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tearing the rag off the bush again
Lucy In the Sky With Darrell: Actualism Part 4 PDF E-mail
Lucy In the Sky With Darrell
Part 4


The Story of Actualism

In Iowa City

Introduction


 


When Iowa City Actualism was blooming in the 1970s, we wrote a lot of collaboration poems, and I made it a practice to save the ones I was involved in. I put the collab folders in a storage box, and then I forgot about them for three decades. Just two days ago, I found the folders, which contained over 220 pages of work. Some of them were unsigned, but at least 194 pages bore the names or initials of two or more people--48 people in all. Here is a child’s garden of Actualism.



Notes on reading:


Each poem is preceded by a tilde. This enables the reader to jump from poem to poem by doing a search for tildes. It also helps to know for certain that a specific line is the title.






Each writer’s identifying letters (usually initials) are preceded by an accent mark. This enables the reader to skip to the collaborations in which a specific writer participates by searching for the accent mark followed by the two identification letters--thus, searching for `DG would take you to poems in which Darrell Gray participated.


In some of the collaborations each section is attributed to the person who wrote it. In most of the collaborations, however, authorship is attributed at the end to all the authors together.


The first poem, “Party Poem,” has the most known collaborators--11. It is dedicated to the Writers Workshop.


The last poem, “Marathon Collaboration Poem,” is the longest--31 pages. It was written by many during the 2nd Poetry Marathon, but signed by none.








Index of Abbreviations


 


 

Each person has a two-letter abbreviation representing their full name.


 


 

AB Al Buck

AC Ann Conner

AH Anselm Hollo

AK Allan Kornblum

AT Audrey Teeter

AW Alan Willis

BA Bruce _____

BR Barb Raaz

BS Barbara Sablov

CK Cinda Kornblum

CM Chuck Miller

CW Chris Woeffels

DA David Gitin

DF Dale McFarland

DG Darrell Gray

DJ Donald Justice

DM Dave Morice

DO Dave Odegard

GF Geoffrey Ford

GM George Mattingly

GS G.P. Skratz

HI Hillary _____

JA Janet _____

JB John Birkbeck

JD Jim Dorka

JI Jim Bateman

JL Judy Lawson

JM Jim Mulac

JS John Sjoberg

KA Kay Amert

KF Kathy Fetter

LC Leander Cyrus

LD Linda Dorff

LG _____ _____

LW Lynn Willard

MA Margaret Manos

MC Mark Cohen

MK Michelle Kulefsky

MM Michele Morice

MP Many People (unsigned)

MS Morty Sklar

NR Neil Ruddy

PC Pat Casteel

PI Paul Ingram

PL Phil Lemke

RD Ray DiPalma

SA Sally Redfern

SL Steve Levine

ST Steve Toth

SW Scott Wright






























~ PARTY POEM


(for The Writers’ Workshop)


[Ten people wrote this poem: `DM `MS `CM `SW `JM `JS `AK `ST `LG `DG. Each section has the individual author’s abbreviation listed at the end.]



1


music

inspires

the floor

shakes


`DM



2


four or five words


`MS



3


familiar plants,

animals


`CM



4


potted

plastic


`SW



5


plantit


`DM



6


hiya, Cinth!

wisteria?


`JM



7


one more time

the kids in the neighborhood

hey hey

that’s a great choice

one of my favorites

ships on the oceane


`MS



8


color it orange

&

leave all that snow


`JS



9


there is a chain hook between the

cushions of this largte couch.

i call it The Great Chain of Being.

we unhook the chain before opening

frozen orange juice.

good morning little schoolgirl.

i’m a couch


`AK



10


boo!


`ST



11


THE TRAVELS OF OZONE


Oh! Zone!


`SW



12


melting fish bones


TOGETHER


`CM



13


i’m an easy bruiser


`LG



14


I wanna hold your foot,

I wanna be your leg,

I wanna look at the table.


`JM


15


a sunlit day

it’s almost may

and yet there’s snow

outside uh-oh


`DM



16


i woke up this morning

and it was this afternoon

oh i woke up this morning

mama, and it was this awful moon

so the next time ya see me coming

blah dah dah dah dah dah dah


`MS



17


scot located

them

a copy of the original, in

other words

a shadow of a former delusion

multilithed

easier than the original

not really huge, but

sewn up. Come out and visit.


`MS



18


rain

check

book


`DG



19


I used to think the 21st Century

would be great--vast unemployment,

beautiful women, fantastic highways and buildings,

amazing drugs and record albums. Billions of geniuses

masterfully solving the subtlest impossibilities. That’s

what it felt like, being 27 and stoned with my friends.


`JM



20


the city

words a

are for

looking

are for

pages a

the home


`DM



21


Al Buck did

Al Buck didn’t

but Al Buck


`MS



23


monkeys express

a paw


here

you are superior


`AK



24


Twenty four.


Baked bird.

Unleashed

lettaces race

through time’s

hard hat.


The vee’s

crease.


`SW



26


anti-versary


`DG



27


under the Philadelphia Cream Cheese

the hard brown table

looked like

the Phillies

How’s the ballgame

How’s the potato chip dip?


`DM



28


one two three four five

six seven eight nine ten! shouted

the man in mission control

as he tried to make

the rocket

return to the launchpad.


`DM



29


“as bats fly

caves grow”


--Spelunker’s Guidebook


`DM



30


what time is it?


gold.



`AK



31


What is “it?”


Things, generally.



`SW



32


“OUT TO SPACE”


out to lunch

out of breath

out of line

out there

out with you!

ow t

burnt out

out house

make out

outlanders

outlandish

out of your head

out of gas

in side out


`MS



33


The Well-Fed Bi-ped


bi-ped

bi-pass

biluminous

bitaxatious

binary

blahbi


`MS



34


after the cat walked in

the human collage

walked out


`DM



35


comma, period.



`SW



[signed:]


Scott Wright Sirs. bros. sisters.

Glandfather Kornblum

Stepson Gray

Mormon Sklar

Dave Morose

~ WORKSHOP COURSE LIST FOR NEXT YEAR



8:282 Rhyme Workshop

8:283 Rhythm Workshop

8:285 Onomatopoeia: When to use it (Seminar)

8:286 Beginning Linebreaks

8:286b Advanced Linebreaks

8:287 Iambs, Anapests, and Dactyls: Comparative Study

8:289 Caesuras: Now and Then (Historical Study)

8:290 The Literary Origins of Variable Feet Traced to Their Roots

8:291 Poetic Anatomy

8:292 The Economic Implications of Free Verse

8:293 The Psychology of the Caesura and the Collective Unconscious

8:294 Stability Theory in Fluid Rhyme Schemes

8:295 Applied Imagery

8:296 Literary Genes and Chromosomes

8:297 Introduction to Doggerel

8:298 Intermediate Doggerel

8:300 Natural Hazards of Poetry & Doggerel

8:301b Field Trips with Pencils

8:301c How to Correct Incorrections

8:301d How to Write Right

8:301e The Poet in Action

8:301g Poetaster Laboratory

8:301h The Alphabet and Its Purpose in Reality

8:312 Successful and Unsucessful Metaphors

8:313 The Disappearing End Rhyme



`DG `JS `DM

near Xmas ‘71








THE PRESIDENT HIMSELF

“& I welcome this kind of examination, because people have got to know whether or not their president is a crook. Well...”

The president is not a cook.

The president is not a candle-maker.

The president is not a registered nurse.

The president is not a rock & roll star.

The president is not a Neanderthal man.

The president is not a Clerk Typist II.

The president is not a housewife.

The president is not a management trainee.

The president is not a ballet dancer.

The president is not a pseudo-intellectual.

The president is not a short-order cook.

The president is not a heavy-equipment operator.

The president is not a fork-lift operator.

The president is not a telephone operator.

The president is not a small-time operator.

The president is not a cellist.

The president is not a registered Communist.

The president is not a conscious philanderer.

The president is not a dermatologist.

The president is not a ketchup manufacturer.

The president is not a new-car salesman.

The president is not a tinhorn gambler.

The president is not a factor.

The president is not a mother.

The president is not a witch.

The president is not a podiatriast.

The president is not a quarterback.

The president is not a hearing-aid specialist.

The president is not a typewriter.

The president is not a chirpractor.

The president is not a special prosecutor.

The president is not a Riverboat Captain.

The president is not a tattle-tale.

The president is not a peanut vendor.

The president is not a jukebox repairman.

The president is not a flying carpet sweeper or a Guided Bissell.

The president is not a swinger of birches.

The president is not a glass of milk like a cigarette.

The president is not a grapevine.

The president is not a Hoover vacuum cleaner salesman.

The president is not a music box.

The president is not a monstrous vice-president.

The president is not a Republican pope.

The president is not a better mousetrap.

The president is not a stitch in time.

The president is not a trucker.

The president is not a trick-or-treater.

The president is not a rag-time Cowboy Joe.

The president is not a yoyo champion.

The president is not a Jewish mother.

The president is not a nagging housewife.

The president is not a cross-section of an orange.

The president is not a colostomy bag.

The president is not a poet.

The president is not a second thought.

The president is not a Chinese restaurant.

The president is not a Polish sausage.

The president is not a warm puppy.

The president is not a mighty fortress.

The president is not a piece of ass.

The president is not a hormone imbalance.

The president is not a creative plaything.

The president is not a sugar-daddy.

The president is not a Milky Way bar.

The president is not a well-worn homily.

The president is not a dirty diaper.

The president is not a good gopher.

The president is not a living bra.

The president is not a great lake.

The president is not a grape stomper.

The president is not a hamburger with everything.

The president is not a test pattern.

The president is not a seventeen-year locust.

The president is not a bird in paradise.

The president is not a tea for two.

The president is not a stepping stone.

The president is not a fish stick.

The president is not a Pullman porter.

The president is not a president.

The president is not

The president


`AB `DG `PI `AK `CK `PL `DM `GS `ST

































~ THE TOTALLY NON-RIP-OFFABLE POEM


I am the totally un-rip-offable poem

Try me, smart mother fucker

Stick your dick up my ass

Nothing

Cold stone


Try and fuck me

Try and get me to suck your dick

To eat your pussy

Never in a thousand years


If anything

I’ll rip you off

Don’t look for emotions here

There are none you can claim false


Step on my ass

You’ll sink in

Nothing but pure shit

Which you are full of

Scholars, critics--fuck off.


This is a street poem from my zip gun

Go pimp your own mother fucking poems

Drag queens


Human beings are inferior

To un-rip-offable poems

Think about it

Look around you

One big rip off


Live it

Eat it

Fuck it

Suck it

Don’t write it


Here it is

Tweaking all your cardboard cocks:

The Totally Non-Rip-Offable Poem.



`CM `DM



































~ RAYMOND BURR AS THE POPE



“Hand me that beachboy album he saw the record

but as he washed the amazing sky

whose blue lumber built houses in the background

he still wasn’t ready to turn on the record player”



now that’s not at all what i wanted you to tell her

said one woolly visitor from north korea to his wife

referring to their handsome chauffeuse who kept whipping

the straight eight alfa romeo around the iowa hills



running interference from antares to maggie minor

was never less than interesting. sometimes it was

downright exciting. the boat rocked violently

the sentence remained. it remained, it remained.



“Whatever happened on the next wave,” he said when

he noticed the door appear sitting on top of the ocean’s surface

looking for all the world like a magic trick,

except the doorknob was turning the wrong way. cre-ee-eaak!



the old farmer grazed upon the elderly nonchalance of the sky

it was that kind of day--trees, aluminum poles, medicate

and the tradition of going on in a hole. women are just

“shoved off the corner.” Australia? Even it allows blacks



`AH `DG `DM







~ Carry On Push Up



the bowl of nuts the hardwood floor relate, yes we are friends.

for the translation means that tomorrow is monday. & the buds,

they are coming. yes, we are friends. dig this nut. dig this

bowl. it’s the time of our life.. & we are friends.


the shoes will walk. the nose will smell. yet the hardwood

floor ignores both. it stays hardwood, because tomorrow

suddenly isn’t monday, but everyday, the day without

a capitol letter. the buds haven’t been waiting all summer

for nothing.



`JS `DM

























~ ESPECIALLY THE BAKERS



back and forth from the old to the

new testament

so glad i own my home

and have learned everything there is to know.

But the food isn’t as good as a nurse

especially late at night,

your name in lights and a bright future ahead

of you and especially the bakers

who stand in the street with their invisible faces

talking about how light is a song.

“O sole mio”

is the song the bakers sing,

but not to me, to you,

because of your green shoe polish

on your green shoes--neat,

or so it seems to the bakers

as i am rich handsome in

typeing fast as i am a biography like

merle

haggard chaseing the cunt of joan baez

up hippie (i am hip))Hill.

Every time I tip the food up to my lips

it tunrs into calories

It turns into rolls of money.



`CM `DJ `CW `DM











~ Wind Ensemble



The way my legs hurt I

might as well have gotten

up and walked it over to you


*

This music carries you

to the end of the room

and when you sit down

it pulls out the chair


*

There’s a flood there

every month

on the dot


*

At one concert they rioted


*

By walking around it.


*

This typewriter

Makes the way

Clear for


*

Oh, well, we’ve

heard that twice but


*

See the program?

It’s all about

The TV Guide



`AK `RD `DM


































~ THE BLUEBIRD OF HAPPINESS



The woodpecker of anxiety

The yellow-bellied sapsucker of ennui

The penguin of impotence

The ostrich of self-deception

The nightingale of broken promises

The bob-white of introversion

The mockingbird of inner turmoil

The raven of righteous indignation

The red-winged blackbird of psychotic vengeance

The bluejay of obnoxiousness

The purple grackle of ill-gotten gain

The goldfinch of good fortune

The cedar waxwing of good grooming

The minah bird of mischievousness

The wood duck of luxury

The toucan of expensive taste

The cockatoo of raucousness

The whippoorwill of wishful thinking

The meadowlark of malice

The hummingbird of nervousness

The starling of madness

The dodo of doubt

The condor of candor

The kiwi of irrelevance

The great auk of awkwardness

The pheasant of phantasy

The puffin of psychic phenomenon

The quail of queasiness

The red-breasted robin of thick headed thinking

The thrush of thwarted ambition

The crow of courage

The spoon-bill of pathos

The mallard of mistaken identity

The tufted titmouse of Tomfoolery

The rose breasted gross-beak of robust living

The eagle of eagerness

The seagull of surreptitiousness

The albatross of atrocity

The crane of dubious achievement

The pelican of pomposity

The Baltimore oriole of ebullience

The sparrows of passive aggression

The chickadee of randomness

The finch of finickiness

The screech-owl of schizophrenia

The bat of uncontrolled desire

The lune of illumination

The pterodactyl of tenacity

The cormorant of conspicuous consumption

The morning dove of déjà vu

The turtledove of terror

The parakeet of purity

The turkey of bitter truth

The pigeon of plain thinking



`ST `PI `CW `DM





















~ A Poem



Lets write

What’s right What! you can’t

write. Write’s not right.

Who’s Wright He’s on the right

performing a sacred rite.

