Some More Joey Boi

8
Oh Radiant Owie!
Broiling owtward w/
Molten ow vestments and
Halo ow burns Joey-shaped
Hole in futon ow ow “Poor
Joey!” Mourns the dove he says
“Ahhhhh SHOO if you can’t
Love me”

14
Da Joey Boi dreams clouds
Like creamy midriffs and
Lets loose his pearls sigh
Into again blink-blink 3 AM
Perverted Wilderness.
“Nodda pup nodda hound just
A God-damned dawg.”
Good night, Joey Boi.

18
Joey Boi kissed a hundred
Clammed-up Katies
Who claim
To not remember.
Now
A few go blush-blush,
Confess
We do recall
But we regret
Joey does some
Quick math:
His lips were chapped
About half
The times

Fragment of Joey Boi

Q: Why is da Joey Boi stupid?
A: Drunk with
Eternal Hope Fueled By
The Last Episode Of Every Sitcom He’s
Ever Seen Joey Boi Has A Stupid Dream
And When He Wakes Up He Breaks His Jaw
Against His Jaw Biting Down On The Long
Sweet End

Technology of the Gods

The psychic parrots
won’t stop staring at me.
This world is a mousetrap,
it’s best to keep moving.

See how I’m moving?
See how I crouch,
weep into a small tape recorder.

My recordings of clattering forests.
My recordings of laughter from backstage.

Then I light a pipe on burial grounds
before ducking into the rain,
parting the group of yawning trainees.

“No one understands,”
I tell my wife
as she begins to serve
a rippling meal!

My recordings of lost bus drivers.
My recordings of a kiss on the balcony.
There are trapdoors on Earth.

I bury a little feather
while Angels die and are born,
twirling overhead.

All I Can Say

Sitting cross-legged in a cross-stitched basement
over relationship coffee
when somebody says
“chew on this, it tastes
like Childhood”
and I accept something sticky
from a puppet’s mouth

I sense
the opinion on flip-flops is not high here.
Is that a good enough reason
to wear them

The right tattoo
can make you appear as if you have something interesting
to say.
So I got one on the bottom of my big toe (seven stars)
as a greenhorn
and for a week I let the rain dress me
but even that seemed sterile
after the press conference.

Sooo
who here can knit?
Um
(Knitting is stupid)
can you knit me small hat?

My dad said “gay”
at a family party
in a dream
and I woke up and our city
had a good baseball team
and I encountered
a fiery wheel in the basement

warning me:
When you see the forked tongues of last year
you must resist drawing your knife
to slice them

and your golden bare body
is not to be trusted
tomorrow or ever

as it speaks of safaris in Texas with maidens
from Memphis in the wagon,
wiping eye gunk from my eye
reading a poem called “Monuments Pt. V”
or altering the course of man’s bowels.

It’s already busted.

In this moment I am picturing my ex-girlfriend
as a constellation.
In another moment a toad will hop over my foot.

Okay.

Breezy in the Tube

Taping batteries into the back
of a radio,
Watery-eyed
spills his protein in the subway.

A veil of pink dust
on the men in flickering neckties.

Their faces fold before.
Creases at the mouth and the forehead.

Just get on the train and disappear.

There is breeze in the tube.
There is a little stone fountain
plugged into the wall.

The caretaker
snips off his eyelashes
and goes to work.

Morning with a "u"

I wake up singing.
Some song I haven’t heard.

Have I ever looked at
my birth certificate’s needlepoint replica
framed and hung
the day they brought me home?

Sunlight on it like a veil,
but I don’t bother.
My heart sprouts eyebrows
bushy and painful.

In the hallway, floating among the dusts
there must be fairies
and a guy like me.
Just never at the same time.

My insides conceal me,
even from myself,
and turn the fairies sour.
I hear them hissing in the keyholes.

The hard face I must make
when I go off to work.
Mom hides in the laundry room.

What song do you want me to sing?
What
What song do you want me to sing?

This winter
when stripped of summer coats
once and for all I’ll be a rodent,
and in ten years, a pelt
or a warm cap with no soul.

Joe's Zine Picks

Incubated
Advice
From Mt. Tuesday

Saturday

In my room
putting my feet into
another day w/o
bangles,
air space

but what would you like to
drink with that

Someone leans over a ladder
jerks upwards a window
I piss a creek
down the backyards

in style
she drops a glass bowl
through a sheet
un-injured.

Then: Again

I know,
If today should become a small cut
on the bomb-builder's hand
I will stand on this year's frozen pond
tearing off stubs of my Old self
and putting them in my mouth
for getting lost in the details.

