Sunday, July 12, 2009

Sampson Starkweather

from LA LA LA

when in large groups
I often want to swing
Thor’s hammer
transforming irritability
into energy
should win a prize
for almost existing
like a superlove
say forbidden
how weird is
becoming a tunnel
more of a pastime
than an act of civil
engineering no gland
to regulate this emotion
life is another way to say
proportional to
the push-button moment
my fortune cookie
a drawing of a mountain
appearing to disappear
I am the goat
perched on anything
a branch of shame
the denial
that one is one’s own
it doesn’t have to be
whole to break
is an action
watch the poem
sail into

did you say river
without bend
or end
if it didn’t hurt
I’d have gone
a long time ago
good looking
out Pain
everything is a game
to my niece
only this
makes sense
the pesky not-world
hiding somewhere
I want poems
to be like 80s video games
land and sky
forever off
either side of the screen
New Zealand is like that
a promise held out
two horizons
that never come
are you wet yet
you love when I talk
landscape in overalls
scamper the flattened world
pick up
the occasional coin
or sledge hammer
I’ll mushroom-leap
those goddamn digital clouds
we lie
and cry

every poem should begin
I’m kinda of in a dunebuggy
it’s a fact
feelings of powelessness
lead to killing and shopping
sprees weeeeeeee
oh there’s more
where that came from
a growing demand
for designer vaginas
in other news
ghost slugs are real
people can be so quiet
they barely exist
images of earth
always make me
horny it sounds
like a soap opera
when it hums
all God’s children
are brats probably
Brazilian at that
products of
product placement
know when to say when
how dumb is that
just keep going
swallow sand
try to finalize
any love
like the games
people play
on the subway
get in
follow me

have you noticed pussy
foot is always singular
iron lung killjoy
sound like bad ass Indians
take the longest breath
any man’s
ever taken
and begin again
the poem is its own
scientists say the soul
has the consistency
of an expensive milkshake
bagpipes are bad
for the environment
Dear Mom
you don’t know shit
about poetry
if you were a think tank
we’d all be making
cartoon balloons
I love hitting
Undo poof
I made the rain
go away
chin music
is not a cliché
to say we’re all alone
your name is # 2
on my things to do list
Google Earth knows dick
about my birthmarks
let’s all change
color   what are people
who study traffic
called   a lot of love
has died technically
anything can be

Sampson Starkweather
's most recent chapbook, The Heart is Green from So Much Waiting is forthcoming from Immaculate Disciples Press. He is also the author of City of Moths from Rope-a-Dope Press and The Photograph from horse less press. He lives in the Qua.