedial work

You needed to be fed little tiny bits at a time

(Like the starving children of Uganda - give them a steak

and they die instantly. Start them with a teaspoonful of gruel -

But you surprised us all

You got an A

and a pretty bright colorful A it was too

The teacher was proud

And you should be too

The experiment was a success

That's the horror of it

That's the nightmare of it

We created a big happy hairy monster

He roams the city now

Looking for his parents

He's a chubby sweet little baby

He weighs in at fourteen million Angstroms

Somebody won't you please give that little baby a kiss?

Read him a story

Goodnight Moon.

G'Nite mommy.

I'll kiss the baby on the chubby chakra.

Not only the biolab explodes

No. It sets off a chain reaction

Fracturing the retaining walls

damaging the foundations

And taking the roof off the dream lab as well.

The only thing left firmly standing

Are the Gothic gates to hell

The post-apocalyptic landscape looks downright sunny from here

We waited at Hell's SUICIDE GATE, watching the

Desolate trickle of anxious Whisps

Suck at the black marble bust of Bud Dweyer,

Patron saint of The Evil Departure.

There are ways of understanding.

You can buy 'em at the store.

But which ever I try using

Comes out different from before.

I forgot the future.

I can't predict the past.

The present merely hurts.

And I expect that it will last.

Don't ask about my goals

Or even of my dreams.

I can't see what's in front of me.

At least that's how it seems.

a muddled mass,

salty and sweet,


my slice of grey matter.

I removed her algebra

She was asleep last night

when I snuck into her room.

After tiptoeing quietly to her bed,

I stood for what seemed like

hours, entranced

with her gaping orifice.

Each snore was like a chord

played on the finest harp.

Then I did it.

With the stealth of a master thief,

I slipped my hand down her

primadonna throat.

Further and further I pushed

until I thought I had no more

arm to spare.

Finally, success!

I felt her warm, sticky dinner.

Carefully I scooped a precious

handful of the ambrosia

and withdrew my arm.

For a fleeting moment I considered

saving a portion for later


But temptation grew too great,

and within seconds

I had consumed the

Glorious Porridge.

There are people that defend

Doing it from the Other End,

They dialate what they violate,

And still wanna be yer friend.

Long day, laundry,

FBI guys in a diner at noon,

plans unplanned, deplanned, derailed

and now

the run of a silent world

can you imagine this here?

Would you dare it, carry it beyond the question of where you are

where you going and been and could never have gone

even with the right travel agent,

What makes you think it would be better?

What makes you think

It would be different?

What the hell makes you think?

She asks this without expecting her answer.

This was not on the cheatsheet.

Change the question to fit the answer they learned.

Bubble in with a number 2 pencil.

(E. None of the above.)

When I said "Drop him", I meant

From a tall buliding.

I always hated him.

Expected others to do so too.

Let us share a moment of contempt for him.

His resume is for the wrong job anyway.

The interviewers knew, why not you?

I think the 50% is more accurate than the 32% or the .001%

But my training is technical, not biological.

And I lost my last job for missing a schedule by weeks.

From the tall building, the ground's a sure thing.

Won't be missed.

Will he?

50% is an interesting statistic

- it says, "Beats Me."

Or, depending on the statistician, "Beat Me."

Drop me, Beat me, Kick me, Fire me, Hate me.

The mathematician provides us with a common denominator.

No, not that one.

The other one.

Me. Me Me Me Me Me

Ezio Pinza does his warm -ups

But there are others here too

Warm--blooded creatures

Perhaps you've been looking too closely.

Let me move back so you can take a "visual moment" and

get a teeny bit of focus.

See that tear?

It's not running down your cheek.

There's someone else here too.

Her needs are simple like most of ours are.

But she has them.

And if all you math-types look around you'll see that common


Love you can count on


A warm body in the bed at night.

Someone to eat dinner with.

How was your day sweetheart?

Sound familiar, anyone?

When you don't have it, it's what you want.

And when you DO have it, giving it up for The Great Unknown

is like trying to remove an arm from a pit bull.


Beats me.

The pit bull is chewing on something else entirely.

When you don't have it, you imagine the other does.

Law of conservation.

But there's a hole in the ozone layer.

The Most Important Thing In Life (class, please take this down):

a friend who knows a friend who has a boyfriend who has an M.D.

who will prescribe Valium for you, 10mg a day will do it,

you can get the 5's break them in half at the scoreline and

then you get four 2 1/2's which you can take all day long

all day long all day long all day long all day long all day long

all day long all day long all day long all day long all day long

all day long all day long all day long all day long all day long

The bark of the armpit bull is louder than its byte

Cash in your chips before it's too lite

Sir? How much do I get for these Pringels?

I that a Xanax in your mouth, or are you just Harpo in seaweed?

"Used to have a lot of contact highs in the old days"

Inspector Godot said

"But this is the first case of a contact low I've come across --

The first contact OD

And only virtual contact at that.

The BBS she hung out on had a level of trank and anti-deps consumption

high even by prevailing community standards...

She read until she dropped..."

She handed me a phone book--white pages

It said on the cover, Greater Atlanta

And I shouted, "is there a LESSER Atlanta?"

And I threw the thing accross the room

At her and her sister who thinks she's

So fucking hot.

There really IS a lesser Atlanta though, somewhere

Over by the Varsity, off the Georgia Tech exit,

Some drunk frat guys can point it out.

Everybody was having an emergency

'Cept for me and my kitty

Sam was killed by some kids in a truck,

Money can bring you love, but not luck.

when i woke up, i could hear the giant pigeon in the other room... it

musta been about 4 feet high with a huge beak...

it wasn't bad...

the quick and best solution was to pull the covers up over our heads and

refuse to get up any time soon...

"coo, coo," said the big pigeon.

I thought I was on the news but it was just a segue to another story

Money is the root of all boll weevils

well the first time i saw the boll weevil

he was standin' on the chair

next time I saw the boll weevil

he had his whole damn family there.

they wre lookin' for a home

they wre lookin for ahome...

Sometimes I can get satisfaction from a lovely poem.

Other times I prefer it when my buddy's in my home.

In school they taught me Logos was the be-all and the end-all: the word

But next to a warm pair of arms around me it seems so absurd.

poems give me hives and crap

I dont go for the poetry schtick

but I sure used to

until I realised that most "poets"

are choosing the title to replace

the word "cowards"

I am a happy person.

Shopping for cellophane grass

Is better than Baba Ram Dass

what do you do with this cellophane?

Light it ablaze with pure propane?

Please tell us stories of midwestern arson,

But first I have to go watch Johnny Carson.

I place Marshmellow Devil Bunnies in the grass

And give it to persons of whom I Love Their Ass

for easter

I prefer White Cloud.

That cellophane is scratchy...

Yer confusing the issue

by bringing up tissue

It really was no miracle

What happened was just this.

The wind began to switch

The house to pitch...

..not a healthy situation for a wicked witch

and your little dog


cellephane grass is just fine.

the little devil bunnie is mine.

this little dog and witch i know nothing about- so go and pout.

shrink wrapped, see through the pane

a window on experience gained

through the tunnel, through a wall

dreams of dreams that don't tell all

it's private and it's public and it

goes wheree'er you're not

dates back to two and then last night

and gives me such a fright

fright is a blight

exhaust it, talk it

to death

my breath

visible on the freezing days

and when Phillip Morris plays

Bales of white bongos

On the tarred longboat

Shuddering in swells

While Nero fiddled.

Rotten potatoes, dead bodies

Decayed vegetable and animal matter

Swirling down the inevitable sewer

Can't figure out which makes me gladder:

That my mind is broader or my days are fewer

nice fumes wafting up to my nostrils...

the smell of burning gasoline and charred flesh...

nothing gets me going like it

trash strewn alll over the streets, no one i want to meet

down on the street, i cannot be smaller or more distant

only about 8 years 'til i cease to exist...

i cannot stand to see the things the way i see them any more...


soon to be incineration

Meetch'a there.

Some broad incinerated me

I thought about this for months on end

Too burnt up to do much else

The Industrious Revolution?

Andvanced Meta-life Biospherical Training from the text:

Pathways through Modernity for Adults.

I was sniffing the melting styrofoam

Showing Ronald Mc Donald who was boss

I was a sensuous slithering glittering snake

Swathed in office green, in glasses on a chain

I walked the straight and narrow--it made of me a bane

I melted down the souls of the men on the make

We whirled and swirled and pirouetted and then we danced a-gain

The night was young, dewy by a mile

Why don't you come sit by me and visit for a while?

right now i am dead

I've been thrown away

i really wish the world were clay

i've been thrown away

just wish i could understand

some of the simplest things that i demand

and demand i do not

'cause i cannot understand



why this is happening to me

but now i'm:

down, down, down

turned inside



feelin' so fuckin' used

inside out

just wish i knew what this was all about...

"learn": circa 1987...

and then there's maud.

Creative poverty

A lack of anything

Did that been there

had the big payoff

and now I'm into the big sendoff

not impoverished, not even blue

I'm just hangin on till the game is true

I gave up my posessions including my self--looked around and we

were all still there.

