Friday, May 30, 2014

ginger sadhu

white bowling ball in flames
black smoke column torquing
into gorge, throwing shadows
against shorn concave faces.

yes, cliff panels
the shape of blood cells
the total of whom beheld your trip,
another career into molten Mthyuh.

they'll keep lining you up with the novitiates
and foreigners at the back of the bread line:
ginger sadhu taking a stand-up nap
propped by other naked sleeping men.

"Short for Illinois"

Thursday, May 29, 2014

sadhu poem

down by the border the rocks are rounded by the weather
it's as easy as popping your face up through packing peanuts

either place are they mountains or rocks, piles of
rounded or jagged stone the size of mountains?

here my face is wounded in the new shards
yet i plow compelled counter-intuitively toward the sun.

"sadhu poem"

bump at warp speed

tiny sins number as cells in the skin scaffolding of any member
society's limits don't begin to get fussy past the second column over
at the layer where personal discomfort is the greatest matter

all flesh is in time-calibrated centrifugal tension
big picture allows free sprouts to meet the cutting level
all else mulches down among the living's ankles

bump at warp speed, you know it should be something big
not just the worm hole ribs torsing by nor structural flaw;
another dimension pressing in could drastically alter being.

"My face is torn from being born of rock."

Monday, May 26, 2014

To all Fanfest participants

You underestimate my numeric system for buy and sell orders.
It could not be more simple or devastating:
single numeral. or alternating numeral.
What power does this give me what power this gives me is
High-relief visual trackability. Sensitive bug detection. Brand recognition, fear, loyalty. Fractal beauty upon processing. No charge.
Psychological Mind-Ef: If you tried to copy me it would be like you loved me or something.
Some try and get burned out by numbing sameness of it, seems only decorative, lose self-respect.
Don't see how it cuts through the false and arbitrary 1's-5's-and-0's waypoints of the decimic logic paradigm.


Ayre Fromme Diaz

Saturday, May 24, 2014


I started out by developing a test that would diagnose any individual with the most horrifying universal aspects of human consciousness stated in the most disturbing possible fashion. It was a pyramid in the sense that no one was sacred or untouchable if you wanted to succeed or the alleged auto-glass business model: break out car windows to drum up business. I knew it would work because I myself am hypnoid. To an even higher level than the average sucker, I am stopped dead in my tracks and drugged in my own juices by a voice, a face. The audio cassettes of my great aunt with their hand-typed labels, her missionary sound letters from Taiwan, had a hoodoo on them. Would flip a switch. And I didn't really know what she was saying, but we mustn't let it stop. Her goal was to narcolepse across continents and generations from beyond the grave and the Iron Curtain.

Would that you be looking through my eyes at the children all in white cotton blouses with their slates and ribbons and scholastic badges. Would the street dog, the sadhu, plaza fowl taste their pure lunch broth and noodle. Were to be so young again and given the choice while still in my tenderness to receive Christ unto me into my soul and spring strength up through the whole and length of my body into my arms and legs and feet and hand so that I might too lift others up into His mightiness and glory forever and ever.

But because of the restraints of my own moral structure I could not profit and grew to use my design as an auto-mocking performance artifice. In this way I could retroactively focus my labor into self-illumination piercing enough to drive me toward virtue. But there I focus as if upon a star and I upon a noble and impossible voyage as Earth grows smaller behind me, and the star remains exactly the same size, if not dimmer with the thinning of the atmosphere.

"Here, from decades into the future."

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

eyelet screws

can't... bear... wakefulness
today the bad is any news
seeing even double in twos
send me on a path I'll lose
hang me on a nail or use
wire and some eyelet screws

shoot me with a tranq dart
from an elephant gun
for the present i have no art
and it isn't fun
get me right in the neck... part
ere I can run.

"I think I am Reptily."

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Disciplinarians of conscience

seemed like a decadent
distraction that I really couldn't
afford at a delicate time of

Could swear at least I'm not
sitting around spending energy
on pasatiempos that snatch at my

Snapping anemones
in eight bay windows of the building
starring as disciplinarians
of conscience.

something I'm finding in
myself and projecting you
at will onto the forbidden scrim

"Spin, vajra"

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Victory lap

prison break, five months out:
warm's finally won, desert gone,
one-hand driving home, windows

down. rays of sun from behind a
cloud, my head, a crown and
the harvest sure now as a weed.

celebrate, let hounds run free, but
in only moments from the yard
there are squeaks, the loudest able

baby alarm. a flashlight found the
nest blown, grass strewn with tiny
leporidae and what they bleed.

as a rain begins, I shuttle ear kits,
nine fur packets one at a time, like
a bitch, to ground cover, also new,

across my neighbor's fence. elbow
in tremors, the contrite older dog
helps me find every doomed one.

"Planets turning two ways at once."

Monday, May 5, 2014

Oops, actually

Intentions were all we had to fall back on:
Naive, goodhearted vainglory.

Not because the outcomes were whalecrap.
They floated like miracles, to be true.

We're successful at what we do, rather.
And not sinister at all, on a spectrum.

It's the meaning we always get mucked up in.
If you only knew how little mistakes mattered.

I work in my own private panopticon.
Work it till I've spent the last good drop.

Then I slumber against the bricks under where the eye's painted,
the open eye on the wall I laid with my sweat and a trowel.

I wake in the wool of the sheep who eat the grass I planted,
wondering why so many creatures would stick around.

Kathmandu, 14