A HYBRID NOTEBOOK OF POETICS AND PORNOGRAPHIES

Pornography Disclaimer

This is a an imaginary diary of facts, confessions, or messages. This is a notebook of working but broken ideas, lines, images, notes on books I'm reading, writers I admire, and brief fantasies of language. Here unfiltered  all mannerings pseudo-private, publicized, ur-. Here I am art and unrevealed: poetic, political and pop. These are my moonlit rough beginnings and should not be taken literally, directly, truthfully, reliably, and none of it is legally binding. These lies are all choreographed, but only haphazardly. Beware.

13.1.07

THE SPECTACLE OF A FANTASY

. . . . .

How about it, Frederick Seidel?



"Fog"

I spend most of my time not dying.
That's what living is for.
I climb on a motorcycle.
I climb on a cloud and rain.
I climb on a woman I love.
I repeat my themes.

. . . . .


Not the spectacle of intimacy. What else are we, if not the eye on our own personae dramatis?

The hidden theaters all portray devastations in plain sight. The mask of eros is blank.

The version of ourself that is reflected everywhere? Or the everywhere that is the version of ourself reflected?

. . . . .

O everywhere I spend my time
not dying.
The palm trees flickering in black and white at night.
And the Green is still reflected.
The sea out there is chanting like the shores
that line the heart with heat. I cannot go to sleep.

I cannot go to sleep;
I sing of darkness. Dogs. Men I love
who do not love me back, and winds
pouring themselves
fast as a drink on a Friday night. Like glances,
those softly lit hearses warm and wound us.

. . . . .

Friends and Strangers, the porn of me.

. . . . .

2 comments:

the ugly half said...

i've always had a weakness for hearses and dead old lady's pearl necklaces. but it doesn't make sense because i used to live near a crematorium that had its own vintage hearse. would you know it in the 12 years i lived there i never rode my 10 speed to leave my finger prints on its shiny black canvas or press my nose against its spotless windows.

maybe the infatuation started when i met you...suddenly black widows became chic. and i was the black widow dressed in kohl eyes and black cotton at j. valentine's reading with that cherry lollipop we shared sitting in the front row.

With Hammer And Tong...The LetterShaper said...

Very much enjoyed my stroll through your blog...as a poet and an avid reader, I found it both an enlightening and enriching stay. I thank you...great stuff.

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I've got one foot in the grave and the other's in my mouth.

Poetry Disclaimer

My work has been awarded the Katherine C. Turner Prize from the Academy of American Poets, a Swarthout Award, and has twice been nominated and shortlisted for the Pushcart Prize. My first book, A Book Called Rats, was selected for the Blue Lynx Prize for Poetry (Eastern Washington University Press 2007). I'm curating editor for the online journal of poetry: PISTOLA and my poems and reviews most recently appear in Massachusetts Review, Beloit, Ploughshares and RAIN TAXI. I currently teach writing and literature at Santa Monica College in southern California.