p l a i n e r

please help me stop writing crappy poetry

Please help me. Stop writing crappy poetry.

Please. Help me stop writing crappy poetry.

PLEASE HELP ME. STOP. WRITING CRAPPY POETRY.

(The Universe)

There. Is. No. Help.

there aren't any natural formations in language or there are only natural formations.

think about antonio gaudi. not trying not to imitate. a gaze.

imitate a gaze. speak up for shit as the best farmers always have.

no one sends me visitors. i pledge allegiance to the absence of visitors.

and then. yes my death is not a person. my death is not anything.

eye has not heard nor ear seen

    white power
    trucks with poles

yet assemble the senses. these called the body back. to attention.

or on the page someone wrote there's enough breath. some shedding.

shitting for life. we weren't to play there. shunning that part.

as each root goes forth and back in time. i'd dance if i had feet.

a completely preventable disorder

Appreciate the corpse has had a tough week and

believe it the windchimes still try too hard

so without money for once come home

dense as a felony brain voiceless as

ever in your boast to lift more rock more

sheep or flashing green data fermented

green pillows of seizures not even doctors

can harness and you coming home to stand manly

and skirted in a corrupt and earthly peace

at a quarter past you find

Two in a room. and a desk handling me

bureaucratically.

Not understood as an argument.

No opportunity as fecund

as that time at the zoo.

Collapsed over the rhizome shield.

    crap crap crap crap crap

I recognize the problems.

of what you or anyone could actually know.

And put me in mind to learn one thing.

But what that the earth is turning unhealthily

for us. And then a blue veil.

But you have captured me with a taste for good beer

or at least beer that

understands bad poetry & how we might never get

another chance to

resemble our most illogical investment.

after completing this deliberately

what can I         say that

    won't lance        your

brief blister         of interest    ?

having searched     haphazardly

               and failed to find

facts about previous lives     orphans


then more uncertainty

           
                as


in    

    is this     too    precious   

    discharged    from        where    ?

I mean sort of I bet I go    "

    look    this puts    us    all    under

eventually    will it hurt        ?    "

well     it better

as didst promise heretofore

publicly where the ground goes up they say

    here's the best … even far back in time …

    not mismatched with … local flora and fauna …

whatever's here … once toothiness and hungry

    red intention … complements our grey blue

    lunacy did I say lunacy … pocked minutes so

slicked up by remembering the dead not even

    your mother could calm it down with her

    honey it'll be alright just drink a little

of this … suddenly … chocolate composition look

    here's a feeling that's not excluded by

    talking without consequences … in attics

alleys, boxes, basements, front yards, kitchens …

    presently uninvolved but later stomped

    in a famous breakout … a breath … in fact

he says it comes with the option to say nothing at all

And about an apartment building. They never go out.

And they could use some dark green serrated greenery.

And they could use this trash in wind. For free.

And this time an apartment building. Standing up.

Obviously hive-driven. Honey-built. Immersive bees.

But to walk like Trousers in the last silent movie.

And about this other thing. Not an apartment building.

 

But not wrong. Not vexed or sullen.

Something like a dictionary.

but not for publication

"I need no assurances." Walt Whitman

    Articles in play. For the drama of an intimate parking lot.

    Articles in mirrors. For the cast of a spelling bee.

    Articles in strife. For post-colonial fashion-mongers.

    Articles in depth. For whales planked up in dry dock.

    Articles in motion. For sonograms in admiration of.

    Articles in place. For wolves of the rocky auditorium.

    Articles in fire. For thirteen symptoms of food.

    Articles in teeth. For delirium tremens in transition.

    Articles in loss. For inspectors of wonderful catastrophe.

"But I need it by next Tuesday." Kenneth Koch

what's understood by my

My this is here blue and not very convincing,

but this is timely and long drawn out in time.

So very happy to see you again. When was the

last time. I have never been there. My this

will take awhile to get used to. Slamming my

fist against let's call it the sunset. I find

I'm not ready to go out not ready for the out

as they paint it red with very fine yellows

flecks and specks of yellow as if breathed on.

we are going toward it and finding again

Those large early surréalistes ... les poétes ... d'accord ...

If you want lots of them just ... formal here ... find a bakery.

