Showing posts from April, 2013

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 30"

30. A Manifesto for Defeatism
in honor of Matthew Edison Bremer, aka “Sean,” who had everything and took his life

we cannot climb up to the sun we cannot sink deep in the earth coming from plenty or from dearth we cannot change one thing thats done
we cannot separate love from lust we cannot be but drawn to power cantering through the hoops of hours we cannot stop us from being us
we buy the world and we are bought we sell the lot and we are sold everything has its price in gold every thought that will be thought
the west indies poet last night invoked dante and arnaut daniel the servers three handsome devils tipped to the salon full of whites
so tall and beautiful was one i lost all interest in the voice going on about chiasmus and longed to fuck him in the kitchen
he was far too professional to mix together work and fun the poet going on about puns had no qualms about being on call
the good we do produces evil the evil good despite intent the web delivers discontent to the licentio…

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 29"

the sun rises and the sun sets one day the light unclenching its hold on the air its noticeably colder everywhere from the east to the west of the usa
a boy is sucking greedily ice pop his mother checking her phone for updates a tall black man whizzes by on his skates a bench where two old faggots had to stop
the reservoir looks as if its on fire the ducks swim calmly through the burning field the envelope of day has been unsealed picture the long decline of empire

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 28"

the sun parading on its blue runway has changed its chaos into floral chic up to the minute as soho boutiques it has passed up bouquets as passe
less is more as the clean shaved well heeled know flocking to a petite clothes closet they cinch their beef fed waists in a corset woman and men and mannequins on show
if you imagine you can fight the trend consider the spring show now at the met punk style with its saliva blood and sweat is catalogued by wintour as high end
no uniform becomes the uniform in poetry as in pashmina shawls from glitzy runways to the market stalls the naked screams do nothing but conform

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 27"

a wedge of the suns landing gear is lodged between my rotting teeth the toothpick rescues bits of wreath charred fat and torn masculature
flossing day and night does not help the gum burying the bone bleeds but the whole body has to feed on prime estate and chinese kelp
mouth striated with lost remains i orate with a nasty kink to the blind glass above the sink breath smelling of dead people’s brains

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 26"

the sun a bit of deep programming code swivels its suspect electronic eye logging on at hotspots to its wifi i give away my bearings on the road
wired to love what’s good, i love to stir my stick in a man’s shithole and submit to the sun’s social control though wired to fear what i know not of
a reproductive program gone rogue at school i am still gainfully employed to vaccinate the young by being paranoid of what is in vain and what is in vogue

Poem: "I wrote a poem yesterday"

Wrote an additional poem today, for Spanish class. My limited vocabulary became a useful constraint.

I wrote a poem yesterday. It was a sad poem, very sad. I wanted to tear it up but it was on the computer.
I wrote a poem day before yesterday. That one was sad too. In the poem I went to the river but the river had no water in it.
I wrote seven poems last week. They were all sad, very sad. They followed me to the river and followed me back home.
I wrote a poem in 1992 that was a happy poem. I tried to remember it last night but it has gone down the river.

Yo escribí un poema ayer. Fue un poema triste, mui triste. Lo quise romper pero fue en la computadora.
Yo escribí un poema anteayer. Este uno fue triste tambien. En el poema fui al rio pero el rio no tuvo agua en él.
Yo escribí siete poemas la semana pasada. Ellos fueron todos tristes, mui tristes. Me siguieron al rio y me siguieron a mi casa
Yo escribí un poema en 1992 que fue un poema feliz. Lo traje recordar anoche pero él ha ido abajo del rio.…

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 25"

the sun will not stay long enough to broker ceasefire in terrific zones of death the day is shot through with decaying breath the coffee cold the croissant mediocre
i will catch some infection or another from the untreated slash in someones head a youtube video of an oyster bed round razors laved to a gleam by fresh water
a vimeo of a knitted boyfriend strikes at lonelyhearts and artist wannabes imagination falls to fantasies and action is reduced to hitting like
i have set up a facebook author page invited my five thousand facebook friends link to it like share follow recommend or hit my virtual target with your rage

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 24"

the sun was high the morning he bottomed by a pool tastefully appointed with books the all-american with esquire good looks so young he could have just come from the prom
high too when he was tag-teamed by two men their cocks stuffing his hungry mouth and ass highest when fucking the big-boob stewardess he brought ken to his knees sucking his glans
overdosed on prescription medicine provided, some say, by a kindly client in life he went by matt on screen by sean no matter now the worms have him in turn

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 23"

out of the datsun whizzing through the sky shoots a wad from a politico into the oval office fellatio delivers with last names like lewinsky
the obvious phallus of a congressman stretching his gray cotton boxer briefs is sent to followers via a tweet the media say we get off on attention
there will be less and less for everyone as our free-for-all intensifies power and sex and power and sex will divvy up the vision of the sun

