As/Is







4.20.2018


New Jersey Blood


The first bedlam-laden Free School show:
I caught Jeremy doing his madcap routine,
ribbing audience to leave. I didn't understand
then who Jeremy was, where he came from
(South Jersey), & why he worked unconsciously
to stay (& remain) small. The Highwire shows
were too high for his strident, unsorted softness.
Abandoned inhibitions rose up to high ceilings;
New Jersey squirmed, itchy for its children;
Jeremy slunk back, wine in hand, began snapping
pictures again. As he kneeled to get a special
angle on Mike Land, who stood reading at the
podium, I remembered Avalon as a teenager,
New Jersey at midnight, waves into emptiness.









4.19.2018


From The Argotist Online '17: Old Main







White Out


The imperative color
to be brushed in is purple,
I tell her, over canvas/kisses,
green like Ingres (Odalisques
over again, ours), so that I
might take the weight of
white out, spherical wrinkle-
coated burdens, lay them down
(whitely) in a big blast on
a cul-de-sac hieroglyph'd
surface of yours, which stretches
with melted glass, coated/slick
over the concupiscent canvas,
enacts a vague sun rising/disappearing
on a vulval horizon, yes all this
just to see you open your
mouth, humbled to be used
this way (I mean when it
happens you bow to it), then I leave-

(third parties gawk through a black door at us)








4.12.2018


Rising in Scorpio on Doc Player

The pdf Rising in Scorpio, which features Apparition Poems by Adam Fieled and Nine Paintings by Abby Heller-Burnham, is featured here on Doc Player








3.16.2018


Butler Pike


The phenomenology of a recession-
consciousness rots, abraded by the obtrusiveness
of a dull, jagged populace- I stroll down
Butler Pike, snapping pictures of the houses,
& the buildings penetrate into my brain,
more than the people. Architecture is its
own phenomenological explosion, occupying
space inside/outside the mind, standing in now,
for better or for worse, for the people who
could occupy similar space- what I notice,
as sentience emanating from the buildings,
is that architecture is how the human race
expresses its relationship to nature. Here,
our choice is a sturdy yet ethereal harmony,

formidable, eerie, which foresees who might
occupy the houses, & yet chooses to manifest
the ornate over the plebeian, or merely practical.
When the ornate (the aesthetic) is set in place
in the Philadelphia suburbs, it is an expression,
also, of the region's apparitional vision, relation to
a wider world than even material nature; out
into physical space, into the cosmos, against
the restraining force of the earthly. So, in a
roundabout way, I get closer to the individuals
who have planned or charted the buildings
through allowing them (both) to seep into my brain.
Relationships, in recessional times, abstract
themselves- I stretch towards acceptance, spherical.









1.30.2018


Chimes: 2018 Ed. (Emended)










1.29.2018


Equations: 2nd Edition


I am proud to announce the second, emended print edition of Equations on Lulu. Many thanks to Raymond Farr.








1.27.2018


Apparition Poems: original Blazevox pdf on Docshare


The original Blazevox book pdf for the 2010 print book Apparition Poems on Docshare.

P.S. Here, also on Docshare, is the 2nd, Heller-Burnham cover ed. of Apparition Poems








1.21.2018


from Equations: "Antithesis"


#49

Here's the complicated equation: if there isn't much reality in human relationships, but you have to have them, you must embrace the responsibility of making them as realistic as possible. There can be no I am just this, you are just that: the realistic approach is one that fastens and binds to nothing. Jade will be over in a few hours and, as I prepare myself, I realize that to not-fasten leaves one perpetually unequipped. But somehow it doesn't matter- the clench of dissolution is so sweet that no one ever recovers from it. This clench has its own transcendental reality, and if what dissolution really is remains permanently out of our grasp, authoritative judgments must be suspended. Jade is smallish, about 5'2, with long, straight brown hair that falls down her back, delicate Virgo features, and a mien brought to level pitch by many wounds. When we make love, I am forced to be gentler- gone are the thrashings and poundings, and I find myself in a new position, playing a new role. Jade is an actress, and every gesture she makes is nuanced, deliberate, complex.


#50

Jade keeps pulling surprises. I'm stunned because she does this with a certain amount of levity, as though anything that startles goes up. The drugs she ingests take her to a realm of crystallized perfection, in which she cuts through open spaces like a human blade. Because I am willing to follow her, she initiates me into the mysteries of this realm. I find that my edge is blunted, because in many ways it is a false edge- artificially produced, unstable, past any form of measurement. Nevertheless, when we meet in the middle our edges coalesce. Alright, so this is artificial, she says; what and who gets to define the natural? Can you even tell me what natural is? I admit that I can't, and this admission transpires at a moment of maximum vulnerability for both of us. Are we razors or mirrors? Jade inhabits a world of hollow forms, which she hovers above- my role in her life is to contradict her thesis, that we might create a dialectic. As we move towards synthesis, Jade places one of her hands on my face, puts her forehead to mine. She knows that there is a sting in her hollowness for me, who would prefer to see fullness. But we go on like this for hours without knowing what or who we are. The depth of this place eats into my eyes, but (as Jade is learning) I enjoy being eaten- chewed, swallowed, digested.









