Hammer air

      diluted placid

           forget-me-not

                    lure



Tepid blaspheme

           forgetting how

               to spell

                   better fiends

                        burrow

                           into largesse



Hop the train

             entrails

                  entreatied

              to far off

                   black spark



wrestling with encryption

               there's never any

                      end to

                          the night

What did I do this weekend? Well, Christopher Rizzo and I wrote this exquisite corpse together at Charlie's kitchen on Friday night. The rest of the weekend more or less follows suit.

GRIM LITTLE



I.



Xylophone networks

	for bruised cacophony, digits,

pick-up--say Humbuckers cannot

	sate the hunchback now peerless

		I's for dignities, mercies, violas

	in gravel diaphragms, sickly blues

in this city of Dis, disasters Cambridge-styled

	can drag a corpse to water but

		can't make it Wallace Stevens's

Pilsner Urquell, a career in safety-nets

	brandishing bouquets of wax zeroes,

		trauma stipend & distressed

		 	hambone ergonomics in C flat

		sea changes, wanton muddy eddies,

feces river	sly Styx night

wears a black hat, a blank harangued 

basque in a leper brothel,

sediment broth to sup and ring a bell

to let them know you're coming:

	city of dreadful daylight & dim

		hours read full,

dead poets ghosting loam, ready

	for sutures, a burning rhizome

		in a vacuum.

O city, he'll crank this zeitgeist through the ringer,

	dwell outside		the music box

with the faux leopards & dreadful trees. 



II.



Grimmy asks who put

	nettles in the Cheerios? Ratchet-up

a requiem for Macintoshes

	or perhaps eyes without apples,

her eyes of potatoes agog with

grog, fog thickened. "Somebody

get this guy some Prozac,"

	Grimmy gets sugar pills, fustigated,

		one lump or three?

For good measure six and dosed with sex

	indeed, a "sexed up" resume, arm chair

despot lousy with sloth & ambition--

two roads diverge and Grim Little

		equivocates a lot

			and there's a noose in the median &

				karyatid floozies. G:

is that a hand grenade or are you just

		ambivalent?

Pull the pin and swallow your wallow-pill

	and go dancing with the

		will o'wisps: there's a 

door in the swamp dontchaknow,

leeches led by suckers, saps,

		sanguine guardians of destination,

so that:

	the lobby shall be emblazoned:

"GRIM LITTLE SLEPT HERE"





III.



Sun-flare equinox armies	

	advance on his cubicle, cuticles

chewed away:

Here come the suits and a vague narrativity,

a nativity scene for

	the infant brigand:

"ONCE IN a SYCAMORE

	GRIM LITTLE was

				framed"

Pinned gold-leaf, a little mug

shadow-boxed beneath museum glass,

	a gloss of latency, prodigal

stutterer & wire-framed

by infamy, Grim inked in headlines,--

the more expensive lawyer aptly argues well.

	But what

did Grim do?

	What with the brobdignagian head rush &

the irksome police skirting

	the perimeter of

meter swiftly, shouting Breaker of iambs!

Imperative aperitifs, motifs, blank

motives, evocative votives and a wish for

	some dynamo lachrymary:

it was called dead, but it moves!

Cry cry there is no story

	worth the telling.

Today's offering at the Harvard Business School cafeteria's "International Station":

Regional American.



I love Harvard.

Updated the links. In order to keep the links manageable, I'm linking to sites that appear in my site meter referals section, which I figure is a good way to link to people who link to me. If you don't appear on the list, it just means that nobody's clicked the link to get to this site (can't say I blame 'em) and I am generally clueless. Apologies to anyone who may feel left out or overlooked. Booze, food, poems and sex are generally good ways to get my attention. FYI.

I now hold in my hands the new issue of Carve, edited by Aaron Tieger and lemmetellya, this baby is the shit, as the kids say. Not an off moment from cover to cover. Contact Aaron, give him money, get a copy. Get 2 copies and save one to sell on eBay in 10 years for the money for the drugs we'll all undoubtedly need by then.

Sign me up for this:


In New Operation, Heart Removed, Repaired and Returned

By Tim Craig
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, August 28, 2003; 3:45 PM

Ugh.

I guess it falls upon me to give the details of the Mars-viewing party, since I was the only Bostonian/Cantabridgian who showed (besides expatriated ones). A fine time were had by J. Dunn, S. Dunn, M. County, The Fabulous Lucy, A. Cook, J. Cook, G. Cook, Zack who's last name I don't know, P. Dowd and A. Dowd. S. Dunn made the, in my opinion, correct observation that the White Stripes have, in fact, only one song: "Seven Nation Army." The pasta salad and gazpacho were, according to theme, out of this world. J. Cook showed me how to pull off Voltron's legs.

Amanda conducted a taste test in which is was determined that there is no discernable difference between the Mars bar and the Milky Way. Even to my discerning palette. Milky Way Midnight, however, is another story entirely. It being the most relevant bar in question as the sky itself was obscured by clouds, thus Mars missing from the sky much in the way that almonds appear now to be missing from the Mars bar. In their classic "I Need a Mars Bar," the Undertones specifically mention "googles" (slang for almonds, apaprently) in the list of ingredients which appear in the Mars bar. However, there were no almonds to be found.

I threw some chestnuts for J.B, which he returned. I threw some slimy wood pieces for J.B., which he returned. I did not throw what appeared to be a bug in some advanced state of decay.

P. Dowd beat everyone at pool. We agreed that "Steeltown" is Big Country's crown jewel. Mars came out for a few minutes around midnight. People wondered why we are so afraid (not of Mars, mind you, but life in general). This made me tired, so then I went to bed.

Orgiastic sparrow pinions
tearing at a bagel parcel

yards away
in the pit the punk kids
are in love

red star gone out over
the smoothest
morning in weeks

no word from you for days
the world advances
in a determined way

VENEZUELA NAMES TINY NEW PLANET AFTER RAIN GOD

CARACAS, Venezuela (Reuters) - Huya, the rain god in Venezuelan Wayuu Indian culture, has been granted a place beside his counterparts Jupiter, Mars and Venus.

Venezuelan astronomers led by physicist Ignacio Ferrin have named the frozen planet 2000 EB173 -- which they discovered in March 2000 -- after the deity.

The planet, which is beyond Pluto and takes 256 years to orbit the Sun, must be named after a mythological god under guidelines set by the International Astronomical Union, Ferrin told Reuters late on Wednesday.

In March, after determining its orbit, the Venezuelan scientists baptized the light-red planet Juya but later changed the name to Huya to avoid phonetic confusion in the English pronunciation of the name.

"We wanted to make sure it had the connotations of a Venezuelan indigenous god," Ferrin said.

The scientist said that there likely was no life on Huya's surface, where temperatures reach 292 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. The planet has a diameter of around 435 to 466 miles.

Ferrin, a professor at the University of the Andes, said he felt like explorer Christopher Columbus discovering uncharted lands when his team at the Center of Astronomical Investigations came across the planet.

"I don't think we can see it, but science indicates that we cannot be alone in the universe. It's like thinking there is only one elephant in the jungle," he said.