Sunday, December 27, 2009

Aaron Kunin

CLEANING MUST FAIL


Good spot to commit suicide.
Nothing "to" distract, interrupt
Or change your mind, little mess and
Someone "to" pick
It up tomorrow. "The" best place
Is a hotel

Room. (Bathtub.) Remember "the" poem
By Lisa Jarnot where she took
"The" paper that Jim Buckhouse wrote
For undergrad
Intro "to" philosophy class
About whether

He could be wrong "about" being
In pain "and" changed "it" "to" Paris?
I'm doing "the" opposite "of"
"That." This little
Body I uncover without
Expectation

"Of" pleasure, intimate but not
Sexual, like handling someone's
Stomach, "or" has "that" been rezoned?
All professors
"Of" English should take "a" vow "of"
Celibacy.

Do you even enjoy "the" things
"You" call "pleasure"? "I" was tempted
"To" whisper "do you" love me "or"
"Do you" merely
"Love" "your" work? Both varieties
Are restricted.

Anyone who "has" made "a" list
Knows how difficult "it" can "be"
"To" "do" "work." My job "is" finding
Curves, overlaps
"And" confused "by" "things" "that" used "to"
Turn "you" on, links

"On" "the" burning necklace, without
Activating "it" recedes, rough
"And" smooth interests "of the" flesh
Withdrawn from "you"
"I" resented "the things" "I" loved
"And" couldn't feel.

Only "the" cold recognizes
"The" appearance "of" "love." Gelid
"The" heart, wrapped "in" "a" plastic sheet
Acknowledges
"The" power "and" extent "of love."
"You" "turn" "me" "on"

"But" "you" don't make "me" laugh. "You don't"
"Turn me on but you" "do" something
Better: "you" influence "me." "My"
"Turn" "is a" kind
"Of" uniqueness ("only"). "Only"
Criminals know

"How" "to" "enjoy" life. Change "it" back
"To" "pain." "Do" "not" restate "do not"
Resuscitate. Visualize
Myself "in" "a
Hotel room" when "the" door opens
"And" "pain" walks "in"!



Aaron Kunin is the author of Folding Ruler Star (2005) and The Mandarin (2008), both from Fence Books. A new chapbook, Cold Genius, is available from The Physiocrats. He lives in Los Angeles.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Scott Inguito

DON'T FETISHIZE MY BUCKET.
OKAY, YOU CAN A LITTLE.


If you are the guide,
who am I? If I want

to lay in the sun like
a dog with a smooth belly

knowing well that my belly
is not smooth though it is

distended, you will be
unfortunately abandoned. And

if I want to be the new dog
on the roof—higher than perennial love

though I piss in the corner of
the lowest part of the roof—

you unfortunately will be
abandoned. If I say

'You are now in me,' but I
want to live on the roof

at night and during the day,
but with access to the stairs

so I can do my business when
I want, outside—but I am loyal,

I only want to be in the cool bushes
at night (this is not semantic)—

you will be unfortunately
abandoned. And If I say 'Here

is my obsession, scarves and
strangers, ' even though my dog

dandruff perfumes deep into
the strings, sand and salt, you

will be unfortunately abandoned.
Where am I? I am on the roof,

in the sun in the corner on my side,
in the dirt in shadow; under the

palm tree shitting; sleeping in
a swarm of scarves and strangers

watching with closed eyes
gummed with salt and spit the

welded together buses.



AGAINST THE SURPLUS OF BIRD


Dogs and strangers and glances
fill the riverbank, come to
abandon esthetic longings. Not the

dogs but the strangers. And the
glances. Fallow delusion takes
more scrubbing at the river,

barks until hoarse in the dog throats.
Strangers find strangeness in other
strangers, but the thing about

making money is. In the river tossing
away no one is waiting; its opposite.
Ruins sit back over there. They

are the were that makes the will be,
the dogs and glances for the still-
starved strangers in the what is left.



Scott Inguito lives in San Francisco and is the author of the chapbook Dear Jack, published by Momotombo Press.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Alli Warren

HOES NEED NECTAR TOO


The wild west rings out choppers

Greeks the underside

Gasters are bulbous

Things coming in the night

Heavily and oiled and reeking out

In the trench with it

Gurgling and then bulleted

The outside and gurgling

That’s why they call it rogue

Confessing in dirt-face

Under pylon

Knocking haters on their asses

They come arresting all over town

Please approach the bench

How did this dove deflate?

There’s never enough milk

In the hay in love of verbs

I went not once but twice through

Code in hand

Waxing real hard

My tail-end grows out of whack

The nuts inside us are unreasonable

Pussywillows whip in the wind

Animal problems in the accounting

The area around the fault line

Bands around the infield

Blows cork

I need a new mole-skin

This one’s all sticky and full

Of pricking the in and out

Of the woodwork

In the saddle

I want that stuff that gives

My tooth aches activate that asset

Weevil release


Alli Warren
works in psychoacoustics on the Left Coast. Recent chapbooks include No Can Do, Bruised Dick (a collaboration with Michael Nicoloff), and Well-Meaning White Girl. She works in Berkeley, lives in Oakland, and co-curates The (New) Reading Series at 21 Grand.

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Michael Sikkema

IN THE ROOM THIS IS WHAT IS SAYING

last night invented insects enough to own us



SAY ME INTO THIS THEN

You said
hemorrhage

I heard chicken
wrap

some day-shit-
accidental



THE SCORE

We’re three musics
deep, Mr. Pulse,
in this hear this



IN THE ROOM THIS IS WHAT IS SAYING

Tired of why why not talk

“limping like a clock on her left leg”



Michael Sikkema is the author of Futuring which is available here. He believes that birds are simple magic. You can reach him at Michael.Sikkema@gmail.com.