1.10.2018


In side of me

Who am I?
What are you...
Seeing in believing
Talking to myself
Reminiscing
My reality
Stranger then fiction
Wisdom from my soul
Feeling alone

By, Melissa Lenee








1.06.2018


from Equations: "Synthesis"


#58

If you let your mind wander and hit a vertical patch, it becomes easy to see that solitude and sex presuppose each other's necessity in an examined life. I've just learned, from a reliable source, that a woman (many years back) was taken from me by slander and gossip. It was during one of my promiscuous periods; in the midst of such an epoch, one trots from flower to flower, trying to pick everything, place everyone in one's button-hole. This particular woman was forced by a social context to reject my advances. In my current solitude, I find some richness in having been deprived- it is a reminder that most social contexts are predicated upon fear, insecurity, desperation, desire, and treacherous self-interest. Now, my life has been reduced to Jade-and-I, or I alone. When I do these little phone dishes with figures from my past, I'm stunned to find how easily stung I am, how many situations I botched, people I misread. The verticality of all this is in the realization that it must happen again. No artist can afford to live for prolonged periods above the fray- there is too much in an individual consciousness that flattens out on vacuity if preserved in isolation.


#59

The crux of the matter is this: it's time for me to jump into some fray again. I'm restless: I know that what you gain in solitude has to be pushed out into the open for there to be some truth consonance, and these peregrinations are not enough. Jade has been bolstering my confidence; but I'm too old to just hit the bars and the clubs like I used to. So I'm poised to do something, I just don't know what yet. Like mathematics, human life has distinct compensations: there is always another equation to be formulated and parsed, a new slant, novel ways of perceiving realities that are leveled and layered to begin with. And, somewhere in the distance, a miracle always hovers: the promise of a few truly lived moments, in which every narcissistic schema is transcended in the sense that something is being given and received on both sides. If I didn't believe this, there would be no reason not to commit suicide, because I already feel I've done enough work for one life-time, and the growth of my seeds has been more than adequate. But because the deepest truths are social, it cannot be my life-path to give up on my own humanity, and everyone else's. I have claimed that these miracles usually transpire in a sexual context, but I have learned in writing this book that this does not have to be the case. Our greatest consonance with reality and humanity is expressed any time something moves in an upwards direction between ourselves and someone else; any equation involving legitimate ascension is one worth investigating.








1.05.2018


Freaking Out?


Never fear, folks. Always a new way to consolidate, as The Posit Trilogy diaspora continues








1.02.2018


Colliding Crops


April cruelty of rain-chilly wind, six months
until harvest- Stacy stands on the verge of
a realm not tearless, but over tears, so that
tears themselves form a kind of second skin
around her, & the child to be born is cried
out- here, I notice, is a place where I could've
been no one, still have no substance, & what
pours out of me, as I absorb the Indiana
farm-land, is just refuse of what I've never had-
this is what she writes out of. The erstwhile female
is replaced by a raw-nerved, patterned, womanly
archetype, solid as a silo, to be picked at by the
little-minded for occupying space in a man's arid
world. Corn-rows tilt to be livid both ways.








12.30.2017


Undulant


I'd made plans to meet you in Bar Noir
on 18th, you were there; we drank. What
happened after that, in the Logan Square
flat, is that in defrocking you knocked over
an antique lamp bequeathed to me by my
aunt in Mahopac. Serendipity, I thought,
stunned then into silence by your bedroom
elan. Outside, a sultry night simmered; this
night of all nights, scattered green glass littered
my bedroom floor, & I finally got taken, past
liquor, to what eternity was only in your mouth-
as though you'd jumped from a forest scene
(ferns, redwoods), a world of pagan magic,
into a scene still undulant with possibilities-








12.26.2017


Interview with Anny Ballardini/ University of New Orleans

I did this 2006 interview with Anny Ballardini for a graduate project she was working on at the University of New Orleans. Thanks, Anny!








12.22.2017


fourWtwentyeight


The fourWtwenty-eight Anthology is now out, from fourW Press at Charles Sturt University in Australia, and featuring myself, Mark Young, Derek Motion, Ivy Alvarez, and many others. To purchase a copy, write to Sandra at the Booranga Writers Center at booranga@csu.edu.au.