Monday, May 14, 2012

Poems during KCAI (1993-2000)

Most of the poems were during the years of Bjork's Debut, Post, and we can see an influence there.  David's poetry is more mature as he has studied, has read a lot by this time and many of these poems were submitted in his poetry class where he got an A+.

Afterbirth Stew (formerly, "Life")
the Afterbirth Stew
which Sally drank
not unlike opening of
the box of Pandora
not unlike the opening of her cunt
She becomes Phallic, dominating, like T.V.
He becomes a hole, vulnerable

Statuettes (Sept 19, 1995)
unbelievably saturated
pompous forms gave to rise
when the signals
become intricate like the buzzes of bees.

yellow yellow yellow tugboat
I w
dressed like furry bears or owls
or in a faux furry tigersuit
bleeding very very bloody cherry red

breeding statuettes, like Fellini women,
like James Bond women, in boyish
childish maybe, pan-like trance
so desperate in belief for the war-like.

I am Velvet (Sept. 19, 1995)
I want to enter something dangerous, and to feel free to explore
the boundaries, and to leave free, unscathed, bruiseless..
in fact, in escasty..

I want my toes to stir in something orange, hot, and opaque
I want a dark and wet forest, filled with projectiles called trees;
For every creature crackling and glistening chirps
It'll be so moist.. and it's so warms because  the trees keep out cold wind..

wet and warm.. impossible to be cold..
maybe you'll afford the luxury of a spoiling extra warmth from firelogs
hopefully there'd be chirpings of so many fireflies in the descent
or the moon and the sun, it's too much because you're in the wilderness
and you're in ecstasy

Not Knowing
the horrible spectacles
seeing pictures
rabid, flickering,
spectacles for spectace

the projected eye
from myself
I see my black hole

a crazy murder, blood for text
the dark bunny-mouse is laughing
you want thick cow-webs
thick like velvet covering your bed

oh no, I have to laugh and
and weep at the sea the same time
dreaming the dark waves
crashing through doorsteps

a great scream of wonder
the great escape, the great spectacle
not knowing
in my hand I hold
a great red gem

the prism in the mirror
I uncover
secrets in the shadows
covering everything
a wave, illuminating,
only leaves me blinded

a sinister and dark teddy bear
and a dark bunnymouse

I am a dark bunny-mouse
I am cute but creepy

I laugh from a shivery mood,
trying to feign indifference.

there is a long pause between
two violent episodes,
sounds of tappings and beats.

I feel empty
I feel cold
the heart is quickened-

Only if you knew that it wasn't true

stand down by me

Only if I could say it,
but my tongue grows old.

and I get bored...

the moment of silence,
is thus ended.

I only want to see things in a certain light
which is a problem,
a conflict-creating mechanism:
things are obscured in shadows.

If I am transformed inmy work-
but this mirrors whoever reads it.

How boring.

A man eats shit by request of a monkey.

It happened to be a day (Oct 19, 1995)
It happened to be a day like this
beautifully dark outside from the clouds
signaling a storm to come
rising from the autumn heat, the sun,
blinded by it's own reflection
stepping aside for an early moon
unnerving unexpected stare on our heads;
but soon, the rays are absorbed,
leaving everything to life, everything to life,
the changes in the stars.

crossing with swords
we exchange quarters
parting with swords
we exchange quarrels.

whistles of birds wouldn't
quiet us
in a game of croquet
when it's so silent
we listen to our rhythms
of wooden balls and our
wooden mallets.

what do you mean when you
the minute after the hour
and after every hour, every hour
the big hand is there
and the small hand here.

contemplating sipping juicy lemonade-
you slap my face with a white glove
I'd just whiffed snuff
And I'm not in the mood

When it's so quiet (oct 3, 1995)
When only muted voices
of terrible bangs
I hear

your voice
maybe the voice
that only the tiny hairs
of my ears

What only breaks my silence
my heart squirms a throbbing chasm
to my throat
uttering my call and my cries
your mouth, your name