Les Artistes read all they want. Get the first book back.

Pick up your pencils and tear them up. Les écritures go on

all day ... at least until the taxi says ... Our Poets smight

Religious Figures. Alright. Fine. What breath ... catches.

Says a prayer in calling forth. Ideological Tropes & Blues.

one guy

that hadn't enough that didn't have enough
that had not enough gumption or thought

that of kindness spent in longing that
that of single rowdiness in passing that

everything we say is losing the light
right now more darkness fixes us good

finds us in two or three minds
fixed in place and floating toward and

will be wrong is wrong has been

hush

no matter

shush me

was i kind enough
when fear stopped by

"there's no room for sentiment in good poetry"
what do you want

to be caught
pulling an adjective after a noun

more than ever
to stand like a god young & miserable

over a thing
uncertain & poetical in the common way

well yes
but still the car needs

fuel, a driver, a road
to go

on

or walk or stand

still

a judge and a teacher walk out of a bar

.........

you can work the history

………

a private observation privately observed

………

taken dawn / to words & wards

………

a privervation obserately priverved

………

still to fix my (sic) openings

………

or cut the complex cake enough to

……...

in the pre-dawn everything of / thought

……...

get it / redeem yourself / this tendency

……...

unaided & voided in the telling

……...

no help for it / you / now / but saintly

……...

or actual events buttering small hands

……...

stubborn pianos / blistering silliness

.

theater arts

Sound you can't hear is here now.
    [A physical sensation must have leached into our study. An altered reading of an essay by Poe or a poem

Some frogs (what happened to your verbs) or hunches of star-travelers
    [There was an actual pond until the heavy machinery came to make something new

No more chaos once we add basic black
    [Because it's in the end made of each and every thing

Need a brain recorder for my good thoughts at the edge of sleep
    [

Too easy to forget silly art … I've always been energized by silly art
    [Denatured and repetitive as my trick with aluminum foil

Too much church language and a bad effect on the brain of Biran
    [You have to accept some mistakes as sad, unwrapable gifts

In transit without birds without
    [additional promises winsome recreations potential ordinations

Tuned to guessing what poetry forces out comes out in urges
    [The vast and puny ego for lighter performance and brighter audience. All us lilies in crystal. No toes. No belly fat

Maybe I lack. An apt concept. You know idea.
    [might just as easily flounder in the course of its mixing and making

Where I walked and did. SOMETHING with birds in it.
    [Large and little feathered bags of me fell to the stage from the rigging

some thoughts about our holiday plans

and the room before I got there … just as much the place

where some animals found themselves … collaborated

into vegetable earth … the perception of hardy lumps of

us … needing to eat but not knowing which weeds … here

I came out of my room … my rural maps well-smoked …

hungry times when Exact Resemblance came … we found

it forcing up the rows we planted last season … o no

here's music and ceramics … here's a pot of mercury …

here's dinner at last where we've eaten our weight in

mystery … so I want you back again with … your items …

your perennial hymns … colors and numbers … alphabets

yearning to breathe free … but always threatening to

explain themselves … driven back to a hundred fields …

no really ... come again we'll be happy to seat you well

beside our long-losting cousins … some sinful siblings …

unruly sires and sirens … silent rude and zealous

plungers … urgent ... our bowls of … next … I

have it now … it's liberty ...  I'll take you with me if I can

my friends

look look at our misery … heaps of dead gadgets ..

and here I've gone & forgotten you in the storm

of little things … can it come once more from the

top … you slide over and tap and knock me

in the head … a meanness I repeat every time

I stand up to look at the room and talk to it

… it's in my face and pushed out into a victim

space … all of us unhandsome by morning … all

a meanness we mean … as some of the crackup

comes to a bet … will I understand 'a la fin' how

our edges might abut … not like seasons but

asphalt and concrete … the curbs of our sense

in voices … some charcoal for fresh fire or

mystic hunches bent over new cars … once a

very bright toronado … that this low art will

anticipate some really pure arrival … we guess …

purchased to actually serve our modern question

about stage machinery … the parts that come

apart for easy cleaning … we surrender to it

my friends I don't have the time to explain …

but I'm sorry ... and I'll grieve it to the end