Right? Write I mean right.

I mean Wright

O.K. I got it straight… now


Write performed a sacred Wright,

Right?

Rite! Rite performed a sacred write

Right after Wright

If Rite performed a sacred write

which way did he go North or South,

east or west. I am lost, my directions

were never rite.

He went left, not right

He went write out the door

He went rite through the window

He was always Right

You’re so Wright, write, rite, and right



`MM `DM

11-6-77












~ MY FAMILY TREE HAS DUTCH ELM DISEASE



It started when my mother brought a purple cape


and tried to jump out of the second floor window


but landed in the dog dish


The, one day


all the leaves fell


out of my family photo album.


An’ way up top where my great


grand-daddy wuz


supposed to be one time,


was somebody I never knew/


And here am I. not an ancestor yet…


Butch’s Tree Trimming Service


is coming this afternoon


to prune my heritage.



`JB `DM

1-74







~ “AFTER GOING”



after going

through the store

picking up

more and more

we’re here

and the fall weather

isn’t falling

that’s cool

to the fan taking it

easy across the floor

stretching the truth

till it covers its blades

with magic

Its not how long it takes

that goes

round and round in its cage

Word dont make sense

objects whirl themselves

go faster and faster

till monies

the ground breaking ceremony

fingers do the walking

This Here’s a tree folks

or is that too comp

licated you see it does

nt matter if its

oxygen or sheer energy hose

the red corpustles

will bustle it off

Foamy water



`ST `DM





~ INDELIBLE MINK



These are your hands

These are your feet

OPEN THE DOOR

and come in

before the wind takes you

and your indelible mink

for a ride



`DG `ST `DM




























~ DOWN TO THE FACTS



it’s a long way

but we can make it

into anything we want…

even a hit of yesterday

streaking the landscapes

with lubrication



`ST `AK `DG `DM





























~ 20 BEST POETRY BOOKS OF 1973



1. Flexing My Boredom………………………….. Greg Kuzma

2. Buyer Beware……………….............................. Mark Strand

3. Turning Into Animals………………………….. Peter Wild

4. Jars of Bliss……………………………………. Dan Gerber

5. The Employed Enthusiast……………………… James Bertolino

6. Up Front……………………………………….. Diane Wakoski

7. Meat Balls of Fire……………………………… Ron Loewinsohn &

“ Padgett

8. The Watercress Scandal……………………….. Mona Van Duyn

9. The Plainer Truth……………………………… David Ignatow

10. Your Highway Taxes at Work………………… J.D. Reed

11. The Probable Volume of Air…………………... Marvin Bell

12. Sincerely Yours………………………………… Barry Goldensohn

13. The Mirrors of Stone……………………………Gerard Malanga

14. Double Your Pleasure

Double Your Pleasure…………………………...John Giorno

15. The Ringworm Sonata…………………………..Louise Glück

16. 20 Verbicide Drive…………………………….. Clark Coolidge

17. For the Sake of Argument………………………James Humphrey

18. Presumptions……………………………………James Naiden

19. Dreamstains……………………………………..lyn lifshin

20. Good Clean Fun…………………………………Paul Engle



`RD `AK `DG `DM













~ CHANGING VALUES



In our modern times, we have to

thin out our perspectives

to accommodate the office building

When the newspaper sails across the

driveway and lands with a clatter

on the front porch, it doesn’t mean

that somewhere the news is being

made, like a special factory

Dogs bark at the Post Office

Mail clerks try to shoo them away

addressed to the Bronx Zoo, Elephant House.

But some things change more slowly,

The North Pole has yet to see Ronald McDonald,

or bikini, or even 10 ¢ coffee.

Yes it’s comforting to throw a brick and

know that it will definitely come down if

no one zaps it with a laser gun, because

gravity never goes out on strike.

“Solidarity for ever,” sings a chorus of bricks

as soulfully as they can--for bricks.

No, yes is another opinion

that prospectors cherish Pulling gold

from their teeth, tossing it in the stream

then panning for it again

Dogs bark at the Assay Office

and prospectors sic them on the ad men

glowing like sunsets in their purple-orange

leisure suits. “It’s just our job,” the ad

men try to explain to the prospectors.

“Without us, there would be no paper for

you to train your dog to bring to you

when you come home from work.”

The prospectors’ laughter brought the fire

department in a hurry…they thought

the Post Office had exploded.

But even today, things rarely change that quickly.

The firemen went back to the station and

turned on the TV.



`AK `DM

2-79




































~ FRAGMENT (after a drawing)



That’s a drawing of Steve Toth.


Oh? It doesn’t look anything like him.


I know. That’s why I added

the birds.



`AK `DM





























~ “THE INVINCIBLE RAINCOAT”




THE INVINCIBLE RAINCOAT


leaves for sale

FOR THE MEADOWBROOK OF YOUR MIND




TAKING IT FOR GRANTED

that’s love


the lawn is more

you gonna paint?




GUARANTEE

yep


when you buy the Brooklyn Bridge

fuck




THESE ARE THE WOODEN DOORS


like them

jesus, you ask personal questions




IF THIS WERE CHICAGO

what else is there?




LOOK IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR

but ahead, too



`AT `DM





































~ AUDREY CAR BROKE DOWN



foeign to the white plate


the light offered water



then


sofa cresting


the tough guy has second thoughts



(remember Mercury,


we do and hope we can pick it out

from among the ankles


tall creepers

and the others who have gone on before



flake out



and you can have some


be quiet


and be here all night



`ST `DM






~ WINDOW FAN



winkie runs up

and down the town

in his night gown


blinkie sticks

his foot out from

behind the tavern


winkie trips

and falls asleep

and dreams


because tall buildings

have lots of windows

to appreciate.



`ST `DM




















~ WITH THREE



lights on

we reach across

eyes open a mad

actor

pours electric plastic

all over your pretty blue workshirt

tsk

now you’ve got spots SPOTS….!


SPOTS lava Tuesday


Plump lava for all TUESDAY


Think what we could do with three

Is Monday Monday on here

the lamp sprung a leak

Plastic electricity

on the rug

Plumbing problems bring the landlady who

brings moths and their larvae

And by tuesday had eaten all the salad.

But eerie cucumbers

walk the night

and spook the electricity like mad actors

wide-eyed screaming of

spots that will grow and

cover the earth with plastic

by monday.

Next Monday. This is Tuesday.

We have 6 days.

Only three of us know the danger!

WILL THE EARTH MAKE IT?



`AK `JS `DM



~ THE MOUTH OF THE SUN



as fingers press the keys

letters appear outstanding

like a page of stars

folded up and hidden

in the once silent alarm clock


maybe the stars we see

are just the sun

many years ago

or to come


its nice to have a space heater

like the moon at night

like a typewriter

with letters close enough

to see


maybe the words we see

are just the mouth

many years ago

or to come



`ST `DM














~ THE HAPPY HEARTS



snobs ARE almost

unanimously telepathic

because they’ve all got the blues



`DG `AK `DM
































~ MONEY



it comes hard

and goes soft



`DG `DM

































~ “Tailor-made cigarettes”



Tailor-made cigarettes

send up the flags--

likenesses of smoke!

“Off the cliff,” the disc jockey’s voice

declared to the sky.

No radio, no music, no memory.

no waves, no oceans

just places you can spend the night

hoping for just one more day,

riding in a bus across the sky


the dome over st louis

made us think of salads.

the leaves of spring

being to us the rarest delicacy

like hearing from Bruce

that Nixon upside down

is NO ‘X’ IN.


down to earth and thinking about shoes

the bus passengers take a snooze

the man behind him takes a sip

of Robin Hood booze.


“Hey, pass the car, Mr. Busdriver,

I ain’t got all day

and you’re a lot bigger.”



`ST `DM








~ “the bells are ringing”



the bells were ringing

in our ears, oujr eyes are impressed

and feel wanted.


they feel pretty spaced out

they blink every few feet

as the woods grows

dencer and cencer



waiting to crackle

when it gets dry


the seed of fire


sand paper


the bells are ringing


another hour

has passed


the leaves burn slowly

in the rain


seeds of waves


rocks the boat

with melted popcorn


the usher slips

on a stray kernel


“the bells are--”

he somersaulted through the air


he crashed through the leaves

of the nearby trees


“--ringing!”



`ST `DM



































~ Little Chair spenser fair



brown with white spots, the guernsey trim

tones investigated for welfare sitting is sitting

there it is sitting on a brown tone desk clays

yes nature loves the clay county fair


ah wafers of debris, cookies crumble for yhou

before the great fowler: W-w-w-w-w-w-waif.

make use of the lit teacher forging a bubble

on the back of a pop’s standard system


o desk, your trim lines intersect

whether or not the pound scholar is

doing it for bombastic words or for welfare

or for the coffee cup full of goodbyes to john


the train said henry the train is goin’

on past the guernseys to the fair

welfare well being

toes and heels and ankles and shoes & SOCKS!



`AK `CK `JS `DM

9-2-77















~ THE GATOR LOST HIS MIND



in Mexico the space is

already heated

and the alligators

never really find it



`AK `DM































~ AT THE TOP STAIR



the wheel rolled forward

till reaching the door

where the fortune teller

stood, like a scarecrow


catching fire. don’t look

at the sun unless you want

to see a purple tunnel, she

said without blinking.


the blaring of her voice

retraced its words

in the dust. she drew them

in small hidden holes


with small hidden fingers

we take them in. Letting

them buy us out so we can

push on. to fill the cheese


with wheels, too, so they’ll

tell the future,

simply look through the wrong end

of a telescope.


you’ll know we look so small

the future will never find us.

yhou’ll feel what you know

must be itching coming from


the desire to see wheels

so small they roll through

the palm. the rolling hills

curve through space


as we inhale the air around

the top of the stair. footsteps

ricochet in search of ears,

air fills our bodies. feel light headed


with the wheels spinning

throughout the ming vase

spinning around on the table

till spinning out the window to the sky



`ST `DM































~ STEADY WORK



Maybe women are flies

Or what we imagine as their wings

brushes the stratosphere

on its way to some other feeling

like “dismal swamps”

opening up the sky like vests

worn by ugly mammoths.

Oh, you won’t get away with it

trickling down you back.

So smile and

get a new car.



`DG `AK `DM
























~ BLUE SUEDE SHOES



walk around in

the record

until you see why

the animals all

have jobs



`DG `DM






























~ ANOTHER IMMORTAL DISCOVERY EXPLODES

INTO A PROBLEM



The longer you work

the less you know it


while millions and millions

color things in



`AK `DG





























~ SIX OF US ARE HORSES



the rest of us

live here

Otherwise we miss the train.

IF WE’RE NOT HOME

WE’RE PROBABLY AT THE TRACK.



`ST `DM






























~ WHOOSHING YOU WERE HERE



like a Russian flown

suddenly home, newsman

Ronald Ziegler was resumed

in the direction

his voice was coming from



`ST `DG `DM






























~ HELLO, OPERATOR



The wasp has just left home!



`DG `DM


































~ MERRY CHARISMA



&



A



HAPPY INNER EAR



`HI `DM




























~ FREEDOM’S JUST ANOTHER WORD



like “globemother”



`DG `DM


































~ SHOPPING FOR YOU



WHO’S YELLING?



`AK `DM
































~ HELLO

pipes the kazoo

bubbles the plate

umbrellas the chair

brushes the arm

drops the penny

sips the time, 2:45

the depression poem of the future

will be a happy poem

the radio will be saying

come to 718 North Mommy Street

where we’re having a ball

giving away canned food, dancing

lessons, all you have to do is

TRY

to make it to 2:54 & well

you know the

rest

`AK `JM `GS

~ O POLITICAL EXPEDIENCY!

O Political Expediency, as if an

after-shave of the senses had an appetite,

you cross your legs & pick up the phone.

O Political Expediency, occasionally the

sky won’t wait for a red light. No, &

these matches still fall from my had,

pinball wine in a phonebooth that has never

known the arrogance of a “bug.”

O Political Expediency, clothing can

substitute for an automobile.

Distance means nothing to good shoes.

Electricity sings in the laces,

& when the laces are tied tightly,

miles laugh appreciatively.

The truck stops reconsider their 24-hour

schedule, & the wine leaps from the

yellow pages in astonishment.

Our wired fingers roll the whole

Interstate into what we can hold

as it goes up in smoke.

`AK `GS































~ JOHN, WHERE’S THE SPACESHIP?



Over there under Mike Moyer.



`DG `DM


































~ THE BOOK OF CHECKS



as the bankers

went to lunch

their footsteps

were encoded

by The Footprint Information

Bank



`AK `DM





























~ IDYLL



The emergency was cans. Groping towards the jungle synopsis

was another story altogether.


*


After the clown erupted in feathered backs


*


Arf is


*


The sly baby was really spinning webs of salt on


*


A spider perks


*


Warden, the box of


*


“finished”


flakes


*


the warden spoke lightly of the vanished tools

that sprouted “within” that garden


*


somnambulation was

a word he never


*


used lightly


(into his youth)


*

the cohesiveness of a peanut

butter sandwich


*


The yellow light on the coat of paint


*


Jackson smiled, dipping his hand


*


Spanning our entire discussion, a silver ring leapt brightly


*


In spurts the bursts occurred


*


a bird a bird (slurred)


*


fragrant moaning


*


a monad? who wd even mention such

a blatant thing?


*


somewhere something else is beginning to grow


*


whose thoughts fault in the rocks


*


A yard away the green fence clattered


*


Gravel roads were upstairs


*


The songs were like it, a fly


*


Like the soft end of a point


*


at the movies together


THE FLY

starring Vincent Price

whose head got smashed in the begtinning

: love scenes



Vincent: “Say you love me.”


Fly: “I love you.”



And it did!


*


the fur trees


*


the cook, so involved with Ice


*


He turned, then mounted


*


Like a deck of cards at sea


*


Spanning a wing or two


*


Man’s unique position

If it works, use it, said the original


The fakes replied:



when the dynamism of inclusion

& refinement

forms a series

what is yr unique position:


a few light years

moving in .



`DG `DM











~ OPIATED HASH



the blue sky

with

opium hash


cru m bly li ke ‘leven


+


10 + 1. noun flow

just rumbling, a big pile

of snow

our mechanics not “hardware” it’s re-

assuring

to the banknotes

they grow

I to the sky

watches we need watches timid hands

afraid to point

to minutes’

blue star


suction points can

love you

if we are aware

a man

identify with woman

& defend earth

this rocka-by melody



`JS `DM







~ THE HEART



It slides through the body,

from sea

to shining sea,

whirling up

to the mind

where it speaks:

“base vault

of the hemitrope

bergs”

rather straight on

up to it

it gives out its tongue dreams lapping

like so many sounds

that you can’t even hear

without the help

of the heart. Thump

thump ,

the wave

bouncing off the auricle

to the ventricle

and back again.


which in the asterisk of what was speaking


had never bounced


but only stood


as an open heart


not moving


as we silently looked


still.