Ahoy (Oct 3, 1995)
he's deep down at the river
making waves
not understanding
a thing you're saying

the wind overpowers his toyboat
this is where he's staying,
he says, his sails, his mast, and all.

step ashore,
lucky him, he has ears
for sirens.

boys. (Oct 3, 1995)
I weep at the sea
it pulsates me
sending me to hell in escalators
and elevators rising
furious accelerators

sending me to islands
where I tot my boy gun rage
sexual fury
stealing magazines from bookshelves
dreaming about the girl that was never there

you shoot toy pellets
they don't hurt
soon, you could.

I now believe that the reason behind man's exinct
I now believe that the reason which
I believe that time is not infinite, but rather it is finite, Time is a word, but it's definition, the "reasoning" behind it's written, visible, recognized,  recorded by the friction of: pen to paper, chisel to stone, sound of speech to silence, etc.

Telly Blue
the way your trees sway
with the wind
so serene
yet with violence
in the way they echo
whispers coming from the

forget the stars, there's an
shiny stoplights littering the
cars and loggers
footprints and pavement

telly blue
all this electricity doesn't fit
in this lodge
I'd listen to the radio
but I'm afraid the
taxidermic heads would hear

For B.
Did I hold your heart in my hand?
you held mine
I held it for you.

To B.
your verbs shudder in my ears.
I cry at your call
you do not know my name

yet you call me.

a form so dissolute
you bite
with hate

but after seeing
there is a form
to love.

the silent breast
you said there would be no

your orbs and the moon
sticky orange ice candy
spiral wallpaper
covering your yellow house
well, just the inside

and it's very campy
yes very exciting
I see your cute orb
peering through the
cracked door

you flick your tongue
through the keyhole
I rush to the door
but you lock it

yet I see the beauty,
the surrounding countryside
looking at the moon glowing
but I'd rather be inside.

extremely tiny footprints of sweat
where shadows
itis hot
extremely tiny footprints of sweat

branches follow
haven't you noticed
they sweat
extremely tiny footprints of sweat

the mildew is extremely sweet
knobby elbows, seen,
can't help but notice
extremely tiny footprints of sweat

you raise your arms
you lick

extremely tiny footprints
of sweet sweat.

The trees may have many flowers,
but only you and I have one.

two nights (Nov 21, 1995)
Two nights, sparked by early dusk
spent searching for sleep
watching for me to awaken...
I see you, help me, I am afraid
of my senses, I await relief
and then to talk with you
about everything
and to hear you smile
about everything.

I am sorry, sorry for having
closed lips; I was absorbed, suspended;
A sentence should bring relief,
a warm, mutual sigh..

Tell me where you are from
and I see the unraveling of dream-like spaces,
tell me all your loves and desires
and I explore new sensations,
tell me what you hear and listen to
and my ears are restored,
tell me who you are
it's embedded in me, forever....

 I am Velvet (rewrite) (Sept 19, 1995)
I want to enter something dangerous, and to feel free to explore
the boundaries, and to leave free, unscathed, bruiseless...
-in fact, in ecstasy...

I want my toes to stir in something orange, hot, red and opaque
I want a dark and wet forest,
filled with projectiles called trees;
for every creature crackling and glistening chirps
It'll be so moist... and it's so warm,
because the trees keep out cold wind...

wet and warm.. impossible to be cold...
maybe you'll afford the luxury
of a spoiling extra warmth from firelogs
hopefully there'd be chirpings
of so many fireflies in the descent
of the moon and the sun, it's too much because you're
in the wilderness
and you're in ecstasy...

long-flowing sand crumble beneath my muscles
the grain's make an imprint of everything, the winds, the sea, and I
everything is washed away
I lock myself safely in my vessel, tiny wooden nutshell
the waves mean everything, they are my fears
rocking my house apart