Who gave us up?

Wince meat

dreck nose too preoccupied with cosmetics

to smell his own presence

in the hall of cat spray fumes

Porch Queens/Porch Buggers

The greased pyramid scheme of SUCCESS!

Diamond eyed-sold sistahs maken wit da

hot-tailin it to da streets.

300 DOBU

and the heartbreak of success

I opened the tincans and saw granite and butter inthere

And the gardens of machines

where burning rifles bloom like like like like roses

Part 29

22 april 92



reTrolental fume



Heathen Trout

Miss Outer Boro 1991

Bugz in the rain

playing with plain

makes me ill

had my fill

what's his problem

electric hum?

can't stick to the form

no time for the norm

meowin in the wrong place

typin in the wrong face

leavin oh a dirty trace

bug brain and no grace

whatsamattawityou, huh

frimmling over with smertlings

are substantially parntletted

with the dar prings

on monday with gart fumigated


The fumigated GART, un-prings the letted partn

Where the smert finds ocher frimm to flap overt

Smack down that tree! Oh Woodsman!

Spare the tendred ribbers, to their core,


We are cute,

that is proferred

when that suits

what is offered.

Now in Pan,

we must show.

much more than

we really know.

Untill Plain

is safe again

we will see



I smooth the satin sheets of disillusionment

I made my bed and now I gladly sadly lie in it

Won't you join me?

no prob, mob.

You must past the test

Like all the rest

the princess has a pea?

close, but no cigar...

sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Don't just eat a hamburger, eat the HELL out of it.

Part 30

April 22-25 92



Joe Rosen



UnHeathen TROUT



brett encore



Miss Outer Boro 1991

I post for You.


brett encore

) reTrolental fume

On the PO'd Tip


Miss Outer Boro 1991

I want to read byootiful poetree

that sounds like the hum of a bumblebee

that smells like a lily in the vallee

but it has degenerated into doggerel

Doggerel we were my friend, and doggerel we would become.

A dog they say is man's best friend,

But his pants have no pockets, his thirst no end.

pant, pant....

dogs are loyal...

but cats appreciate...

and are warm

live cats, perhaps,

but cats of ice on slabs of chopped liver

huge chunks of glaciers crack off and float across the dance floor

our schooners embrace and intertwine in a dance

with no borders, no thought of safety

the wedding cake ignites a horde of fleas

the mound of compost dreams of jello molds

cries and arms in the endless fog

and a missile up against your face

Tired old phonies

giggling like spineless school girls

priest on the second avenue bus with his thumb up his nose

(forgetting to think about god for a while)

beds that beckon and disappoint

plagiarist poseurs unaware and salivating

egos made of buckshot exploding under pressure

impersonating benevolence

lonely faghags and their heterosexual bards of pray

bags of rancid philosophical clay

and embarr(ass)ing candy (ass) rappers

I get the last word for putting genius on trial

parting on the match stick

he fell and again slipped


the insert to find his


that was earlier


which is now

severed by his frozen

margaurita .

Other times, other voices...

Oscar Wilde, Sacco and Vanzetti

Lawrence and good old Henry Miller

Even conflicting Ezra Pound

Not to forget the old stargazers tried by the church

Now, that was genius on trial.

What we live with today is merely trying.

Some dish it.

Some take it out.

Some feel persecuted.

Some are more bitter than the pill they feel

they are made to swallow.

Sometimes they even know it, but they refuse

to change anyway.

Sometimes they earn even less than they swipe.

Sometimes they build themselves ghettos and then complain

about the conditions.

Sometimes they execute a mad criminal, and then

keep executing, and executing, and executing, in order to

better hear themselves mourn.

Sometimes they want to be loved so badly

that they declare the world a loveless place,

and becon others to share in the winter chill.

Sometimes they merely barf out the poison they

feel the world manufactures, when the pressure is

finally on them.

But keep in mind, as I have had to, that everything I hate

in you is something I also hate in myself.

Clem barfs for me

Especially the last paragraph

Welcome to the Halls of Medicine

If I hate myself enough, if I really despise myself,

Then, it's batting practice and I'm coming batting for you, ducky.

I hate myself for torturing you. But I can't help it.

It's my only enjoyment in life.

And I don't even enjoy that. Swoosh...whomp!

There goes your head, haha!


But I lost mine years ago in a similar way.

No, in a worse way. I suffered much more.

So, who are you to complain?

Who are you if you're not me?

Me, Myself, and I.

Here's Panman in your eye.

If I were you

I'd need delusions too

Takes no brains to see it's finished

No time to make the big dish

Where the egos blow and strut

It's time to crack the nut

Gotta change this shit right now

No time to have a cow

Use the button, wipe it out

Cut it down, that smug ol' pout

I should care, I should.

I could care, I could

But somehow, but somewhere (when I least expect it,

someone will step up to someone)

And I will go numb again,

And I hate numbness!

Don't even like novacaine

Would rather take the little pain

than risk swallowing my tongue.

But So I, like the rest of us

say my piece

and destroy my peace

and demand the attention of everyone else!

Who are all vying for the same thing I am.

Perhaps the old cliches are true

Perhaps suffering is, indeed, ennobling

If nothing else it seems to improve the quality of the product

I wonder who else thinks today while reading here

"Fuck the writers, love the lines"

I am hitchhiking on the road to Wincetown

Why bless my soul,

I'm already there.

pain provides the fire in the alchemy of change.


"I didn't think you *could* cry. I often cry. At night. And I think

of you. And the night becomes full of young words all dancing for you.

And I pretend I am not a monster but a poet, and and on this delusion

I live--until morning."

from the film, _Specter Of the Rose_

written by Ben Hecht.

oh man...

Ben Hecht...

he made Hitchcock films (at least some 'o 'em 'cause like Hitchcock was

a genioUs on his own) like what they were...


Ben Hecht...


Eye wondered boney as a blouse, all arm-legs and fingerprints:

waiting for an angry fixitman

and his empty box of gilded Chinese, but excellent, bait.

This box of wax eagles is a mudmask,

Music machines with monkey hands play the Bantu Nickleodeon

Deep into the Queen's powdered hairpieces.

Take it greasey, Easy,

There's a Mingus among us.

Part 31

April 25-26-27 92



El Spingo


Miss Outer Boro 1991




reTrolental fume

brett encore




Joe Rosen

UnHeathen TROUT

I was walking on the quiet path of words

They took shape, they formed into things and people

They grew populous as great cities, emitting smoke and fire

Buildings whose mirrored surfaces reflect urgent messages

You want messages? Three tanks burning on a highway in

Holland...a small red tricycle in the garbage...someone combing their

Hair on a subway car...its IN there.

Opinions wrapped around indifference

Opinions bouncing off of bullet proof investments of time and money

Opinions that stir dark waters of inaction and indecision

Opinions driving through garbage

Opinions dismantling red tricycles

Opinions whispered on subway trains

Opinions that become facts made of dust

Opinions that bite my tongue

Opinions never uttered

Opinions revealed too early

Opinions afraid to speak

La bicyclette est dan la repete...La bicyclette est dan la rue.

Opinions which think they're eternal truths.

Opinions that masquerade as science.

Opinions which are really insults.

Opinions granting the right to hurt others.

Onions that taste like mellons

Onions that are afraid to speak

Onions that worship gods

Onions that try to weed out the strong

for the benefit of the weak

Onions that have skins and skins

Onions that dont know how to be vegetables

Onions that grow with their heads in the ground

so much depends


a red tri-


glazed with opi-


bickering like

the dickens



Just keep pulling

the two pianos laden with dead mules

toward the woman's breasts

Insults masquerading as hearsay

Insults masquerading as heresy

Insults that taste like onions

Insults thsat taste like cherries- bowls and bowls of em

Insults that penetrate thick skin

Insults that bounce off patinas of finger pointing

Finger paintings of insults

Compliments that hurt people by accident

Insults that cause growth

Whining 'disguised' as poetry

Arrogance disguised as art.

Spittle impersonating saliva

The obvious attempting to be oblivious

i honestly enjoy readin' his whines...

makes me feel like less alone...

like almost as if there is another who does nothin' but moan about stuff !

Lack of discipline or craft

disguised as "experimentation."

Manifesto's in place of self-improvement.

Disciplinary crap

The self-ghettoized "underground"

buried itself long ago.

The only crap in discipline is

the dross that's left behind

when artists learn to shape instead

of spew.

and anyway Wolf Larsen posts for me

at all times in all ways.


the floating world

She thinks "don't worry

There is enough pain to go around

No need to compete so hard

You won't be left out

You will get yours..."

in spaydes

said the mole

before he consumed

your sole

My unconquerable sole

Swam away to fight another day

he chewed yur left vertricle,

or doesn't that count?


It's all in your head.

Experiments to open the mind's eye

Where sound and sense conspire 'gainst the die

Which spotted by conventions stiffest batter

Spread the lie that form's the matter.

Language is the symbol's game, you see:

In which the ear says aye conventionally,

Except for those who'd words and sound unbound

And seed with music this uncommon ground.