`CM `DM

~ NEEDLEPOINT



soda popi we could make a square

clean

rubber natives

under tone of fascism


webbed feet & all!


i stand on them

(with mine)


and we turn

around & down


Wart your lungs

are here

vital symptoms of youor body


one more toke jingle jangle

WHY DID THIS POEM (thing)HAVE

TO BE SO SERIOUS

Stones Mama

swaheely do i turn blue porridge


is on my nose, but it


smells good…

so i lick it offff

and then turn red porridge



[signed by John:]


John WART

&

DAVE WART


`JS `DM

~ In One Fell Swoop It’s Done



Were you reading by the six foot flame?



We’re reading you by the six foot frame.



The kite went halfway up the sky



As the lightning bolt came the other way.



Ben Franklin stood holding the string far below.



`AK `DM






















~ “My heart an old radio”



My heart an old radio

my brain a new TV

a brownout in October

will be the death of me



`PI `DM































~ THAT’S HOW I KNOW



I found a left-handed

rock.

I tried to pick it up

but I’m right-handed



`PI `DM































~ “MY HIPS ARE MADE OF”



My hips are made of

chicken legs

they call me

Colonel Sanders.

My french-fried soul

beyond despair

My spirit’s like a sander’s



`PI `DM




























~ REALISTIC LINES



Bald butter fixed hares

to everything the bee sings,

hiding behind the books.

Tangerines looked like

something to eat, and so they were.

As the hares ate the tangerines

the bald butter dripped down

three white crosses which glowed and buzzed in front of the books.

Fat birds

kept landing on each other

till they were no more than spokes in a wheel and

pretty realistic.

Elizabeth in the night

outside my window

expected the longhairs to love her cat nature

sending the buzz

somewhere else,

somewhere where

all the people could recognize the holiness of the buzz and

the crosses which are no more spokes in a wheel than

an empty maxim, like “clothes make the man”.

Try changing your

entire wardrobe sometime,

and brush yourlong hair

looking for Elizabeth

who once glowed in your night.

Lyres smoke

but they are playing

as she softly gives a nod

almost asleep.



`JS `AK `DM

7-22




~ MAYORS DELIGHT



Mayors Baby and Linseed

met at Atlantic City and

a glove slapped a face, the

fingers split the tiny

threads of rainbow petals


Everything a cloud shop,

the sky turns on its cloves

and hams. Ginger Ray

was wild with delight,


white cloth, and a long

powdery joy that jumbled

up her mind. STOP!--

she screeched, owlsville


is the next stop after

University Heights on the

Valhalla and Elysian Railroad

and go-cart track. But this

deters not our doughty mayors.



`BA `JA `DM














~ MY THERMOMETER WEEPS



I suffer greatly from cold

she said, inviting me to her bed.


Shortly thereafter: I told you I

know I’m cold, so it shan’t be

necessary to insert your thermometer.


But my thermometer isn’t cold.

And it has windows you can see out of.


Just then a microbe ran by

shouting a waving

to get our attention.


Hold it! Hold it! Your thermometer

is missing three red lines.


But if you invite me in I shall restore

them and provide you with bonus Poxtops

as well.


Just then a Poxtop ran by



`BA `JA `DM













~ TOAD



Some of the vines are wrapped

into the smile that died of

the plague

like this toad

who’s got money.

He makes a grand and classic gesture.

All the drinks in the house are on me.

In a dud small town

joint like the Vine. Where everyone is

always smiling.

Like this toad

ceramic

like lawn furniture

who has stored up

the Power of Years of Possession

soon to be given away

in a different sort of gesture.

To a friendly sad toad

who looks like a camel.



`AK `DM
















~ THAT’S CAUSE FOR CRAYOLAS



the time scheme


is up


and downtown the crowd


lifts its crayolas


and wonders


who will draw


what we


all want to see? they all try


to draw


something beautiful


and perhaps


uplifting.


except for


a happy bebopping black guy


who drew his jelly roll soul


and


the crowd could do nothing but cheer.



`AK `DM

8-5-71

~ OPENING HOLES LOOKING



When they go

into the bathroom they

disappear orange light in-

fluenced by blue light

jello in the ice box

thaw inside

the oven.


tomatoe patches appear

on my white pants

blood

of little plant

but better

then the shed where you’ll

remember shooting somebody


“hello” you on theleft side of the refrigerator

“this garden universe blends so tight

that i think i’ll take it off.

but not yet. First, a soda


to send

them u8p to the

big ship right now


would strangle the future

or would it

push the eagles off cliffs



`JS `DM







~ HE’LL BREAK FAST FOOD



oof ouvre a punch

spell the sky

blue zippo clouds

on the halloween lady


snare the dress

on my moon

that goes & returns

like a boomerang

tomorrow the world is here

your brain

licks itself gently

cleaning the jar

food grows in and around

“art” cars drive away

with my hand

oh under bridge

a crow flying to

pencils

enjambment over coffee

hot or cold cream, sugar, both


instant success

grape heart

rising from and going to


hair that longs to

fly

but sends letters

by airmail

because it’s got wings



`JS `DM




~ TOMORROW THERE’LL BE RAIN

SONGS O

F JOY IN OUR TIME



Out the window the lawnmower

rolls chuckling in front

of the boy

doing his duty while we’re

passing out

or almost seeing

double heads

“hard enough time”

The double heads

beolong to car,


Take rides

with you

when you go

to the edge of the universe


There’s a whole world out there

and you didn’t touch it


Fresh peaches! maybe

of ants will But NO

velvet could be so real as as-

teroid

Malt Duck will cure Dave & Jack

& I

or Jesus

kinda existential

Revolution mujsic

Tomorrow there’ll be rain…

Big ones

that float

on the back. Like the grey wizard,

waving his wand at you

/ But Wart

my fingerthumbs are stuck: jiveing the wan

d Did thumbtacks appear in my eyes?/

What costume should the poor

girl wear to all tomorrow’s partys” velvet again

as Trees take on new forms

Part of each spotted

eye

Guys yelled at me last night “We’ll get you”

I angled my route around

and crossed the Island

the park on Dodge Street…


the sky was clear,

except for a mysterious window

through which you, dear reader, are watching



`JS `DM
























~ THE EXTRA



As the starch

kept the shirt

nice and stiff

but you shift

and say, too many s’s

to carry

the extra

to the point where his name

got bgig enough to see

with out squinting.


After the blades

got tired and plow a garden

to keep the seeds extra sharp

and ready,

the world goes round

depending on plants

to keep away flying objects

as their attention is divided.


But who remembers

how to set up the props

that go along with anything,

just as long as they get paid

to make a monkey out of the man

who lives in the dirt

we wash out of our clothes?


He stays where we can hear him practicing

with a broom.



` ST `DM





~ INFORMATION



“fine girl

on next block

it was alright… pioneer

Bess malts

& hamburgers

for sale here…

This tree is where

the village smitty shave his

hands into a tool

poor little alligators

all in a row closed on Tuesday


paint sale


Monday, so stay

around till then

and then go

whistle a little to Janis

“April in July”

new song to

Margarita 7 stars


from Sally 8 stars

a close friend


from the hills

of Missouri


up a pickin’ plankiton

knows what


upside down in a fish bowlers

took them off


NO MORE LIVE WIRE

a three-some

appear to two nunns

& a man

slowly faints

in the hills


& time seems

to slowly strop


& everyone called “Information”



`JS `DM

7-22





























~ Musically Speaking



In the sound of it

You see notes with

Your ears

And feel its message

With your touch--

Back of the neck is hot

those Little hairs are on end

ARE MAKING ME TINGLE

Musically speaking, to rap

things up Lets share it.



`SR `LW `AW `LW `MM `DM

11-6-77

























~ “There once was a guru named Mac”



There once was a guru named Mac,

Who thought he could sit on a tack

But when he sat down

He said with a frown

“I ain’t doing no more of that.”



`MK `DM






























~ PARSLEY



Growing somewhere, without knowledge or skill,

the parsley increases in number. The secrets

he contains, though plant-like, are nowhere near

any backlogue of taste. Nor do regrets pro-

long its death when “the time has come”.

Gently twisted around every switch tickling any

dirt hiding under our nails in the midst of a flick,

the parsley flexes its tendrils in the midst of a flick,

the parsley flexes its tendrils, having

studied under

a zen-master named Charles Atlas.

Hail sometimes lands on parsley, turning it

around the basics of weather

until they form little bra-like cups

and catch the ominous stones even as they think

“Might be a nice day to pay earth a visit.”



`AK `DM



















~ PARTY TIME



The band begins to play!

But weeks go by.


At what cost this life we led?

What cost art? What cost to our cellular structure?


That five-dollar bill was made

Without your body in mind.


And although the ultimate disease

Has already been cured by love,


The penultimate disease, the clap,

Was more like an applause.



`AK `DM





















~ HITTING THE CAR FOR A SIX-PACK



i’ll drive us home. john & cinda are leaving.


going to the jocular grocery store.


our bouncing up the steps foreseen by the ing Lou Gehrig’s homer


soaring so What the nose isn’t quite hers


the new bar is hers & its beat


easy chair fairy decanters elves need beer & milk sometimes too


but, alas, joy


smacks us on the face with such a silly smirk that


we can’t even get in a good cry (sob)


cheese ing a sense of humor Moving like known among your friends


movie ing we all is in together


and the credits are flashing in quick succession on the screen


the curtain is closing


a scratch recording plays distorted music


the house lights are coming on…


o no!


is the movie really over?


then someone will have to get the cheesecake, start the coffee,


and finish the coffee,


and start the coffee


we live by liquids alone



`JS `AK `CK `DM

9-2-77

































~ THE THAW



the floor cracks under the weight

of the planetarium, dips inward

like a salad bowl, and rises to a poiknt

telephones ring from wire to wire

where the giraffe chews the lettuce

“watch out for static electricity

especially if you chew the casing off the wire

when someone’s making a long distance call,”

the zoo-keeper warned the spotted neck

but the head was eating volts one by one


the beams crack a smiling moon since

the earthquake lined up the cue ball

and sent the ceiling flying towards the corner

“Did you forget your change?”

asks the kid behind the counter wiping

up something special-something uneatable.

he sees you making the same face minute

by minute and wonders how much longer

you can hold that carrot with your eyelid


now that the giraffe has tasted

does he know? Is that why the power

company took their nets and hung

out on the tops of poles? On the

folks who don’t exist we play this

joke. Hope they get a kick out of it.

Hope the floor cracks under the weight

of our laughter and their smiles.



`ST `DM






~ Deliverance



We pulled and pulled at the river.

Sam didn’t think

our canoes would float,

what with the big hole

gaping out of the top.

This got a chuckle, and Herb said,

“That’s what you call

yer cosmos, fella.”

A real pink dream

of a portable radio beat

swung up alongside us,

umbrellas raised

Herb off the earth

All those blondes waving goodbye

with such motorcycle grace.

It was a classic example

swimming away.



`JI `DM


















~ THE SKY MIRROR



The sky is a mirror carried over the centuries

out of which we recognize the forms of birds--

something so cimple.


it provides a solid floor--am almost

facial jesture. Once, when the children



Alas, the children have seen

their reflections: too late

to talk to or about them.


The sky, a soft back in which birds are centuries

whose lables fell off


but to touch the mirror


is not to become a

grandfather.


A new focus is never more than what the old one

wanted. The hills are randomly arranged, tho not

as one expected. Everything seems less


until a single brush-stroke

alters the future--


a bell rings


the door in the painting opens


two pairs of shoes walk out


and hover in the air



This is not the planet


we thot it was, say the birds


or


too much malleability leads to WINDEX


The clarity isolates the perspective

to a new pane

that shines

long ago

like jays.



You say you are blue. There are more points of reference

than those that fall around you.

One day everything will cohere in epic proportions.

And then we will go to bed.



`DG `DM




















~ SMUG MUGS OF LOVE



The telephone exposed itself

three iceboxes ago



pretending to be your voice

when I really know


absolutely nothing beyond you.

You’re the kind of stump that


beautifully articulates space.


Stubs and stiffs fall out of the closet


as though bogs


got ‘em


Z-z-z-z,


said the letter Z



as tho inspired

to send a bacon

to Jamaican

friends


They were all waiting

just around the bend.

The sound of yr horn

suspends

syntax.

Two Centuries later

we slog through the gloom

to THE MILL.

I light a

crown of sweet weed. You suddenly feel like a rainbow


of course, there’s a cow walking through you--


it’s even with your concepts…


those of good

sharply blunting

those of water.


Like “energy-units”

pooped out at the end of a prom.

Violets wilted, rustling

the typo

into Immortality, ohhhhhhhhhh a

humanoid detour into

the sordid prune.


Bent Harbor



nearing Zeno.

“The placenta reeks of purple

fun”


or, frum the Dune-E-Ads:


quote en toto:



De Sota wuz a Whiz- Kid.

Grooming, he grew hot

in numerous spots.

His gyroscope splintered

wheezing away on a dime,

--“Swine, swine,” he muttered

and then grew great.


Soberly, Otie stroked his cloak

in time. The Rhyme choked in

Dot’s throat. She bent her time-

flavored smoke a throw for broke

that lay at her towel, rigid…


somehow


like a split nudge


flipping off an old shoulder


like the dot


of old women


glistening sunnilyh


outside in the reign

of Juliet Caesar, Esq.


that famous bag of grips--


but loves, lasciviously, Stubs un-ornate life.

From here to the stereo, she thought, what might

displace him? Aglow? A sober hut?

The mut

ran over the terrace in a single gulp.


He said, Gulp, if I only

knew a god, why then I’d

give more, jennie. Jen-

nie said, “Move where?”


Move over there, to that turtle


Immediately, the turtle smiled


Hi, it said, my name is Cid Sullivan


and I’m here to guess your bread.


Their bread was Wonder!


Tastee smiled, then ran away!


But who was that turtle???


He was the EVERLASTING MARVEL.


He never

“faded away.”



`DG `DM




























~ THERE WILL BE NO NOVEMBER



A stairway of sharp angles imagined to be

days of the week: One step to the next

and you need wings! Put your ear to the wall

the engine is warming up. the dogs are turning over

and still something seems to be overdue;

like the turkey we put in the oven.

The pots have put their lids over our eyes.

Enough of this turkey talk cried the chef

Have you no appetite for snails? At this

Lucinda packed a stout walleroo into the snarl

of her eyebrows and whipped four words

across the room: CHOMP BIG SNOW UMBRELLAS

And there was peace (momentarily) (suddenly)

but not irrevocably. Turn the days of our year

back to May. Excuse me. I forgot Monday & Tuesday

& Wednesday are just around the corner.



`DA `ST `DM

12-9-77


















~ IT TAKES YOU



too long

to go around

taking the farther

speeding “not even”

from the bottom of my heart

to the street

in a 196- Chevrolet

where the motorcycle cop

gives you a ticket

that looks like an invitation

to a benefit

though you knew

it was him all the time

you never let on, kept silent

and got took.



`LD `DM




















~ He Would Say Something Like That




“Variable foot” or “The plotted plant”



Unsewn waterworks? What if it mutates itself

out of existence? The door keeps spurning

the cake. To sweet, bad for the heart!


