Lean me into your dextrose cooing. What I have learned, paratactically, in the machine, cognates turning against each other. I feel your wheel me in me. Think of in me then this way or don’t. I or you or otherwise. While you were weeping, I was made into a weapon of mass insurrection. We could isomorphically be on purpose–like all flour–floural. Show some impathy for chrissakes, when in rooms, do as rumors. I heard you could be mine or mind or mined ore mined ore mind mined. I can see by your hands you are right for me, but wrong is the new right. Let’s sit on it awhile, an eggland’s best impression of an egg. Now I am too big to flail. Now I am for your enjoyment. Now I am your Kierkegaard. Where is my gadflyswatter? I may think of you so often so off then is my thought. My idea of you completes you modally. For example, your nevus is where I’ll keep all my notion of beautiful error w/r/t mapping the inside vertically. Vertiginous love works in our favor, as long as our blindspot is all below us. When I look down I see you look down and say Don’t ♥ w/ yr eyes. Up eyes up, where there is nothing to see nothing. For nothing is my love. Ash tree to ash tree, dust bowl to dust bowl, thou shalt return.
Found Object Poem by Bill Allegrezza
Found Object Poem by Bill Allegrezza
Bill Allegrezza is giving away found object poems. I got mine today.
Pamplona and Venere in seta (Venus in silk) Lino Tagliapietra (Italian, b. 1934) - Corning Museum of Glass
Window entering the widow minus
nth sulk the veins; sine of the times
as we say a gray wool coat
three quarter length Alzheimer’s
tan pants, seventy-four years gone.
Booty is immortal they say
stolen from the gods, obliterated
goods because they say so,
or do they say so because the goods? No matter,
we have them on autodialer.
Jame’s Turrell’s Meeting at PS1
the brain of the creator as a fish
aren’t we diabolical meat design?
stand pressed in ready
make it knew eh?
forget I then
a purgent codor
speak within tongues
naked mew
teach me ear apparent
while I in
the room.
Your post-
apocalyptic hoo-ha
is gobbling my synaptic
spandex ERROR MESSAGE
Please notify
the administrator
who is
out to lunch poems. You know
Whitman was a big mow
none better than you
as nine say lum–
an impassable seal
not better so.
sharp edged axes?
¿Great is the English speech?
brood
Text from here
What in
begins I’d again
why’d the apple
a skin above
the rock spring
wide I’d gorge
climb I the ring
then turn me in
you in turn
What put a scare
in. What care
was given.
It is looking dark.
Cut back
and back, the dark
is come.
I don’t live over
contested border?
You are trap. If decide now
then much so depends
on the disinvented wheel-
house. O Ivanhoe,
You rough side only
tearing down of the
Little Yellow Church.
Osa Price remembers
New Jersey Zinc.
It comes from the people,
four with Red Bluff
was a Carbide town.
I’ll dig ditches before I leave.
Then he got a job digging ditches
for $3.35 an hour, but from that day
they started dismantling
and removing what pieces and parts of machinery
and what they wanted to save
and salvage under pressure in rotary boilers, the rope,
cotton waste and rags.
Mostly cobbled from It Comes From the People by Mary Ann Hinsdale, Helen Matthews Lewis, S. Maxine Waller AND http://patersongreatfalls.org/0325pgf/00a.cgi?cr=12a00a00&hd=dhd&tl=dtl&tr=dtr&nl=dnl&bl=dbl&br=dbr&ft=dft&crx=00n