Trees are made by Gods who in heaven sit,

But only we can an infinitive split


my limbs lay heavy and my mind is awry...

i can barely stay seated in my desk chair...

i have no room and now realize:

"mini storage could change my life..."

olly olly en free

YER IT!...

Where everbody knows

the poisin prose.


Part 32

27 april 20 may 92


Miss Outer Boro 1991



Empty Suit



brett (still)

reTrolental fume

You post for me


Ruminant Plinth


Kilgore Trout

I post for you

On the PO'd Tip



high fiddle diddle.

the cat is a cutie

My left eye, like an egg, broken into bits 'n' pieces, some of which you

chew up and spit because just because you had nothing better to do.

My arm, a slingshot with my head as the rock, I want to hit you, and

feel my numbness wracking your heart with the slow motion ripple of a


Who is that rower? Where is he going? Why does he want to wrack your

heart? Is your hearing OK?

These aren't cheap dreams: a cadillac full of BIG TITS,

giantscreen teevees in every room, 1000 watts per channel, CDROM,

flying sportscar with rockets and machineguns, toys toys toys

toys toys toys toys toys toys love

somewhere and during sometime as i ran down that dusty country road i

knew the real meaning of what was the future and of what was to become..

i used to walk hi-up upon a high wire-




but then again, i knew at the time that:

sticks and stones and other objects hurled at me can break my bones- but

course names from curried characters do me-

no harm.

The clowned jews thrown at one is a royal pain in the funny bone.

clowned jews >



jemmed lounging nevele jews

in a row

.. askin' for extra helpin's 'o:

Boiled Beef Flanken

... then goin' for a swim in the indoor chlorinated tank...

playin' bingo by day and drinkin' "Flamingoes" by night...

jews 'o the Catskill resorts ringin' in another bread-less seder

And then there was the real thing

Passionate, longing, open, yearning,

uncaring for the half baked formalism

of all the rest,

unmindful of the traps and problems,

hopeful for the future, thoughtful about

the past

which doesn't dog her though she has her problems

no doubt.

cross meets star and the result is starcrossed?

sounds too easy

but what if it's true?

so i glued my eyeballs together and

looked into

the night sk

i was crosseyed lookin' into the heavens

and my feet were not touching the ground.

I beat the learned astronomer

Over the head with a telescope full of

Twisted things.


might makes right in the underworld of dirt.

but, i have my own field of rest and starry eyed sky to look into.

Shuffling thru the factoids

Kneading statistical dough

Massaging the dyslexic truth

They pay for what they don't know

The unhuddled messes yearning to breathe free.

Cover your mouth when you cough like that.

We're all connected if you pay your phone bill.

Yet we're all a Staten Island, when all is said and Dunne,

Ferrying through between here and here, avoiding each other

Except when need is greater than feed.

In this item of grief.

binding my feet to same


and falling upwards to


myself and imitate


Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust

We hate to beat you

But we must, we must

please, if you get a minute,

strap me down on my back

to that piece of styrofoam out back.

then drop me into the river.

I'll meet you in Buenos Aires on the fifth.

can you bring some SPF 10?

I am the lineman from the county

I am the mechanic of your car

I beat the bushes of your garden

I shake the good stuff from the jar

I am the woman of your bounty

I am the man who cleans the sheets

I am the oaf who fucks up mighty

I am the dude who cuts the beef


Where's the burgers, where's the franks?

It's time to eat now

Thanks thanks thanks

Where's the sugar, where's the kraut?

Donut holes are in

Time is out

Then something truly awful happens

Like the fires now consuming the California night

Something so terrible it pierces even my numbness

Even my defenses

Even my self-absorbtion...

Having spent the night watching vicious thugs

Correcting injustice by recapitulating it

By stoning hapless bystanders

Toward morning I pray again for numbness

These are not my problems. This is not my specie.

oh, but it is.

The blue-black sky

Tinged red

It's all

In my head.

The monster mutant petals of the tulips

Demurely hiding their grotesque secrets

A mise en scene for plebeian thought-fragments

Arcadian? Apollonian? Who gives a shit?

I am pulled from the truck of my complacency and beaten with a stolen tv


I watch but when they ask if there were witnesses, I am mute.

I don't want to get involved.

I press RETURN

I am burnig

wet slppy ksses

looting my couch


the shts

cnt flame like ths


Lack is lootiful

And the tour guide said,

"Over here, a city center under water.

And off too your left,

another under flames.

And here,

under glass

and here, underclass

and if you'll step across this ocean

behold the mass

of folks that were trodden

by the land of the free.

Please buy your tiny plastic replicas of

Justice, and Liberty,

the little women who like the real ones

are put on pedestals and told to shut up.

Please buy on credit

for credit's never due."

And we oooed and aaaaaahed and knew

I hovered in the bubble

Why didn't you meet me there?

I was in the bubble too. Maybe they are separate bubbles?

She hovered o'er the rubble

ancient fires everywhere

she could almost swear she was seein double

on the cold dark night in South Central, yeah

Got to hurry on back to my hotel room

where I got me a date with Bill Cosby's niece

Oh Robert Altman will be there right with me

Painting my masterpiece

Everybody tryin to get outa town

Yuppies cleaned my windshield with a chicken

Is it live or is it Memorex?

Setting aside questions of how many wrongs

Make rights, we had to deal with the immediate problem

Of rescheduling Friday's dinner

You don't particularly want to die for even

The nouvellest of cuisines

Aint't gonna make the world a better place

To get myself trashed on a spring evening...

Expectations of homo sapiens


Playing down in the basement

Breaking the windows of reason

When the black man riots,

He steals and he runs,

While Koreans on rooftops

Defend stores with their guns.

But the white man's rage,

Must be left where it sits,

Please don't wake it, dear blackman,

For it gave us Auchwitz...

pass the scoop

me brains they be layin' out

like an obscene rat wigglin' like a gray slimy worm

the surprise of it all being surpised at all

a universe pissed at itself and unable to escape itself

pissin' on itself

a smiling smell war

spooling the swill

vast gobs and quantities of muck

that could nlybe hidden on Ray's bubbling pizza

the universal hiding place for muck

and yucky cheeselike sub-stances like your own pose

gotta end this after the point of total embarassment

way, way after

a message or a plan? a difference? A point? Is it worth it?

The sun comes up

it rained last night

the air is crisp

it's time to start over

started over and ended again

bounced like a crazy apple

ping ponging down the teachers throat

the class wouldn't dream

of snapping to attention

while the teacher twitched

spasming on the floor

and spitting nickels of learning

that rolled out the door

hopped into a soda vending machine

and dreamt the dreams of the almost-lived

My father gave me three test tubes

And told me, "Match 'n' mix".

The first was oil o' hickory.

The second cats & chicks.

The third was dampness on a bun.

I threw them in the blender.

And sipped the outcome through a straw.

And sang "The Great Pretender".

falsetto, through a straw

rusty, dusty, but trusty

Must be, justly crusty,

each question asking, thrust me

past the answer I never had,

to one that answers, but answers bad.

"When is an option not an option?

When is a question not a question?

Where will I go, and what will I do?

And how many wishes will never come true?

And if skis were fishes, would they be blue,

or red like the lights on tenth avenue?"

There was an octoroon on the negress

There was a jewess making progress

There was a word that was difficult to determine

Whether it's speaker was a saint or vermin

the point of clarity is near death

the oink of clara bell is on your breath

the dinner bell rings clearly outside the door

the slob with the beer belly is a cloying boor

This is the spawning of the cage and aquarium

cage and aquarium.

drip drip drip little ape girl chowder

Break the glass

Smash the cages

This is the age of Turtle Diaries

Glenda Jackson will save us

She will lug me to the open sea --

At great personal risk and inconvenience

Glenda and the other quiet ones

Will rescue me from cages and aquariums

The turtles will prevail

Here come the turquoise turtles,

trundelling and turtling like big green busses,

acroos the country,

drinking dinner from dust bowls

picking nothingness out of the air

and turning it into tuna.

Tuna melts tonight!

Tournaments of tuna melts!

Tornados of tournicates,

tunicates (aka the sea cucumber)

sliced thinly over a bed of greens and a

lovely vinaigrette.

The castrated turtles wear their unix shells

Like hardware, with control-g bells.

It was only a carousel

But all the same I could smell


as the turtles come and go

talking of tuna and a cup o' joe

The doctor intent on that operation

Spend much of his career perfecting

Techniques for artfully removing a turtle's penis

(Hard to reach as it is

Under the massive shell)

Developing a new form of laser beam and fanciful devices

He at last perfected a procedure for castrating turtles

And was hailed as a genius

...Among Veterinary circles, that is.

But among certain sets of turtles

there were jeers

"All you needed

was to call in the right snapping turtle."

they thought.

But what did they know?

They were the ones who ran the wrong way

when they hatched on the beach,

going for the big lights

instead of the sea.

Maalox, manicures and Maybelline

Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime

With Richard Prince and John Ashbery

Video seas filled in the gap

blocking out the city mishaps

in turtle dreams

and tortoise shells

no escaping from these traps.

