end

Days begin as the universe cannot,
With inarticulate slogans removed from the otherworld.
Red-haired plumbers send birds to a place
Where smiles are enemies of shampoo,
And envelopes for voices and tails are cheap.
Songs begin where all of them end.

 

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80 thoughts on “end

  1. did the red-haired plumber show you
    his tumor ?
    passed down from father to son
    since the first dawn
    artificially colored
    it is a real beauty
    although some folks
    think it looks like Frank Zappa
    looks like is one thing
    sounds like is another
    music bound up with imperfections
    music ornamented with dialogue
    throw in some ugly chicks and graffiti
    some ginger hair down below
    the sun around the junk

    Like

    • he was british, he said: tumour
      and he didn’t own it, it was god’s benign tumor
      barely noticeable even if you are gifted enough
      to notice god’s presence in this vale of laughter

      my old university friend from moscow
      who has been noticing god in each and every piece of shit
      since his conversion seven years ago
      has just sent me the money to acquire
      all frank zappa’s records available on cd vinyl and cassette
      and i mean it: all of them
      so if you love to listen to zappa or just want to make some profit
      then it’s high time to buy a few of his albums

      Like

    • WHAT DOES ONE SAY ?
      about a person that collects cobwebs
      that sleeps on a horsehair blanket
      that has a resultant deeper dark side
      that got kicked out of a club for scat-yodeling
      that has often seen cadavers and other odds and ends
      that has pooped in midair but not in Japan
      that married a fake Cinderella
      that once believed in the unknown
      that enjoys saying, “Open Sesame”

      Like

  2. your old university friend from Moscow
    wired me money also
    no mention of Zappa purchases
    rather some of that stuff that got Adam and Eve
    kicked out of the Garden
    he wants me to drive to Kentucky
    and buy some of that out-in-the sticks product
    moonshine grandchildren cook it up fresh
    makes one feel like Mary when she delivered Jesus
    passionate pursuits and spectacular romance
    creation and murder and human flesh consciousness
    HOW FAR INTO THE FUTURE
    HOW FAR INTO THE PAST
    to see where you are now

    Like

      • POETRY BEING THE PROOF OF EARTHLY ENDURANCE
        THE FAILURES AND THE PERSONAL VICTORIES
        a good therapist could construct a log cabin
        from the shame-filled forest of one’s mind
        using grave-site weeping to mix mortar
        motes of Ivan dust and guilt and grief
        scraps from the bastard bridegroom
        an alarm clock from his childhood
        dirty laundry—his and others
        peelings from his backside
        yes, a good therapist
        out of dry dock
        fancy shoes
        on the go

        Like

  3. cockeyed notions in Denver
    chugging enjoyably along
    all that nonsense about virgin births
    the mother of Mother Mary had been a virgin birth
    National Enquirer says, “all the way back to the Ark”
    a shaft of light—intercourse without conversation
    a little tightening and the knot
    released a single large egg
    a little tightening and the knot
    released a single large sperm
    ****toiling away inside female materials
    the enemy claims everything is substandard

    Like

  4. PEOPLE SAY
    THAT THERE IS A LOT
    OF AGORAPHOBIA
    ON YOUR STREET
    that you wear Robin Hood boots (?)
    white people playing exhaustive jazz
    white women singing tasteless lyrics
    pointing their nipples at specific targets
    to express dissatisfaction
    in our society
    Hit Parader magazine
    lists various ways
    to perform cavity searches
    often cavity searches
    include lewdness
    blasphemy
    devil worship
    ——GOD FOREVER BEATLES NEVER——
    elevating narcissistic self-absorption
    that’s what I like about conversational poetry
    anything to stir the hormones
    flashbacks of thrusting hips
    misinterpreted
    leaping around the campfire
    natives with large genitals
    the actual smell of “funk”

    Like

    • Nah, i am in Memphis now
      I don’t listen to white men’s jazz or blues
      You can be sure that the true funk doesn’t smell of anything

      And yes, i am proud of being agoraphobic
      That’s why i left russia

      Like

      • passports with hyper-tiny print
        words that range
        from the comic to the grotesque
        thousands of cotton balls
        some with ear wax
        Elvis Presley soundtrack
        you no doubt gyrate in Memphis
        a lacy teddy you don’t even notice

