sunflowers in a
vase on a black enamel
purple irises
dying in a vase
shriveling to black
bowing over losing
petals onto the
black enameled table
sunflowers in a
vase on a black enamel
table, nodding to the
shiny top, raining
yellow powder pollen
in semicircular spray.
roses turning purple
from red and moist
drying to sharper spines
leaves falling to swim
in the water in the vase
remove flowers, remove
rotting baby's breathe
tie a bit of twine at the
base of the stem and hang
them up alongside all the
red roses frozen in long
testimony of love lost
table, nodding to the
shiny top, raining
yellow powder pollen
in semicircular spray.
roses turning purple
from red and moist
drying to sharper spines
leaves falling to swim
in the water in the vase
remove flowers, remove
rotting baby's breathe
tie a bit of twine at the
base of the stem and hang
them up alongside all the
red roses frozen in long
testimony of love lost
sunflowers in a
vase on a black enamel
purple irises
dying in a vase
shriveling to black
bowing over losing
petals onto the
black enameled table
sunflowers in a
vase on a black enamel
table, nodding to the
shiny top, raining
yellow powder pollen
in semicircular spray.
roses turning purple
from red and moist
drying to sharper spines
leaves falling to swim
in the water in the vase
remove flowers, remove
rotting baby's breathe
tie a bit of twine at the
base of the stem and hang
them up alongside all the
red roses frozen in long
testimony of love lost
table, nodding to the
shiny top, raining
yellow powder pollen
in semicircular spray.
roses turning purple
from red and moist
drying to sharper spines
leaves falling to swim
in the water in the vase
remove flowers, remove
rotting baby's breathe
tie a bit of twine at the
base of the stem and hang
them up alongside all the
red roses frozen in long
testimony of love lost
Man-eaters pass:
Larger, drabber, more oppressive
Than on the aerated surface.
Yet, the great column of water above
Places me in the snug warmth
Of a mother's womb.
Reassured in this salty bath
Of aquamarine and the fluttering silver
Of slender eyeless fish
and brown drab eels,
Foraging under great shelves
of cragged coral.
Neutral buoyancy.
Mastering the physics of the deep,
The breath of depth;
The most delicious air
Fills my lungs to saturation.
The seduction of the underworld
Glides in a reality unreal,
Disorienting to this surface-dweller:
An absence of gravity, a magnified
Presence.
Never wanting to come off
I take hit after hit;
The narcosis of this depth
Is frightening, addictive.
Bubbled mercury rises as I blow
Hard into my second stage.
I grip my jaw into the salty
Spongy rubber mouth-piece,
Shutting eyes tight,
Shaking off the numbing
Water.
The glowing face of a gauge
Announces that the end is coming.
I will rise soon, making sure
I can see the mirrored bubbles
Pass my ascent.
As I look up light glimmers through
The great water separating me
From the sky.
Man-eaters pass:
Larger, drabber, more oppressive
Than on the aerated surface.
Yet, the great column of water above
Places me in the snug warmth
Of a mother's womb.
Reassured in this salty bath
Of aquamarine and the fluttering silver
Of slender eyeless fish
and brown drab eels,
Foraging under great shelves
of cragged coral.
Neutral buoyancy.
Mastering the physics of the deep,
The breath of depth;
The most delicious air
Fills my lungs to saturation.
The seduction of the underworld
Glides in a reality unreal,
Disorienting to this surface-dweller:
An absence of gravity, a magnified
Presence.
Never wanting to come off
I take hit after hit;
The narcosis of this depth
Is frightening, addictive.
Bubbled mercury rises as I blow
Hard into my second stage.
I grip my jaw into the salty
Spongy rubber mouth-piece,
Shutting eyes tight,
Shaking off the numbing
Water.
The glowing face of a gauge
Announces that the end is coming.
I will rise soon, making sure
I can see the mirrored bubbles
Pass my ascent.
As I look up light glimmers through
The great water separating me
From the sky.
A crescendo of response, up like
Tides under the moon.
Kettledrum pulse, sudden resurgence like
Minds detour into mazes as eyes close;
Mouths search. Skin meets, its contact
Fosters the need to devour
Swallow
Absorb --
To break the physical and meet the
Need.