Maybelline, why can't you be true.

Done started back doing the things you used to do.

Maybe it's maybelline.

The heat went down the motor cooled down

Grandpa died peacefully in his sleep

I was mowing my lawn in Africa

I can't remember which part

It sputtered and then wouldn't start

I fell and could not get up

the mirrors reminded me of who were the many

my comment was a sneeze

my victim a swan

the clock aticked the movement of corpuscular credits

while the spunk blossomed and waxed

i spunked too many times

white room with no mirrors at the station

clapping a ton and hearing a baker laugh

creamy doughgirls furling long banners

saying hail to the naked empress?

yes, hail, hail, hurrah!

and we watched her riding with her undies

draped over her forehead screaming

about habeus corpus and corpus delicti

and even a course of in flabrante delicto

it was fun it was real it was only in the

white room I could feel

The blood cascaded over the edge

Of the white Formica

I filed it under "b"

Last night I had a dream

That Howard Mittelmark was back on Echo

It made me feel so good inside

This little world came alive again

With the razor-sharp enraged wit

Of the Howl.

yeh? so which way'd he go, george?


Don't cry, baby.

Don't you cry.

Fall softly asleep,

Where you can dream of a

big Foot Sandwich.

Your feet cradling mine,

A sweet Sasquatch valentine.

See, I told you, there are no safety zones

Even in this shadowy nowhere space

Conversing with eye-delivered voices

As un-touching, as distant, as ghoastly

As ever possible

You can still cherish

And lose

And hurt

and win and heal

there is hope

and hope delivers us all.

Angels were front page news

On yesterday's Wall Street Journal

Even the celestials are opting for the free market

Herme's mirror with twelve dragons in its mouth

Gold all Celtic tracery and mazes

And bronze drums covered with red plastic skin

At the entrance to all the fin young elevators!

Horus made a face for peaches,

Wept at the clock all wet with chimes and bread

Waiting for the moister gong


Gurgling sounds winding ttheir way down a hallway

Again the familiar frisson down my spine

Hearing that Heaven has endorsed the free market

Now I know for certain they'll sell us off for parts...

And add our TV commercials to their consciousness

the internal dialogue of a rock

the mingling of colors on the skin and beneath

the glowing chamber and the song of the tiny hairless mutant

the air is pregnant with balls of debris

change is soft and relentless and changes

The tiny hairless walnut

the one inside my skull?

did you know walnuts shrink?

there is more airspace now inside my walnut museum

Further into the vast dinginess

The dinginess never ever goes away

No matter how much Woolite I use

My underwear will never ever look the same

As it did when it was new.

inside the dank and dark cranium

lay a brain with static cling.



just to the right of my cerebral cortex!

seven lost socks!

and eight cockroaches

filled with fear

for being found out

My greatest fear

is being turned inside out

Or stuck to a pair of hosiery

I have been stuck to hosiery for many, many years,

My thighs a pair of Behemoth Brand Kielbasa

Gasping for air inside synthetic fibroid sausage casing.

Between them in a warm, dark, moist place full of nutrients

Lord only knows what


Squash is full o' vitamins, lipids and complex carbos.

Winter I mean.

And the Dog eats what's left of it.

Resistance is futile.

Tomorrow it will be necessary to carefully check brands

In the meat sections of my local supermarkets

To squelch the nascent dread

That there lurk

On groaning shelves vast quantities

Of Behemoth Brand Kielbasa...

I fell in love with an underground movie star

Had to dig him, so to speak.

She was a girl, a scruffy girl

She was my dreamgirl

you post fo' me

saw that


is futile


one is we


we is one

the underground went over my head

I went underground to explore

I rested there to rest

Because i was too busy

to stop for the car in front of me.

It kindly stopped for me.

fear of deserts

dry and sandy

being left on an island

fear of ice

cold and hard

skating in circles

the dreamgirl reminded me of an old dreamboy

Dream boy, dream girl,

the dream of the rice cream dream

in believable schemata

tossed like broken things

big broken things

tiny trodden things

things with wings and wheels that don't go

all these scattered things with strings,

and all of them in my dreams.

I created order out of chaos

He watched many John Ford movies

And which of us was the wiser?

And which of us was the better?

I believe in America as symbolized by the Fonda family

But the Fondas all bought Hondas,

with pet pandas,

grow bananas far away.

Investments they'll call it,

getting where they need to go,

Like a turtlurtlurtle

on Roller Blades




I believe in America as symbolized by Jane Fonda's titZ

Sucked by Ted Turner

ha ha

i'm putting all you fools on the back burner

"(Help Me, My Tits Are) Melting!"


"Jane! Stop this crazy thing!"--George Jetson

""Jane! Stop this crazy thing!"--George Jetson"--Stimpy to Muddy Mudskipper


I'm skiddin like crazeeeeeeeeeeee . . . . . . . . . .


Grab the rudder by the balls, America...this

wave is no monkey. My arms are toothaches

in hair and soft sockets

where the pale hunchbacks go to die

in chloroform and diapers.

Reagan is the rest of me.

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values

Family Values


Gutted Environmental Laws

Gulp gulp


floating up to the top to inhale my

favorite fumes.

Helium habit.

Sea lions up and down with witty cameras

Part 33

21-29 May 92



brett huh




Special Agent #989234

Bellerin' Plain


Miss Outer Boro 1991

It was Spring and where was I?

9PM in a little place above Bleecker with four whiskies in my

colon and nowhere to go. Billie Holiday was singing "Stormy

Weather". She looked positively skeletal.

I had a yen for some Honey, but he was home having medicinal sex with his

sister the neo-Freudian.

So I got out my bic and wrote a novel on a cocktail napkin about

a woman in a scoop-necked dress who was inspired by a woman in

a V-necked dress.

Then two men sat at my table. One of them was weeping, and the other

was consoling him. The crying man had apparently won

Martina Navratilova in a poker game but couldn't figure out what to

do with her because his tongue wasn't long enough.

The three of us decided to sleep together like tiny bears

and did so promptly.

We woke up to the sound of WNEW-AM.

Panman was interviewing Dr. Lovelady.

The subject was Passion.

After all ---- it WAS Spring.

what brand of whiskey was that?

Cepacol Plus, I believe.

There was nothing wrong with unread mothers

The medical establishment, seeing Neander's account,

Discovered yet another medical procedure to market

And swiftly began offering tongue enchancement operations.

the doom settled in for another night of waiting

while the idiots spun little glittery tops

skittering across the shining hardwood floor

spinning any which way, in utter disregard

of the handedness of the universe

a detail the idiots kept forgetting to keep tabs on

the loops and zigzags of their sketches

loosely overlapping but never locking logically

as if snot could turn to amber

and justify all the whining and sniffling

Remember this is reality, he said.

Remember, he said,

Forget it!

If you don't care which way it tilts,

don't blame me when you slide into a wall.

Forget it.


I remember the way he smiled as he fell thru the elevator shaft,

his large white belly...the odor of his hairdye...the way he winked

at the greased lariats we flung out at him like greased lariats.

He was way fat, empowered, cought red-handed

molesting his inner child.

He disappeared down the shaft: a pin of fat screaming,


Seedy Rom in a city room,

plummeting to his death.

"Man! That was fuckin cool!

Did you see that!

That was so fuckin cool!


We were seeking linkages

Cultural and business linkages

Endless synergies

Between the Old World and the New

A bee

the size of helo-


flew in the open window,

buzzing like an old

radio shack


1992 pepe real-life poetry

Real life was oozing out from between the cracks in the cement barrier

She thought it was time to share her insight that

Reality was highly over-rated.

All I needed was a Weber grill

Daniel Webster was handing out consonants

Accidentally shedding

Respectable gentleman

Suitors, bloopers?

Checking the stats

Matrimonial futures

way up there

high in the spring

there was a light glowing

but faded

but then surged back to strength

but alas faded




and went out.


29May 17 june 92




Miss Outer Boro 1991




Special Agent #989234

Achin' Back

I am Jim's brain

Kilgore Trout

Lizbet (All Deriv)

semi-mental sedimented slob



time for the waves of green ick

to roil forward over the shallow slime puddle

time for the blowing wind

to give up, the leaves are all gone

time for doing other things



double gee....

my ears are nothing but self contained globes of jello

fall is my favorite time of year

nice things happen in the fall.

i wish

i wish

i wish i were with the fish.

minnow, how are you?

i wish that i could see you but the river, the moat of my prison





Glub Glub.


yippee yah-hoo!

Here comes the Panman tossing cookies for all of us!

An' Aaahh Halped!

Watching the principle of

"division of labor"




i saw this wussy vomit on b'way tonight...

he looked up and saw that some people were lookin' at him and


"whatya fuckin' lookin' at???"

jeez, always has to have the last word... even if i was puke laden...

wouldn't ya know it was rainin' out too...

Pukin in the rain, with head against a wall.

Always step over them puddles

Technicolor walls

As I puke along

I wonder

what went wrong

with Pan Scan

A place that seem ed so strong..

