Found Poetry in the Titles and Some Lines From the Poet's Market

AARDVARK                                                        (94)

       I AM

       I AM.

       I AM

       CALLED THIS

       TO BE FIRST

         In line for a kiss,                                   94

         Beneath the moonlit touch

         Of a hooker's hand ‑‑

         Of course she's a loved one ‑‑

         Loved one, loved all:

         French kisses on me, in her

         Favorite women's room

       IN THE

   ABATTOIR ‑‑                                                 (92)

       SLAUGHTERHOUSE:

       PICTURE THAT, POOR POETS;

       ARE YOU REALLY LIKE

       MONKS AND NUNS IN AN

ABBEY                                                           (94)

       OR SURE, IF OUTER SPACE

       CAME TO VISIT, THAT

ABIKO                                                           (94)

       EXISTS,

       THAT YOU ARE

ABORIGINAL,                                                     (94)

       UNTAINTED DNA?

       WHERE DID IT COME FROM,

       THE DOUBLE HELIX, DROPPED

       INTO THE OOZE OF AMMONIA

       AND PRIMORDIAL COAGULATION?

       DOES CARBON EXISTENCE MAKE US

       DESCENDENTS OF GRAVITY'S WONDERS,

       DANGLING OUR TOES, SITTING, NOMINALLY

ABOVE THE BRIDGE?                                               (94)

           When the image, not imagination,                    91‑93

           When the warp of the words, not ideas

           When the hidden rhyme, not the timed

           Impact

           Of what is being expressed

           And colors, black day, orange mailbox,

           Green waiting, salmon resistance,

           Try to tell the formula of it,

           The soul, seldom done justice, is cheapened

         Is a sleazy breeze                                    94

         Escaping the skull's horizon

       AND WHAT WORD IS THIS?

ABRAXAS, A GHOST PONY WORD,                                     (94)

       NOT IN CHEAP DICTIONARIES

       NOR THE YELLOWED PAGES OF HER WORLD BOOK ENCYCLOPEDIA,

       DISPLAYS THE DEPTH OF MY IGNORANCE, TUMBLING

                      She                                     94

                  Disappeared

               Like a dot on the

            Page‑white, snow‑wisped

           Mountain peak, scrub‑brush

          Hiding   her  like   pronouns.

       IN A

       WELL, WELL ‑‑

       A WET

         Grief is my (moon) beam,                              94

         Sucking breeze.

         An orange smog carpet of clouds,

           The sky is a walnut,                                93

           A prune,

           A lady in waiting

           For yet another

           Eruption,

           Another immortal moment

           Inside the rock,

ABSOLUTE.  INTERZONE BIZZARE,                                   (94)

       I

     ABSCOND                                                   (91)

       WITH SOME WORDS;

               Nouner am I, verbing very little ‑‑             91

               After all, isn't it fortyish to adjectivize?

               We William Carlos Williams the wrong heroes

               And orange you into poverty

       AN ARTIFACT

       OF/FROM GREATNESS,

ANOTHER CHICAGO MAGAZINE, OUT OF LEFT FIELD                     (94)

         Tame hurricanes, blue lightning,                      94

         "No boiling waters",

         Stasis poetry,

       ACTING UP, ACTING DOWN

     ACTA VICTORIANA;                                          (91)

       AND ALL THAT

       BAD LAW, LIKE

               Bad poetry is a miasma of molten mulch,         91

               Making more muck grow in the dawn

               Of unrelenting reason and foregone promise.

ACUMEN, IS AN EMBER.                                            (94)

             Oh, Summer night!  Night without war,             92

             Night without the supremacy of white

             Snow, don't you know we all love peace?

           (Unless we're doing the left or right hand twist,   93

           dancing to the unvarying beat of stuck feet ‑‑bah boom.)

         It was the second time                                94

         We'd met, the very second time

         Our eyes brushed against the aura‑

         Tinted air and minute‑measured

         Time became second time.

       NOW

         Hard‑eyed, I tell you                                 94

         Love, never a code word,

         Forbad

         Words of experience

         That sounded similar to

         "I love you...

     ADARA, NOT YOUR AVERAGE ZINE,                             (91)

       IS ON AN OCEAN (DISASTER)

               On the ocean, the waves should purify           91

               With waste‑ravenous fauna,

               In diamonds and froth

ADASTRA                                                         (94)

       (ANOTHER NEW WORD?)