And the residential neighbors are selling

their sidewalks to make room for John Ruskin

who smokes a cigar of the same name.


Buyer Beware! a new collection by Mark

‘What’s-in-it-for-me” Strand aims its

tidy energies at my collection of better sense



This is not to be construed as a mental

training brow. Plotted pants.



`AK `DG `RD `SW `DM
















~ WORD-SONG



Why don’t you write the words for a song?

Just fill in the blanks

like I ________ forever

on the _________ of dawn.

A rooster remains to be hypnotized. But what you sing

can’t sound off without a large, semi-crepuscular nodule

of linguistic feedback.

“Fire is the best perfume.”

You cross the room

which has not existed until now, but

now it knows a single sound can alter its destiny.

So you tap on the shoulder of a raisin-shaped prop

and zoom--

Mr. Muggs says, Gulp!

He enters the mind,

turns around, & forms a lake. On the lake a small

boating party sets out against your lip. Its Spring.

A light breeze pelts the louse with downy tears:

he’s ten years old, a “homilyh”, and a “squirt.”

You hit the dirt

feet first with your hands. Your right one says, “Mama!”

Your left one says, “Crawl!

This is real live combat, Daddy-o!”

Your hands have a field day, if you let them… But you don’t


You know its all in a word. Like Popeye & Sweepea

you have saved each other from the unending

drip of the Universe.

The song makes a world of its own.

You sell that song

to a company that makes you famous.

Getting off a train

one day you smell

Fritos, falling every so lightly like snow

00for God’s sake, man, Grab Her!!!

Tsk, too late Far out Too much

That’s it!

That’s poetry!

Or pottery!

Poultry? window

Thru the stained-glass/ the time of day seemed altered.

Thru the stoned-ass wind the groping gauchos faltered.



`DG `DM
































~ POSTER POEM


for John Milton’s birthday



here after

the wall paper

will sail along the interstate.

the local-yocals have learned to live with

these minor distractions

but we, the descendents of migrant fruit-pickers,

become vocal and masticate nouns

in our every digression. what of it

that Latin rhythm: I’ll take a tango

over another word from you John Milton.

we used to call you Boots until

I gave you an opening.

Whew! That was a near miss.

The I that”s us gives the you that”s you

a birthday present--some words on golden paper,

which this poster was printed on. Tomorrow

if we see you hitchhiking on the interstate,

we”ll exclaim to ourselves

“Why, that looks like John Milton!

His birthday was yesterday!**



`DA `ST `DM

12-9-72












~ THIS IS THE KITCHEN



between these two walls

the very end of space the table

wears a tablecloth… and that

ain’t cheese buster which

the spreader relates

to nothing in particular

just a quiet game of parchesi

in the Palace of Versailles

a nip or two for grandma

the crystalline air

which is her hair vacillates

between being and non-curtains


she slams the icebox door and declares

‘THIS IS THE KITCHEN

THE LAND IN WHICH TWO WALLS

FACE EACH OTHER TWICE,

SHARP AS CHEDDAR WHITE AS COTTAGE.

IF YOU THINK YOU’RE OVERLOOKING

THE GRAND CANYON

THERE ARE OTHER WALLS THAT

LOOK AT THE LIVING DOOR.’

she sits down and cackles

because she knows that

you want another drink of orange juice

and oranges aren”t all!



`DA `ST `DM

12-9-72















~ Iowa City Energy Crisis

(a class reunion)





by

Mark Cohen

Philip Lemke

Barbara Sablov

John Birkbeck

Dave Odegard

Geoffrey Ford

Dave Morice













Paradinoia


My glands throbbed

as I entered the vacuous city


on its outskirts

lived

the embryonic chicken

the doomed sunday night dinner

with sense enough to be

an omelet


its air port beacon throbbed


a vein in the neck


blew out


we almost escaped


the fetal incarnation


swallowed the custard pudding


grinned demonically and


passed the salad bowl




An evening in Paraguay


parquet ekskewezay

america America

grounded in slavery

cane vomits blood

while singing Ave Maria


Meanwhile back at Iowa City

Hancher Awes-de-Tory-(um)

And the calendar’s days are numbered.



late friday afternoons cut chirico shadows

down the Washington avenue

those skinny women in buns

cluthing barbara’s bakery punkind ‘special

hurry ascross in diagonals the streeeeeyt



*



THE DONUT IN THE SKY IS SATURN’S LOST RING



remember the light blue ring

around the desert, the others thought

it looked like you

yoo-hoo, the old hoot owl rooted for the mutants

as they flew like pavlov’s dogs

over hill and dale

“Donut Nirvana--let’s go to

DONUT NIRVANA!”


Night: The lost ear

listens to the sound of a clump

the clump

that says,

“Re-

turn

car-

to

the

lot!!!”



*



The ramp glows

in the dark

It was built

in Iowa City,

AD 1973

Some say

it was meant

to be a tabernacle

for car-worship.

However,

recent discoveries

show

that it was more like

Saturn’s lost ring,

hovering

in the coffee

soaking up

all that delicious

caffeine!


WHOA!


THE FOUR HORSEMEN

OF THE APOCALYPSE

charging

still chasing

pavlov’s viscious dogs.


The Donut Wagon.

Dunking through history.



*



That Thursday


In front of the Campus Greez

( The Campus Grill, that is)

All was lost – I thought,

Since only I lost was was my mind.

( only a figger of speech, that is)


Remember? Remember? Remember

The time when Big John and Jeff Ford

Both bought the same shirt at Penny’s

And my memory will never fail,

Those old scenes of Iowa City

Were always there – always there – always there . . .



*



Can’t remember names except

Yours

Boofoo was its real name

but the kids called him friend

I know, know know

not, not, not

what, what, what

my clothes were doing

imagine them having a cocktail party

and not inviting me

“Well get yourself a more responsive dog”

She barked at me

I turned on my side and went to sleep

dreaming and dancing with dirty feet

on the doormat of reality.


Refrain: Boom shuusshh iicckk woow

See you at ten



*



Lil bill went over the hill so long ago

it might be to Pluto by now

yes it was over four years ago that the decade turned

into the first shade of a memory of watergate


across the street in Michael’s bar

drunken ex-hoboes quaff their ale

like a scene from one of miller’s parties

golub returns


harsh wine saves the day



the new federal building

grins like the prez himself

down off clinton street

the full measure of the new moon

withdraws from the physics


building with a lost rib


whose evening is this?



whose women are you?



are you really bald-



headed lena from Jacksonville ?



if i ever run into you aga



i’m gonna go stark

fuckin’


WILD!



*



HORSEPOWER TO THE PEOPLE



Urban removal anyone?

The situation

shifts dramatically

to the year 1904

before Halley’s vacant lot…

a baseball streaks across the outfield

“NO BATTER

NO BATTER”

chewing gum sticks to shoe

the floor quivers

lightly

Then a demagogue

begins to move the small bones of his mouth:


“And tonite we will look at the horseless carriage.

My,

isn’t

that

pretty.

She’s riding with him.

And her bonnet’s made out of lsd!

Ignore that, folks.

Because in 1904,

the horse

jumped

when the car

goes whizzing

by


at 10

mph!”


The kid’s right about one thing.

What goes up.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

must come down…


(see what I mean.

Henry’s Hamburger

buns in the sky.

The 1904 kid

bites into a Superburger

in 1973.)



`MC `PL `BS `JB `DO `GF `DM

1973























~ HUNG LUNCH



“These guys are nuts”

Archibald MacLeish

said that

they just rip frases

out of the air

like high pop

flies. Archibald

enjoyed baseball as

a simple tonic

while down the road a piece

President Nixon was

practicing curve balls.

His balls were out to lunch.

When they came back

a unanimous jerk was applauded

on the spot. Snapshots

bloomed in the nasal passages

of clerks on their way to

the cogs & wheels.

Lunch for Mr. Peanut was

nojoke-in fact his v

very exicetence hung onit



`DG `PC `CK `AK `DM













~ “The sixth sick sheik’s sixth sheep’s sick.”



The sixth sick sheik’s sixth sheep’s sick.

.


sick eyes that see no sun, the blood to thick to pierce

.


The tan Pierce-Arrow glided swiftly down the drive.

.


“Drive over here!” “No!” “Why not?” “I don’t have a car!”

.


Cars sometimes make the mistake of leaving someone behind.

.


We were now presenting a bug’s eye view behind the scenes at the Watergate.

.


The gate filled up with water as a sign of rain.

.


rain, rain, and the earth is washed again

.


Again I take the typewriter in hand to inform you of the situation here in the temperate zone.

.


The ozone lifted the kite even higher…

.


higher and higher and clearer and clearer, the moon is a slice of silver floating in the atmosphere of space

.


and like mince meat pie makes ones mouth water, so it makes ones mind water

.


Can a banana ban a can anima?



`PC `AB `DM

































~ WE ALL



We all rise

We all shine

We all talk

Like Gertrude Stein



`SL `DM































~ GUTS



The sports car

slid smoothly

to a stop

at the barricade


In the floodlights

above the machine gun nests

she looked

more closely

at the chandelier.


“Hi there, Captain,”

a friendly voice called out,

then: “Look out for those

testicles!”


“Somebody tell the Duke

I want a torch parade

on the double”.


The floodlights dimmed

The machine gun nests

and the chandelier

fell into the sports car.


She drove away,

ignoring the barricade,

the captain, the testicles,

the duke, and the parade.



`JI `DM






~ PROMISE



Indra flitted through the skies

on his Vimana.

But, does flotation offer a

complete answer for lifting

the big ones?

Hours later, the professor & I

had forgtotten our saddle sores

over a dinner in a Cairo hotel

shaped like an old pramid:

“Promise,” I said.

He smiled, revealing

his Vimana

somewhere near his tonsils.



`JI `DM






















~ “The Armadillo”



The Armadillo


Makes pointed tracks


in the sands


of another time


stomping a song to his sweetheart


one two thump

one two thump


one two thump stump jump


stump jump


armadillo stump jump


in wisconsin they

stump jump


But the question has arizz.


Is this beast the monster that they


say he izz?



Why can’t an armadillo sing?


Maybe we just don’t


hear his heart thump bump.


Or maybe he can’t carry a tune


with all that armor covering him.


Shh. There he goes again.



`JD `KF `AC `JB `DM

1-74


































~ “THE SAD STORM”



THE SAD STORM


The sad storm needed a new handle

The lightning wasn’t happy, either


*

PASSING GEAR


The plant takes down the book

from the automatic dashboard.

Out of the window cattle

register zero

on the Richter Scale


*

LOVERS


Neither of us talk about

the easy chair


*

NEW MONEY


The plain deal settled the west

with alittle help

from the fanciest woman

this side of the Mississippi


*

STUFFED DOG


The wolf was too big


*

CANDY HEARTS


The rug spoons the curtain reds

back again into salt:

The forks manipulate windows

without spilling the beans



`SW `DM






























~ COUGH NOTES



Thinking about

the golden goose

whose mind is

a feathery substance

basted in perfume

we say, “Fuck me! Shuck me! Grab my nubbin and shuck me!”

screamed the hippie poet just in from Boulder as he read

his neo-impressionist odes to the swooning crowd at Epstein’s.

Instantly Loose Linda, a poetry aficionado jumped behind the

counter grabbing for his fly.

“I beg your pardon,” screamed the hairy young man as he jumped

from his throne of godly position

and sat down with a cough drop.

Imitations ventured toward him,

waving their thumbs. Pumpums lifted

the sky at its edges where tall yeast infections

robbged the scene of its beauty,

substituting and amiable ugliness.

And like the golden duck

who hated all that was unduckly

he rolled out the door and into the space

that he occupied



`BA `JA `DM













~ ALL YOU WANT



the floor stretches its checkered feet

when you open the door at half-past eight


so wide you can see the man next door

i can see you smile at his child of four


the pancakes are extra light for you

eat all you want, go have a few


AND THERE’S the rug to wipe your shoes

your feet inside have paid their dues


and your hands to wipe your pants on fire

as the pancakes blaze with sudden desire



`ST `DM





















~ STARS THAT STICK TO YOUR RIBS



the stars tonite are shaped like meatballs.

And I mean the thick kind

that sticks to ribs all the way around.

Like a money built unexpectedly found empty,

we say “well why not 2 ice cream cones

in the stomach, and a smikle, too?”

Tears slide down the edges

of the meatballs as they sigh in their

compartment of the gleeming

stainless steel steam-table.



`AK `DM

























~ AFTER MAYAKOVSKY



On the plate my soul is

served at a supper of the future.

A hand pushes the plate away and

a voice says, “Man, this steak ain’t

dead yet.”

“But the onions--

what about the onions?

Aren’t they reminiscent?”

My soul is funny like that, sometimes.

Then we both laugh--ha ha--at food,

hands, voices--

whatever happens to be nearby.


In the air around them, thick walls

piled up, forming a bedroom

in the present. A hand pushes the bed away


A hand pushes the bed back.

The man controlling the hand crooks a

finger and says, “Garcon!”

Again, “Garcon, take this meal away,

for some reason I’ve no appetite tonight.”



`AK `DM













~ LISTENING TO THE COUNTRY & WESTERN STATION



“sounds like John Ashbery wrote this”



spoken by Dave Morice

titled by Allan Kornblum



`AK `DM






























~ IN LIVING COLOR



The giant faucet

was pouring out

water from mid-air

The bug walking

across the top

opf the page sings

a song of color

When he comes across

the faucet

seems to be a cuddly bug

pouring out eggs

and spinning a cocoon


An old shepherd

snapping at flies

wanted to shake hands

Her paw was the color

of sundown

so deep you could fall

forever in love

and this would be forever

your favorite color.


2


As the summer turns

toward its cool wind

(which grows in the apples

and emerges when they fall)

the day glows in its sunset


It was not so long ago

for eating grapes

soon all teeth were sunk

lost in the deep green sea

like an alphabet bomber


The street outside leads

sofas to the river

where they turn into lifeboats

and carry the dreamer

away in to the night


3


The living color

has a mind of its own

Thirteen chameleons

balance into the rainbow

in the church of St. Yellow


This is their home

They will stay here

until all the yellow

has been used up


until all the green

has turned blue.


4


The pigeons landed in the drainpipe

where the pools gathered

after the rain

took their homes

Itching their branches

had scratched their chance

to fly back now

so they stay in the air, refueling

only when necessary


They strafe the rainbows

pouring from the shepherd’s eyes

and whisper “It’s the water”

to the wind

and the water in the wind

criticizing nothing

making merry with the verdure

as it steams with birds of paradise

Long feather dip like brushes

in the airport of dripping condensation

The crackling of bird seed

sprouting forth a network of rhinestones

The pigeons gather in the park

Far away the birds of paradise

from high branches

look at themselves in the water.

“I am what I am

and that’s all what I am!”

said the parrot of paradise.



`ST `DM

























~ PINK LEGS



Oho!

Che!



`SW `AK `DM

































~ Loaded



The fan propels wives as

the widow hangs out in the window


a hard chin dented

on the edge of the sill


if it had an edge.