I'm a pukin' in the rain...

Celebrating celebrations for the sake of celebrating

Scanning Pan

Scanning the skys

Celebrating Panscan for the sake of celebrating

Sundaying into Monday with panache

And few prospects

Pondering the popularity of Mr. Ripley

and hours pass, and in each the traceries of

each one trying to consummate their love

affair with death, most jilting him for apathy when the


bit to deep. and hell's memory will be ten years old this month

it will pass these hours and stay in the echos

of gunshots phone calls accusations ridicule silence



Weren't you counting the years like scars on your wrist?

lines on your palm

blood on your hands

each finger cracking with the weight of it.

These are the dangerous hours ...

in hell for an interrupted 8 hours



no c




and the morning can grip

like a fist on the


and the

day like a blow to the temple.

countered by the frail bright immanence of the dawn

Dawn, that fleeting and elusive creature

teases and torments

promises, yet never delivers

nothing is ever as good as it is supposed to be

except for sometimes

house on fire

fire climbin' up the house

which house?

my house

nasty nightmares

cold sweat

nasty nightmares

make me cold and silent

the wind howls through my eaves.

the bent frog limps into the pond

the sour wind hovers at the window

the sun cracks like a pane of glass and chops off a kid's foot

blazing yellow bright screaming silent whistle

it was only a cockroach in a top hat

hanging out in a rusty beer can

a crazy straw bridging rainbow oil puddles

the wisps of steam writhe in the hot humid air

manhole cover's doin' a jig

and the competent folks are all tucked into their pup tents.

the lights blurred and my legs turned to cement

the boys behind howled in the chase

laughing and spitting they clawed at my back

yet couldn't run the distance of the long



i d ge


Just when I accustom myself to the idea of leaving

Something turns up and tugs at my heart strings

The heart strings I thought were merely dangling dead nerves

The something not necessarily grand or exotic

But any old sensation reminding me of the dumb animal pleasure

Of living.

Over the hump of survival and onto pleasure?

Subsistence resistence




aerobic exorcism

and in in the end

it's still not the same

as a cold cup of coffee and a stale slice of bread.

My head is a feather but my feet are lead.

And I can't tell if I'm alive or dead.

I knew this guy, whose name was Fred,

but he changed it to Lerleene instead.

He was emotionally handicapped

I was rapt

And as I pounded nails, they napped.

He was just a little nipper

I was doing it for the Gipper

Just like Gilligan and the Skipper

gave birth to Jack The Ripper

Cut his way out instead of using the zipper.

ried to trip 'er


Then stumbled through a life

Not his --


autumn has ended

winter has faded

If I was smarter, then I'd feel jaded

Ate braised brains served with a silver laddle

However, to no avail

intelligence still eluded me.

The necrophiliac committed suicide and it was a turn on

The scatterbrained public

jumped on their horse

their only platform

Mkae Ross The Boss.

Kamakaze lovers die the little death


pit of pity

zoom into the cocoon

to only find that it is filled with:

nothing but the trash of

adolescence (sp)

remnants of former wannabes

i waanna be a


hung on a chance: skin for pants

and an ace of hemp for

the ace hemp dance.

I've marked the day,

when I can say

a key like a breath on a frost-glazed window

and something

will come clear

and with this breath

a hand on my throat will loosen

it's grip

This is marked on

the calendar

And the breath will blow out the match held between my teeth

in my immitation of an underachieving dragon.


tick tick tick tick

tick tick

somehow i fold away against the sheets


i burn away as i gall inside stammer and i shake and shrug and i pull

she recoils and turns away how could i look askance at

swells of burning grain

i can't wait i just shiver

i hear a dead man a spur on my chest to sleep

the dead man's jokes

lay in the buried box

where he sleeps in embalmed


"Knock knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Your past! Haha!"

"Not funny asshole. Close the lid and put the dirt back where you found


Poor organ orifice, so much maligned,

By Nature tucked away and left behind,

Whose rankest bounty is but legacy

To that which mouths consume in ecstacy

To send the finest veal, the berry tart,

To turds transformed, and dusted by a fart.

glass pustules

littered all over the b-ball court

Camp promise

chew the puck


From Moll Flanders to SHANE







(a trip thru the Mechanical Age)



(This is the way the world ends.

This is the way the world ends ...

and now, for our next selection...


Meet the Flintstones

they are not just yer ordinary pre-historic family...

certainly not pre-hysteric

meet me

that'll teach you hysteric.

or pre

on the other hand if the last person you've seen was

Hannibal Leckter

you might consider me jolly normal

I've also been getting encouraging feedback

on the state of my own mental health

By observing that of other's in feedback

Bloody right

I was swerving trying to avoid the oncoming vehicles when I realized I was

not part of the food chain

Once upon a time

we walked like a duck

and talked like a duck

and ate quesa dias (the days of cheese have passed

with the vigor of

vinegar and brie.

Let it brie!

And I and we

are the walri

What are you lookin at!?

it's a land of chemical gooze

and oozy stoopid ewes

and still I feel I lose

yer probably right.


What's to win?

"This beautiful CAR!"

I wil polish it I will polish polish it I will polish polish polish it

It will be shiny

It will reflect me in aqua-flake with a neon pink racing stripe

Ich bien ein Serbian

If we keep going it'll be

World War One again

I mean, now that there are no Commies

[well, none we care about]

to kill. What will Amurika do?

Oh no!

"War" a new game show

A Mark Goodson/ Production

So me & Life & Death & Pain & Ecstasy used to hang out,

not like

we were soul-mates

or anything, but we hung out, we knew each others names and small details


kept things interesting.

Then we grew up, apart, away, around

and all of a sudden those parties

are like pictures in some year book

"Oh yeah, remember when? Remember them?"

I show this book to

Safety, Responsibility, Security and Sanity and they

nod and sip their tea

And me?

I'm looking up old numbers and new traces of ...

faces and things.

And hoping somewhere some bell will ring.

Gotta go, gotta run, gotta do, gotta find,

wanna know, wanna be,

Gotta wnna do, wanna gotta be.

Part 35

21 June- 20 Nov 92


m. c-c.'s coming!

Stop me before I post again!

Bill Paulauskas



The Krell

Tartan Hebe

Hassan Luz

Baltimore Kazoo

Please enter your response:

bridge playin' (beej)


M. Flexi

Marvin Halpterniff

reTrolental fume


Whom it may concern


Max Angst

Jims Miller

brett (ahem)

Miss Outer Boro 1991


Gravity Lite


Baltimore Kazoo


Jonathan Hayes

Ray Trace

Twee Pop Fan

Arthur Godfrey


Special Agent #989234


I am lying at the bottom of a truth

Isbit the lesbian wrestler said "Kronkheidt!"

The alps

The alps

...the HORROR!

Would eating tartines have made me into Isabella Rossellini?

and there at the botton of the pit stood

the broken...

Some were made to understand

The interstitial void

The interstitial void felt desolate

So left OUT!

So it moved within

It now resides in my head

Queen of the Low-Grade Zone

Princess of the Odd-Lot

Plinker and stinker

Heft and weft leaver

Arm-wrestler and turban licker SUPREME

dream on demon





buyin' junk on a whim

stumblin' around town burstin' glassy


how much longer can the sallow shallow mind last?

crippled from the past

your self rejection is a constant projection.

it is thrown about with a tongue cheek manner

can't take this

can't take that


won't have

Ouch! she said sitting by herself


Once for yesterday, and once in advance

for tomorrow

a whisper or a bum steer?

This is how the world ends

This is how the world ends

This is how the world ends:

CURLED dawn rushing aroound the glooobe

Evening at the other side


Oh Lord thou fucketh

Oh Lord thou fucketh

Oh Lord thou fucketh me up.

La da di, la da da

La da di, la da dah.

Projection of a broken fogey

It all boileth down to money.

All, all boileth down to the hard fact o' the cash.

Metaphysics steam away into the dismal, irrelevant ether.

Say and wish what you will.

Burrowing deeper into the historical dust

But honest enough to hope there's a dollar sign buried there

And the sign of the dollar said "Yield!"

To what?

To Itself! Yay verily for the Almighty Dollar hath spoken

and handed down the sign to yield to its powers to smote great thoughts

and to smite little energy efficent cars

and to smut

not too smart really but whadday want from a

capital S with a stick up its butt?

$how me

The way

To the next

Whi$key bar

Threepenny Soap Opera

Please, PLEASE don't ask why.

For if you do,

I tell you you must die.

If you must kill me please let me die

O moon of Alabama

We now must say good bye

We've lost our good old mama

And must have whi$key or you know why

While Brecht is decomposing prose

And Weil attends similarly to the tunes

I am sitting under this Manhattan sky

Whi$keyless wondering -- O, don't ask why

Don't ask why...

Call me Mishimael

Mishmael ma bell

these are words that go together well

go to hell.

at midday the chameleon absentmindedly changed hue

to match the local ambiance

and thus inadvertantly invented

the color of choler

$how me

The way

To the next


just look straight down

it won't be there

obscured by the hare

devoted to the carrot

that used to be there

a would-be


wheeeeeee . . . . !

hip underground mojo bad zombie wheeeeeee. . . . !

