Visceralum artwork: "The Machine" [2014]

on/off (riddled division) [2010]

we will retire fat outside these white facades

surrender satisfied then our skeletal ideologies

sneak homeward after dope-stuffed trunks are scorched

unburdened of photos from bald manifestations

at a cross derived of detailed theological pointing

our burn will then be a resolution to dissolve

two will be revealed in confirmation of an indelible blanche

when a flesh is severed abruptly of its mount

a terrified one attenuates within your whet walls

in observance of an intricate practice of touch

do read the Teutonic script in broad stroked rows

and accept this as a mirroring of our like minds

the interior of the last night of the earth (1992-1994): home [2011]

he

came

through

the door

donned a hard hat

and shouted

"think safety!"

the six of them

became so drunk that

they attempted

to play pool with

their cocks     (apparently

                       one was more successful than

                       the others)

he sat dejected

on the fourth step

and confessed that

because of her absence

he had no interest

in the party or

the concert afterward

he had ingested

so much wine that

when he awakened

the next morning

his equilibrium was

gone

the landlord came

on Sunday night

and knocked on the door

for ten minutes     because

she knew that he was

up there     hiding in his room

and he was     (he had lost

                       the rent money

                       at the track)

he lay face down

in the drain of

the tub     and

continued to

regurgitate

the salsa and beer

when he arrived home

at 2:30 in the morning

he popped some NoDoz

smoked a joint and

proceeded to craft

a rack for the pool cues

from scrap wood and

used shoelaces

his mother had left him

6 new pairs of socks

a package of underwear

and two fresh towels

so he decided to

bathe

when the ladies entered the restroom

they realized that it had not been cleaned in months

they spent the evening

listening to Johnny Hartman records

drinking Wild Irish Rose

and forgetting

he sat on the edge of

his bed     unable to move

unable to do anything

without the room

spinning     and

he prayed to God

(in whom he did not believe)

for redemption

after a concentrated search

for the source of the stench

it was finally determined

that the cats had been

pissing and shitting

up inside the recliner

he tried to remain focused on

practicing his instrument

as the over-anxious pounding

continued     however

when Prince's "Soft and Wet"

suddenly became the soundtrack

for the loss of his roommate's

virginity     he had to stop

and take a moment to reflect

his skin was so badly

burned     that his red afro

appeared bleached blonde

in comparison

the argument continued

until the phone rang

and an opportunity to

get drunk and

get laid

presented itself

after the band had played

several of them gathered

in the freezing loft

to discuss exit strategies

and write songs

for the new splinter group

               Head

they found him passed out     using a milk crate

for a pillow     and his amp for a leg rest

the dishes were stacked

3 feet high     and the kitchen

stank like boiled roadkill

but the standoff continued

on the day that

the dirty old man

died

the house was

burglarized     and

as he inspected

the mostly empty rooms

he noticed that

the burglars had

left the screen door

hanging open     so he accepted

the ironic gift and

                         walked

                         out

Grainlink Panorama [2015]

practicing tongues drifting [2015]

                         (…)

question

                         opposite of gallop

obsession

                         apply language wedge

transition

                         plaster the suburbs

congestion

                         absence is coupleable

abscission

                         assume another’s ignorance

infusion

                         mother affects jazz

tension 

                         slacking becomes wishing

                                

          and lurk like a rabbit at the top of the stairs

["We were pernicious in our tassels and triangles, and the contracts came forward like searchlights, tentative, but versatile as dynamite in the hands of a hermit."  Question.  One of us might have been a statue, or a hatch, and another seemed unclassifiable, stacking its misconstrued equipage in tight piles of 48.  Obsession.  Our kingdom is a universe, and paintings of damage; we have smiled shunts into the camera of your intestines, and you are off into veritable phosphorescence.  Transition.  When you are random numerals, it is difficult to maintain fenced-off sentences, but our satisfaction is in the munching of attributes, not in the rhythms of another’s alarms and whittling.  Congestion.  Chattering, chattering, chattering, and the tireless trudge of circular logic are we.  Abscission.  Together, quartz crystals and our high-school heydays make a ladder into a commission of temporal murders, and we are monuments to quitting, or the skyline at dusk, or some slime found on the ceiling beams of your brand new downtown loft.  Infusion.  Midnights, and other entrapments, are all that we have left to give, to the perimeter, or to any young mumbler with the desire to wrangle malingerers and dust.  Tension.  We all gather in illusion, slurp television through straws, and lurk like a rabbit at the top of the stairs.]

conclusion

                         practicing tongues drifting

(…)

flinch [2010]

(it was unto them     in universal acknowledgement
                    through the standing blinds
                                        across the sheets
                                                            over the desk

and up onto the wall)

8 eyes witnessed it     a stiff marvel no doubt

aside the outgoing mail

  was it striking?  no     more stricken
                                was it great?    almost     though somewhat abstruse
                                was it heavy? something closer to improbable
                                was it right?    well...

bearing it was almost too much

for the jaws

smiling was certainly out of the question

and the children were never able to incorporate it

into their funerary game play

did they not later obtain it

surreptitiously

that is to say     by means of stealth

as nations of them slept?

we should now stand clear

in remembrance of it     or out of respect

and sing laments     hum dirges

we'll drape a flag of it 

over the casket of a ditch digger

and declare unity

until a flinch tomorrow

                                                                       wrests us divisible

I believe they did!

quite sneaky     weren't they

with their bayonets

and zealous slippers?

(no-input) [2011]

  after Toshimaru Nakamura

is not the white whorl of static 

undermining and erratic

crackling in low lamplight

is not the cold manipulation

of a tonal manifestation

doubling you in black and white

(is not the sudden gasp for breath

as you track stainless steel death

circuitous in its blight)

is not the squealing crescendo

heard outside your bedroom window

late in the black-wrapped night

          it is your feedback

         not alarming you