A crescendo of response, up like
Tides under the moon.
Kettledrum pulse, sudden resurgence like
Minds detour into mazes as eyes close;
Mouths search. Skin meets, its contact
Fosters the need to devour
Swallow
Absorb --
To break the physical and meet the
Need.
winds the isles rarely see.
it is all anyone talks about,
these winds, the cold air,
their jackets and sweaters.
i press lotion into the skin
of her back. we laugh and speak
like blue bloods, jaws clenched,
reading from a book of fiction.
reading aloud for the sun, for
the wind, for each other, such
friends. such friendship to read
and sun, to bronze and feel
the cote d'azur on our flanks
in waikiki.
the book speaks french, the book
speaks english, and the words are
poetic, the words are absurd.
the novel calls itself surreal,
but it is self consciously erotic like
"the rose pulsates," "the skin is
nut brown," "the lover parts the
knees," "the smooth skin gives way
to fingers." out loud these words
are spoken and we laugh bright sunny
laughter.
Laughing at the absurdity of the erotic,
the protagonist taking many
lovers and weeping, always weeping,
for the sadness wells and pulsates
like her rose, like her chest, like
the surf lapping so near our
bare toes.
the air tastes especially
salty. i smell like a coconut.
she is so natural under the sun.
we laugh to ourselves that the
text is so hot we must swim.
we tip toe into the cold water
refreshed by the winds, these
uncommon winds, in hawaii.
slowly we enter. on tippy toes
en pointe like dancers. so slowly
making a quick dip agonizing, feeling
the sand give way to my feet. pulling
in tummies and wishing the winds to
cease and the water to turn bath like.
i am taller than she but she has the
leg advantage. water laps her hips.
stalemate. a count to three and away
to the bright orange windsock off shore.
swimming our heads bob, out further to
just before.
"this is where i stop, this is where
my fear of sharks begins. this is the
point past which i will be eaten alive."
we turn back, she sprints. i wallow
in the chop, having come from washington
days before. from the winter. her nut
brown skin, my pale white dough broiling.
i move my body through the saltiness, see
clarity when i open my eyes, feel my hair
wave like weeds across my forehead.
pulling myself from the water, i check
my bad washington knees -- they are strong
again. encore. il fait froid! mais non,
il fait beau -- it is always wonderful here.
winds the isles rarely see.
it is all anyone talks about,
these winds, the cold air,
their jackets and sweaters.
i press lotion into the skin
of her back. we laugh and speak
like blue bloods, jaws clenched,
reading from a book of fiction.
reading aloud for the sun, for
the wind, for each other, such
friends. such friendship to read
and sun, to bronze and feel
the cote d'azur on our flanks
in waikiki.
the book speaks french, the book
speaks english, and the words are
poetic, the words are absurd.
the novel calls itself surreal,
but it is self consciously erotic like
"the rose pulsates," "the skin is
nut brown," "the lover parts the
knees," "the smooth skin gives way
to fingers." out loud these words
are spoken and we laugh bright sunny
laughter.
Laughing at the absurdity of the erotic,
the protagonist taking many
lovers and weeping, always weeping,
for the sadness wells and pulsates
like her rose, like her chest, like
the surf lapping so near our
bare toes.
the air tastes especially
salty. i smell like a coconut.
she is so natural under the sun.
we laugh to ourselves that the
text is so hot we must swim.
we tip toe into the cold water
refreshed by the winds, these
uncommon winds, in hawaii.
slowly we enter. on tippy toes
en pointe like dancers. so slowly
making a quick dip agonizing, feeling
the sand give way to my feet. pulling
in tummies and wishing the winds to
cease and the water to turn bath like.
i am taller than she but she has the
leg advantage. water laps her hips.
stalemate. a count to three and away
to the bright orange windsock off shore.
swimming our heads bob, out further to
just before.