I never want to step on land again, never again
mad am I, sea-drenched debauchery
yet I refuse to leave my bouyant hearth
the mad wailing siren is in me, in the back of my mind
beckoning me to the deep

should I then recall, the flashing vigor o fmy eyes
damn self-doubted reflections, firery orbs you ignore
feed the fire, endless hunger
step back on land, do not put it out with water
never never never never ever.

whom in the back of my mind I project desires,
the mad wailing siren within, match for match
glancing eyes, see not the beckoning

let not the endless wail die down.
unfetttered fresh sleep, you may ponder
but not the late, really late extra hours
face the sun quickly, before it reaches it's zenith

the sea is a strange old mother, alien, self-absorbing
musky murky channels of blue, life-giving waters
the predators are your fears, the jet-black sharks
with streaks of gold and wings of angels.

every man lost to the waves is the old man,
lover of this strange wailing siren, she fucks in
rhythmn to the moon, a long eternal coitius.
her smile is a wide as every grinning shark

"at the very least, you are not a corspe among men" she consoles
to argue that you are dead like dogs would angerher, so you
reply, "your majesty, the sea reeks of fish urine"

hve no fears, the ballrooms of Atlantis are iundated
with perfumed waters
spent cracking skull of Neptune. Lovely bleeding melee
of muscles. every ship a coffin. or neither, a hearse.
"every man a coffin" she confides.
her hair is infused with the sea. It is salt itself,
living salt.
"the sea will die soon, the firery neons fading, every fish a
rotting stink".

to Hemingway
where is gone days of late
my memory is much more of
a memory, now pauses like
a quick dream,
leaving behind only enough for taste.

old papa, you surely couldn't be a man's man now
but I could be wrong- you are a goddamn party animal
and I'd box you anytime

because I like the pain
show me how to be a man's man
sprawling there on the shattered-glass shodden canvas
your fist leaves a memory-

"lets fight like animals
no-not like animals.
like men"
taming the bull with your hand signing satan
lion at the bar, mirrors scattered around,
a falling window
(Ive masturbated more than you shot geese)

blood pressure readings are scawled
among the bathroom walls
near the paper ends" John Wayne: 40 Grit.
At the highest point in Key WEst
and torrents of beer at Sloppy Joe's. 

?(age 21)
the old man grows old to be an infant-
brimming adolescence, I want it now-
I'm two decades plus one, exhausted bullshit,
what is a lie? Am I thinking, I've sensitized myself
to myself, if nothing pleases me surely,
Im must return to the dusty chalkboard
I am thinking, if I am me, which a I am,
nontheless, but am in great conflict,
mirroring great self-anger.

Nothing can touch me, or, I want to
feel all pain, and ridiculous
puppy love.

Am I sensitized to my feelings?

O man, this is silly bullshit.

slithering spears made their criss-crossing zig-zags
acting as incurable, reckless paradoxes
of being gamemaster in your precious circles
withering from projected, mirroring anger

a perfect gift, a new neighborhood to be lost in
a new taste to engorge, to be reborn
to feel again hearty exchanges of enchanting glances
to be mad again, mad to grasp everything in fury

unrelentless tents, treehouses, clubhouses,
the hearth of your dreams, visionary nightmares
freely explore terror, every shadow a monster
Napoleon kissing a boy's shoes

unheeding violence, rivers of homes and tenenents go
plunging into the recesses of childhood,
harsh mazes, to be lost,
make me wander among faces,
wander into frail, murky
ever so loving, fierce
neighborhoood of boys and girls again.

am I a wimp?
Rather it could be from delusional thinking,
that prepares me to grasp the now,
to cater to it for the benefits of my
interests, knowing, the ever-ready zest for life.

I am powerless.
(But I have power. it is by being powerless I
receive power.)

the hard-bitten self-confidience
is the extreme anger towards the self
proposing a drastic change in lifestyle


touch me Midas
make me rich
touch me Midas
touch my penis
make it golden

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