wake up, rod

So admittedly I didn't use that many links and the poem is uber short, but I figured it was best to get something out after the assignment was left lingering for so long. The resulting poem is nonsense and written at nearly 7 a.m. after literally no sleep, a hangover, a four hour long phone conversation and several over goodies. Still, better late than never, eh? Parce out the meaning or don't, you're beautiful regardless. -B. No Boy No Cry 1. tough boy david copperfield once disappeared his wallet, made air of a thing while under the gun's solemn glare. His passport, keys, his whole life tucked into some tidy fourth dimension. Even as the gunman flees, the illusion creeps toward a kind of deft reality. 2. keep you, burnin' an old gyspy witch casts a spell full of apocrypha and dried dog shit throws the bones to the flame and slits the dog throatwise. She chants, she shrieks, a missive in the madness, calling the kindling, urging the burn. When it is said, it is don...

Hey all, this is going to seem super lame after the inordinate amount of time I took to complete this assignment, but no matter how hard I tried for a five-part epic, the poem wanted to be a one-hit-wonder. So I slaved over this little ditty and exchanged a lot of packets in my pursuit of inspiration. Some links I traveled to are at the bottom, though I lost track of many others. One prerogative: I'm trying to challenge myself to write longer lines. Nonetheless, sorry for the sleight of hand, and I think neither the poem nor the puns should be easily forgiven. Carry me there in concrete shoes The fop's a flop, Billie Jean: No one believes he's a Jackson. Daughter Darling does, at least, believe love is another sequined glove: ugly with the effort of animation where once was. Jack White makes a living off this knucklebeat, plays it so we can feel it fuck up our bloodheat. See, a synesthete of finger and fantasy can come pretty in the face of baseballsand flesh and feel ...

1, Part one. With sapphire toggles locked on my bootlaces, horse bedazzled and whinnying, the desert gets a little glam. I steal a cigarette from the cigarette tree, lighting with a quick scratch along the inner-side of my jeweled thigh. Far overhead, the eagle is just a lens flare. A series of light puffs polyping from blue. I melted down the harmonica for silver horseshoes. I made a nickel-wound pipe from the guitar. I took that nostalgia and froze it, dappled it like rhinestones along my eye-brows. Because the thing is, you have to look good, even if no-one’s watching. 2, Part two. Swathed in colorful-like materials I collect desiccated wood for the fire. I collect the skin of condoms, the bones of IUD’s, the diaphragms for a fire swathed in color. 3, Part three. The night skypalpates with heat thunder, the hum of woken bees playing decibel chicken against the flashing grounding strobes, shooting from grandiosities. I construct the kanji from the parts for swarm, for burst, for ambu...

Even though a certain Rodder, *ahem,hoo-ah,ahem* didn't subject hisself to Kate's assignment, I'm posting another for general cogitation. I've got a hunger my friends, and that hunger happens to be for badass poetry. Here it is: Optional Step 1) Get schwasted. Approved varieties: whiskey, Pabst, Carlo, or a $10 bottle of champagne 2) Go on a magical internets treasure hunt. The stipulations are as follows: a) A pastiche poem of sorts is to be made, blasted, molded, squeezed out of the treasure hunt. b) The hunt must be multimedia (I'm thinking the triumvirate of music, film, text; but play with this how you want). c) A search engine must be used in order to generate islands along your personal treasure map (this is so we aren't purposely going to sexy sites we've scoped out before). d) We google (or whatever) 5 of the same words/phrases to generate different websites to put on the map. These words/phrases are to be voted and decided on by this SUNDA...