        Like

  5. a poet in striped pajamas in Memphis
    working on the runways
    petrified at the pre-shower
    where they try to wash off
    any sadomasochism
    scum from living the good life
    bedroom contortions
    auditory proof that
    others have been
    BREACHED

    Like

  6. feverishly pursued speculation
    ———-all by yourself
    you listen to recordings of pulsating life-blood
    ———————————————————–
    the number of detectives
    outside your abode is overwhelming
    one-act men
    who think of themselves as being realists
    ———————————————————–
    words are stolen
    WORDS ARE STOLEN
    words are stolen

    Like

  7. they say that you may be make-believe
    smart gents say, “fire those defective detectives”
    perverse family emotions
    like crazy alarm clock noises
    THORNS THORNS THORNS THORNS
    constant risk in your bedroom
    the prick of sensitive flesh
    readers with combative standpoints
    temptations with flaps of coral pink
    the conventions of form
    (a whisper) He’s not fruitful
    ———————————-
    your new color “JOSTLED”

    Like

  8. my advice is to stay away from Jamaica
    don’t even think of the name
    ———-
    a short dream that you were fitted out
    with a steering column
    and a propeller-driven motor
    sort-of-a-hovercraft poet
    (+) guess where the propeller was located
    ———-
    thoughts not articulated
    hidden words
    several layers deep
    words written on the backs of ticket stubs
    bourgeois ticket stubs
    PROTAGONIST
    internal monologue quiets
    with the lowering of the lights
    the originality of assumed efforts
    stubborn boy technique
    THAT’S WHAT I SAY
    **** “put on some comfortable shoes
    and throw away that stubborn boy technique”

    Like

  9. BINGO baby bird !!!
    all those worm problems
    fecal spectacles
    hours and hours of stubborn drops
    in and out and in and out
    Jamaica
    you have to take your own food
    and drink all fluids through a magic straw
    bottled water is “re-bottled” water
    European biological laboratories
    sell their guinea pigs and apes
    to Jamaica for tourists
    locals only eat what they cook themselves
    ———-GOD help you if you had sex

    Like

  10. the totality of your visit to Jamaica
    honest thoughts might be difficult to translate
    your nocturnal visits to the commode
    hour after hour—-solitude and cramps
    outside 24hr surveillance
    given to drink—taken by drink
    all the alcohol encourages the worms to reproduce
    even if you confess they’ll continue the squeeze
    you are an actor of contemporary theatre
    horns and hooves
    clawing and clutching
    thick colorful
    spits and spews

    Like

  11. you purchased over 700 bottles
    of shoe polish
    in Jamaica
    —-you said that you had a plan
    upon examination—you’ve always had a plan
    any impetus
    regress to childhood
    you painted black circles
    around your eyes
    to look different
    that you were not a ghost
    you refused to read E.A. Poe
    that he was transparent
    and not really a man
    you said,
    “evaders of reality die in the end”
    death has such a stronghold
    I found your shoes to be a bit too tight

    Like

  12. AND THEN I STAND ON TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN
    I spoke openly about you purchasing all that shoe polish
    and you never so much as made a peep
    you claim to like the drink
    like people in church
    profess the Lord
    but it is all in the bottle
    the good stuff never leaves
    just the ghost

    Like

    • Okay, let’s talk about shoe polish
      This is going to be a small talk, i mean
      Really small because i have only
      A vague idea of what it is
      I can’t even say if i have ever used it
      Are you going to recommend it to me
      Standing on the top of mount sinai like moses
      Beard askew, bottle of whisky (another thing
      I have never used) in hand

      The people of jamaica and e. a. poe look at you in amazement
      But don’t understand

      Like

      • THANK GOD YOU SPEAK FOR JAMAICA
        AND E.A. POE
        you are a true pillar of our small colony
        I just can’t see you wearing expensive socks
        why do you explore my sock drawer ?
        I know your world was all regulated
        and I am the unwelcome guest
        but baby bird
        your stove
        needs some hot coals
        you need to jack that crap up
        well-meaning means nothing in 2016
        superterrestrial body hair has more importance
        apes wearing trousers with modest length hair
        nerve-tickling stares and grunts
        poetry with almost no meaning
        conjured up poetry from sleeping in motels
        stuck in a Cain and Abel line of employment
        a bride more wrinkled than the dress
        dusty little schoolgirl
        the attic at the top of the stairs
        spectator incest
        with the uncertainties of modern life
        no one said a word

