TRASH AMERICAN STYLE #6
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda



Every time you ask me to write
I forget or you forget that
I build
In the basement I leave the nozzles open
Run upstairs to check on the kid
Throw bread out of the toaster
Strum three Rolling Stones chords
Over the kid resembles a periscope
I brought the kid to sanitarium
He made friends immediately with two birds
In the waiting area
Cages
Yellow striking
A color worn to elicit luck
Like a white arm that spins in circles
The joint is loose
Remember that place where we ate meatball subs?
Saw Nick after how many years?
He looked the same they all did anyway
I was saying something about building
You can measure the gravity with this device
I rigged from a level I found in the mound of dirt near the baseball field
I don't know you wrote that poem years ago
It was one of your first poems I didn't understand it
I don't understand it
How about pricks beneath super dark trees
Over the left field fence
Tim who lived in the house through the woods
Would pretend to know how to spin his arm like a cat
I saw him walking down the road
Facial air
Was striking also
That is where we slept outdoors in the rain
I can barely leave my room
Magazines get delivered directly to my room
I am not addicted enough
"Come down into the basement" whoever said that
Sitting on a mini fridge playing the guitar
Whoever bought Danish cookies anyway ate them
A green cloud passing over means the rain is going to come hard
Understand what pricks would be doing beneath super dark trees
Or were the pricks a metaphor
Or super dark trees
I could never spin my arms like a cat
Drunken snakes they get drunk in the first place
My uniform was blue or blue was the color of my uniform
My uniform was white
I studied your line breaks I think they make sense at ;east
"Come down into the basement" some red-headed kid said
It wasn't his head that was red it wasn't his hair exactly red
Either whatever
How many lines is this supposed to be?
How do you know when a poem is done?
How do you know when a poem is a poem?
You sound like Lisa Turtle
She's on a date with that dude she thinks is really smart
He thinks he's really smart he's a turd
He wears a sweater vest or cardigan whatever
It is she says
Something like
Is art art? Are we art? And the turd gets a boner
Under the table
They're at the Max
Its the turd's boner that is art
It grows directly through the screen
And threatens the safety of everything within it
As any art is art should threaten it
Was much easier when I was trapped in a room
Only five hours to get the whole thing done
I could commiserate with the girls that kept me company
Commiseration became inspiration you know what I mean
I plugged the whole fucking thing in the world went dark
With possibility that kind
I was walking down a road in winter
People were shouting my name out car windows
I felt like somebody
I felt like that with you
I felt like that with you too
I never sweat so much or looked so crazy
But I was building building something daily
Even if just scratching figures into plaster
Seemed like everything was possible
Strumming the strings with a monkey paw
Getting felt up on the subway home
  ¶ 10:10 PM 0 Comments

  TRASH AMERICAN STYLE #4
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda



You asked me to write something on this blog?
I have nothing to "write"
And I m not embarrassed to be proud
Sweeping through this life like eating crap up off a shingle
And proud
To be
Listening to Chrome & Helios Creed
In the basement
Huffing ink from this stack of t-shirts vision
I have to get out to the familys vision
Me in a pile of dirt
Lifting history with a shirt that hurts
When a foul comes across the field
Displays of superior construction
Lance away what I did not want in the first
Huffing wood glue off my fingers
While the wings set
On the replica
Fly into the buildings also shrimps
I went upstairs to see what you guys were doing
Sugar off my brand new vinyl
One of you was cleaning out my wheelbarrow thanks
One of you was talking to my neighbor over the fence
All my racquets had disappeared I said Peace!
I had never seen her
She was laughing what did you say?
One of you was watering the carrot that had grown in the middle of the yard
Worker in metal
Working
On the ground
Def
What do you guys want for dinner?
We'll go without it
Why don't you invite your friends over for dinner?
The myth 'd me
I went to the store and bought chips
Poured 'em out on the dining table
Let's just go back and forth eat whenever Boba
For whatever reason it was charming to be on the verge of jumping off the roof
Like, I wonder what he's thinking, He's mysterious
At least I could hide in Theodore Sturgeon
Huffing oils off the carpet
Loaded up
Bathed with an eerie, flickering light
A great auroral display raging over half the world
The other half? A little stone cottage
Set back
From the road
A bit
Would make a nice place
To have sex for the first time, don't you think
About things
Like
Distances and elements
Chemical compounds
Why there are so few people who talk seriously about ecstasy
At the rave, for example, everyone was
Touching each others face
Not realizing the door threw up
The way to the terminal convent
In which the men bien sweating
Through the t-shirts vision
Independent of external light, and it
Showed clearly
A waste
Of barren rock
That seemed never to have known any form of life. Presumably
This desert
Land must come to an end
Somewhere (THEODORE STURGEON)
I went outside and you were there again
Talking to my neighbor
Who I had never seen
Where should I put the carrots?
Put them on your baby's head
One of you was in the shed
We called that the home
One of you was emptying concrete onto the grass
One of you was sitting on the porch
Cut a square hole in plywood
Push your burgers through the square
Its not a great idea but its an idea, so
Now you know I'm ready  ¶ 3:27 PM 0 Comments