"Then again,"
said the barber, as he spun my chair
so I could inspect his work
on the back of my head,
"you really believe the moon is that big
when it's among the buildings."

music

http://www.myspace.com/looosediamonds

coming home

it took me 19 years to speak
of the diverse vegetation in my
hometown
i spoke in the driveway
with the sun going down beyond that
sweet-smelling tree
the sky carved up by
airplanes in the branches
my brother bit his tongue
skateboarding 4 spots of blood
on the white cement
he swears more now
and better, too

Farm

The
horizon boils
over spills into the
big field a
sunlit farmer
folds himself into the corn
stalks and follows
earth's quiet curve
with palms cupped
for gather and posture
sculpted by smiling floorboards a

front porch
cradles a concentration of
brown nuts and ladybug husks
a dead fly or two

what spilled from the horizon
drips up the porch steps, drinks
milky orange shingles
and

the sunlit farmer picks his way
through the tall corn each step
revealing the glory of
that which is uninterrupted

poets reading their poetry

http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/authors.php

help

i dont think i can
write poetry anymore
can you guys help me

Yellow Plastic Water and the Pledge of the Glass Window

Yellow plastic water
Made to look like wood
In the shape of a cup
Surrounding space on the windowsill.

Glass caught between me and
The wasp bumping
Into the lazy glass
One hundred times until it

Curtains down as if agreed upon
Only one hundred more times

We, one glass, a window
Shall break as one window
Of glass, a broken
Glass window.

The wasp with me
One window covering
The cement
Looking lazily at everything
Looking lazily back.

One wasp with me
Rests on the lip of
The wooden cup shaped like
Yellow plastic water.

My movements become
Blindfolded movements
For the dangerous wasp

I watch him no other time
But now.

Post-it Note

Take out the trash
The dog died

Take out the trash out
The out dog died out

Trash the dog
Out trash the dog

Out the dog
Out the trash
Out the trash dog

Trash died trash
Dog take the trash

Dog out dog out
Trash dog dog dog

Take out died
Trash dog died
Take trash out the died dog
Take trash

From Mount Tuesday

Follow me!
The sailboats will joust in the rain
If we hurry.
The wind stole my kite for its colors
And your last strand of gold hair, the string.

Ahoy, Tuesday Mountain!
In the face of wind’s boredom
I strut on the shingled peak.
Wednesday dangles her nipples from the clouds
While I blow my bugle.

The green rain turns the scene
A new rusty.
I remind my self it’s natural
To spit or put my lips
On the water fountain forming
A kiss on my bicep
In the bath tub.
Tomorrow, I plan to have Today embroidered
On my chest as a patch.

Justified in a turtleneck, I build a nest out of
Old poems.
From all shores you see only my back
So you can more easily imagine me.
(Note the red mark the barber made when
His razor jumped
Due to new battery.)

A cloud yawns near me.
The weather attracts sunbathers
To the old battlefield.
From Mount Tuesday I watch a fly
Land upon your buttery thigh.

SMACK!

From all corners come the owls!
Dressed in black they hoist night-time with pulleys.
We become transparent with beams of light,
Shadow-puppets on the belly of a dome.
Bruises appear all over my tongue
And I’m surrounded by bullies.
The bruises are only inside my tongue, I think.
Babysitters march out of the trees
And I fall hopelessly in love with them!
Who? Who?
Who? Who?
Who?

The sunbathers all went away
And left yellow patches where their bodies were.

Incubated

The model airplane is buttered with
Morning-light. Shelves and shelves

I roll over to get a sense of things
I slept with this anvil.

Oh, yeah…

While I was walking near the puddle the puddle
Was deep
Enough to sink a battle ship.
Curtains hung around the sidewalk.
These I passed through.
Feeling a heavy taxidermy,
My head protruded from the wallpaper.

A man emerged too, from the wallpaper
Could he borrow my telephone?
An envelope?
My breath formed conversation
On the incubator window.

At the beach, a machine with a wrecking ball
Spoke shyly of destruction.

Advice

The paper crane unfolds.
It’s a nicotine patch.
Shadows appear on my brother’s jaw.

I explain,
At times there are two or more tongues in one mouth.
Don’t get too close to yourself.

I wanted to wear an unconscious haircut
And a virtuous boy’s face.
I went where light could not go.
My voice sounded funny in the submarine.
Then the ocean collapsed.

On Top of the Mountain

A uniformed man packs me in a glass box,
Sends me zooming peak-ward.
I quickly ascend
The glacial signature.

Stepping out
I feel the slow thrust
Of epochs-old
Sediment
Below
me.

Huddled in the pines,
Fleecy couples carve their names with pocket-knives.
Ground squirrels stay fat and happy
Hunting for fumbled snacks.

Away!
A rock gashes my knee bloody
As I clamber over it.
Now there’s a souvenir.
I stumble into a clearing
Where a man feeds two dollars
To a Coke machine.