        Like

          • Nothing matters when the pockets are empty
            And there is void between the socks and the gloves
            Pythagoras once arrived in egypt and found
            All the palm trees strangely calm and divested
            Of the leaves and the natives lying under
            The naked sun practicing tarot (29 leaves
            With undecipherable inscriptions in each deck)
            And all the cats worshipping their majestic mama
            In the house of bast
            He had no one to discuss his endless triangles

            Like

          • IN SOUTH FLORIDA ALL SOCKS ARE EXPENSIVE
            it’s not the size of your house
            or the make of your automobile
            —the flat out truth, IT’S THE BLING OF YOUR SOCKS
            middle class don’t wear socks
            lower class don’t wear shoes
            private schools force old surplus military socks on their students
            toughens them up—-that and endless helpings of bone soup
            in the old days the bones came from Norway
            but today, most bones come from Haiti
            the earthquake and recent storms have jacked up the bone business
            bones from Haiti are very fragrant—you can smell the devil religion
            bones of all manner of island creatures
            big bones and tiny bones— if all assembled
            would possibly make Christians weep
            not borderline Christians or Catholics
            not small town crowers or cacklers
            but real life Christians
            would just break down
            and cry the final cry
            if they knew the truth

            Like

            • Up in Newfoundland they call fish bones spat to the rim of the plate “devil’s nail clippings” or so I’ve heard, this fixating on the dry skeletal things of the world
              Alice in Chains knew bout ‘Them Bones’
              Bleeding marrow, Staley’s crooning
              All in a pileup, why should they pose threatening to the big C’s or the little C’s
              I got my socks all wet

              Like

              • BETTER TO HAVE WET SOCKS
                than two dozen predators outside your front door
                all them personal demons
                the urgency of the matter speaks for itself
                bad folk are named after local fish
                rapists, marauders, creeps, and pervs
                I often hear people praying for Jesus
                dialing the emergency number
                hearts pounding
                the smell of the smelter
                naïve and compliant poets
                Ivan will tell you about his hotplate
                but not his fingernail clippings

                Like

              • MOTES OF DUST
                Ivan with his “motes of dust”
                visible modus operandi
                even the inner ridicule
                collects dust
                —————
                driving down the highway
                and the sun vanishes behind a cloud
                suddenly the landscape becomes cheapened
                in this initiation of endurance
                one can hear the rocks and trees cry

                Like

                • When have I not failed at the task,
                  Letting all eyes to drift on and
                  Leaving me in obscurity, my prized
                  Cracked nutshell?
                  But motherhood beckons me
                  To excel just this once and peel off
                  These oppressive wet socks
                  Like that time after basketball in Brooklyn
                  Sweaty things into the gym bag
                  When a man offered me fifty dollars for them
                  And fresh socks
                  Humiliating transaction swift, still
                  I heard as he sniffed, “Guanabana
                  Con leche”
                  And I pitied him and his mother’s milk.

                  In the triangulation of a certain kind of love
                  The dust settles not.

                  Like

                  • RED CIRCLES ON THE MAP
                    broken marriages
                    broken promises
                    at least one broken heart
                    poets are known to accumulate debris
                    or as in Ivan’s case, motes of dust
                    ——————–
                    roads not taken
                    pleasure is often the accelerator
                    others are happy to press yours to the floor
                    the faster one goes the more pollution one produces
                    ideas become clouded
                    seeing and apprehending
                    comes to a halt
                    or at least a slow crawl
                    ———————
                    imaginary friends outside the Testament walls
                    call to inform you that there is new static
                    on the radio
                    issues of the past
                    minor irritations
                    utterings
                    mutterings
                    fatigued relatives with clipboards
                    recording your day-to-day discomfort
                    the daily whelps—his whelps—their whelps
                    mundane endeavors with muddy hands
                    the washroom outside in the ravine
                    a different criteria for each visit
                    one never goes for as long as one wants
                    only as long as one can

                    Like

                    • Poor Pythagoras indeed Baby Bird
                      Yet I need to stop giving birth to hypote-nooses which our man Pith knew out in that shadeless oasis, choking trying to connect A to B while his contemporaries burned alive wilting their tarot deck.
                      Ha! Their treasured oracle spells their demise, accelerated by pleasure. As for static on the radio, did you hear they changed the name of the coming holiday to SHOPPING BAGS! ? Let their shit carriers and their clipboards be engulfed along with their voodoo cards.