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 22"

crushing the burntout sun under my heel i stomp both feet to get the blood flowing the trees are stuck between dying and growing the water is too weak against the wheel
the women on the exercise machines are back after a guilty hiatus the men are flexing their deltoideus pumped up by growth-enhancement vitamins
they chase an image of their sunny youth receding further even as they strive they age at twenty-four or twenty-five the trees are pushing north while heading south

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 21"

theres nothing new under the sun the present is a product of the past and will surrender at long last to a future bristling with guns
a boy skateboarding toward me as i am running in the park we raise our spirits to the mark of the dark eyes of enmity
at the last moment the cunt swerves just missing my battering ram a voice inside exults i am the man because i hold my nerve

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 20"

hurtling around the sun itself spinning at dizzying speeds in differential circles a wave of subatomic particles dies on the bat in the day’s last inning
that fine metallic ping in the spring air draws in its wake a low approving roar and then a vast communal silence soars through the sound barrier bursting into cheers
around the field the music of the spheres echoes in one wild dionysian pitch until the noise reduces to a twitch i hold my head blood dripping from my ears

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 19"

the sun shines everywhere but here it calls forth from the road a restless perky rage all the old world has crossed a players’ stage the new is squatting from an urban sprawl
so big a country but only one story and it is not about the wounded knee the crippled canters for the blind to see and death as they say is a kind of journey
form does not exist in the incomplete meaning does not stay in the ongoing the poem of the open road singing can’t understand positions of defeat

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 18"

sunday like any other day of the week begins the work of filling up the time the hours integral empty sublime present so many unravished physiques
a white boy fifteen or sixteen of age honey for hair runs past in tennis shorts i unzip my jeans and take out my cock behind the new york times and turn a page
minutes later his older brother shows bulging a navy blue college sweatshirt his rowboat legs pumping along the dirt my dick hardens unbearably below
he comes again this time pushing a stroller in front of him as he runs after his youth thicker in the waist longer in the tooth and jogging back and forth as if bipolar
the final figures are predictable the crumpled suit the shaky gouty walk i close my eyes and whack my wilting cock the spirit willing but the flesh unable

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 17"

flying across the cut and pasted sun a chiseled father saves his tumbling boy emerging from the shadow gates of troy a woman runs toward agamemnon
no one no movement in this corridor constructed by an old drawing program above the photograph four videocams watch the airless space inside the maw
i cannot tear my eyes away for dread a grin has opened in the continuum a tree beckons with multiplying arms this beady blackbird with a bluish head

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 16"

the system of the sun the net is streaming videos of the blast no one escapes from the broadcast of mayhem and the terror threat
someone sincere a hacktivist has broken in and gained access the rootkit set in our recess he works with other idealists
they want to combat code with code they always get what they phish for very soon all that we wish for we get too when we press download

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 15"

the sun once shone so gently from my limbs this snap of me on college lawn doth show and he fawn-like yet milky as a doe drew every ray of light from me to him
i was a god and he my first creation but matters were as though the other way a deer called forth the dawn out of the day a god could kiss a tail in adoration
the wonder is imprisoned in the snap the roebucks on this island crawl with ticks the sun appears like a cardsharper’s trick or burnished as the past a burning trap

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 14"

without a doubt the sun from house to house flushes out the subversive elements brother betrays brother to the agents the son drags forth the mother by her blouse
words fall in line behind the party line or else escape with papers underground the suspects are required to walk around with foreheads branded with a dollar sign
having denounced my love to the committee i podcast verses to the greater love of sexual rights and scientific proof love’s anti-authority authority
i should fall silent at so fraught a time a decent man would choose not to speak but when the world offers its other cheek i have to torch the fat off with a rhyme
and when my usefulness is finally done finally will come a knuckle on my door at least i hope to be accounted for by the incomparable agents of the sun

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 13"

i have been barking at the sun the bone that will not drop into my raving maw until commissioned fast to shock and awe the bomb is tossed by a cruising drone
I have been watching porn and buying books knowing a history of all my searches so purely indicative of my urges is open to the state and to its crooks
what do I go for in the catalogue the causes are so many and so urgent gay rights i like bomb the koreans i comment the dialectic is changed into dialogue
a tap of a key the hot money moves a woman climaxes and a drone flies

Poem: "A Position of Defeat 12"

the foreskin of the sun a mottled black laved by bonus tubes of antiseptic cream the meatus passes an untreated stream of blood-flecked pus and semi-solid dreck
the bath drainer sprouts tiny clumps of hair between my fingers the material i rub and jack off to the smell of cells shooting into the wall a croix de guerre
the cracks between the eyes are filled with grout the body lathered with the sweat of butter from neck to haunch from inner thighs to outer ablutions done whitewashed grave walks out