Little boy,

With your nose pressed against the window,

There are no jellybeans

For you.



you can guess how many jellybeans there are in THIS

jar ... you will win the privelege of watching them

be chewed

up and spit at you!

New Yawk... that'll chew ya up and spit ya out!

Without a receipt, or change even.

change the sugar channel please

natural sweetness

not a sugar high

wonder what a high would feel like


for this new person

this odd person who claims to be me

natural sugars

store bought sugars

a lot of fuss

but they are all chemicals

I'm a pharmaceutical manufacturing plant

and consumer.

The pirate dust, and meteorite

Hand-Print: I ache in aces high

On hidden channels

Where the thick leaves plunge

Dripping with scented noise.

nothing changed for years and years.

i lost the ability to shed any tears

things stacked and lost track of time


i'm off to see some good friends of


The Ben and Jerry's had testicals in it

that's what gives it such great mouthfeel

she makes me feel good, she makes me feel so good

good riddance

no one knows when to hate me

i don't know when to hate me

the lines all fade and end a

tiring day in the garbage of

this fuckin world that i do

not know

no one knows when to hate me

i don't know when to hate me

Out of all the things I might have done on my vacation

I had to choose a life trip

On earth.

Boy, speaking of poor judgment...

that changes everything

that changes everything

the cat changes everything

the cat changes everything

the cat changes everything

i can't do one damn thing

without someone saying


i can't do one damn thing

that in the morning isn't


number 9 and running

number 9 and running


said that you were talking

but couldn't find you clue...

mom couldn't find a parking space

just another one of those dirty things...

the engine was left running

i didn't think it was funny

i thought you were serving coffee

but you were about to disrobe

we fell from the swing that evening

neighbor was looking for shovel...

i thought that i heard someone crying

people were switching places....

the world is going to hell

i know the lord is in control

i've read the final chapter

Roaring oak planks

flung into the fireplace

by sweating Negros


there was tar and nicotine on the pencil

It was a forest of smouldering florists

(pencils stuck behind ears, into asses)

and from a beard in Michigan

I heard the glassy twat of SPRING

plunge hot riots of sludge

across the corn belt

The poem fell into the sewer

The impulse to rescue

Lives on

Old habits are hard to break

The impulse to nurture

To comfort

To revive

That's the way it is with old softies.

The impulse to barbeque

Loves in old habits

Art hardback

The impulse to nun char

To cum

Forts to relive

when you see the one laughin' at you,

it'll be me...

when you finally realize how pathetic you are,

it'll be from me...

when your vortex of inertia swirls to a stop,

that is where you'll drop

and you'll fall away

fall away

from me...

like dead fall debris...

Impotence made palpable through words

Even the rage is petty

Not fury

Just petulance

they think that it might be about them

but it never has been

i destroy from the inside

and remain lifeless on the outside


they think it might have been about them

but it never has been


i am

a real

has been...

i see you i see you i see you i see you i see you i see u...

and you know i am here


i see you i see you i see you i see you i see you i see you...

and it is tearing me apart

i am tearing me apart

but i've lost all works

senses fallin' apart...

The pests were gnawing at the flesh

and rippin' and tearing...

like crazed, hungry ferrits thirsting to

eat and devour my heart.

doomed to die of hunger

don't they know

this black heart is indigestible?

But with some lime butter and lines


deep into the skin

the bed unmade is still laid


bricks upon bricks

eggs upon toast

dreams upon sleepers eyelids.

There was a hook

there was a clue on the eyelid

These eyelids which so conveniently close

Out what I don't wish to see

Are most obliging

Soon they will descend one last time

And take me on a permanent vacation.

and your karmic dues: doing it all over again

Not me

That will be her

Or him

Some other player

Its easier to travel unencumbered

you always start with less baggage

We avoid the risks we hear about in the five day forecast

The shards of glass that threaten us fall from icy enclosures we have built

to display ourselves

We are but rancid pigmeat rotting in the glory of our imagined demerits

The world is filled with horrible people disguized to appear

Just like you or me or a presidential candidate.

We judge them not, lest we be judged.

But we talk about them in snide tones in online chat

Then greet them in the intimacy of our false sleves.

Many years later, we switch places, barely noticing

The insignificant difference.

Jims switches for me

Vote for the exploding telephone

Hoardin lemon-butter in a basement

Piled with fac


Plummet l

ike t

he plumb


falling through an



Spring ahead fall

back pain plummet.

There was a coke can fastened to his chin somehow

product placement in electronic poetry

Panman found that way of making money he was seeking . . .

There was cash running down my chin

so we're doing this again

The sine wave theory waves hello.

So we're doing this again

so we're doing this again

so we're doing this again

Sower dew WANG tis a Gain

Where athwart the molted Malice Plain

Afixes twixt itself the Meatless Calliope

Like a patient etherized upon a table...

Like ass

Met a Ford Simile

No money down

This could be yours

Act Now

no salesman will call

no salesman will call

no salesman will call

be the first on your block

no money down

it's a meal in itself

only a dollar only a dollar

I stole these lines

from the guy with the


you know who

you know who

you know who

Fudgie the Whale.

Dick the Penis

George the Bush

push push in the Bush

a Clinton in the hand is worth...?


One Nation Under a Groove

move, in the moist mosques,

where gurgling minarettes move

rooftops, whole hoops, mops, ropes,

all the blue plums of Corsica

and the smooth silent snakes of Detroit

Cannot put humpty together again.

Cought Eggzaguratin'

my chin runneth over

in bright white/yeller splotch'd

ovure done and smootched with

purple verses there!

California! like a plucked duck

Frowning o'er the hockey spade!



House of Pancakes!

spaded monkey juice

dripping from the

flying frogs.

The E-Z-Boy recliner,

a constipated lad,

mocks us.

Moxus laddie?

Noxious daddy.

Lay zee suZan.

Reclined, stripped naked by the

bachelors: descending the starcase

in Arles.

Buried with honors by midget zouaves

high on laughing gas.

Gauguin waited at the train depot

wearing a sky-blue smoking jacket

and a crown of thumbs.

Falling down the cottage cheese

the handball couldn't hold a candle

to the frigidity of her bragadosio

Bluespaper taxidermists arrive at the

Dina Shore

Hating to flake you that way....

There were MIA's on the shrubbery

And Woody had a woody

"This is a great Korea move, kiddy," he smirked

from ball to ball.

MIA slapped him down with a


Get Down!

Be Fucking Real!

Is that a clarinet in your mouth

Or are you just happy to Skee-Beee?

Motrin Motown Mobile

Caulder moves me

Barking to the expanded


Millions of Matisses

Make Me Maudlin,

a Maalox Must.

What makes a muskrat guard its' Musk?


I wish I had a hat full of corn chips

I'd give them all to you and you and you

And when I ran out of those salty little corn chips

I would go back to the store and buy some more.


Ambient Machines: poltice polish panderer!


My hard on is in the shop

Getting a new spin on memory

A little adjustment so I don't feel compelled to do so much each day

Who cares? the sadu waits inside the ELEPHANT, longing for

RELEASE and the Shaduff!

Blame the Drum Slowly, in boiling yams

Where bellly-dancer's cut the cards for

Your LIPS.

Gary Moor is a black dab of natron & tar

Playing the MEAT BANJO for yer


The bearded LADY

Slips her little wine

And burns PLUS MUSK

In the ambient Ambrosial PINDAR'S

Pumpkin eyesore AFRO-dite

PTOLEMIC polemic. Anyway.

minimal poem

m,n,n,l p,m ,

when vowels are missing

orality suffers

it's a constipated constellation

of consonants

that need the classic buffers

a, e, i, o, u

open wide

let's see what's inside

I was rocking the negro swedes

Two Laplanders were approaching and the Wind began to sing OWimBAwee

I sat on the Lapps and broke wind.

I opened my windbreaker and lap-danced to the sound.

Profound LIP-MUSIC on tip ends

Where Blue Lascars flip cartwheels


stalled out at ten thousand feet

falling, falling, falling

plucking the crust off and tossing it carelessly into traffic

The magic is RIPE, baby: time to make the Dwip Tarpl Hommp Splew-T!

The avacodo with the push up bra was gnawed through by a chorus of wisdom

The kneeling bus never steps in the same petting zoo twice.

moo, moo, moo.

Zoom! goes the M15 into the dark, sinewy night

The culprits were caught

They were ridiculed for their passion

Part 36

24 Jan 12 April 93


Bill Paulauskas


Perpetual Dawn aka NancyKay


winter brett



Felix C.

Slumber an affai

Taking lnotice of her needs

Min ssh needs

time for other joys

wonder she

Eating eating

slam dancing

with thoughts

Faking out the mosher

Take out kosher

Thoughts of the moyel

Make me recoil.

The baby will be fine

Cut or not

He will say it is Mine

Mayan ruined

phoenix rising.