                      Like

                    • Rabbits from the 19th century might lead you to a point in space overlooked by Lobachevsky but the barefoot rabbi my 5-year-old grandmother saw in the labyrinth of Gomel had been enjoying static long before the invention of radio which had finally acquainted him with angels that had acquired a strange habit of dwelling in the bones of antisemites

                      Like

                    • Pythagoras is a very dangerous term
                      Ivan is a mathematician
                      P. Theorem makes him very agitated
                      like a 5 pound erection pill
                      we’re talking cross-eyed
                      a Reader’s Digest quote,
                      “escalator from the pelt”
                      ————————————-
                      I recall seeing Pith on old Tarzan shows
                      every good Englishman had one
                      Tarzan knew the shadeless oasis
                      but Jane lived in the undergrowth
                      where plants were the chief choke
                      ————————————–
                      demise by pleasure
                      what a way to go
                      as for radio static
                      we get various shades of black:
                      (+) white people black
                      (+) almost black
                      (+) black

                      Like

                    • Theorems and lemmas make me sick like the hooch from Zhmerinka I used to drink being 17 y.o. like the Soviet interpretations of Chopin (by the way, Soviet radios had never produced any static which explains why we didn’t have a Castaneda in the USSR)

                      Like

                    • you know what a jokester Jesus can be
                      I asked him why Soviet radios don’t have static
                      He said, “you are so unaware of the intentions
                      of others—the answer to that question is loaded
                      with potential harm”
                      the man is a river beneath a river

                      Like

                    • if I remember correctly
                      STATIC STARTS RIGHT BEFORE PUBERTY
                      first the strange vibrations hum near the groin area
                      as they grow stronger they cause a low buzz in the ears
                      this is a once in a lifetime experience
                      it should not be wasted but raised up in glory
                      —————————-
                      the grand larceny of lust
                      robbing oneself
                      whatever it takes
                      to interrupt the static
                      bugs rubbing their legs together
                      makes one crazy

                      Like

                    • always a different criteria for your visits
                      you try to discuss feminine nature
                      and you know almost nothing feminine
                      backtracking to blue buttocks (?)
                      at this pace
                      poetry will never reach its boiling point
                      when I look in the crystal ball
                      I see a woman planning her escape

                      Like

                  • red circles on the map
                    places to cross the state line
                    to hear jazz
                    and purchase full strength beer
                    it is sad to say
                    but when your underpinning collapses
                    you may leave piddle when you stand
                    artistic types go to Starbucks on Friday night
                    their skin hanging from their bones
                    they dabble in meth
                    not the good stuff
                    just college kid clones
                    mental dancing
                    not physical dancing
                    5 million defensive half-truths

                    Liked by 1 person

  13. indoor sports leave me blank
    ballroom dancing seems underworld
    countless dreams about the Hottentot method
    poets leaping
    winding down with wisecracks and jocose rituals
    readers as voyeurs begging for a better view
    readers being enemies and friends at the same time
    demanding that each poet be a “Babe Ruth”
    —-knock it out of vaudeville
    if only it were so easy

    Like

      • in the newspaper article
        they mentioned her disheveled hair
        but not a single word about her socks
        she called 911 and told the lady
        she was thinking of suicide
        by the time the operator looked the word up
        in the miniature dictionary
        she had hung up
        deterioration waits for no one

        Like

  14. to go back to the homemade life of youth
    the one
    careful and mindfully crafted by parents
    all those missing socks waiting for you
    mother has repaired the really old ones
    the decommissioned ones from 7th grade
    may be the colors don’t match
    or she
    has knitted an extra toe
    no need obsessing over small details

    Like

  15. Deterioration like a high and mighty diva can’t wait to hit that high C and strut her voluptuous vocal chords so she arrives there half a measure early while the choir stays true to the music (and talk about voluptuous, damn that Lobachevsky’s wife had some cuuuurves! What a muse; no wonder the outliers in space were overlooked.) Suicide was far from my mind unlike the Japanese wankers with whom you’ve acqainted yourself, at least during the hour of snowfall and hallelujahs.