"this is where i stop, this is where
my fear of sharks begins. this is the
point past which i will be eaten alive."
we turn back, she sprints. i wallow
in the chop, having come from washington
days before. from the winter. her nut
brown skin, my pale white dough broiling.
i move my body through the saltiness, see
clarity when i open my eyes, feel my hair
wave like weeds across my forehead.
pulling myself from the water, i check
my bad washington knees -- they are strong
again. encore. il fait froid! mais non,
il fait beau -- it is always wonderful here.
her words on the screen. x-sender. x-reply. x-header. she at work, me putting off the rower. the words. "how can you remember all of this?" she asks, "or a you making it up as you go along?"
©1998 chris abraham ]]>her words on the screen. x-sender. x-reply. x-header. she at work, me putting off the rower. the words. "how can you remember all of this?" she asks, "or a you making it up as you go along?"
©1998 chris abraham ]]> Exploding boy!
The kid who wanted
To know it all;
He tried to cram infinity
Into his finite skull . . . .
Exploding boy!
He desired to possess the wisdom
Of all mankind,
But with the effort managed
Only to blow his mind . . . .
Exploding boy!
Were you not aware
That you cannot pursue, nor amass
Wisdom
Like one does knowledge?
That you can't become a sage
By taking hallucinogens, and
Going to college?
Oh,
Exploding boy!
When the books wouldn't
Take you there,
And the LSD
No longer shed new light,
And you felt your quest was leading
Nowhere,
Did you know that finally,
You were right?
But nowhere is everywhere
And everywhere is
Zen --
So all along you were right on track,
Right where you were supposed to have been . . . .
Oh, exploding boy . . . .
If only you would have stopped
Looking
And allowed yourself
To simply see,
Maybe, then,
You would have become wise --
Instead of just plum crazy . . . .
Exploding boy!
The kid who wanted
To know it all;
He tried to cram infinity
Into his finite skull . . . .
Exploding boy!
He desired to possess the wisdom
Of all mankind,
But with the effort managed
Only to blow his mind . . . .
Exploding boy!
Were you not aware
That you cannot pursue, nor amass
Wisdom
Like one does knowledge?
That you can't become a sage
By taking hallucinogens, and
Going to college?
Oh,
Exploding boy!
When the books wouldn't
Take you there,
And the LSD
No longer shed new light,
And you felt your quest was leading
Nowhere,
Did you know that finally,
You were right?
But nowhere is everywhere
And everywhere is
Zen --
So all along you were right on track,
Right where you were supposed to have been . . . .
Oh, exploding boy . . . .
If only you would have stopped
Looking
And allowed yourself
To simply see,
Maybe, then,
You would have become wise --
Instead of just plum crazy . . . .
And by the way, you have a funny face.
Your stench offends my sense of decency. Your mere existance is a waste of space, not worth the match to burn your effigy.
Your momma doesn't love you, so she said. You have no friends, your dog left town in shame. A coffin gets more action than your bed. Your daddy loathes the moment that he came.
And I can't help but laugh, 'cuz your life sucks. Oh, don't forget, you owe me fifty bucks.
And by the way, you have a funny face.
Your stench offends my sense of decency. Your mere existance is a waste of space, not worth the match to burn your effigy.
Your momma doesn't love you, so she said. You have no friends, your dog left town in shame. A coffin gets more action than your bed. Your daddy loathes the moment that he came.
And I can't help but laugh, 'cuz your life sucks. Oh, don't forget, you owe me fifty bucks.
happenstance showed me into the opium den where his shirt read, "route 666: highway to hell" for no apparent reason and she sat there shimmering her hair full and down but she was not fertile, she is the decoy, a place for sperm to rot deep within barren chambers. The simmering mirage beside the Source only inches below and the nails would bring it up burbling. swaggering soldiers in the desert. impotent cocks and barren cunts yet all around me 6 months with child with child and yet not mine.
when women tell say, "I am not interested in getting involved with anybody right now," does that mean what it says, does it just mean me, or is it one of those misunderstandings that the sexes share which actually, translated, means: "I like you, but I know boys have a fear of commitment and if I tell you I really like you, you might run away, so I am in fact saying 'i don't want a boyfriend' to placate you when in fact i maybe should have said nothing at all nothing at all nothing at all, really... so instead of getting what I want, instead of you getting what you want, we instead dance the dance and never touch for very long until the parting kiss and then it is too late too late too late and then we both come up empty, or worse."