         Iris seed on full lawn                                94

         The silos swim into solstice clouded

         Tubers of dark.  Bearded grackles

         Heavy the metal weeds ‑‑ come, feet,

         Dance the empty ‑‑

       EVERY NIGHT

             Every night, a little more burned out,            92

             Sons of sex maniacs and whoremongers

             Sons of coming and going with booze

             Daughters of the milking breast

             Daughters of the hammered hemorrhoid

             Fathers of future disease

             Fathers of freedom

             Mothers of need and greed

             Mothers of the wash room

             Grandfathers of progress

             Grandfathers of mass production

             Grandmothers of silent watchfulness

             Your fame and glory

             Are candles without wax, (wicks floating in oil)

             On the night‑club scene

ADRIFT                                                          (94)

       HE IS A FAT FOOL

             Fat fuck ‑‑                                       92

             Got fat,

             Doesn't fuck.

       HE HIDES BEHIND

   THE ADROIT EXPRESSION                                       (92)

       I HEAR HIS FAT SOUNDS.

 

               Mourning eyes                                   91

               Make my memory

               Her tear‑stained dress

               Distresses my skipping

               Slows me like a silk kite

               Anchor

       TIED TO THE VIVID

       EXPLOSION

             The sky is not a velvet cock                      92

             Nor the earth a womb

             Of only warmth

       ONLY

ADVOCACY                                                        (94)

       SUSTAINS

             Sister Q.Z. (THAT'S ME!)                          92

             Had a man who couldn't please me,

             Didn't even try to tease me,

             Needing, as I do, a spank and a whack

             When I scratch his brother's back

       AND ALL THE  WHILE

THE ADVOCATE'S                                                  (94)

               "Lighthouse"

               Uses all the vowel sounds                       91

               Using all the vowel sounds

             Night plucks it strings                           92

             For a phantom musician

             Whose chords invade

             The 3 A.M.

             Siren‑sound, shot‑rhythm air.

         I was a fat tub                                       94

         Standing on squat legs

         Young and begging

         To be entered

         But you gave me a diamond scrub

         Descended upon me from above

         And, in bubble‑bath crystals,

         You brought me lilacs.

       LIGHT PURPLE ANGINA

       LIGHTS UP MY HEART

AEGINA                                                          (94)

       IS DARK

       IS LIGHT

       IS DARK

       IS LIGHT

           What is light                                       93

           When loosed from the

           Prison of Nature?

       TUGGING

       PULLING AGAINST ME

           Cancerous crocuses                                  93

           Cry captured breath.

           Buying bedpan beauty

           Admiration,

           Angina anticipates anxiety

       A PRETTY BALLOON ABOUT TO POP ‑‑

               You were a balloon                              91

               Jerking

               My anchor

       WHILE

             Ever‑set Everest                                  92

             Is so much higher

             Than a boy on a bike

             Can be,

             Especially one who

             Stays on the streets

         Hand above eyes,                                      94

         Squinting, I search the ecliptic

         For words in precession, wobbling

         Along the Van Allan Belts

         Like a toboggan ride down the dark dandruff

         Of a permanent wave (the kind you go back to get redone)

       SWATTING ASTEROIDS,

AERIAL                                                          (94)

       FLIES FLY

       IN THE FACE OF REALITY.

       OKAY, JUST

             Statisticate to be unlike meaninglessness         92

         Subtracted Again                                      94

         ....... Pale .........

         Mice .... knock ....

         ..... Propellor .....

         .......... Sand ...

         ... Brink .......

         Ash ........

       GO AHEAD ‑‑ GO AHEAD AND LIVE!!!!

     AESTHETIC RAPTURE ‑‑ THE FIVE SENSES                       (91)

       SAY LITTLE ABOUT

AETHLON SPORT LITERATURE                                        (94)

       WHEN

             In Emphysema Emphasis

             Smoking is all there

             Is as your lungs grow old,

             A beat or two at a time

             This heartbeat is the proof

             As sucked air gets thicker

AFRICA WORLD                                                    (94)

AFRICAN AMERICAN                                                (94)

 

AFRO‑HISPANIC                                                   (94)

       PANIC

   AFTER THE END                                               (92)

     AGADA                                                     (91)