Head directly for the epidural. Do not pass GO. GOod advice

from a stranger.

That's what everyone I know who has had a baby says. So much for natural


There was a shouting

there was a screaming

it was mommy

it was daddy

Fudd rad into the meatpacking plant,

Crying "Moo-goo-gai-Pan!"

Part 37

8 July 93-5 Jan 94



steve B






david green

Loud zoo


And so it goes, "We don't know how to reply to that" spoke Michael.

But it does not matter because I eat your words in the summer and toss them

together like a good salad all other seasons.

I eat the flesh of rodents as subway token ladies toss me Rolaids.

"Step lively,"they say, as the doors close on my posterior.

I drink the nectar of the confused and wipe my mouth on feathers.

I leave a large tip and no ring.

telephone ring ushers in the day, I fight it

I'm not ready, I want more delicious, decadent sleep

why haven't I learned sooner

that everything I've ever craved

is available (and with no effort!)

in this enchantment of life-sleep?

Death is the goal, sleep is the rehearsal.

Some days one does learn something new

Learning is an escape.

And some of my favorite people are wiseass know-it-alls....

he certainly does seem to know everything....hhmmm....

I just thought he was god there for a moment, but then I remembered about


Still trying to get some work done, is he?

Both definitely dieties. At least local, I dunno about the rest

of the universe.

they're in cyberspace, arent


god's omniscience

is a defense mechanism against the anxiety

he feels when the pictures on the screen disappear

and instead of "The Adam and Eve Show" he sees

only a test pattern.

The second-rate little scientist

In the celestial laboratory

Who some years ago thoughtlessly tossed

An agar dish with a disappointing growth

Out the lab's window

Is amazed now hearing himself referred to as God

By the...things that covered the dish and grew

And grew...

And it turned into a planet and the people denied they were monkeys.

But they had nice tans.\

And big passion fruits.

Large poison molecules growing just out of reach

Forming joy on the ethereal plane

I was bounced out of existence by a collision of molecules

Banner too long,

Coffee too strong,

Let's all stay inside and play.

Its a nice day out. You should be outside, David.

You should

you should

you should

you should

There was a poem on the molecule

And an atom on the nucleus. And his name was legion

Legion errors, dizzies

Fern legion. Lego amputee

Mary Hartman

Divorce Liver girl

meditation poem:

I want a lover.

But a lover will rot.

I want to love my lover while he's rotting.

I promise to kiss all of the festering, black boils on my lover's addled

skull for all eternity.

And LIKE it!

And, if elected and infected, I promise to be delectible and infectable.

delightful and dissected

I miss wonder

And the easy loves

Of other Autumns

How I wish we hadn't ruined


I wonder

I wonder

I wonder

I wonder

I wonder

I wonder

I wonder

Oh god I don't have a good feeling about this

Maybe a couple of months from now

you'll look back and say:

"boy, this is fun!!"

who's officer tippet. hi.

Someone Oswald shot. 'lo.

Enless, endless replays of the day, endless reminissence.

They are erasing the real event, my own memories

The real even

the real eve

dead people

dead presidents

the living walk amongst us

I feel nothing

(about JFK Day).

It has less meaning to me now

Than Simchas Torah ever did.

Back then I did all the stuff

A ninth-grade girl would do.

Cried and cried and cried and felt sick for three days.

Now, it's like part of a List

that includes plasticene Elvis statues

and Barbie/Marilyn Monroe dolls.

I don't know why that is.

"Free associate", Dr. Engelhardt might say.

"OK. I am afraid brett will be mad at me

Because JFK is of course IMPORTANT

and we are SUPPOSED to have certain THOUGHTS and FEELINGS

about this."


The Critic.

But I don't know.

He was a politician and he screwed around with Barbie

and he was programmed to do whatever he did and he got shot,

as Some Do.

I am an iceberg, I guess.

No--you are slime.

its not about SHOULDs

and for me it is not even about dead presidents

it is about a time

and about me

and about how nothing was ever the same after that.

Those images are about Images

of grace, beauty, elegance, power, belonging

Images hold the world together

But they failed, they did not hold

And when was I declared the keeper of the flame?

unconscious imagos flashing

on & off & on & off

like the dancers under one of those mosaic mirror balls

in one of those discos

I never went to.

one is a brett-imago,

to be distinguished from a real person.

A reverberation of somthing-or-other.

God I hate poetry like this.

Ah, but you're cute.

(I meant to say gee, I like you, Neander

but was embarrassed...)

gee too

well, it's nice to be where people are communicating with one another

unlike Thanksgiving

grace tell us about T'giving

when I stop crying.

oh gee

Grace's tears

I bet by today Grace is feeling cheerful

(well, I hope she is...)

well, I was actually better a few hours later. Thank you both.

It's just that ol' nuclear family thing. Feel left out 'cause I haven't

bred yet.

Mom credits sons with my contributions and accuses me of insults when none

are offered.

Thanksgiving is so much stuffing

I think I'll just call off Christmas this year.

Off Christmas

Off Christmas!!!!!!

I am calling!

the new year charges in

without invitation

and accuses me of

crimes against time

And I am but a second fiddle

a minute piece of nothingness


a yearning

This response no verb

a hunk of minute rice on a wedding cake


and unprofessional

Part 38

30 April- 1 july 94






timely and unkempt

with a stubbed toe caught in the middle of the century

hurtling head first

verse flying

towards the end

phrase for rent

enquire or not.

Entity emerges expediently independently with gratitude a lesser known

building block of spiritual cornerstones

Grace's words would do nicely

In the Poetry Slam

Why is it not she

Who's up this week to compete

With Echo's favorite Xer?

Have I not raked up enough

Necessary losses in my time

That I need to seek extraneous ones?

Guess not...

brett's praise is always rain on my desert

if compete and poet would go together in my brain

i'd be there, maybe

off to see what a favorite Xer is, anyay

heh, you're funny Grace,

and I needed to smile

Smiles are just frowns turned on their sighs

Sighs are triumphant.

In the begining there was the Word

But the last thing we hear

Is a Sigh.

a sigh of life

the sine wave of disaster

crashing on the federally reserved banks

Face muscles rearraging themselves in response to ...mirth?

Which registered I don't know where

But something knows that what the eyes saw

Has been found amusing

Because the face moves,

Muscles pull up the corners of the mouth

And I feel myself smile...

I am frowning at the frowners

The obsequious messengers of death

The algebra of shame describes the trajectory

The calculus of spooge describes the reason

The treason of the first part

decribes the trajectory of nothingness

I opt for those who opt for clarity

I opt for the cycles of illusion

It's late

Our manners don't know how they apply

no one in the places except you an me.

set 'em up, Joe

and i am opting out

ah, yes...."out" has always seemed more appealing...

set em up Joe

this is a frame up

with a shiny name tag

polish it up Joe

Don't let the museum guard bite you on the ass on yer way out


1 Nov 94-11 Jan 95



just plain eword

TAZ the lizard queen

Wolf Angel, Prophet to the Stars

brett winter light

nina- blissed out & why not?

Bottomers up


MarieA.Barbie and HerREMOVABLEHEAD



Chartruese, the Mad Malkavian (Fnord)

MP and His Electric Rifle


I was choking on the heath bar

I was spitting up maps of foreign lands

I contain multitudes. Or the symbols for multitudes.

my universe is expanding

Yet I remain bulemic in the face of unwanted data.

I want to go back to that place where the fog rolls over the mountains

like an oceanic zeitgeist....

I will go back. I am back.

I am skinny dipping in familiar territory.

I am a cozy terrorist ripping up simulations.

i am wading through mucky pink and blue placenta

I blur into the persuasion to believe in everything

To merge with everything.

and yet, with nothing.

I await the crispness of morning light

and the eventuality of vision

telling the truth to get laid

like a patient etherized upon a table

whittled down to bare, nasty essence

and coated with a thin candy shell.

How long does it take to get to the center of my lollipop?

melt in my hands, not in my mouth

"I'm melting!"

"what a world, what a world, what a world"

It can't help it. So you have to do it.

I love the lines that come, quite automatically

(and inaccurately) "had we but world enough and time"

a distorted echo of an echo.

I like that.

This coyness, lady. . .

this avoidance

this dancing

this near-death experience

this drawing near the brink

this frenzied song of madness

this flashback from tomorrow

As the world melts into my mind

And all my children search for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

in a winding hedge maze lined with yesterday's news

And tomorrow's disappointments stand as museum guards

wearing salvidor dali halloween masks and tilted top hats

And giving directions to the comfort stations

though what comfort we find there is smelly and cold

We leave them like we found them

As dust covered relics of our emphemral youth

The ghosts refuse to stay in their assigned poses

Mine guffaw and howl with unseemly mirth

And I hide my nakedness behind works of art

A thought flings itself from my head

to land on the wall of a cafe

And they said, "it was good"

And brought me a latte

that i sent back. it was violet.

I had asked for inviolate.

I wish I could say "violence is my favorite color"

but I fear it.

that's why I'm always running toward it

Onward onward whispered shoulders

Hmmm, she mused, I believe I have silent shoulders.