Am not bitter, it is all just game tokens and I have more than my share. I am writing my screenplay too well, and anne is becoming suspicious for the coincidences are becoming unbearable. She is beginning to see that i am a little bit too willing to go high go low, and i play the neuro net like an infinitely complicated harp the way some people play me... if mark and i were to focus on winning the lottery, who know what would happen?
remember biloxi remember the fun we can have -- wait until powerball hits 20 mil and then send me an email and we'll send the abient light through the ruby through the gas and it will be hardened into a beam into a bean that can cut or can heal like the laser, like prayer like god and we are traveling for the Fat Lady and yes I have finished "Franny and Zooey" and yes the end it what got me and I gave the book onto anne's little sis and bough "Catcher in the Rye" and "F & Z" for Holly and holly is fertility and goddess and I travel for Her, I travel for She and I kissed liz's belly and it is so round and tight and beautiful -- the love I feel for their duo trio is overpowering and I just want to put all of my overactive boiler furnace hyper-hepped battery of energy into her and invoke the sun and infuse gold into the child's veins and see the beauty of the fertile womb in the weak pink limbs of child, hitherto known as junior and i feel it is a boy but then it must be a girl and anne tells me things like "you're so vile, your balls are so big you can barely walk you are a horny puppy you are a freak you are vile you are obsessive you are crazy nuts absurd and i will break her yet from her dressage straight back GI inflexibility and i will break that horse and she will see that even though she may be the first person to have read the 10th insight, she don't know shit and she knows everything but I am taking my time and revealing oh so slowly and yet i am moving too fast and she is getting a little freaked by my "gravity" and its effects on surrounding reality -- she mentions it once every 20 or so minutes and she make a lot of 666 joke about me and then a bunch of Fat Lady jokes and yet by very the very nature of her tubes i am sure nothing she experiences (especially when we hit the epicenter in Asia) will surprise her even if I were to spontaneously start flinging thunder bolts and show her the busted-face dude -- i am a little leery yet to do the eye thing on her, but i was tired the other night and got lazy and week and pinged and she's all good right through and through and she ia heavily guarded and armoured like a T-1, like and Abrams, with reactive armour and she is not bold enough for the uranium shells so she'll have to open her hatch and come out in time in time -- but right now, no to the dizzying dizzying dizzying eyes! Gentle Gentile, good boy. Had a violent dream, beat the shit out of a Yalie who chewed on my turds and he kept on coming back and I was late for a flight away with Mark and my laundry was dirty and this bugger tried my patience and so I continued to pound his head until I woke up to mark, or was it liz or was it who was it...
it looked like this kid we saw in NH @ yale: blue yale baseball hat, shirt tie blazer khakis, bucks -- i tried to appease, tried to ignore, tried to fence, then went red after the turd and pound pound pound and to no avail -- first anxiety dream this trip... posted to alt.alien.wanderers and here I am... sipping a dbl espresso, and preparing to have a martini with liz and then tomorrow i am shooting willow and she will fill me frame with her dizzying body and i will tell her with my detached photog's timbre to arch tour back, lower your chin, look to the side, tippy-toe, turn your shoulders toward me, put, part your lips, reapply lipstick, make your eyes darker, brush your hair, make love to the camera and all that shit and she will writher and turn and shimmer and glow and her lips will be wet and her eyes pools and her hair luxuriant and her skin smooth and her toes will be little pearls and the shape of her breasts will be buoyant and he hips will flair and her flesh will press and, as always, gravity will ignore her and she will be red appropriately and brown when she needs to be and pink where it matters and the e-6 will eat her up and add a flattering 10#s to her waif's frame. the little crescent of her navel will make love to the n90s...
©1996 chris abraham ]]>happenstance showed me into the opium den where his shirt read, "route 666: highway to hell" for no apparent reason and she sat there shimmering her hair full and down but she was not fertile, she is the decoy, a place for sperm to rot deep within barren chambers. The simmering mirage beside the Source only inches below and the nails would bring it up burbling. swaggering soldiers in the desert. impotent cocks and barren cunts yet all around me 6 months with child with child and yet not mine.
when women tell say, "I am not interested in getting involved with anybody right now," does that mean what it says, does it just mean me, or is it one of those misunderstandings that the sexes share which actually, translated, means: "I like you, but I know boys have a fear of commitment and if I tell you I really like you, you might run away, so I am in fact saying 'i don't want a boyfriend' to placate you when in fact i maybe should have said nothing at all nothing at all nothing at all, really... so instead of getting what I want, instead of you getting what you want, we instead dance the dance and never touch for very long until the parting kiss and then it is too late too late too late and then we both come up empty, or worse."
