Poe Man Poe
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POEMS MAN POEMSPOEMS MAN POEMS
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Poe Man Poe
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Church
every drunken, addictive suicidal act of passion
is an attempt to go to the god.
the Voice comes faster and smoking in
urban saint sacrifice.
air, yet again, air.
they are every love and
every thought that anyone ever had,
all at once,
everywhere,
all at the same time,
forever.
this new forever begins.
I am waiting at the door
with all of you.
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Poe Man Poe
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Jesse the Cat
Jesse was our cat on Cross street.
she worked a shift which no one else knew
at any time, in any universe,
parallel or otherwise.
she liked to lick paint,
old paint that had been applied
in 1955 by some veterans
of some war.
her stare screamed of ages which she had lived
in other cat suits, in other times.
on Easter morning,
she pulled out her purple thorn and
diligently severed an artery of mine.
she liked to lick my blood like the paint.
the next day, she ran through my blue legs,
past the emergency man who rang the door bell
to tell me that he had the wrong address.
she ran through my blue legs to go away to die.
the next morning, I ran away to die.
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Poe Man Poe
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No Arms to get in the Way
running with scissors toward strangers with candy,
even the dogs won’t come to me now.
one . the way the god likes it. one.
two. the way the god likes it. two.
there is sugar in the wound.
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Poe Man Poe
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Needs
my dreams need me more than I need my dreams,
but there is a picture in a dream.
there is a picture in my Polaroid mind where you
are leaning pretty in front of the Edison Hotel.
my thoughts need me more than I need my thoughts,
but there is a spirit in a thought
there is a spirit in my thoughtless mind.
your voice inhabits a vase you’ve painted.
you are in front of fields with your lover.
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Poe Man Poe
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It Feels Like Real
and it only feels real
because here you have to barter against pain.
but show your ass to your love.
a crucifix in a cup.
she will always be soft for the sake of the soul between you.
show your ass but know that the cross is there.
love or hate, or don’t feel anything.
I recognize you, anyway, because the wind moved
and licked you with a rasped tongue
from your a$$hole to your brain stem
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Poe Man Poe
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A RIVER
you were effortlessly fanning your arms
like a prophetic diva
like a child inventing a snow angel
you are no one in nothing again
like it ever was not
and then again .
at any time,
someone will dispense with maybe god
or maybe a valentine
these pieces will push and slide through god’s hands
and will go to a river somewhere .
a river .
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Poe Man Poe
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HOUSES
In the houses where no one lives anymore,
only different people
than the ones I remember
In these houses
I imagine them empty
with only me inside.
The ashtray says, "There's a chip of a soul in here."
The same ashtray voice from grandmas house
where I cut the grass when she didn't live there anymore.
Like aunties house,
all prime and gutted at the same time
and with a trove of of ceramic ballerinas
and poodles
and doves, along with
the other species of porcelain and glass animals to never dust off.
These houses wherein I know how to live
are here and so very far away.
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Poe Man Poe
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TAILOR
call all saints in your coffees
in your dedicated gnash and teeth
in the down with the spit
in your favorite moment
they quiver like quaint things in ancient british movies
things written about them on sides of buildings in the theater district.
“Harriet bites it.” it reads to me just before i shake back into the dream.
the imprints of tiaras on the roof of my mouth
and the last words you said to me
kings want this
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Poe Man Poe
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DEAD HOUSE
he tells the stove goodnight
and pushes the broken button to turn off
the fluorescent moon
he tells dead Dolores goodnight in heaven
no fluorescent moon and she gets to rest
he ponders her many wars
between the stove top
and the eternal coffee pot and yet another electric thing
but then a rancid perker
but then the grounds
but then the night and the night
her demons usually won the
fluorescent-percolator battles
while the electric fry pan dueled
with the avocado blender or
the harvest umber can opener
the valiums went all touchy allemande with the
thousand rounds of caffeine
in demented looking mugs
this months model vs the holiday cups
large runs down the cheap nylons,
house dresses frayed to the last veil,
pot holders with circles and grids burned in hard
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Poe Man Poe
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CARVED OUT
Carved wooden birds
in wooden wall clocks
are tortured and torn with cheap surgery in
a rusty hospital.
My enlarged and sainted pleas for more time,
like sounds made by working shoes and life-pushers,
are not heard. The birds are immune to sounds of weeping
The voice in the clock is covered
with what is sustained as real time
not unlike onion paper and the stink of the lyre
This sound has pulled this out of me. An
organ that has gone bad. A masticated
piece of flesh that takes-on the sun, again.
The genuine and lustful tongue of life
just rings the bell .
and mostly screaming ensues and
mostly seeing it from a cloud somewhere,
a god nods off.
That tongue again
and it splits a moment in two
the crying comes down
and all the lies seem transparent
while a child glazed in time
clings to your leg.
Life, she ignores us
until a dimple in the stream disrupts the flow and
tongue of life, my ass.
Waking comes best at the first moment of sleep.
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Poe Man Poe
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FECKLESS and TRIED
Archimedes on my lap
Euripides in the back seat
the plane was going down
and I pushed my flesh
through my clothes
Jean Paul Sartre on my lips
a licorice flavored girl on my tongue
the taste was forever
a dead author
with his fangs in me
Jean D’Arc rubbing it on my leg
the taste was a dead thing reborn
the circle goes to closing
the bartender already knows my name
i hear the station and her sirens
Timmy’s scar opened up and not water came out.
smallish horses on the shadow postcard are
my heroes who hold my soul for a moment
this is what I would like to be
the last thing I remember
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moleman
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It's in.
It's out.
Little rowstabout.
It's here.
It's there.
I hold it Oh so dear.
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