But yours speak to me...

I am your great knees

Floating on the elbow of the harbor

Aloft with desire

Angry at serenity

Whisper your soft-tinted dreams into me

Then twist and shout.

and bury the doubt

and gulp the stout

(but less stout would really be soooomuch better

though I know the village sages say I musnt't be Lookist...)

and the June-a

and the spring-a

pull my fingah

and we are still left with lesser spines

charu, charay m

morning brings another day

dirty light leaking from a new york sky

everything dreamlike through

my cloudy window

and my slippered feet straddling

two spheres, all at once,

a grainy remorse,

an acidic flashback,

a bittersweet aftertaste

leaking from spectral galoshes.

I am an inmate enrolled in the class of my demise

And my desire

is spittle on the fire

Intimately rolling higher ever higher

I spew tequila on a log and yell FIRE FIRE

And wince at my resemblence


Tailia Shire


quite dire.

I tire of rubber

and since then


I expire

but being chilled

i throw another kitty's head

on the hot fire

Oh, rolly polly kitty heads...

They're so beautiful when they're dead

eat 'em up, yum

and dumb and dumb and media idiots

sucking their thumbs

instead of their thumb, their thumb


Like normal people.

It figures.

it figures eight.

ate, nine, ten.

plus tax

on the half shell

breathtakingly beautiful

like Boticelli's Venus

rising delicately from an appropriately magical

half shell

With a side of fries

Shake, shake, shake

stir, stir, stir

in a boil and bubble cauldron

where counterclockwise ripples

paint chopped down trees

knowing rocks splits

records fall down

as thumbs are an odd thing to be opposed to

Two thumbs up

-And a finger down my throat

Just as a gag

I am agog at my own wretchedness

woe, these wretched thumbs;

they are all thumbs and green thumbs

I have two left feet

Yes only two left

I crush my head under my left feet

But my feet have a burning itching sensation.

to scrabble across the shattered face

toes hooked to cracks

clinging where seconds before there was

only wind

now, windless wonder teetering

on a teeter totter

of tattered tater terror

As i eat my tater tots late at night

lurking over my shoulder

I am in the grocer's freezer of delerium

i am the frostbitten asparagus

huddled in an icy grave

of lost opportunities

i am

the freezer burn

of your soul

I am "buy one get one free"

i am who am

the holy one

who intends to mark our barely formed souls

with freezer burn?

how devine

I am asparagus interruptus

I am domini corruptus

i am the torn-out coupon fron a peanut butter cap'n crunch box.

i am the Leif Garrett

of a new era

i am

a wad

I have been cocooned to the bottom of a first grader's seat

by a crust of surreptitious booger









He, She, It

Let's conjugate like we did last summer.

(PFFFFFFHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA! Sorry...lost it for a moment. I just spit

up my beer.)

(wiping TAZ's beer spittle off of my monitor. Like my day wasn't

complete before....)

I came I saw, I didn't give a shit!

Friends Echoids and fellow mental patients

Lend me your beers

being the vat of generosity

she offered him hers

and i spit in mine

I spit into the hind wind

I spilt the puddle

I split the adam

and belched up the evening

I am wearing a saran wrap sarong to keep the spit at spitting distance

a calf in a caftan

Send photo

oh, canvas onto which my soul is plastered

voodoo VOODOO

keanu KEANU


let it fill

let it spill

let it thrill

lego my ego

ego, igo

ropes ot twine

I take yours and you take mine

You take mine and I'll take yours

With a dental dam inside my jaws

tip me over and spilleth my pores

dodge the slashing of my lupine claws

I am the cavity you cannot fill.

i am the crusty, almost empty tube of toothpaste

I am the mouthwash masquerading as toxic waste

I am the emery board against your teeth

I scrub, i rub,

LICK me silent till my salt is no more

it's only poetry

no need to get sore

this is getting vulgar

I can handle no more

There is more in store

don't be a bore

The future is yours

Just open the door

Crawl inside

the door to your mind

Live the lies

Return to the scene of the crime

Pass the chalk, man

Clap the erasers

on the bricks

that draw the line

between right brain and left

and erase the boundries

Break through to non-aristitolian logic

oy, she said in chagrined resignation

for having breathed longer than it is sensible to do

she had been down this path before

So she flipped out her cigarette

flipped off her shoes

and flung herself toward the jungle

where she was mauled to death by a pack of wolves.

who, in their lupine ignorance,

could only regard the damage they'd


look to each other and ask....

Why did she not cry out?

"ah".....! the reader pauses

"wolves ask wise questions"


but not to impeed

but speed

And feed with seed

did emma peel really do steed?

Did Garbled Upling really do weed?

stuck in this tedious script

I can only plead

get me outta here

In a generous mood,

I break out the booze

and take brett away with god's speed.

(truly a mission of mercy. And

first useful thing god has done all day)

Unless you count the Holy blow job

Truly God's grace

(competition from all quarters; can not relax my guard)

And my goard

I hoard it

Keep it to myself

Licientious evil doer that I am

locking the pantry tight

to turn the key and turn and find

the ants can still march in

genetically programed virtue;

so much undue diligence

such relentless work devotion

so many stupid lives

and yet, they're all happier than I am.

The ants? They are?

I wonder "how is that measured"?

then it becomes clear: with a chicken

An Empire kosher chicken.

A sweet chickien from the Lord

sent to reteach us the gifts of love




that's not god! it's a giant chicken! boo!

don't be presumptiuos, WolfAnge

who are we to question

what form will enfold god's mysterious essence

Who are we to laugh at the chicken pot pie

Of the Lord

To dance \


On the pot hole

Of our creator?

Unless we carry the American Express card.

Don't take leave of your sentences without it

I used to think careless had a certain charm

Now I'm more likely to vote for thoughtful

maybe slow is better

I am the crawling slug going 90 miles a year

I sm the happy bug who has a fig for an ear.

And I have been traveling slowly

using a fig for an oar....




I shall row never more.

Then he bethought himself

It was too early for resolutions

The New Year was still slouching toward Bethlehem......

Ahem ahem ahem

I hear a hum

It's the little drama buoy.

the buoy in the ocean of my mind

when I cling to it

I forget the vast expanse there is to swim

and remember only the fear of drowning...

and listen in the thickness of the night

to the sound of the sharks circling...

thinking how I've missed out on some experiences

having spent sooo much time in the ocean

and never, even once!

hearing a fish swim....

that made me very sad, Brett.

well, in the Atlantic ocean

the fish are very quiet.

but I could always sense the electric eels


and oh, how I wanted to touch them

and soak up their charge

so I could light

my own way...

oh cut it out nina

everyone is debating poetic license and noiseless fish

and you continue to write breathtaking prose

as if this item were immune

and you were skating on its surface

I'll take your breath


I'll skate away



I'll take the edge of your skates and slide

up the skewed angle of artifice

and fish

the glowing arc of cute bait

ice ice ice ice ice

ice ice ice ice ice ice

ice ice ice ice ice ice ice

ice ice ice ice ice ice ice ice

little blankets of misty clouds

of razors slishing against icy skin

bleeding bleeding bleeding

tracks of disaster, tracks of sorrow

bleeding ice bleeding ice bleeding ice

Frozen wounds

all covered in knowledge

Yet the frozen heart

ferociously withholds

the ice from the frozen vein

ice to the nine

what the heart can't freeze

what the soul can't thaw

what the eyes can't penetrate

what the fingers can't touch

what the throat can't swallow

what the ears cannot hear

what the heart cannot know...

I stand alone

block of ice

face to God

open hands

parched soul

where is the water

where is the wind

what is my question

where is the sense

where is the reason

what rhyme has this madness,

This space for official use only

You can pick up your pencils


Low tolerance for playful distress

Just as well

The rythm needed changing

Like weeks old bed linen

My bed sores ooze pus.

My bills need paying like my eggs need to be layed.

I once knew a critic who made a good living until she was strangled by

a disgruntled postal employee

Named Art.

no daubt

you applauded

I hate violins

Baumbach - you die

with a whip

with a razor

with a long, drawn out kiss

I'll take those words

and make them


no whip

no razor

no fucking kiss

fuck words

you die


why fuck the pointers when you can

fuck the object itself.

objects, maving mass

can deliver friction

and produce sensations via temp'rature and texture

more effectively

than even the sweetest words

Eating the sweatiest worlds

Deliberating fiction

objecting to moss

producing sensations via temptation and context


to the grinding of inner wheels

and scraping teeth

and clutching claws

and all the dark, rushing

blackened fluids

pulsing and

manipulating the choked chords,

the tangled ribbons,

the blood-smeared strings

the dreadful, dreamy, dregs

Oh what a world wide web we weave

when first we practice to achieve

my sticky heart pops

and covers me wet

i am riddled with

the animal drug

your sticky hearts all over the place...


our hicky starts to pull over the lace


bleary-eyed and fuzzy-brained

tripping on a cup of morning coffee

poured late afternoon

sucking down smoke

reading tomorrow's news yesterday

strapped into my