Friday

Brooklyn looks quaint at dawn.
Bare trees point up the same way
molten aluminum points down
when poured into an ant colony.
There are eggs and toast on display
in the window of a diner, but they are not real.
Orange juice is artificially colored
because it's okay to do that.
Everyone seems about 20% more
clever and together than me lately.
A few cars hiss by, a woman puts
the garbage out, the top of a building
changes from red, to blue, to purple,
to green, and back again. The silhouette
of a satellite dish on the roof across
the street receives signals from the sky.
The coffee has been sipped, the news
has been read, the day is slightly
quiet and tangled in daylight.
The forecast calls for more than rain.

English Heel

When people stop moving they call
that something or other. I know what to call
it when a diplomat swims. I know all about that.
I know people who've been made unsteady because
of what I've said. The answer is "yes."
From time to time: denim tights
and a vanilla snack cake. Like all
the ordinary days and then some.
So, I put the song "Nove Alberi"
by Harold Budd on repeat and it took
me 2-hours to realize that's a long time
to listen to one song. At least
the sounds of the renovation
in my neighbor's apartment downstairs
were drowned out a tad bit by the pulsing drone.
My neighbor is going to buy me a gift card to BookCourt.
That's what I told her I wanted when she asked me
if she could buy anything for me in return for
the inconvenience of the cacophony that's been
going on down there since early February.
Monday through Friday 8AM to 4PM.
I can hear the men downstairs sanding and sawing
and pounding and laughing or whistling. I can shield my face
with my hands. Rubber gloves, as I clean and remove.
One of the men downstairs is whistling something
as he screws something into the ceiling beneath my feet.
I took 5 pairs of my boots to the cobbler on Smith Street
just to get out of the apartment for some forceful wind.
I asked the cobbler and he said, "English Heel."

Basic Comfort Event

There's a certain graceful clamor evident in their chatter.
The nose bridge meets the forehead so the brain
alters the inside of the oxygen molecule, making
us steadier with a certain moxy. That's how
we can walk without falling down the stairs. The next
time you are asked if FLUFF comes in 5lbs. containers
the answer is "yes." One other thing: "chainsaw"
is a weird thing to say in a song. Do not let pleasure
push you away, the night is long and dark.
People fall away all the time because of what
is said. And just like that a day appears and the
question of what to do to fill it arises.

John Ashbery - A Poet's View

Sonic Youth - Cotton Crown

Wednesday Top 10

1) Brenda Coultas & Eleni Siklianos at the Poetry Project.
2) Vomit Fist (I'll be performing with them) at The Stone.
April 16, 8PM. A William S. Burroughs tribute night.
3) Punk: The Best of Punk Magazine.
4) Lot 64 Ranch Blouse.
5) Russell Edson: Edson's Mentality.
6) John Ashbery & James Schuyler: A Nest of Ninnies.
7) Reader's comments sections in the New York Times.
8) Shoegazer.
9) The Temptations.
10) Jury duty.

Appaloosa

Tug up, amazing things are crystallizing
in your room. It's March.The air outside is critically cold.
That dusting of frost on the rusty bikes is a reason to cheer.
If you bury yourself in the comments section, winter will
appear to pass faster, but you'll feel like your brain has been punched
by too many weirdos. It might ruin summer for you.
One bright spot:
Randall's Island is spirited at midnight.
Walk there, it isn't far from the border.
The city has no faults, it never does.
And so, absolved, I will deliver my vivisection
with a crappy turntable and a crate of records.
Some people are so delicate. To do:
make everyone dance vigorously, prank a coworker,
develop a habit of actually ordering prawns, and observe
how sincere I am when fearful.

Instagram

Let me explain: on the F Train between 23rd Street and Bergen Street, a man ate an entire head of Romaine lettuce.

#21

I don't remember what you had in
mind, but it struck me as dazzling
when you asked for anonymous
submissions. The oil made a rainbow
on the puddle and the kids loved it,

Thanks! Rightly so, and apparently
bereft, a kitchen is sad in the dark,
even if you can maneuver past the
utensils slit-free and stick your
hand inside the bag with a loaf inside.

I'll never understand all the mystery
surrounding a renovation. When it is down-
stairs it sounds like violence and
destruction, which I guess it is,
but who gets to clean up the mess?

Derringer

What magnificent buckles are these? How can I love you? Press the gas into water and it will freeze. 

I imagine you. A remarkable feeling of disarray. A burning shit up party for the newspaper people and other brass. They came unclothed as a wedding gift. I wear braces as a matter of style, and do my handshaking in beachwear. They wore their bonnets correctly for the formidable types. Many of the contenders were cocky and full of clout. They were brooding types who swooned in a circle over a kettle of meat. I showed them algebra, I spoke of the sciences in joyful ways, I provided them encyclopedias and atlases. Still, they did cling to people. I was the very person for them who was both present and stellar. I mean, they called me the real one: "You are magnificent," they said.

"I have no idea who you all are," I answered.  Now everyone is sad and giddy, making matters worse than usual in this port. The forecast for rain calls for more than rain.

Grey Kite

It takes a brutal winter to make people think they've been mugged.
People roughhouse and think no one will notice the horseplay
has gotten out of control, and is perhaps even dangerous on
a crowded city sidewalk. One of the men might think
the other is attacking or provoking him. Maybe the mad joy
of nothing is to prove them wrong. Embark, but do not wallow;
you are better off goofing off. Please enjoy the awkward nature
of being alive at any point in history at all.

Friday Top 10

1) Aki Sasamoto: Sunny in the Furnace at The Kitchen, NYC.

2) Scent and Subversion: Decoding a Century of Provocative Perfume by Barbara Herman.

3) "Perhaps it's better to be a light, dumb person." -Aki Sasamoto

4) Excitability by Diane Williams.

5) Mistakes I Made at Work by Jessica Bacal. (a chapter on Kim Gordon!).

6) Notes from the Air: Selected Later Poems by John Ashbery.

7) Rudolf Stingel at Gagosian Gallery, NYC.

8) Taxes done.

9) Civet, Ambergris, & Oud.

10) I'll be giving a reading in Paris!
Wednesday, June 4th at The Maison de Poesie.

Industry City

White dew at the corner
of anyone's mouth is distracting, okay?
When talking at all I plumb depths.
A bit of relaxation is good
for everyone who gives in a carnal age.
I'd like a warm day where
its never cold. Then a bath
and more clapping. The antidote
is cleaved from the passages
that explain a way out. A buttery wind
batters us with line-reducing moisture beads.
Pop-Tarts, Cap'n Crunch,
and Chocolate Quik.
I won't hanker for anything when
we're gone, just a raw tablet and
out of there. You can walk past
where I'll be waiting for the bus.
There are terrible things in store
for all of us, but not all bad.

Panda Bear - Bros

Oscar Night Party

What venerable caution has become us. Sauced to the
point of space travel, an envelope floating before you.
All it takes is the laughing ass to marble the flood
with you. To fathom the grilling, to buck up and bare fang.
I'm not triple gusting or any of the obvious things.
I'm just as plain as a shovel, the shank of a boot
shoving it under. I can't borrow from you any more than
I can hesitate a moment before the sudden cascade of spring.
I've done it, I admit it. The sky is damp and scuzzy,
the last of the black snow is now covered in new snow.
Like looking at a person with a bad facelift in zero gravity:
it's not nice. All I want is steam and a plank of dread,
and I've got them. Hook, shine, and blinker.