Oliver Girondo – Even Dying Her


The palpable the morbid
the conch bold bed the sodregs
the taut deep probes the ebbs waves of the flesh
its nubile contractile pistils
and its annexed nests
the fervid languiforms innumerable subsubornings of touch
its naked blue must
each lode
each vein of blood’s echo’s dream
somniloquent nights of high celestial croaking that animaplunge us vertigo
how much it sticks without coasts to the flow the pulse to the red cosmogone
its emptied faces
and its channels
even biting the earth
terra incognita notorious pickaxe eyes for sore sight the bony the impacts of
awe of more slack
any being on the sore spot
the gifts given gone where orbits sobs of euphoria fog among themselves
whichever vigil attentively veiled expected skeleton spouse
daft barren wake
the microchance of germ motive encounter
already fugitive thens
selfsearching for free
the fantaseeds
even ingesting the earth
any porous way
the sole wide well of the pit immersed inside
sectarian thirst for thirst finite embraces
each mouth
therefore the sum
such stubborn love
hightide loving the brimming lovepandemic totem sprout of love of love breaking out
the pockmark
new gorgon love medium olavacobraniagara erect entire swoon
that ululululululates and arpeggiosipiderscratches the ego breath core
even exhaling the earth
with its trine astroids its species and names multiflames mires and excrecredences
its lassos buzzards love nests of complex incests among loose bones currents without
its neighboring corpses of memory
its light of naked crop
its axillas of nap
and its gyre in dough not less less than other related cogyrators
even the feeble weaning
even the neuter untempting
even dying her


Oliver Girondo 1891-1967 an Argentinian poet who rejected academia and academic poets touching on surrealism and create new sounds of poetry, listening to phonetics and often an existentialist , breaking limits of punctuation and word boundaries like Borges published in many magazines as well as his books

1926 after D.H

we are among the ruins

and could return to life again,

it was their natural atmosphere

not daunted by either art or ideal politics

out in the open world,

she could use her sexuality to have power over him,

her orgasm and her crisis

amazing, the profound

fulfilled before they knew promise

a vibrating thrill inside the body

and the soul she could not get rid of,

succumbed to the strange male power

a well bred social anarchy

one of the curious obsolete,

she went by without looking at them,

alone he was a lost thing

whole act took place in a vacuum,

why should they last

with layers of dissolution

like geological strata,

sideways, and downwards the light fell on him

he was burningly, poignantly grateful for these

pieces of natural

as was his outcast soul,

they lit the candles in the hall

of unfinished tender flesh


an erasure poem derived from a novel that caused much controversy D H Lawrence Lady Chatterlys Lover

Boris and the New Picnic

Boris Strugatsky 1933-2012

i was sad to hear Boris Strugatsky had died, joining Arkady who died in 1991 , both now physically lost yet their minds and words live on.

For me Roadside Picnic which became Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker was a landmark especially as i saw it as a double bill with Solaris , watching for me was an expansion of the mind i did not fear or contract from subject and length, so much of the analogy that our world has been visited is true to the extent of our ruination of this world and the traps we set both physical and psychological that have been the rise and fall of our civilizations and also so much was said of culture and politics.

Red Schuhart is a great character as the Stalker or scout wandering the zones finding pieces to sell illegally that aliens may of left behind we also have the horrors of children growing deformed and the dead rising i could go on but say get the book watch the film and immerse yourself in the genius of the Strugatsky’s.

watch Stalker http://archive.org/details/Stalker_891

and to read Roadside Picnic


William H Gass

Middle C tells the story of this journey–an investigation into the nature of human identity and the ways in which each of us is several selves, and whether any one self is more genuine than another.It begins in Graz, Austria, in 1938. Joseph Skizzen’s father, pretending to be Jewish, leaves his country for England with his wife and two children to avoid any connection with the Nazis, whom he foresees will soon take over his homeland. In London with his family for the duration of the war, he disappears under mysterious circumstances. The family is relocated to a small town in Ohio where Joseph Skizzen grows up, becomes a decent amateur piano player, in part to cope with the abandonment of his father, and creates as well a fantasy self–a professor with a fantasy goal: to establish the Inhumanity Museum. Skizzen has trained himself to accept guilt for crimes against humanity and protects himself with the creation of a secret self that is able to remain sinless.

launched MARCH 2013 http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0307701638/ref=nosim/completereview



“An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.” ~Charles Bukowski (Life)



yes you

do your eyes taper to my face

or the liquor before me,

you judge

prejudge any damn way,

just listen

yes you

i have no limitations

only what you try to put upon me,

i am the sunshine

you might never see again,

the places

you visit at the bottom of

the hour,

let me be there

somewhere inside,

with my face,

my words,

my name

and remember me


Starchief North


born in anticipation

growing to expectation

departed familial line,

as dark turned light

with finger combed hair

possession’s stuffed into bag,

took the Starchief

out beyond the county line

heading North,

at a gas station,

slowed and parked,

in rearview looked at himself,

no fear in the eyes

only blue adventure,

his clothes worn

the last his mother will buy,

she would not see

the cheekbones evolve

like those of his father,

or hair fine in texture

become long,

or the beard last seen

three generations ago appear,

but for now he waited

and she arrived

the one meant for the rest

of his life,



raised alone

by mother no father

without sibling,

high school came

only too soon,

as did When

first caught as a reflection

in a school window

and in her imagination took

his hand,

as she did now

clambering breathless into car,

throwing bag on the backseat

with his,

a kiss

one kiss,

that had a lingering of a thousand

years of love,

ready he said

i am she replied,

forty dollars scraped between them,

Starchief carried North

red candyflake and whitewalls,

morning became a celebration

of sequins and fireworks,

she touched a shoulder,

still fragrant from yesterdays tears,

in their silence a louder voice

was heard.


This poem for http://dversepoets.com/2012/08/23/meeting-the-bar-writing-characters/ is a poem derived from my novel that is well into progression so much so that they are part of my life