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money honey
2005-03-31-- Posted by: allegra

Some dude named Mahathir says the US owes $7 trillion US and the dollar's about to collapse. Don't you just hate it when people say things like that with no facts to back them up? Then he REALLY shoots himself in the foot and says we need to go back to gold. What a moron. We're coming to days when a handful of oatmeal will look like a gold bar. You can't eat gold, dude.

new poem
2005-03-31-- Posted by: allegra

Tether

March ? - 30, 2005





I upended the dictionary
and sat amid the disarray.
That only took a moment.  Then
the words rose up and struck me
one by one, and then in pairs
and couplets
until I was quite insensate 
from the blows

The notion of originality 
quoth the sage, one eye on the headlines
one eye down the gunsight
is vastly overrated in this culture

But the world which we make reference to has changed

I upended the thousand-sided dice
and logged on to the logosphere, a word I invented
before I had my first child, a surface I visit for fun

Thrum of motors . Sound of trains . Never lived where I couldn't hear a train .
never lived where I wasn't loved . all I want is to love . i n d e f i n i t e l y
and take my lickings  too . I even want to love you, you f*ckwit
but you ain't paying attention

The sage is a chameleon with swivelling eyes
The sage is an advertisement for candy
If you look at me, you will think, rosemary, and not sage
Rosemary is blooming at my front door, even this minute
but the paschal lamb it goes with passed me over

Oh Christ
Thou lovest pardon, pardon me
for making fun of the Christians

who could love you, and not be your fool for life
your fool for tender love
but they are trying to kill me, Lord
they hate me and they persecute me

when they spit hate at me, Jesus, at me
and my queerness and my unchurched marriage

for such it truly is

I fear for life

But I have sanctified the house of bones
and borne my love two children
how could a man of hate degrade what you have blessed?

I got home this evening
and my daughter had my dinner ready
Ah yes
the wages of sin seem more than fair
but you are the tyranny of softness, hanged man
God will love me no matter how hard I hate myself
God will cling to me and never let me throw him off
And you love them, just like you love me, don't you, Jesus?

So I will try God I will try
to love myself and them
for the regard in which you hold us
close as close
But I tire of being hated and I thirst for love
a long sweet kiss in front of the Spaced Out Library

I am never going to stop standing under that lamppost
humming something I wrote for you
waiting


Riot Wheel
2005-03-31-- Posted by: allegra

This is called a Riot Wheel.

previously published inter\face 13
2005-03-30-- Posted by: allegra

Air Writes (previously published in interface 13)







insink instinct

hammer bones

intelligence is always hunting for a venue . not just a matter
of a phone call
more like and less like
various slides and throbbing notes, modulated trills
dancing off the scope, the gap exactly right
for a lifetime of performance

into it intuit
sharpen fangs

preparation leaves me bleak
itís never saved me
knowing what comes next
has never saved me

into the evening to return a movie, & at least once a year, a ritual returned to its rightful, my body . the air . why in all this warmth, the sweet grey cloak of dusk, am I not standing naked to the elements

who are, for once
not lining up to kill me, suck the air
out of me, blind and remind me
just how weak I am

spacial special
the boundaries delete
themselves, accompany each other, giggling
about another category concept mistake
excape wile you can
creep & fly

Ur 
some combination

flow back into your beginnings like bad fx

or into your slide of the future hauling 
my partial lobotomy

o edges
o proportions

hail and gangbuster . I draw the line
& it becomes a snake, a word, a limit
& a runt from another ideaís litter
vibrato, the particle that tags the wave
the wag that tells the tale of the dog

so far away

depart from all those lines
live limitless

but on this side of my skin, the joke
that inheres in every limitation rules
bones make rules
fangs take their censuses
air writes

exigent tangent, this
for a handiform critter in profile
enthroned among magazines, haloed
by brittle backwash of sodium light

you sluggard, rise and be done
with words, this is my appeal to you
to silence me

wreathed in apt and mannerly constructions

posit a tacit elixir, present and still corked

put your face against the flower and breathe

unless allergic
histamine blowout
streaming eyes
eruptions, failing bronchi
over Ė reaction

dance with oncogenes, muddle medullae

whims and strings of arbitrary protein

but rise & borrow the protection of my skin
I can offer this

take shelter 

then do something else.  My skin
is used to absences.

I live in a country between visits to you.  
It doesnít have a name or a physical location.
It is a lost file on a crashed disk.
Maybe one bite is missing.  
Send my teeth and clothes to Forensics 
when youíre done.  It is not subject to
examination, but one has to try,

for reasons of honour
or something that sounds just as good.

I live in a room full of your ideas.  Most of them are like
windows.  Some are more like shutters, but thatís the way
the analogy stretches.

I live in a skin
completely shed since last you touched it
dust mites breed where perception did

the body of god
this heaven scent flesh a sacrament
a ritual to end uncertainty

who goes there in the dark?

survivors

that is all . what will I leave
but protein in a carbon shell?

you in the eerie neon glow of a night light
tame fire, this atavistic prompting
commences stalking closure
here is a new tattoo
it reads, amid scrollwork:

Interpretation Centre for the Numinous

ainít that the luminous truth

you with godhead peering slyly out 
from every pore
distill the essences & know
what they are for

a reconciliation for these warring voices
within and surrounding, bounding
toward concrete

dust and rust . kicked up and blown
into my lungs, up into the Kootenays
to finally exhale

now, air

sniff the city
pernicious afterburn
of stone and metal
whirling with the hydrocarbons
and the odourless horror
of common compounds

(always trying to plant a kiss
(on Truthís mouth, while the creature
(deerlike leaps away

renegade in ruins

long slow cud
of indigestible idea

and drifting spin(e)wise to a new orientation

The sunís begun again.  It never stops but it cycles.

Bless this blast.  Hallow this scurvy stain.
Instead of skin, this intimation of a fleshly wall.
Charisma rats on Chaos.  Each name has a price.

Count into oblivion, or even farther
away

Oblivion is just as close or far as any whacking great idea, infinity, the limit, that interesting play on words I left lying in the bushes, around here somewhere.

Here was I rapid forward and shake into your field of vision.  Itís all over so fast 
the flavour disappears
mysterious trail, invisible, and dense as Hegel

itinerant iterant


easy to be Tiresias

mendicant hierophant

smile for the ephemera machine

& air writes the epigraph

1988
2005-03-30-- Posted by: allegra

A conversation





we glitter
and sink
into silence
allusions
evade us
a perfect remark
precise
implicit in
half-light
coils from
the book

a time lapse flower

a staircase sprite
lingers like perfume

if we speak
we will abolish
the amazing

the unsaid is everything