[regret’s a clod]

regret’s a clod—pebble impurity—in soul-mesh:

         rinse scrim, render it

         deathbed-transparent.

is idyll idle or iddle?  non-anti-Semitic lute-

         pluck’d lake we

         tremolo-pass.

dance tune:  “love the gefilte fish you’re with.”

         rock it.

aunt Brünnhilde, I wake thee from fire-circle—

         incest-lust-heft pumping

         heldentenor reparative

         durational duress.

mensch of you in my turkey stuffing slays—

         perineum’s suspension

         bridge, resolved.

dreamt he returned, fat-faced oiled prof

         at moribund school

         mailbox—dead letters,

         dessicated wife, schizo son.

round mushroom-head of my heart you chop

         death you subdivide

         into half-moon minion-filets.

we break ourselves apart to make new vision-

         biscuits out of

         nothingness:  the circle wept

to hear itself described as rhomboid, square—

         sever thought from action,

         let circling reverie

         unhinge itself from deed.

I made gouache shapes on Thanksgiving be-

         cause I needed to re-

         member I was reputedly alive.

imagining Hannah Arendt crooning Brahms

         lullaby over my Jason

         Gould pseudo-incest cradle. 

lemon zabaglione curve of me creating

         a nonsensical

         reason to dream backward.

faux pas to ask for a blurber’s copy:  they dropped

         my blurb from the book:

         no shame to be an

         omitted mouthpiece.

why shouldn’t messianic time fill me, as if yr

         cock in the bathroom were

         messianic time’s momentary

         emissary cracking me open?

[upload to private]

upload to private album the yellow baseball

         shirt photo wherein

         I look Botoxed.

ladybug sentient yet stationary on Marimekko

         shower curtain’s blue

         calyx flame.

dreamt a gay literary critic reviled me, tore

         up my dorm room’s

         paltry wall-to-wall carpet

         in Trilling rage-fit.

hordes of like-minded Wayne-haters gathered in amphitheater

         to watch the slow

         unpiecing—sleep cure

         in snow-Alps a coddled Gulag.

nutty obscene tonic OCD Joan Crawford’s

         My Way of Life’s

         stomach gurgles from

         unwise imaginary emetics.

strange unallegorical withies moving between a white

         triangle overlap

         an unevenly contoured

         square (it won’t forgive you).

osculum underwater wanting my participation

         in immoral acts—tongue-

         drama, “always up

         for getting blown, mister.”

“how thick is it?”  thick enough to depopulate

         Middlemarch—white

         window-frame reflection

         on black-jacketed Merleau-Ponty.

 drapes acknowledging the slant “H” they bear,

         flashback swastika

         siphoned into

         Mondrian eyelid-specter—

eye’s lid inside contains Mondrian

         swastika condensation—paper

         bag pleats echoing

         crucifix or nude Raphael

         Soyer limbs cut by horizon-line.

Lascaux butt, where human and antelope

         converge—glute muscle

         you’ll scapegoat ("she

         let the ball drop”—

         career condemners):

what was the ball?  where did it drop?

         Carolee held the ball—

         j’accuse the male

         old fart, moi, toi—

         trois contes uncountable.

furry neighboring rejector, actor, dancer, mustache,

         always a “th” in

         your name to the-

         atricalize its Irma Vep

         (Vilna?) Ludlow-plush.

ghetto theater, curtain rod plunged into orifice

         named “me” for

         shorthand, explanatory

         ease—to lube the theorem.

[blue tape-seam dividing]

blue tape-seam dividing debased sidewalk:

         piss there, despite

         sworn perv-abstinence?

stop mentioning lifelong tropism toward swollen

         Stollen Swiss Miss

         misbegotten Hello, Dolly!

a literary version of jazz hands he asked me

         if I had:  liquor

         cardboard boxes flattened,

         stacked, rope-tied.

wrapped nuptial mattress dead on street:  green

         gaffer’s tape upholding

         spring’s Dylan-Thomas-

         promised bog-surge.

her hennaed Frühlingsnacht hospice hair, a Bon

         Ami scouring to undo

         Napoli hostel boy-

         teen flipflop-shuffle.

passing you, St. Vincent de Paul boarded up,

         incorrigible fire truck

         alarm ear-slashing

         my zither opportunism.

hydrant water cock-plunges my sneaker-mesh:

         beggar mouth and tyrant

         mouth gagged by dialectic.

brutally Fitbit-interpellated, I fight bootless

         back by fool-misplacing

         wrist toy:  reclaim it,

         re-smooch w/ my

         Fitbit jizz-interpellatee.

coveting your metallic sneakers, svelte flood-

         trousered Puck outpacing

         my origins-of-

         totalitarianism lech-amble.

Stanley Tucci lookalike, veer away from me, IV

         not finding its vein.

in pj’s she street-squats on milk crate, doyenning

         over the auto-frigging

         moi-daveners.

noli me tangere anti-Semitism’s mule-gait

         a tapioca bubble I’ll gum.

radio's Ella Fitzgerald Santa Claus is coming to town quashing

         (or simply syntagm-

         bumping) my kindred’s

         Botox stigmata, Yuletide

         Juvéderm, AZT

         joy-enwrapt $-pubis.

or Richard Tauber’s daffodils frost-seared:

         geliebt ermordet Stars

         and Stripes grave-kilt montage.