       GADFLY PAPER

       FRIGHTENS MILD HER

               Glastonbury                                     91

               What keeps me away

               An obese woman

               Once a prisoner of fad

               Now retired to a feast

               Tiny bits of the best

               In the flatlands under the mountains

       WITH HER

AGASSIZ                                                         (94)

   AGENDA                                                      (92)

       SITTING STONED

             How will you complete the soaring flight of thought  92

             Your bird sense, like songs on high, over skyscape

                                                    skyscrapers,

             Resting on concrete cracks where beautiful seeds hide

             In dormancy, unable to reach fertile ground

AGNI                                                            (94)

       ALONE, ALONE

         Grandfather left us                                   94

         Grandmother

         She left

         The wind

       YOU

       DO CONTINUE                                             94

         Peter's pop

         Lost a leg and, limping

         On hurting heart,

         Left with generous abandon,

         Left the business to "Mom".

         I cried when Peter,

         Pretending again,

         The way it was his habit

         To pretend  ‑‑ on paper ‑‑

         Placed a short story

         In its envelope in his father's

         Cool hands, saying

         "You loved my stories.

         So, here's a tale of a Spaniard

         Whose remains nourish the soil of Spain.

         These pages were the only journey

         I could afford for your last wish,

         After the cost of the head stone and coffin."

             The sky is icy and crystalline and open.           92

             I never fly.  I'm grounded.

             It was war you wanted then

             And you shall be blown to bits, astounded,

             As I push bomb‑trigger buttons in the glen.

     AGOG                                                      (91)

               Fat‑faced editors consume your time             91

               With rejects, unmetered rhyme

               Your sage advice and printed slime

               My poetry, here, sits safe, sublime

   AGOG                                                        (92)

             You think it's fun                                92

             To remind me of pigeons

             Pecking at the celluloid eyes

             Of market‑version, imitated audiences,

             Pictures of pictures.

             Chewing cannibal ribs,

             You avoid the true horror

             Of the human heart

       THE FLIGHTY HEART

AG‑PILOT, CROP DUSTER                                           (94)

       THAT IT IS,

THE AGUILAR EXPRESSION                                          (94)

       (AGUILAR?)

       AGILE

       PUMPS

           The young complexity                                93

           That never was me

           Jams my strawberry

           Memories

         I ride the jam‑biguity                                94

         Down the gullets of Ganymede

         Dressed in icy froth

         Along horse‑brown paths

         Of panting

         Ice‑cream saliva,

         Miracle‑whipped

         To speed the dappled Sugar

         Homeward

AHSAHTA, COLD‑DRILL                                             (94)

       PUMMELED

       VORTICE?

       WHORE TENSE

       SHEBOYGAN ‑‑

       MAN, OH, MAN

       I DON'T WANT TO BURN OUT

         Machines rust                                         93

         Entropy, entropy

         Time is electrons

         If geometry is corralled.

         My horse loves me

         All the time.

         My tiller tills

         Petroleum‑leased land.

             Southern Fall                                     92

             It's where the serpentine

             Constriction of Summer

             Squeezes the hot iron lung

             Of the still, humid air,

           Until Winter Pops In For a Visit                    94

           He Reads

           A Postcard From Iraq for Christmas

           The people snub us

           But to surrender.  Send toothpaste.

           Met many terrible, smelly men ‑‑ barracks crowded.

           Great to be on shore patrol, off the ship.

           It was a long four months at sea.

           I may be home after a second wave

           Of blood soaks the sand.  Baby's due

           In July.  No contraceptives or abortions

           Available.  It won't have your eyes.

                                    Your loving wife,

                                    Chastity

       WHILE

AILERON TAKES A VOWEL MOVEMENT,                                 (94)

         Small blue thesaurus                                  94

         Sits dioxidizing

         Dinosaur creations,

         Penned plumage

         Of toothless tripe‑scented

         Feline, pharaoh‑following,

         Ankhishly holding sparrows

         Like Teflon pterodactyls

       LIKE BAD

AIM.                                                            (94)

             Grande‑Mere Despair                               92

             What history will tell her story

             "Nanny" to so many; no child was kept guessing

             About love and life as life's real glory

             And death‑mourning makes

             Her lessons less;  His whorey

             Heart took the cash blessing

             And he didn't help his sister, Laurie.

AIREINGS                                                        (94)

       OF AIRELINGS,

               Houseflies humming in incandescence             91

               While the war raged on television,

               Hovering over the maggot‑ridden beer‑bellies

               Of the boys we sent to prime (rib) time.

