Michelle Greenblatt



A prayer for every Paleolithic hammer, fondant eye.  when my mouth looks straight at
Him, the contour of his body remains the same, only fluxing, thus perplexing my gauge,
Fiercely opposed to even any phoneme that would begin to describe him.  but the woman
Sleeping next to him is a pit of mud to roll in.  some tar to stain my teeth.  metal
Skimming metal.  they are diamonds fucking diamonds and no windows either.  a star
Dissolving into a star.  a needle sucking marrow out of a bone, a trashed motel room,
a Slouched junkie trying to stand stood then i started to laugh and couldn't stop.
Penultimately, it was my fault.  as for the end, well, only he knew.  in a black house of
Holy poems the thing which is(which is also not)the subject of confusion is the one
Here That brings back no memories of there and so it is fought over, as it melts so they
Pummel it, then paint over it a white white wall.  the next fool will have no idea there
Was anything wrong.


Heading south toward any metaphysical sensation, i'd clutched something like this before
And it had told me to go study the ancients.  in uttering the words, the fire started.  foci of
blood / stream: remember the vein.  veins.  to go back, then, to the years termed
"nightmares" or "the past".  employing tactics demonstrating what lies just behind the
Behind and detonating my face.  I have nothing here for you between these legs.


An older name for this, perhaps ::beheading:: but i built it with my own hands so i
Thought it was mine.  a diagram for this might bring some relief:: scaled down, it might
Seem smaller but to me the STOP-sign shaped octagons, quite simply, were just another
Way of saying, "GO." a module of day. a unit not dependant on time or the sun,  the sky
On that day, i tell you, had a taste, more like ordure than anything i've ever tasted before.
Even with that pistol in my mouth.  there's a gangster with a switchblade at my front
Door; everyone expects me to let him in.  he's selling collinear equations.  the implex of
This being. don't take candy from strangers and accept your ability to receive.



ninety percent of taste is smell

practice makes Persephone practice (pomegranate seed stuck

stuck) hates Hades

harder harvester

             half stand half stance /                 unMe unI edged otherness (yes) even the war is not /
             like war looking through
             a kaleidoscope looking through
             the walls of an abri                                   an [abridged] dictionary teaches nothing to

there are

        (now there is nothing under my skirt)

                                                       [and poor demented Demeter]

 no Septembers

                                                                        to me

make children colorless                              Arion, little horse who could talk and had feet says
most documents do not document
anything so use electronics, curved as commas

ninety percent of taste
                     is smell make children odorless

she said o where did it
             come from

stomp on the writhing nobody who is
                                                               altogether weather
                                                              whether               (or not)               we like him being in
love is                      separate,                                separate and apart from
                                                                                  loving when autumn comes
when autumn comes

it won't be a careful why

it won't be a glow of a hurricane

this solo

This solo may be accompanied
by an instrument

approaching my ocular(what shall the sight be)self—my(you)hero!               will suddenly


from the sagging junkie          adjacent          to the pungent dumpster
             begging for quarters

it is not the wind it whisks away the sun the smile the crazy irony in the skinny sky nor is
             it          the          sonorous          boom   of          bondage

there is need there is no need of a jolt fatslicing every portion of cheese to  be fed to the wolves
of the lithified moon socalled "not given any given name" more commonly
                        known as dinner for the dirty

long enough just long enough
                        to ask where
                        did my will go
when due to a typo I "suffered

             for for years"

             in every face is a shoe                      among crumbling vines(no.)by the shapes of
             words I have burnt the hat again                                                            I am ---
             growing my hair I am growing it longer

longer and longer
what the child perceives is often the truth what the child perceives the adult often corrects

the look of regret on the martyr's face was what made me laugh
so hysterically



I've Got Nothing Tonight up My Skirt You'd Like

dumbly my legs wrap around your waist; distinctly it reminds me how you blew my brains out (philosophically) and how my insides did splatter behind my exact smile of heart stem in teeth. a loud machine.  don't stop

and see this.  it can't be that fabric riding no-handed on a bicycle.  spongy with sunshine, she leans back into the divisor. I've got nothing tonight up my skirt you'd like.  a clichéd pair of snapping teeth.  I have been a palm pierced

with your fingernails set aflame by the moon, a secret subdivision circling the knocking of my teeth and the rolling around under my armpits as I think with the drought you might want me to undress.  I know we are thirsty.  I know we are thirstier

than when it rained that whole week we were drunk and we couldn't find anything we were looking for looking for.  concentric circles & concentric circles & concentric circles squaring themselves around the now-green