  TRASH AMERICAN STYLE #3
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda



Was it you
Who watched the bodies open
In the chimney
Was it you
Boys!
Faces smoked out
Chimney metamorphic
Bodies opening every facet
You por ejem who watched the lungs
Sprout panchos for paralegal rain
I just got off the ship, remember, so
Who watched the spleen sprout nine
Diminishing housemaids
Not that I am keeping track
It could have been Ben
Was it you then
Who watched
Ben fall off the top of the chimney
Recreating his lung as
Particulate matter?
It was you, it was fucking you!
Who put on the skull cap, walked around
The neighborhood
Pretending to be an old man
With a pancreas sprouting a snow mound
Kidneys sprouting as far as the ocean
Concerns the chimney is a beach
Put down upon the path
Tall grasses growing over
With the past
Smoke belching where Lucifer organizes
The fan to be
The name that heralds
Worlds
One of you was proud of that
One of you watched the shin protrude
And laughed
And licked the chimney rock
Eventually had to pass through dragon souls
Wasn't it
I didn't
Recognize the mother anyway
Fitting herself sideways through the door
When something delivers
Finish it
She had a stack of plates under her arm
They were expensive, she bought them in Stanford
Or Standford, Stamford
Watch the snake coil around the dead in Stamford
Watch the urine ooze from the eyes of the dead in Stamford
It will be a glazed doughnut
On sale at the A&P
The clerks hanging blue leaded blankets
Over the booze
Bought three apples and three lighters
Boston Chicken was open
At my worst
I was rotisserie
Turning and turning, who had to call medics
It wasn't embarrassing exactly
Out of my mind
A slice and punctured the dormer windows
With it horses plunging white waves
Told you that
With a paddle
Was more like you or whoever shaved
Just the top of your head
Monk or male pattern baldness
I couldn't get you up
You were both wearing tennis shoes
It was uncomfortable at the table
You wouldn't wake up
I had to shovel food onto your shoe
Hoping you would walk through the gates
With a light touch
Into the woods
Vetch comes
Into focus
Purple crown
Bees everywhere in the up to the head
We drove down there and immediately turned around
We were looking for drums
Snakes' urine
Figures frequently into the ponds
You missed
Bodies opening garden things and cooking
Things protruding from the shin
Laughter and smoking wood
Hearts opening flower things and book things
Could have sat but one of you started
Opening stains of communitarian black
We were close enough to Picketts Ridge
To walk
The rest of the way  ¶ 8:33 AM 0 Comments

  TRASH AMERICAN STYLE #2
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda



I praise the mud
Is in you both
When the hand drops down
On the string
Of my
What you I am forcing
To draw
Lash of innard
If you were to pull
Wrap your hand in foil
Hold over the flame
Steve was there
Told us about it
Shirt covered in shit
From wiping ass and ejaculating
Flying it
From antennae
I was on the roof
I watched you both
Wanted to fucking die
For fucking your tits
That was all you'd let me
Jesus was presiding
Every book crooked
Turkey
Greek man had me by the neck
Knuckle
Storms over brick chimney
I was learning to write
Geoffrey was teaching
To read soft
Giraffe with red ribbon
Sniffed the black cushion
Then gleaned truth
From spread eagle
I would never kiss zits
Fucked up in a silo
One of the sisters died of an aneurysm
I could barely speak on the drive home
I thought of The Cube
Like we crossed a river
Didn't
He told us so many things
I wanted to be with both of you
Listening to Swiss innovators
Thinking also of Cher
Feathers
Wanted to rip the red bulb
Out of the wall
But the pussy was short
I blew out the back
And ate potatoes with Crooked Face  ¶ 2:33 AM 0 Comments

  TRASH AMERICAN STYLE
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda



When told to carry out
Into the fields I brought
A picture of a spread eagle
I love you both Diana
My name is Diana
Piss in my mouth
Until I believe
I believe the walls
Chew shreds
Shooting soft pine is pretty
Powerful
Wrapped in duct tape
Around her arm
Diana statue
Picture of a double neck
Will solve the whole problem love
Fortune riding toward the fields
I give up on this I'm taking
Herbal birth controls
Whenever I'm anywhere near you
Are always blowing
Over priority weapons
Your hairs are on my thighs
Mean tools
When you went to Jamaica
I swear you were going gone blue
"Spastic," for example
Equated "Sad" with "Whoopie"
I put myself in the contraption
The doctor was home
Eating chicken with a
Woman wearing a pink
Bikini I stayed
Behind the man with spider hands
Because it was tempting
Each of you
One drain
Phylactery
That river came from one of you
A square in the earth
One foot in
It must smell terrible
I asked you if this should rhyme
You were watching the radio
The baby was on the porch
Batting a mosquito
I sprayed lighter fluid
On it will look
I was trying on both of your shoes
It was free
Was freezing
Diana is finishing her degree
Writing for the paper
Deer bones and a turtle shell
Girl became a sculptor
She made a white gazebo
Look good
I will take you even
Further into
The fields
You can take a ring off a tongue
You can imagine a tongue
Known so well
Disappear into
Vagina
Familiar was cut off
Then levitated right
Shut up and leave us alone
Remember I bought the first
Black and yellow
The four of them were sitting in dust
Preparing for a fight
I love you anyway watch me
Where does she put her hands
Anything like when we?
You had to pull the tape up
About that one
When you ask for this
On the court your shorts
Came open
Then you threw up and I worshiped
You were jumping like
A skinnier version
Of the dude who was
With her before I
Was blue
Running toward the fields
Diana and vines
She loves Chinese guys
Apparently there was no
One in the house
We blew it
I watched you walk over
The dog
Into the greenhouse
Where you shuttered
The windows
Once and for all
That was cool
The ground was red with tomatoes

  ¶ 8:11 PM 0 Comments