Am not bitter, it is all just game tokens and I have more than my share. I am writing my screenplay too well, and anne is becoming suspicious for the coincidences are becoming unbearable. She is beginning to see that i am a little bit too willing to go high go low, and i play the neuro net like an infinitely complicated harp the way some people play me... if mark and i were to focus on winning the lottery, who know what would happen?
remember biloxi remember the fun we can have -- wait until powerball hits 20 mil and then send me an email and we'll send the abient light through the ruby through the gas and it will be hardened into a beam into a bean that can cut or can heal like the laser, like prayer like god and we are traveling for the Fat Lady and yes I have finished "Franny and Zooey" and yes the end it what got me and I gave the book onto anne's little sis and bough "Catcher in the Rye" and "F & Z" for Holly and holly is fertility and goddess and I travel for Her, I travel for She and I kissed liz's belly and it is so round and tight and beautiful -- the love I feel for their duo trio is overpowering and I just want to put all of my overactive boiler furnace hyper-hepped battery of energy into her and invoke the sun and infuse gold into the child's veins and see the beauty of the fertile womb in the weak pink limbs of child, hitherto known as junior and i feel it is a boy but then it must be a girl and anne tells me things like "you're so vile, your balls are so big you can barely walk you are a horny puppy you are a freak you are vile you are obsessive you are crazy nuts absurd and i will break her yet from her dressage straight back GI inflexibility and i will break that horse and she will see that even though she may be the first person to have read the 10th insight, she don't know shit and she knows everything but I am taking my time and revealing oh so slowly and yet i am moving too fast and she is getting a little freaked by my "gravity" and its effects on surrounding reality -- she mentions it once every 20 or so minutes and she make a lot of 666 joke about me and then a bunch of Fat Lady jokes and yet by very the very nature of her tubes i am sure nothing she experiences (especially when we hit the epicenter in Asia) will surprise her even if I were to spontaneously start flinging thunder bolts and show her the busted-face dude -- i am a little leery yet to do the eye thing on her, but i was tired the other night and got lazy and week and pinged and she's all good right through and through and she ia heavily guarded and armoured like a T-1, like and Abrams, with reactive armour and she is not bold enough for the uranium shells so she'll have to open her hatch and come out in time in time -- but right now, no to the dizzying dizzying dizzying eyes! Gentle Gentile, good boy. Had a violent dream, beat the shit out of a Yalie who chewed on my turds and he kept on coming back and I was late for a flight away with Mark and my laundry was dirty and this bugger tried my patience and so I continued to pound his head until I woke up to mark, or was it liz or was it who was it...
it looked like this kid we saw in NH @ yale: blue yale baseball hat, shirt tie blazer khakis, bucks -- i tried to appease, tried to ignore, tried to fence, then went red after the turd and pound pound pound and to no avail -- first anxiety dream this trip... posted to alt.alien.wanderers and here I am... sipping a dbl espresso, and preparing to have a martini with liz and then tomorrow i am shooting willow and she will fill me frame with her dizzying body and i will tell her with my detached photog's timbre to arch tour back, lower your chin, look to the side, tippy-toe, turn your shoulders toward me, put, part your lips, reapply lipstick, make your eyes darker, brush your hair, make love to the camera and all that shit and she will writher and turn and shimmer and glow and her lips will be wet and her eyes pools and her hair luxuriant and her skin smooth and her toes will be little pearls and the shape of her breasts will be buoyant and he hips will flair and her flesh will press and, as always, gravity will ignore her and she will be red appropriately and brown when she needs to be and pink where it matters and the e-6 will eat her up and add a flattering 10#s to her waif's frame. the little crescent of her navel will make love to the n90s...
©1996 chris abraham ]]>