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.

27.5.07

LINES FROM THE MEAN TIME

. . . . .















. . . . .

The whole deep river
of the train goes by: fool--fool--fool--fool--fool--fool--fool--

. . . . .

"When the test comes back positive
+
not a shield not a flower

not even a feeling
I don’t believe it

the body and its sick pleasures
what flowering

armor
gorgeously ruined

ruined

boats of my body
what has changed"

. . . . .

I write for myself and strangers.

. . . . .






















. . . . .

"It was weird because my blood was outside my body."

. . . . .


"We all have to make a choice.
The world turns on the lights and has coffee.

We all have to make a choice, should we
jump, leap out of the windows?--out

of our lives?" We'll be here, like this. Like
the world: One morning

you're having coffee and then you're reaching for
a stranger's hand, some cliffside

of the new life begins in darkness
metal
blue warmth of a heartbeat
ash--

Save me. Save
yourself. Orphans
of beauty; Orphans of accident.

"You have to make a decision. It's what you're left with
against being

left alive." After the explosion
inside. After the fallen city, the avalanche

of static blackness--
"Alone, each of us will have to choose."

. . . . .

I have secrets.

(whispered)

I have a secret life I need--

(You are
a room of my own online)

. . . . .

My Letters make me feel like a Ruiner.

. . . . .






















. . . . .

Friends and Strangers, it's what we have against.
How
are we to know what.

Are we to do if.
Blood or unseen energies--

collapse. (whispered) My
Flesh, My Foe, My Only

Knowing and True
Night. You are the galloping inside me.

. . . . .

2 comments:

chelaluz said...

Dear Ruiner,
why have you turned baby blue?

you are brave to Know and face True Night. you are Alive if there is gallop inside you. my sadness is that we are all more Alive at your expense.

the ue said...

i love ruiners. (especially when they wear feathers in their hair.)

My photo
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.