& the wee folk

throw out their arms


like miniature fans

in the window’s reflection.


popcorn spills

down the aisle of butter


at the Loaded Dice Movie House:


just as the fan cools the air

the curtains begin rising


you wisp onto the stage

the cars of the world


squealing on

your shoulder.


you realize the mission

has been accomplished


because of the steering wheels

lost in your hair


tell tale fingers

grip the roads


dust clouds

ring their tips--


when they say the night has a thousand eyes

they mean the eye has a thousand nights.



`ST `DM

































~ THE ORANGE THAT WAS A ROCK



Ashtrays bloomed like mushrooms near the television

in thoughts of the antenna being struck bgy lightning


came back from the factory in one piece

to glow and rain on and on


somewhere there’s a magnet eating sailsman

the clock telling him its time to draw attention


under the rock ant eggs gushing into his mouth

distance of four feet and paced off briskly


The orange that was a rock and roll song

turned into a sphere with sound advice


and rolled away humming past other colored rocks

and away.



`ST `DM


















~ HIT THE FLOOR, A DOUBLE SONNET



Like hitting

a woman, like

standing outside

a ballpark and hitting

a homerun into it

the pencil hit the floor

with a full barrel of lead,

out of which baseballs are made

to bean the batters for good

The woman picks it up and cajoles:

“Is my little buttercup hurt?”

while actually writing:

“My big buttercup!”

on the inner lining of her finger.

Eggs make the batter better

but if they come

in chromosome explosion

they’re as unpredictable

as gasoline

in one of those stainless steel milk trucks

that are secretly filled with beer

and go fast as a strike that flies by

the mailbox. A sudden thunderstorm

is like mail. When you get no mail,

you strike out.



`CK `NR `DM

8-11-71









~ BAKERY


for Charles Darwin & Manson



At the bakery,

the hot donuts

sit, speaking


Unremedial possibilities tiptoe

from behind the coffee urn


behind Mable, the wife

whose yeaowling toe

nudged existence into

a sense of itself.


Donuts, like marbles,

roll till they

get on the floor

that thinks it’s a mind

made of dough

that Mable has

taken from the breadplant

they stashed in the bow of the Beagle

snooping past and

sighing so plaintively.

He had

never asked for, never wanted

to be a pop culture hero.

“But,” he

thinks, “Perhaps a visit to

the butcher is in the cosmic order.”



`AK `NR `DM





~ THE MAGIC KIDNEYS



Thumbtacked to the wall behind us,

Superhero and his Girlfriend Contemplate

Impending Cosmic Danger out their Window.

Thumbtacked to the wall in front

a balloon carries a man in a basket

over 2 homes and what seems to be

a large garage. In back are foothills

and in the foreground, an hitching post.

Telephone wires! There aren’t any,

but hardly notice that. Everything

elegantly ordinary and realistic.

Superhero points to the balloon

and commands: “Pop that balloon!”


Kidneys come out Chartreuse and Red

glows Superhero’s eyes Those

are magic kidneys underneath the outside

layers little symphonies of beetles attack

allegro andante vivace adagio

On command the crazed beetles


WHOOOOASHH

Miserable miracle! Oh sad foot!

Oh ill wind that blows no good!



`JS `AK `DM











~ the burning goldenrod



the picture nestled

over the fire

it was the humidity

though, that destroyed it

groans of paint

melted into the smoke

shuffled into the long

trails of burnt jump-rope

the precision of wood

the precision of flames

wiped up on the blue

hotness at the center

seeking a king sized

bed instead of a chimney

signs a rubber foot

knots the shoe-laces

and settles

down



`ST `DM

















~ ICE CLOCK



The frozen globe is sort of happy

hanging there beneath the imagined runt

named Nichlaus, the Tibetan Monad, whose thought


appears bluely,


signifying sadness in our thoughts and beads


What if Lincoln logs could pop


and slurp


and you were

our personalized Lincoln,


a dog barked tremendously mocking a cat…


who aptly named himself Glyph,


son of Hyro


Together they lived for many years

on the cool sprouts

of the Mount.

Everyone thot

they were nuts: Hyro & Glyph.

Hyro had a high slow voice

the chicks dug son

& his /kept shoveling corn.

“Corn is a compound,” he wd say.

Dollars ending in twilight, then i search

for a lay.


Thin ripples of magnificence


penetrated our false sense


of reality

bulging out

of our shoulders



like thirst buns…


Meanwhile, Sal mineoed down the street


and into a dog. The dog barfed on the freak

and what we know today of zoolongy stems from his placid snout



like a sonata played by a bunch of anxious jerks

who, like it or not, form your impatient past

into a ball, & throw it


thru the trance.


On the other side, a whole

hole developes.


It was a veritable ball of suntan!


It walked

talked balked

hawked chalked

mocked tocked

tapped rapped

snapped flapped

slipped zipped

tapped mapped

zapped flapped


as anyone could see through it, like glass.

The smell overrode all opinion on the mattress.


One quivered politely, like a snowflap


Down soared Mattie Mountie, chief Cherokee warrior


in that Sci fi triller bout that Tooi Tooi


Wha’ Tooi



Happy one, of courswe


One happy tooi coming up.


(a fly nudges his brother fly

and said, “Watch this, man.”)



Jus’ ah ice cock.

Absolute dial. Twenty- four

hour’s

protection.



`DG `DM




















~ THE LONELY CLEARING



Somehow the moon got lost in the soup

where the birds were waiting eagerly.

They say that the birds were the last recruits.

This land is a map that says “goodbye.”

Because it’s going to town.

Because we have a new moon outside

and it looks ten times better

than the old one. Ask the birds

They’re in the backyard

growling in the mudbath.


[signed:]


Allan

Dave

Skot


`AK `SW `DM










 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ HOMER’S LOST IN THE WOODS


 


 

We try to figure out these clouds

but they are weights, maybe,

conducting the sky to gravity:

Shoes are fortunate in that.

Wingtips carry Homer to the weeds

in order to recite his latest

to the cute chick who bought the wine.

But before they reached “that little hollow”

they discovered their steps

were level with the tins of the topmost branches.

Elevator shoes posite birds

in the German train station wjere Fra amd Jerr

poured the glass of stars into the net

taking the elevator to the astro jet.

And then the geisha girl said

But after all, we’re only young once

And we’d better make do

With the trolley or our track shoes.


 


 

`AK `SW `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ SUMMER SLEET


 


 

An unorthodox cloud

appeared

and reappeared

over the subdivision,

sleet smeared a host

of envelopes through

the walls of happy homes.


 

Mama! cried the mailmen.

Sud! cried mama.

But the windowless White Chapel

hovered noiselessly

behind beams taut with frenzy.


 

Will rubber washers save us?

we wondered, stuck in the wall

and forgotten.


 

One doesn’t try,

even a little, to remember

before summer snow,

which is worse.


 


 

`JI `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ COW COUNTRY


 


 

Bone-weary, the salesman

slept in his suitcase

and dreamed of

“Cow Country”.


 

Soon a man

picked up

the grip

he was in

and set it

on a train.


 

The porter,

or someone official,

stamped it

“Cow Country”,

and “Bull Town.”


 

Pressing his ear

against a crack,

the salesman heard a cry,

“There’s a cow on the track!”


 

“Bull!”


 


 

`JI `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE MAID OF HONOR


 


 

A bucket of peat moss

cast shadows

all over the audience

as the maid

began the countdown, a recital

of the names of various fish

she fed to her thighs.

“Artificial insemination,”

murmured their hearts,

“is a thought

backed up by a fist.”

She dashed out into the rain

and ran into

a Ford pick-up.


 


 

`JI `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ JUMBLED DUCK


 


 

His nose was like a leak

in a fishbowl. The future

orange. Spies washed

their cow cried Wow! as she

peered at the calendar

hanging from her eyhe lids.

Today


 

we grunt down a house and

thusly roasted a pig.

Charles Lamb haply was

walking by and said, “Thank you for the

Inspiration, a toaster.

Thawed out, the North Pole

would like somebody

wasn’t home, or bald.

A raunchy best seller sat

on the table. Without saying

“Toast is not my pot of tea”

bussed the bee as he hoarded

his golden nectar.

English muffins


 

are the regular morning

special at the Hambgurg Inn

where oenophiles from Joe’s

meet girls returning home

from Mother Margolis’ chicken soup

Factory. The Hamburger Factory is

next door, showing photographs

of old and rare hamburgers.


 


 

`BA `JA `DM


 


 


 

~ GRAMMAR


 


 

A machine in France

in which

was placed on the altar

a pot of fresh chervil so

the priest could impress all

with his gourmandaise.

“We are the pioneers

of the party games of tomorrow!”

that sounds like fun said the

curvy glass bottle as she rolled

toward the priest

who protested this violent assault on his

pristine celibacy which he had heretofore

protected by fresh artichoke poultices.

Fun? Hardly--more like

a serious attempt at the invisible

woman who lives next door

but wonders about gold.

Ie.: is it lavender?

Or French.


 


 

`BA `JA `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ Traffic Tickets.


 


 

We tried to park between the lines

whose sliding board was rusty

That night we readjusted time

tomorrow it was frosty


 

Traffic tickets filled the air

to make us think of snow

& when the pencil drops on us

We think of what’s below.


 

Down where cactus starts to bend

The water’s being waved

Then something makes the kitchen floor

(The walls are being paved)


 

We walk to faucets, tap, & sink

the glasses, cups, and shards

Then we ask the cigarettes

Todeal out the cards.


 

The holes forgot to brush their teeth

And so their moths were next

As Plates that left their food alone

To hold the magic tricks.


 

The kitchen lines grow long and blue

And carry us through spaces

Where other meter maids begin

To deal with our cases.


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE FACE OF DEATH


 

for Fred O’Hara


 


 

I’d a hoed im under

but the state’s cat

came cutting the interstate through

an took away is remains

said Hans, the Irishman from

the very top of the world

You have to look twice

to see ime even here.

Then the face of death

burns a hole in the paper

plate, whose only other burden

is mashed potatoes.

And they’re in the right pocket.

As a thought about hoes,

think back to the time of

yhour life, mountain climbing


 

over coils of green plastic

in your backyard

snagging on the couplings

trying to siphon the pool

before it caroms

on a center-shot from the left

Hans smiles at Mable’s potatoes

as they bounce through the pool

like the earth wrinkling at

the beginning of time on earth

to create these mountainous poems

that might have been dedicated

to Fred,

instead of to Frank.

Fred Mertz with the Idaho potato head.


 


 

`AK `NR `DM

~ POEM


 

I just

wrote it


 


 

~ POEM


 

You did

You really did


 


 

`JL `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ Thoughtful numbers


 


 

The oldies are still,

and this makes them stick

to the gum under the chair.


 

You, to be a thoughtful number,

bend your head to look

at them, stuck in the mild weed


 

because the wind musically moves them

to clear your sight

so we can set up the log cabin.


 

When we dialed for the news

something went wrong

and we got weather.


 

The head at the other end said,

“It’s raining questionmarks.”

You said, “Maybe I have the answers.”


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE WARMING TRENDS


 


 

The sky is filled with warming trends

That rotate through the news,

But after it works out that way

There’s more than we can lose/


 

We try to eat your father’s stories

But more than we can swallow,

The warming trends that light the sky

Will turn the roadmaps yellow.


 

If we couldlearn to use our wings

We’d speak a different language.

The words that we know how to spell

Are so much extra baggage.


 

The picnic basket’s getting old,

And we are getting nosey--

O, Lunch, is that the way to eat?

The food is feeling drowsy.


 

We feel the same, the warming trends

That make your lunches change

Are those that make the buffalos

Run across the range.


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ HOT SHOT


 


 

Hot shot to center


 

hot double play

of colors stirring

the future’s mold

hard on!

land is formed

between first and second

out of the part

that brings in the articles of

grace from the channel

that turned to

snow rain snow

and opens its mouth

that catches you

off balance

off the track

sharpening the senses

O television screen

casting your plug

forever chasing

the huge shadow of a lunker

the speed of light

isn’t so fast

after all


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ A SPONGE LIFTS UP ITS FIST


 


 

Morning. The Ryan’s house.

Mr. & Mrs. Ryan are silently

copulating in the tub, leaving

the water run & the kids in bed

on soft springs of sleep:

“Now, John, your car’s honking,”

whispered Sharleen to 17 year-old

John Ryan Jr. as he fingered her clit

in the family space module.

“Sharleen, what is my car’s name?

Is it Biff?” “No, Fog.

Don’t ask me what make.

I never knew

those tires

in all their frozen beauty,

starvisitors that they are.”

A spong. Evening.

The family watches spacevision.


 


 

`AK `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ IN MEMORY OF BORIS AND NATASHA


 


 

Breaking through the subway entrance,

always we shall be ho ho ho

dreaming two nights after the artist said,

‘I am buying groceries

and thinking of starch

remember? ho ho ha ha to space we”re

just a barrel of monkeys, and the deeper the soul,

the hee hee hee hee in the forest.


 

Boris, come here with Natasha

and tell us all about Bullwinkle.

He”s a moose ho ho, and through some outpost,

the artist must create a moose

and ha ha be born again.


 


 

`DA `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ WITH ZEST


 


 

to my closed eyes

Tanzania is completely dark, like the horizon

on which your arms

are twin headlights

from the future flyhing doors appear like apples

opening the tree, the toe refuses to kick

as the fallen star makes fall look like starch

If you”re looking for likenesses, look twice,

especially in Maggie”s Nipples, Wyoming.

Autumn isolates the make of her car, but her skin

wakes the violoncellos of Lebanon.


 

crests

of abundance!

magic objects converge

winter vibrates

in the driveway oddly fed with confetti

hands pick their way

through the strings.


 

radios are on always, ever since the Black Sea of night

finished its chocolate malt, and the Tundra

converged in horsemen who shout,

‘I’m aware of Coca Cola, for I see

the sign flashing before ; and after.’

After what?


 

Afterwards.


 

Staples hold us in place

when the gold ring tingles with brilliance.

Cro-magnon times, evenings of untapped facts,

sand that feels more like snow because it is snow:

Dots taller than straight lines, falling gently & wnitely,

from the sky to the warlocks in the kitchen.

Like the nose I saw on your face.


 


 

try to rouge daybreak


 


 

`DA `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE MASTER VALVE


 


 

beyond the wing

where birds

are

no longer

involved in flying,


 

the stuffed box

unstuffs

itself

all day

all night

of stuff=

to displace birds

devour space


 

the shape

without the master valve

turning in

on itself

as night glows within the lightbulbs.


 


 

`KA `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ YELLOW CHARTS


 


 

The admiral’s eyes scanned the yellow charts.

He checked his watch, synchronized

with his buddies

who were out

on the boats

taking after the enemy subs.

“Time’s NOW,” he said,

and gave the signal

to the others with him.

“Right,” said the chaplain,

“Pass the meat scraps.”


 


 

`JI `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ “WOLVERTON MOUNTAIN”


 


 


 

Wolverton Mountain


 

She had always liked honey

But she’ll settle for money.


 

*


 

The Older the Violin, the Sweeter the Muzak


 

That summer, the bees bit hard.

