BP :: PJ85

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

The poorest poetry that I creat
are lines composed for myself
not simply for pleasure masturbatorially
rather to enlighten or educate myslef regarding some aspect of my behavior
Poems on penmenship party perfomance weight
Perhaps that is why my poem regarding
my devotion to you has taken so long.
It has no plot and is yet so crystal clear
like venus in her shell – on roller skate in venice of course
Damn I wish I could creat it but the pressure of perfection makes it impossible
The anxiety of the past and Mr. Blooms description of it
ti mc to the boat of failure
metaphor, muse, and convention
The idea is to creat a reality in which my vision exists.
That has already been done. A reality in which we coexist together confronts me daily and I rejoice
But of panthers and passion I fail in praising.
The measuring stick for love is lust… the do not exist as one…god would need metaphor to measure the relative value of either
But taken together the power becomes clear
And with clever tongue to thee I am
finally able to sing of visions of love
and repition of stupidty cold hot dogs at the end of the walk of life
complaints at millers outpost
the evil medical meachine. the military
in a dehumanized free verse love energies slowly
action dictates creation
axiom prefigures action
desire is more then my favorite bob dylan record ask me
you ask me to write..complain of the contents
and fail to reply
in your perfect, controlled prose
to be critical without compassion would be most unkind…
like shelly the hairdresser….I must
Aim at the emotion which prefigures the axiom
Define my love like melting wax
slowly drying to th eside of an old wine bottle which
we shared over cheese
usury has drained my dgo whil you continue to fuel
my libido even if from afar
this pen is breaking up…
mybe for is the problem
by looking to image I deny meaning
subject must be the iconographic representation or itself
as it moves through time space mind
subject as love pop
your lips are like a recycled coke can
Has promise but looks lacks the personal compassion I seek
today I have honestly not spoken to anyone
I got nervous in a video store
“may I speak to the manager…”
no change occurs
but thoughts were expressed accross time
always take cigerates it is agood way
to communicat attitude without
vocalization
no need to ask for Gry Poupon buggle boy jeans will nt help
Don ask accept
guetamalon backpacks disolve no value
but in emotinon the position of the thing is related
take names orginize files creat confrontation.
Bukowski hatred for the working world
will not lend slavation to a
collapsing S&L industry
there is never any one more radical then you
everyone is under appreciated
Animal spirits exist
People that do not have their books signed at poetry reading
really really bother me…
get the metamorposis
and read catulus
follow pound
round and
round
Burrought mind is senly of tight
don’t give up the fight.
Simply write greeat poems the great lines will follow.
where is the water
going in a greenhouse
should not the
water be more
obvious
condensing on the windows
take your time with a pen…the
tree hook its time growing
yet where did the ink develop
in th eintestines of the octopi
I doubt it beneath the bile bland of some
ancient snake the tears of an
asp perhaps
why hid the meaning the joy of unlocked chests
has always led to trouble
pandora
finding mom’s stuff – nothing but trouble
theirs the witches pot ha no
lid it is allows to boil
and bullbe
over
the sides of a
jar
a bell jar into which great poets are cast
sappho and erotic vases
plath and corning ware
grandma and the ornament over the mantle
leaving grnadpa alone in his
double decker ploy
as if
if osomeone had forgoet

I must gegain the
humor of a high octane
asic high
burning and scouring
unaffraid to leave the last
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