           I go to war                                         93

           For my mother's pasty

           Fingers, her orchard,

           And glory

         Held up                                               94

         By the builder's cement

         Stuck

         Together

         Up to our groins

         In love

       GROUND‑DOWN

       APHRODISIAC,

     AJAX                                                      (91)

       COMMERCIAL AND STILL                                         91

               I was awake as never before, black rain on oily breeze

               A sneeze at the pepper on the potato soup

               My Vichyssoise with floating chives distract me from

               The smoke outside.

ALABAMA                                                         (94)

       SITS BESIDE

       ANOTHER STATE OF MIND

       ANOTHER STATE

       OF UNION BUSTERS

             Mr. Potatohead in the drawer                      92

             Growing eyes in the dark

             Waits for the dust to settle

             So he can see some place

             To root, suspended and stabbed

         Okay,                                                 94

         I remember a thunderous funnel

         Of birds before they

         Were beaten down

         Migration Miracles

         Bird cloud

         Tree megaphone

         Laughing leaves

         Temporary truce between

         Man and melody

       ANOTHER STATE

ALASKA                                                          (94)

       UNBAKED

       IS TOO COLD FOR MOST

ALBATROSS                                                       (94)

       TO SKINNY DIP WITHOUT FEATHERS,

 

       HUNG AROUND A POLAR BEAR'S NECK

         Birds like                                            94

         Worms

         In birds

         Fallen flightless

               In Iraq                                         91

               The brick and concrete are shattered

               "Brilliant" bombs are flying in; chickens

               Rebels, eagles and fraternizers

               Crawl amongst the wreckage

       I AM THE

ALCHEMIST                                                       (94)

             The faggots would not leave me alone              92

             They went without coming after they pawed

             Pubescent me, sharing their loneliness

             Like long‑licked, swelling penii

             And lonely now, youth gone, I search

             For company I don't have to hug

       SWOLLEN

   ALCHEMY                                                     (92)

             He has no bouquets, in pretty positions           92

             To sweeten the smell of putrefying thoughts

             Poverty has taken his indignation,

             He savages himself into submission

             Keeps fertilizing his dreams with manure

             To, maybe, grow a flower

             To place on her grave.

ALDEBARON                                                       (94)

 ALGILMORE                                                     (93)

       MORE!!  MORE!

       MAYBE WHY MORE

       MAYBE NO MORE

       MAYBE NO WAY

       MAYBE WAY MORE

               Re‑incarnation                                  91

               Gilds us

               With the guilt

               Of our flighty ignorance.

           Do you know your writing on the surface of anything? 93

       IF DEPTH MEANS GLORIFICATION OF FICTIONALIZED

ALICE JAMES COLLECTIVES                                         (94)

       OR JAMESIANS

       WHOSE TONGUELESSNESS

       IS A COUNTRY EMBARRASSED, EMBITTERED

       UNNOTICED ‑‑ WHO WINS?

             Inside the camera,                                92

             We watch the shutter,

             Safe for emotion,

             Film touched by light,

             Briefly,

             But destroyed if drenched

             By the subject's tears

ALIVE NOW ‑‑ POCKETS WEAVINGS                                   (94)

ALLARDYCE                                                       (94)

     ALLEGHENY                                                 (91)

       GONE

       WOODLANDS

               Your tree has more circles,                     91

               Knots from broken branches, leaves that left,

               So I use my chain‑saw, cut you down to my level,

               Sculpt a galloping stallion for friends to fawn over

               And leave a giant clearing, too empty for does in

                                                              Winter.

ALLEGHENY                                                       (94)

       AGAIN

       GROWING AGAIN

             In the mud‑puddle of metaphors                    92

             I dig for the wettest bottom dirt

             Remove it and squeeze it dry

             Sculpt an image of a snow queen

             Who gets her gossamer dress wet

             Passing by me, dirty, wishing for snow

       IN AN

ALLY                                                            (94)

ALMS HOUSE                                                      (94)

               By Twit Nevershare                              91

               I am modeling myself in porcelain

               Half‑baked highlights, re‑rounded

               And re‑routed in the runny clay,

               The glint of light does not enter me

               As I shape the outside of my poetry

Q. Z. Blaze
Warning! We try to use all the words.
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