Under the hive, the violinist

tried hard.


 

*


 

PT-109


 

Hairy arms cling to aging piccolos

The once and future president

Is connected to them

At the shoulders


 

*


 

Grade=A Creamery Butter


 

Mmm. Sticks to the lips!

Sticks to the stovepipe!

Melts in the grooves of my record.

Burp!


 

*


 

The Sweet-Scented Flour


 

Had too much sugar in it

So we used it to

Freshen up the bathroom.


 

*


 

Bargain Basement Dress


 

It looked good in the Honky-Tonk

It looked good to the Honky

It’ll look good on his sweetie.

It’s a bargain!

It’s a basement!

It’s not a poem!


 

*


 

Pick Me Up on Your Way Down


 

By the neon stars above

I’ll meet you in the alley

By the nylon cars below

I’ll drive you to the valley


 

*


 

The Old Bastard Story-Teller


 

He’ll sing you a tune

Then steal your food

Jive your bananas and

Run out nude

Then tell someone else

About how you got screwed.


 

*


 

Baby Doll


 

Teddy loved me

yes he did

So who was I

to care


 

Teddy loved me

yes he did

And I loved Teddy

bare


 


 

`KF `DM

4-10-74


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ HEROIC ADVENTURE STORY or PURE LOVE


 


 

The elephant whose tracks were being followed turned around and chased

the hunter from his path

right into the breadfruit tree with the hairy-legged guitar picker studying

math


 


 

`KF `DM

4-10-74


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ PIECES OF PATSY CLINE


 


 

“When you touch me

I fall to pieces,”

said Patsy Cline,

and she tumbled

off the wall

a beautiful brick affair

lined with ivy

and a swing in the background

where a Rock Island Train

whirred under translucent clouds

“It’s over now,

because I don’t want

to have to spend my time

on something else.

You’ll have to buy the drinks

and I promise you won’t

even touch the glass,”

said you, though.

The moon coursed through the coffee.

You tried to read the message

in the fortune cookie.

But all you could make out was:

“…sidewalks to the date!”

The exclamation point caught you

while Patsy started reassembling

between the porch.


 


 

`AK `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ STEREOPHONIC MOUSEHOLE


 


 

The tiny mouse stroked his mousehole

and jumped off the bridge,

where he’d stood,on a paratrooper

walking upward.

“Eek! Get that mouse out of here

before my husband gets home.”

Music blundered in, filled with notes

like “$50 please”, or

“You’re stepping on my toe”

The mouse did a dance

out the door,

sweeping his tail

against the soft, thawing concrete

off the ground. A long time ago

mice dreamed of doing the same.

To the tune of cheese.


 


 

`AK `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ DAWN IN TAHITI


 


 

We slapped

out the

side

of a red but sturdy boat


 

“Go,” we said to one of our group.


 

I knew it might happen to me one day.

So I got a gun and waited.


 

All the while I rode the tides

with the dolphin, the color

of never knowing. Warm shower

lavender and French cuisine.


 

Waves, like clover, laden with soap

drifted through our taffy

experience a year or more

in the future, till the modulation

begins in the cups

You know better

than other boats.

Soaring above

a huge bat smacked its lips.


 


 

` AK `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ VICTORIA FALLS


 


 

the fin of the fish

ended in a splash passing out

turkey to you

and your loved ones

as we waved from

the water lapping up

red and blue and green coupons

fluttering about

the bronze statue

The doorman

fixed stars

for five dollars slipped up

up the umbrella’s hat off-

erring the dew drops

said the parrot

swinging infinity

cubes, resources, tricks

and getting married or killed

can’t be winter

theres spring in the air

it’s out of season

and so it falls face down.


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ DUCK TONES


 


 

What happens next depends

upon what happened “previously.”

This is a game carried over dark terrain

to the ultimate most-visible duck.


 


 

`GM `DG


 


 

~ CLUCK TONES


 


 

What happens next depends

upon what happened in “DUCK TONES.”

This is the blame carried over dark brains

to the ultimate most-invisible cluck.


 


 

`DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

______

~ The Growth of New Concepts: A Birthday Poem for Al Buck


 


 

Research is not an end. Neither was your birth.


 

.


 

Your birthday is not an end. Neither was your research.


 

.


 

Monday, December 18, 1972 (we think) – HAPPY BIRTHDAY!


 

.


 

He has to find new methods

to solve this modern day epidemic thus, new poem


 

.


 

But, he thought, if I add a little bit more of this

chemical I’ll solve the question of immortality. Men & women

will be able to live forever, and they’ll never have to worry

about tomorrow, just yesterday.

Then he stepped outside his laboratory for a triumphant

breath of fresh air before completing the formula and was

immediately stricken with amnesia.


 

.


 

The club describes an arc when admitting new members.

They are stunned because they always wanted to belong

and now they do. They suddenly realize the impact

of haley’s comet. “Far out!” they cry, “is not just

an expression.”


 

.


 

Because, Mr. Buck, Research is not a den of thieves,

though the researchers might not know

what they’re ultimately looking for: the angel of the lord

still has to consult the angel of the electric cord

to plug in the light or the fan.


 

.


 

d d

d d dd d d

d dd


 

happy birthday to you!


 


 

`AK `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ MOOD EARDRUM


 


 

Talk is for

the gernaniums

watered with power

as corrugated

as can be. Listening

outdoors can be

toothy, like

a pelvis twitching,

but what we remember

is aloof & detached,

while on the ball

which is rolling.

Turning the corner

you remember an epigram,

and it kills! Your next poem

continues off into a bed--

there talk is olike a

motorboat skidding over

& beyond all time.

The mood, plant-like,

extends into our minds until

our minds themselves grow seeds,

& turn insane.


 


 

`DG `AK `DM

[in Planet News]


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE NITTY GRITTY


 


 

What is this gidly boo and didly

do of witches brew?


 

Perhaps a snack on a gingerbread

shack


 

would clear the air at the

warlock’s Fair.


 

Or snow upon the toboggan

of a nitty gritty dragon


 

Maybe the witches brew

is really a moonshine


 

that rains on magic

like gladstones.


 


 

`BA `JA `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ “fingers retreat from”


 


 

fingers retreat from

the burned down radio


 

it still sings

but it can’t sign its name


 

soft other objects

that sit on the TV


 

shake their heads in objection

of the radio


 

as the tv gets stolen

the fingers stuck on the hand that holds them


 

tense up at grammar

and no sound do they make


 

feet of snow

wiggle toes of December


 

the footprints

trail the distance


 

that eats up so much time

by going between things


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ NOTHINGNESS


 


 

1


 

LINT


 


 

A single piece of lint

hovered on the windowsill

for over 12 hours.

The first 6 hours

the sun was shining.

The second 6 hours

the moon was shining.

Finally, at 1:36 AM

the lint quivered

for 1.03 seconds,

then dropped to

the floor.


 

`DM


 


 

2


DROPS


 


 

The water faucet in the kitchen

leaked.


 

Every 2.14 seconds, a single tear-drop shaped

globule of water appeared at the mouth

of the cold water faucet.

It was approximately 62 degrees at the coldest point

and 61.99 degrees at the warmest,

or vice versa.


 

It immediately splashed

upon falling 4.3 inches

to the white porcelin of the sink.


 

`DM


 


 

3


 

COUNTRY DRIVE


 


 

Leaving my house on Sunday afternoon,

I drove north on a blacktop road, for a ways.

After going 1.3 miles, it became gravel,

then at .8 miles, I turned east and steered

my truck for 4.3 miles whereupon, I turned

North. This road was dirt. At exactly 5.3 yards,

there was a barricade that stood 6.5 feet high

and 12.6 feet wide with semi-broad diagonal

stripes.


 

The edge of the river was 57.9 rods immediately

following.


 

`MA


 


 

4


 

HAND MOVEMENT


 


 

The hand moved its thumb a ½ inch off the arm of the chair.

The index finger followed the thumb ½ - way,

then, .9 seconds after that, returned

to its original position.

One second after that,

a fly that flew in from the window

which was only 2.666 inches open

landed on the nail of the thumb

and caused it to violently shake up and down,

then return to the chair’s arm

next to the index finger.


 

`DM


 


 

5


 

PEANUT BUTTER


 


 

Peanut butter has 265 calories per tablespoon full.

Do you realize that that means that peanut butter

has 15,600 calories in a 12 Oz. jar?


 

`MA


 


 

6


 

GRAIN OF SAND VS. GRAIN OF SALT


 


 

The yellow grain of sand

sparkled amidst 32,256 grains of salt

which were spilled across the blaniket

on the beach.


 

`DM


 


 

7


 

CELLULAR DISTRIBUTION


 


 

Of the approximately 10 trillion cells

in the human body,

not very many of them

move of their own accord.


 

`DM


 


 

8


 

GRASS


 


 

In the average blade of grass there are

somewhere around a googol of living and

dead cell. But they all move in unison,

unlike other types of cells.


 

`MA


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

One of the more unusual collaboration methods involved taking a poem “Acid Delight,” published in an unknown magazine by an unknown author, and crossing off letters and words to change it to “Body Tight.” Here are the two poems, with the starting poem followed by the collaborative rewrite.


 


 

~ ACID DELIGHT



I am getting somebody uptight.

I am getting everybody uptight.

Maybe I'd better go away for awhile,

and then when I come back, people won't be uptight,

but no, If I go and do that

someone will say : Omjigod ~

he must have freaked out and split,

we better go and look for him

or he'll walk in front of a city bus,

and someone will say :

how come he trips if he can't handle it,

and that will get everybody uptight,

so I guess I'd better stick around and keep cool

which won't be easy cuz I'm getting this guy uptight,

I'm getting everybody uptight,

maybe if...



(author unknown)



*



~ BODY TIGHT



I am getting tight.

I am getting body tight.

Maybe I'd better go

and then I won't be tight,

but no, If I go

someone will say go~

better go

walk in front of us,

how come

everybody tight,

I guess I'd better keep

tight,

I'm getting body tight...


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

The next two poems work the same way as the previous two. In this collaborative rewrite the original poem “Information” turns into the new version “Or I.”


 


 

~ INFORMATION


 


 

Hey kid

won’t you tell us

who hooked you

on the zig zag corners

of the new high school ?


 


 

(author unknown)


 


 

*


 


 

~ OR I


 


 

Hey id

won’t you tell us

who hooked you

on ego

the new high ?


 


 

`ST `AK


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE GRAPES SING THE BLUES TO YOUR LIPS


 


 

o solemio! toot-toot-tootsie

down the track

with a large vehicle


 

burping seeds to a melody never written


 

but sung by nectarines at crating time

a

here we go again I Here thoswe…. hhhh

hw


 

back to ? toot-toot-


 

tootsite

up to follow yes


 

you do


 

the minuet


 

long tall grapes


 


 

with round firm bottoms and


 

provocative stems, yearning for


 

the savage picker who also knew the pumpkin


 

more than well he knew that pumpkin and the

tomatoes corn carrots etc… and so sad he knew


 

the fruits that would pick them firmly from the SUPER

super markets


 

orange pekoe teabags under your eyes, sir or ma’am


 

did you think they were stars


 

So super, your market, mister super,


 

This resting home for old plums and older tangerines


 

waiting for Miss Varicose Veins of 1973 to view them

with clinical scorn and caress their bruised pulp


 


 

Take them all madam clean the super gems off their skins


 


 

and enjoy them at your super supper time


 


 

`MM `AW `DM

9-3-77


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ ANYWAY THE CREATURES APPEAR


 


 

solo

on the edge

what they

wear (other than lips):


 

the huge hat


 

knows that You kan,t wait , because it,s not POITRY

s

how ever youo spell it…


 

but it is something much more

which is next to less

m

they look toward words, write t e like

h

the word GO whence

the whens

with small

letters:


 

poitry


 

or poatry? pootry? poutry? poytry?


 

Or hats cats mats , it is as ah yes it isss


 

bits and pies of apple POITRY


 

like the little tags that come off of one

hundred year old mattresses that say


 

“do not tear under penalty of law”


 

& shriek when you

rip them off


 

ANYWAY,


 

on the matter of pies


 


 

H I HH ii Hi the pie is a jayberrie hi’


 

and the 10,000 Joecubs had their turn


 

this is crazy .

Michele HI Hitler


 

Alan: I am disgusted distinguished dave here


 


 

`MM `AW `DM

9-3-77


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ THE SNOW MAN MEETS THE SUN GOD AND LOSES


 


 

The name for anything exists

like feedback--a bar-be-que


 

over which new clouds establish

their erratic patterns. Once we


 

are born th e linebreaks

stumble--there are no “proper”


 

nouns. The last thing we remember

will be the first


 

Grand Entry into the quickly melting

eye--we will have legs


 

that stride beyond the remotest breakfast,

we will have hearts that shiver


 

like an ariel view of the Alps.

Our minds are anothe r matter.


 

They will grow fur. “Ah yes,

I believe I’be seen you somewhere,”


 

Tradition will say. “Y our typewriter

skipped a few spa ces, but those


 

were the best ..I mean…in

the Long Run.” And so we


 

melt into the future, where snow

is lighter than air filled with cornflakes.


 

If we depended on the radio, if we

had bodies composed of rifts in the air, if


 

rhyming couplets came easy as

the outer sphere of relationships melting


 

like the night, then maybe

we would se e


 

with all our organs, make music

which illuminates, dropping us off


 

in all the relevant

places.


 


 

`DG `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ PORTRAITS KEROSENE FOR THE MASSES


 

by Allen G. Willis

and by David J. Morice


 

Scene 1, take 1


 

AAAAAAAAAAA


 

drum in the corn was poor thought

tonight delight

the green stamp on the

barn made the woman

turn toward the sunlight

sand. She urged me to turn away.

The baseball fell limply on my shoulder.


 

“Hi.” “Hi, how are you?”

“OH, fine.”


 

we said, in the rain, or, as you said, rainstorm


 

the mold on her cheek in the yellow flesh

covered over with lipstick

revealed her to be

dropping through the trees

to the earth, the land of

rocks and dirtworms.


 

The yard going up to the vase, as bald


 

as could the boom in the ear be.

“Hi.” was all. But more Love is like that.

The ear, hearing The Word.


 


 

BBBBBBBBBBB


 


 

`AW `DM

~ THE STAR CHART


 

[on the worksheet for Mr. Anderson’s Section of Fiction Writing

#8:181 for April 15, 1971]


 


 

The star chart lay on the table in front of Toeman. He felt silly. Apparently he’d been steering the ship into the wrong solar system.

“Monsters,” he plundered, “have a way of growing on you.”

“Toeman?”

The sun set on and on. Tobacco sacks fell off the shelves into their plates. Dinnertime, Toeman thought. He lit up a bowlful and took a toke through his toe. Mmm.

“Yes?” he answered. “I’m very busy.”

“Too busy for your wife?”

“No. Go get her.”


 


 

2


 

He was dashing through the portholes. Toeman’s wife lay in the bring, reading directions. She wanted her hubbie, Toeman, to fly away. Night fell.

“But where is the star chart?” she cooed.

“Look under your Pappy’s khakis.” he dashed off.