    Like

    • I WAS THANKFUL I HAD A MANY-SLEEVED SWEATER
      at least during the hour of snowfall and hallelujahs
      artistic types hiding and listening to Janis Joplin
      they wear brown woodsy socks
      and do meth on Friday night
      when they stand up at Starbucks
      there is often a puddle
      on their chairs

      Like

    • POETRY ANESTHETIZED BY OLD TRAUMA
      at night bones singing softly to flesh
      ———————————————
      Robert Frost standing outside
      trying to loosen leaves
      before their time
      Robert Frost the Poet Scoundrel
      fried eggs
      for the neighborhood cats
      flocks of birds would fly over
      he gave them the names
      of children
      from his Sunday School
      he invites everyone to settle down
      have a warm sleep over the smoke hole

      Like

  16. it wasn’t all the suicidal thoughts
    it was a combination of things
    Japanese poets only make poop
    2-3 times a year at best
    birds and animals can smell the stockpile
    that they walk around with
    (don’t believe me ? smell the ear hole
    of a Japanese poet)

    Like

    • I think you should read what Jun’ichiro Tanizaki
      said about making poop in his In Praise of Shadow.
      As far as I remember, he contemplated making poop in Europe and in Japan
      and had finally decided in favor of Japan.
      Making poop thoroughly, in his opinion, helped Basho
      to create his famous haikus. But alas, other Japanese writers,
      including Akutagawa, failed to appreciate this scatological daintiness.

      Like

  17. Jun’ichiro Tanizaki
    was famous for his pumpkin sized
    turds
    and although he claimed they smelled
    like sandlewood
    other reports disagree
    he was probably embarrassed
    about the length of time
    between bowel movements
    think how often
    one could say
    that he was “full of crap”
    readers in Kentucky
    didn’t give a crap about the haikus
    of Basho
    they laughed about the thought
    of a grown man
    making poop thoroughly

    Like

      • non-readers have issues with Basho but basically it is not a love thing
        they have severe problems with haikus
        real Americans HATE haikus
        regardless of the time period
        regardless of the poet
        American men find haikus as comfortable
        as wearing a horsehair jockstrap

        Like

        • The first thing i did here in the states was to enter the haiku society of america
          I quickly discovered that most of the members have never read classic japanese haiku
          Their own haikus were in my opinion just fragments of diluted hogwash
          I don’t know whether they were real americans or not

          Like

          • Haiku Society of America
            poisonous plants
            and bright colored vipers
            in the summer
            water snakes with lethal spit
            9 out of 10 members
            look like Yul Brynner
            when he was young
            a stud puppy
            from the Chekhov Haiku Society
            flirty eyes in the back row
            cross-legged poetry
            slow Slavic style

            Like

    • A Japanese woman once had decided to bring
      A bowl of soup to her deceased husband.
      It was a long way, Michael, very long.
      Imagine how much the soup had dried up.
      If you think of it thoroughly, you will never die.

      Like

      • I AM AFRAID YOU’VE OUTSMARTED ME THIS TIME
        I cannot imagine how much the soup dried
        it would be too painful to think about it thoroughly
        with my limited 18 years of schooling
        I am just short of a tumbleweed
        —————————————-
        a long way, a very long way
        I have no background
        in extreme distance
        all the tasking of life seems close-up
        the squeaky wheel
        that has just passed over my toe
        is what grabs my immediate attention

        Like

  18. Well, Baby Bird
    a giant THANK YOU
    for the Christmas gift
    I won’t mention what it was
    but it was dreamy !
    with all the prosaic spirits
    out there to dampen
    the holiday mood
    Thank God for a man
    who abandons all concern
    for Earthly things
    (except Armenian cognac)
    I’ve seen you on the tube
    displaying your mathematical genius
    scientific reason with poetic intuition
    Lordy, you got the whole package !

    Like

    • You see, there are many unearthly things
      I do not care about either
      Like money and dates, especially christmases
      But you are very welcome of course
      Whether you are earthly or not
      And i want to thank you too for your beautiful gift
      Now armenians are great, but their cognac…
      Just another useless soviet endeavor
      Right now i am drinking martell just because
      My wife has kept my favorite courvoisier in the garage
      And it is too cold because of the weather

      Like

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