“I did want to read a little before we hit the heyk, heh?” she said.

Suddenly, it happened.


 

Radios of joy echoed thru her snoot. Lifting her one limp leg into the steaming air of outer space, she, like a crane, crooned tweetily.

“Monsters,” she peeped, “MONSTERS!”


 


 

3


 

“Monsters!” She was in real trouble. “Toeman, help.”

“Why do you call me by my last name?” he asked.

“MONSTERS!” she answered.

Three days later, a little healthier than before, Toeman got up. Instead of the mirror that he enjoyed so much as a captain, he dunked his wife, Grace.

“There’s money in starvation!” she chirruped.


 


 

4


 

The ship floated thru endless space. In fields of vacuum, the two voyeurs fell into magnificent comets of sleep. They dreamt of tiny MONSTERS that winked and beeped in their sleep and who rubbed their tiny MONSTER calves with salve.


 

“Hand me the store chart,” Toeman honked. “We’re headed for Me Too.”

(Their moments drift away, like scalps.)


 

[“Me Too” was a supermarket in Iowa City at that time.]


 


 

`DF `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ OUT IN THE BACK YARD


 


 

Out there, fur, a small man, and a golfball

whirl in flurries of bone splinters meadows

No one is alone; the purple box of horseshoes

wait to be thrown at the cross on the hill

The picnickers watch silently, food on their feet,

ants crawl out of their ears, eyes, and mouth

They are having fun. The sun is rocking forward,

melting them in their own bedazzlement


 

Let’s have a fish, one of them shouts.

The mailbox opens as the flag comes down.

A fish tumbles out. “Hi! I’m Josh!” it exclaims,

and quietly places his fins over the tombgstone

An awkward stiff pushes the earth away & rises

in a robe of butterfly wings and postage stamps

“I told you I’d be here. Now put me back, please.”

The picknickers coughed. The small man hit him

with a mallet. He and his butterflies went away.


 


 

`BR `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ OH YEH THE BAH


 


 

the bah

oh yeh

the bah

oh oh

bah bah

oh oh

yeh yeh


 

winter wrinkle

winter twinkle


 

cold snow cold snow

through

the

though

the

thought

the

tough


 

tough tinkle


 

tinkle inkle

inlet winkle


 

oh yeh

oh oh

the radio

oh oh the readio


 

clam chow

der


 

clam chow

der


 

der

der

er


 

urp


 

urp


 

purp

le

pur

ple

long long long


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ GO FOR A GRAPE


 


 

Down on the farm

the farms hands

gasp for air

doing opinionations

on the roof.

The sky flies

underfoot. Head over heels

the farm hands tumble

off the roof.


 

The swing on the front porch

held the moon between the slats.

the sweat rolled off the back forty

the horses smile between bits of brothers

and features sailing for cover

the main force of the explosion

going into the eggs and making them

bloom like firecrackers in the eyes

of a cow contented

So Billy the Kid

was your kid brother and your only

drink away from being an instant success

The gunfight at ok corral

marked the end of an era.

No more would the mysterious horseman

gallop up the hill, shouting “Go for a grape!

All is well. Go for a grape!

There wasn’t much out yet

Only the moon

sailing through the sky

like an apricot.


 


 

`ST `DM


 


 


 

~ WHEN WALKING BECOMES IMPOSSIBLE


 


 

you fall off.


 


 

`SW `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ NOW


 


 

let’s write a collaboration poem, Leander

huh what do you say


 


 

what more is there to

do?


 

Is there work up North?


 

North of here

or North of there?


 

What does North have to do with collaboration?


 

Do you realize

that each stanza in this poem

is questionable?


 

Is it?


 


 

`LC `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ “i don’t know”


 


 

i don’t know

what to type about

you’ll concentrate


 

on what

is going around


 

the air waves


 

through your fly

(open)

not seen or smelt but


 

Buzzing!


 

thereright awaynow youcan hearit


 

rhythm

of spheres

and rod


 

makes u

think of

god

right? wrong?


 

no, i think it was

maybe both?


 

Or neither.


 

Indespensibly yours--


 


 

the poet


 

`LC `DM

~ THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE


 


 

Opening the pages

is like opening the mind

of Count Dracula.


 


 

like

a zoo splitting in half


 


 

elephants

monkeys snakes

birds


 

hitting the air

bats

flying up the cellar window

the Count, whistling

“cry me a river”


 

kicking up the dust

loving it,

with all the

lint under his fingernails


 


 

`TD `CL `DM


 

Tony D’Marinus, Colleen Lookingbill ????


 


 

~ “THE DUNBARS LIVED IN A COTTAGE…”


 


 

The Dunbars lived in a cottage on a back street, which had the distinction of being the only home on the street adorned by a garden. With perhaps the exception of Judge Hepdurn’s garden, an elaborate affair said to have cost a “pile of money”, there was none to compare with it in Canada.


 

The Dunbars were the kind of people you always run into at a picnic. Mrs. Dunbar, a slight, squeamish woman of 35, with long auburn hair and two narrow-set eyes shaded by enormous bushy eyebrows, tiny well-slanted ears, and a nose that reminded one of some alien and sun-burnt plant, stood at the edge of the garden with a hose in one hand and her husband in the other.


 

“Oh Howard! Look at all those strange vegetable babies I planted last year! Some of them are taking unknown shapes!”


 

Howard looked like the kind of guy that crashes your card game. You’re with old friends and this nondescript guy will be there and he sets in roots. He always ignored his wife’s absurd declarations, preferring to stare at the fence six feet behind his wife’s ambling promenade thru hedges their gardener had trimmed and sculpted into lawn furniture. Everything everone else remembered seemed totally unimportant to Howard. He was cultivating his future in such a way as to allow maximum room for the sky. Each plant had to crawl in a horizontal path until it reached the water. Underneath the ground there was a network of unusable passages, but conversation glided away at the same rate of speed.


 

“Aim it over there, Bertha,” Howard shouted, pointing at an interesting blob of light. It was a plant composed entirely of light, or so it seemed, reaching out its many luminous tentacles, inch by inch.”


 

Bertha shot a heavy spray onto the creeping form.


 


The noise the spray made aroused the Mad Ants from the garden’s netherland where Howard stood crushing things with his nice new shoes.


 

“Oh Howard! Some of these shapes are turning up behind you, but you can’t see them.”

“Why not?” he said.

The blob of light quivered and rose into the sky and stayed there twinkling like a scar. Howard was listening to a Mozart string quartet on his AR system. He wanted to do what was best for the future of Canada, and he wanted to assure his future. Ambition was a church he worshipped faithfully in. Although concerns with his early business were like the petunias his garden had been inspired by--thought of, but as the past--he wanted those men to live like plush velvet trumpets. Elaine, their daughter, was visiting at Judge Hepburn’s on a parallel lane.


 

The Hepburns were a vivacious couple nearly six feet tall. They had been married in the garden years ago, under a petunia. Another interesting blob of light crossed the lane behind them. Lighting up[ their future like a home movie. It went like this:


 

Bertha strode forward and touched a clam that drifted through the air lazily keeping the time. Then a dark stranger walked ujp to her and invisibly read her mind. She puffed up like a frog. Later as you walked up behind the dark stranger and said, “Hey, do you know what it is?” That made you grow tall like Bertha.


 

You talked awhile to the Hepburns and cautiously noted all parallel lines, the blob of light notwithstanding the court case in which everyone seemed to be about to lose his shirt. In the present again, the Judge asks Howard Dunbar to join him in a gin and tonic. The fate of galaxies hadn’t sharpened the inviting tone of his host thought Dunbar as the plant’s strobe effect made him squint and turn away from the glowing spasmodic horizon made him squint and turn away from the glowing spasmodic horizon. The furniture matched the overtones of the Judge’s tweed jacket he draped across the top of a bookcase as he reached into the second drawer and pulled out a bottle of expensive gin.


 

“Have to hide it from the servants. They have orders not to let me drink, but damn the galaxy I say, I need the effect, the familiar patterns.” Ice appeared in the glasses and in Dunbar’s voice as he opened an attaché case and addressed the Judge reluctantly.


 

“My children don’t remember what Canada looked like when there used to be a night. Since those plants took over our dreams have become real life and the fears of our past now glow in the weird gardens that proliferate wherever Canada has maintained communications.” Dunbar sipped his drink and wondered what his words could mean to a man like the Judge who had “been thru it all”.


 

“Wellk, Dunbar, I’m going home!” said the judge as he slammed the door in his car outside and lit the engine. He drove a car on candle power, figuring he’d save on gas that way, and he did. But the car wouldn’t go anywhere.


 

The Judge appeared at the doorway holding his ear. It was speckled with the watermark of time, and it said, “Eat at Joe’s” in the interim. They had finished their meal a long time ago. In the morning ice cream clouds hovered over the refrigerator in the hands. They wandered aimlessly in search of the children.


 

“They’re certainly in Canada. But that lasted only till there used to be night happened. What do you think we should get them with?”


 

Clyde rubbed his bald spot. He didn’t know that they were talking to him. He thought they knew him like a wall for as long as the house had been that way.


 

“Let’s,” said Clyde agreeably.


 

The next thing they knew they were involved in some unaccountable air and fine points that burst into Dunbar making him feel faint. Instead he smiled like a Ford. Just then Bertha bolted into them, and almost knocked them over. “They’re rising! They’re rising! she shouted, waving a half-eaten hose in the air and foaming with words. The sky was an intense violet with little flakes of cucumber drifting away as far south as New Orleans. Something was obviously wrong.


 

“It’s those Hybrids,” shouted Howard. “I told you not to plant them, yhou dumb bitch! Now the fate of the world is upon us. Guilt will outdistance everything we’ve tried to handle; even ourselves!”


 

Howard threw a big limp arm around Bertha’s middle, and she began to squeeze. At first she thot that his mind had been taken over by the consciousness of the Plants, but quickly decided he wasn’t nearly as interesting.


 

“This is not time for that!” she blurted. “You’re acting like just another one of the disguises reality takes!” she screamed, pounding absentmindedly on his chest.


 

“At least I try to be real,” retorted Howard, “while all you ever do is cook me my meals and go for long walks and pull weeds.”


 

“It’s all too complicated, Howard. You ought to listen a lot more to the Judge.”


 

Just then a terrific explosion occurred in the center of the garden. From the blast of light came the Light Creatures, and carried everything away.


 


 

`DG `AK `DM


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

~ MARATHON COLLABORATION POEM


 

(Written by many people during Poetry Marathon #2)\


 

During the writing of the 100-foot poem on June 21, 1973, at Epstein’s Book Store (see Volumes 7 and 8) an electric typewriter sat on the Sara-Hart Terrace for people to write a collaboration poem. The collab is a wild series of literary snapshots of the people and the places of the time.


 


 

Creeping leaves of the lizard trees! Its time

and here is no one here to celebrate it.

But if and when we have room to remember it will

make a great story for our retirement keepers.

There should be no action but that action which

generates time standing still and not a breath

in the air.


 


 

M O v e


 


 

If your interested in seeing a new tornado film

you should go to Blackhawk County – KXCL ?

Tornado falls in love

but when time to break u8p can’t face

the reality of p arking meters

which only need plugging sometimes

not at


 


 

7:30 AM

It’s a beautiful day – but a little early for

inspiration. J.S.


 


 

7:31 AM

Words move the world…

“Mislabeled laxative” reads the REGISTER….


 

so spell right…..read carefully…..

swallow nature, not poison….. RBS


 


 

Rolling down the highway all caught up in the

Bumper Sticker Revolution – gangs of families

headed for beaches – mountains – forests – and

kitchens. Up with peanut butter down with

all else that can’t stick to the ribs.


 


 

Holidays are for anyone who can

appreciate the simplicity of celebrating nothing.

And nothing can be exciting when your rolling

down the highway with your bumper sticker and

your doll in the front seat.


 

thfh hy66 we shall


 


 

We shall walk together in the park some day

/Watch the pretty birds

Then we’ll go down to the river

And get a big fish.


 

Good Morning

June 21st, meet GME


 

and the mother goddess confirms again

her ancient hold

upon the world, and we again

shall bask in beauty from the other age.

sheltered by the oak

receiving the old blessing.

we are still people of the beauty past,

dawning with our own age and the time

of our ancestors.


 


 


 

I am a rasin

whose draftsman

sketched the dotted

line to the cosmos---J.L.B.


 


 

Where are you, Mother Pronce?

The day is growing old

with Olives

and Sara has rejoined her family.

Tell me, hamlet,

when the eagles rise

and pay homage and bills

to their fathers,

do the snakes fart

on the hot painted desserts?


 


 


 

erxzsaq11 wasdfghjkl;¢


 


 


 


 

/¢;.,mnbc cz ase j;;

x


 

b


 


 

;lkmbnvczxasdfhjkl;¢


 


 

e=¢o 4idfkxx

¢//hjnmnbvvcxzadgj;¢!


 


 


 

as


 


 


 


 


 


 

jj ojohn lareemcmgkkpijhujgp f hrtiritidy johnlarew

ijjijiuu--- -----HCGJS UWDUUDHUHWU HJBNBJKHUJ

IHIHICEIFIIC IEFIIIHIHIIYMMNMNMCKNOSFISHERHF


 

IIGKKBI(O.H L(E $K%K!”#R%_&’(*

U*–jc kskvjkjvccdkvck jk4953888

abkfjfjkjdkvjkvkkj kfkvklvkfvkjvkdkv dkvkjkvkf


 

ee


 

i.e.:

we grow

into our appliances.


 

the satellite marks

the bills


 

the double agent

appears

like the owl with the Ph.D.


 

“singing in the rain”


 

tho there aint no rain,

just a little bank

offering matches


 

& shelter

against the fall-out of . . . .


 

The dollar doesn’t float.


 

The baloney does.


 

H.R. HALDEMAN USED CARS


 

JOHN DEAN INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH MOUTHWASWH


 

GORDON LIDDY BURGERS


 

RICHARD NIXON ALPHABET SOUP


 

BUT we’re asleep on this channel,

showing the genius of

this most twentieth of centuries:


 

brain selectively Off!


 

& ON!


 

because it’s a long way to Kansas


 

& longer coming back.


 

*


 

*


 

*


 

do we trust buildings?


 

can individuals still be “found”?


 

** signs of signs **


 

Honk!


 


 

FASTEN YOU SEAT BELTS LADIES N

GENTLMN WE ALL ARE EXPERIENCN

DIFFICULTY WITH THU PROPULSHN

SYSTM OF THU URCRAFT.


 

i.e.: theengine just landed in


 

tennessee. we’re in


 

another state.


 

we’re in the all

of us


 


 

APHASIA


 

cures ham.


 

The highway is a

back space.


 

Individuals ARE sometimes “found”


 

but in other forms.


 

Three-fourths of every waking; thought

merely serves to hold up our pants.


 

The other fourth

undresses


 

the previous thought.


 

Thus philosophy is a monument

to that body of thought known as


 

Incipent Erasibility.


 


 

**********

time


 

for


 


 

space.


 


 

space


 


 

for


 

disguise


 

of


 

sheer


 


 


 


 

forgetfulness


 


 


 


 

.


 

Thus honk?


 

surely progress is more than ?


 


 


 

honk.


 

“are you married?”


 

“how old are you anyway, mr. bank?”


 

“you’re my friends I want you to know that….


 


 

&on&on&on


 

until we return to something more


 

exciting, like


 

honk.


 


 

In the sky on the solstice

there are two big knees,

crossed

where a year of lunches

meets a year of wet dreams & paydays.


 

The lunches extend from Vladivostok

to Cleveland to San Luis Obispo to Tunis.


 

The dreams rain down from over Shanghai

to just over East Leroy, Michigan.


 

Books are left lying

and liars are left in their books


 

& we are all paid for


 

beaver to eternity.


 

This is a film that does dnot star


 

everyone only


 

any body;


 

*********


 


 

The words are covered with DOG.


 

The dog is NEVER covered with words.


 

******


 


 

Good reception in the stomach

the engineers.s;;


 

and good rectal

plumbers


 

S

iowa state bank & trust building

books adler satellite fallout-shelter


 

the public is invited to submit titles

for the actualist marathon kkkkkkkkk


 

epstssssspdt oforooigr iOdllkdl – e564


 

na5314554 64jjj you $$%T_%$# $ %$##


 


 


 

FAR OUT


 

It is now degrees o’clock out of the west.


 

The west is the clock

by degrees.

Now is the degree the west is

of the clock.

The clock out west is degrees off.


 

*


 

Six legs holding up four people around me.


 

English is the language of barbecued beef.


 

Nineteen people are trapped inside the bank.


 

Beef.


 

Bank.


 

English.


 

Legs.


 

TV camera.


 

Now people will buy anything.


 

*


 


 

Something just fell down

on something


 

out in the universe.


 

This is why cheese is 89¢ a pound.


 

My knee is about 2 ½ feet from the ground

which is about 6 miles below United Airlines


 

which is why there is not really

a “president.”


 

Chickens are white & yellow beef.


 

Wood is dirt on speed.


 

Fingers are high pressure frontal systems.


 

Highways are back space.


 

Logic is creation shot full of holes.


 

*


 

“The coins of beauty are burning holes

in the pockets of the universe.”


 

--God.


 


 

*


 


 

Why am I sitting down

when I could be someone else?


 

Why do the faces look like money?


 


 


 


 


 

WHAT I DID ON MY VACATION:


 


 

Colonel Sanders.

Kentucky Fried Brains.


 

Burger Chef.

Burger sKing.


 

Burger skiing?


 

There’s still snow on the bald


 

banker.


 

---Wells, Nevada.


 

**********


 


 

When there’s nothing else to eat,


 

there’s always time to eat.


 


 

**********


 


 

askew : mind


 

bird : organic radio.


 

bus : moving picture.


 

snow : cold salt.


 

typewriter : visible man.


 

definition : rape.


 


 

**********


 


 


 

Politics is not the margin on the world.

Fact is not the margin on the word.

Margins aren’t

.


 


 

**********


 

THIS IS GETTING.


 


 

*


 


 

Tuna is the pitcher of the sea.


 

Time is the tuna of the mind.


 

A PITCHER IS THE MIND OF THE SEA.


 


 

***


 


 

The bank underwhelms me.


 

“You need money?

Go to the bank;

they got it all.”


 

--Ezra Pound


 


 


 

***


 


 

Have we got beyond 1900?


 

Scientists studying the rings

in baloney disagree.


 

Some say there are too many periods;

some say too few.


 

Others think that periods are actually

square.


 

*


 

*


 


 

If

you

feel

your

psychic

potential

is

being

under-

exploited

come

to

H.

R.

HALDEMAN

USED

CARS.


 


 

****


 


 

When

your

whole

life

seems

to

be

just

so

much

mileage

what

you

need

is

GLEEM.


 


 


 

*********


 


 

When you’re body gets tired

you can get a plaster cast of it

to carry around.

They sell them at the Orthopedic

Hardware Shop.

And what’s more they bill you.

And if your name is already “Bill”

they give you a new body free.

That’s the way American medicne works.

That’s the way Doctors get to go to

Wejunboo for Thanksgiving

For the 4th of July

For Flag Day

For National Secretary Week


 


 

The new body never gets dirty looks.

The new body never gets tired.

The new body never gets the whooping cough.

The new body never gets pregnant gut

if it does

The new body aborts pretty easy.


 


 

****************


 


 


 


 


 

Black crow

Worshipping the colosus auto

That delivers dead rabbits.


 

--------------------a*****


 

cold porcelin potty basin

feels like the skin of a girlfriend i once had

kissed like a dead fish.


 


 


 


 

- - - ----- - - - - - -----


 


 

Now is the time for God to really mean it.


 

*****


 


 

Trees

blow

trailers

over

and

on

the

moon

nothing

is

replaced.


 


 

**********


 


 


 

A “Two Dimensional Obect”


 

has yet to be invented.


 


 

***


 


 


 


 

smithereens in Copacabana

nexus flirt moonmen

look look more mirth for my friends!


 


 

**********


 


 


 


 

DNAL – LOH E – CY O J Creates Poetry sjc


 


 

* * * * * *


 


 

COMET CONSCIOUSNESS IS HERE TO


 

don’t watergate me


 


 


 

************************************************


 


 

You know it’s really hard to say

If its become anew day.

But it isn’t if you know

If you know what I mean.


 

When the angels meet Aaron

and Arron meets Ruth

let the lights shine

in Minneapolis,

the dixies run in York.

And tall all the world

that Mister Shine

is alive and well

in Coralville.

As for me,

Mister Scopes,

tell my mother

that rice

swings

and the motherland

is heavy with heat,

and in the wet forests

the jackel is a stranger

and my sweet brown earth

thrives.


 

sex is a high density i8nput,

gives a very clean, very steady voltage;

be sure to remember to insert your battery

before you start, however, so your meter functions

properly.


 

when the spirit moves me--cross the river, round

the bend, Gloria halluluah, here i go again.

cat walk down, steel yeard blues, lets o go

roving, see you soon.


 

lunch time ramblings, flowers for a friend,

Epsteins sidewalk, flags in the wind.


 


 


 

see Dave type

Dave is not a type

Dave is

Dave

sometimes

sometimes he is

more than Dave


 


 

Darrell wheres funny hats

Darrell has a different hat

for every day of the week

Darrell has eight hats


 

Tim Hildebrand (t)

sits in yellow chairs

when it is not raining


 


 

This tape is not catching

up with Daves Tape


 

Steve and Sheila are here

too, Steve and Sheila

are hugging and

things

in public


 

Dave is writing in public

shame

shame


 

will 100 feet ever equal

100 feet


 


 

ddddd


 

beneath his 100 ft. long shirt

the poet scratched the itch

later he located his arm


 


 

were all sad

tie dyed


 

one impala asked the other impala

at a street light

‘whats gnu’


 


 

ladies heart’s are sad and gay

whenon Friday they get their pay

what what ever did you say

he rymed and timed all day

if it weren’t for the sun

I could stay


 

wandering in and out

wandering all about

see the people come to watch


 

Here comes Bob

caught in the act

Howard sits

like a fart


 

k


 


 


 

middle day

in shade machines behind

Dave in front


 

middle of the day

paper goingin crooked

writer crocked


 


 

so we plunk each other rapturously

& signal Butch for more latitude!


 


 


 

burps are free

- -------------

-


 

BOOT HILL

CRIMSON CITY, ARIZONA


 

_______

Go to /

Cisco Pete and Big Tit Ethyl

April 4, 1879

They suffocated 69ing.


 


 


 


 

Last night my wife

donned a comb,

a baret, a lacka

lazical belt

& wapped her kitcheneet.

My dog, it was not George

loved Junior with a passion.

I found them

behind the garage

eating each other

‘s pepsi.


 


 


 


 


 

MAN!?.,:+*)(‘&_%$#”!

********************

****

*****

*****


 


 

WAY DOES MAN KILL?

H

W


 


 


 


 


 

BZ


 


 

BURPS ARE FREE WHEN YOU BURP


 


 


 

I thot my garage sparrow

was dead.

I breathed into his beak.

He opened his right eye

and died.


 

Reality is the toilet wall upon which we

write our lives.


 


 

soon a day will come when we can all see

peace. a day when man will no longer be

afraid of his brother,or himself.


 


 

open apaces filled with dots of electricjoys

in the noons silent morning of the suns softly endi

endings.

and the summer somnabulist walks on…

controlling the avenues of walked on lives

He tred softly, his padding feet making the

whisper

owling in the secrest of bird landed nights.

never to be awakened--destined to never really

sleep

moments of laughter lit within the nests and the

chirps that chip each mans mobility.

Only the thot that shot the image remained

to plague him

bulleting the depths of the mirrored image glassedf

the cracked image cozed out the green blood

and the spiders spun webs faster to give it

chase

touché touch armed angleof the grasping trumpet

doth return the replyh only to be gobbled up

by the giant gnats and toadstool which sat on

everyone

in the moments of gothic signitures of wrath

beconing the marathoned poets poeting.

and the galumphing gnats galumphing

charging insects with the realities

of the earths indigestion fulfilling the

ocean waves and the vast mountains

belching forth the magnificent belch of burps

which resounded through the caverns of the

decaying brain

rot. ROT ROTTENING in the warts of the cavitied

mouth of zits.

ZOTS!!! Was it cold.

SHALOM


 

The kite string dangled out of the window

with a rock on the end.

Hopefully the people in N121 will get the

hint and pull it in to read the note

It’s a poem.


 


 


 

the note.

it’s all about life.

also it says hello and

have a nice day.

it’s wonderful to know there

are still some beautiful people

left in this world.


 


 


 


 


 

35


 


 


 


 


 

who writes poems

to submit to

Guinness Book of Records?


 


 


 


 

n


 


 


 


 

6


 

man who created the world

and made it to his ideales

who made it


 

livible for

himself but hardly

livi

ble for other animals made


 


 

now has poullted, it; and


 

destroyd and used up

almost all of its natural r esources has

made the world unlivible for any animal


 


 


 

The clouds are out today,

I am hungry, and they are dumplings,

I am afraid and they protect me.

they are bumpers, cusions around the

universe,

cusioning the earth with atmosphere

which is unending, unreachable.

I can’t have them for supper.


 


 


 


 


 

One of the clouds Isee today looks


 

like a bird hatching from an egg

When the clouds turn gray

he turnsto golden silver.


 


 


 


 

never once but occasionally more

the cover story broke and lies had to end

and thw mountain still remains

the faces change but

the truth is still there


 


 


 


 

ID


 


 

*********************************

********************************

*********************************

*********************************


 


 

anything


 

A frustrated Shirley Temple taps across the Good

Ship Lollypop


 


 

Th


 

999999999

The longesst poem in the world is a dream image

articulated in the echo box of

well formed American cheerleaders.

“I want to succeed”they scream and scrape the sky

with their urgent cunts as words tumble tumble

tumble.

Humour sitting on a sunlight porch brings action

to the flat midwest first note of summer…thank

you says the sun and corn for words,k though not enough

to eat or love or lean on, fill me up and tickle

on the disconnected circuit of my soul!

Thank you and good night.


 


 


 

DAVID HArR FV


 


 

DAVID HARVEY ***IS A DUMB**SHIT!!!!!!!!


 

signed

gillgan fox

signed


 

gilligan foxxx

THISA


 


 


 


 

In Iowa City, in the summer, it is

so saD. The Americans,

the Armenians, the drunks living on Marcy st.

also are sad.


 

MAKEUP IS WISE TO PUT ON


 


 


 

ALLTHE

TOOLS CONVENE (tools not fools)

HERE TOMORROW


 


 


 


 

and the bartenders, they weep


 

is this typewriter working? why yes it is.


 

I think i f will just write a few words why i


 

am waiting for my friend to come get stoned with


 

me and then again i feel as if sometimes I am waiting


 

for the entire world to come get stoned for the love


 

of god………forgive me if sometimes i submerge


 

into MAYA and suffer under the illusion that I am


 

a separate identity, I8m sorry I guess I’ve just


 

strayed from the mother organism and trying to


 

manifest my idea ½ thoughts into reality. Well my


 

molecular structure is beginning to disintergrate


 

so if youll excuse me I will just vibrate my way home..


 


 


 


 

Dear Darrell,


 

The wongbreads are fling asque,

askew. The Jumpinells are

chipping the silence.

The Rats are swimming the 100

meters for St. Anthony.

So, Heaven help me in little desires.

Johnson, tell me where the radishes are;

show me where the tulips sing;

how do the bee’s belch;

where does the finest Pike

leap his incandescant record?

My lover, Tell me where

the morning glories shit?

And on who?

Where in the avenues

and the guts of lonesome cows

does the mother

come into play?

In the softness of marbgles

and there is astronide

to be sute,

does snow and love

go together?

Tell my mother

and watch her laugh

so much that the goldfish

snicker

and die,

slowley, eaten sensuously by Bettas

but lovely,

and slowley

like dwarfs, lonely,

sad and permanent.


 


 


 


 


 


 

i

haven’t

been poet for

too many tears.


 


 


 

this is a ERASMIA PULCHELLA

if you dont bellieve

me or anyone aske

Jeanny

with the light brown

butterfly

green shirt

and red shirt

and big smile

all of which has nothing

to do

with her

brother

who is Dave

with the light brown

butterfly

and purple

shirt


 

and black border


 

sun sets

but we dont live there anymore


 

sun sets and the

cars pass

Dave types faster and faster

and melts into

the table

a long

100’ poem

of Morice

Joyce

says

quiet Joyce

don’t be os busy

Dave watches the sun set

and the cars pass again

and continues to type


 

Socks

change your socks

change your socks

it is

the VERNAL

EQUINOX


 


 


 

52 minutesw per 100

equals

100 minutes per 1000yards linear

on the cusp of the

margin

thst is the

lower priced spread

the higher is spread 100

fet long

or perhaps 100 feate long


 

AND THE INCREDIBLE NIGHTHAWKS*)? ¼


 

I’ve seen one of these before; I know I have--

perhaps in my dreams of immortality, perhaps

disguised as my brother in a dark brown suit,

No cheating! The idiots will be here soon,,,,,,,,,

Otherwise=the guppies, the enormous headpiece, my

friend the Pope.


 

Today is Yesterday’s Tomarrow and Yesterday is

Tomarrow’s Today andTomarrow is Today’s Yesterday

and

and there is not yesterday, today and, tomarrow.


 

submited by Me Myself and I.


 

[Note: a Chinese

ideograph appears

here painted on

calligraphically]


 


 


 

& we race toward the end toward 8.51 race toward

sunset catalogue of catalogues earth’s fiery

balling


 


 


 


 

F

THEIR R A FEW SPELING MISSTAKES IN THISS SINTENSE

SEA IF YOU KANN FIND AWL OV THEM THEY’RE R XZAXLEE

14 OV THEM


 


 


 

And we raced toward the end of 8:51 and found no end


 


 

`MP (Many People, unsigned)

 
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