Saturday, April 19, 2014

Time Forgot Everything Wanted

© 2014 lcmt

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Andy Goldsworthy and Me

© 2014 lcmt

Andy Goldsworthy has been hanging around a little more than usual lately. He finally took definite shape this morning at 3 am, and we made a collaboration for my April Fool's Day Postcard. I sent it off to the printer, but it won't be done for at least five days. And then it will probably take another week for me to mail it out.

Who wants one?

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Sneak preview of a future GLP post

You can follow GLP at its own blog.

© 2014 lcmt

Tha Hough Them Alt, two versions

© 2014 lcmt

Saturday, January 4, 2014

Oh, what the hell, let's begin a novel today

This villain loves fertilizer, also known as bullshit, and forgets nothing demoniac, despite the melting of the polar ice, the retreat of glaciers, the rising waterlines, the disappearing coastlines. There is always something he can inhale from the unlifelike exxers to remind him of swagged crescents, begirded scimitars, sallying buzzards and brindled dogs gaunt as revenants. He can adopt nirvana instantly, with sticks of larkspur burning, mantras blabbing, Gaian oracles snoring through the twang of descants rephrased.

While this villain is jailed in a borrowed manor house of the paralyzers, he overhears cowbirds gleaning through the carbonation of inconsistent lagers, chattering about the upcoming exportation of hard utensils: dung swords, butterfly pans and waspish crankshafts. All now glimmering in the unclosed orchard, unused, unguarded, upturned in the ungrazed alfalfa. Separated from this villain's cloister by nothing more than evaluation, clarity and a few attenuated mortices. This villain, this adept reprobate, exploits a luckily overlooked defect in the paralyzers' homestead, skulks and slips through the residence to his detachment. Deftly adrift in the orchard, upwind, he spiffily arms himself from waders to hairline with cruel strikers and direful knockouts.

This villain's honest name is Ecikez, but others know him as Shellbark, Dicken, Planchet. Here among all this americana we can call him Jimker Pluto Gammon. Are you a paralyzer, cowbird, nonunified dotherd, hafting exporter, shariff of vios, leaching counselor, knickknack mobster or beproblish coiner? No? Then he is no villain to you.

His milieu is a ready and cunning haziness, his tender complexities were long ago shed in borders of extant wood, in springs of tumult. He has a saffron grandeur for your spunkier barmaids, for goblin vulvae, for fourth-spawned perjurors. He is fond of cheroots, lice-free tamales, pink chablis. All his anchorages soon become enwreathed with disasters, some trifling, some aggressive, some immovable. He compensates with a migratory buoyancy.

© 2014 lcmt

Monday, October 14, 2013

Third poem received from Mars

Poem received from Mars


yes Mars tin ice

liberality 1985
muchness 1913 LV
apt 1 cuz 15 etch

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Sister Ghost


In this afternoon sky
I can see you
half-sunk in blue,
but not the blue of water.
You are immersed in a pale color
somewhat milky,
somewhat steely.

You float in the east.
You must be rising,
but you seem to be sinking,
your light worn thin as gauze.
A half-faced ghost staring at me
with one eye.

what does that matter to a planet?
You will still be here
when I am a ghost
and less than a ghost.
When I am forgotten bones,
forgotten dust.

But O Sister Ghost,
is that not vanity and illusion?
As long as you are here
I will be here.
Not one of my atoms pulverized,
not a single one lost.
Not even the atoms of the host
of living beings
who are guests of my body.

Once we were all some other star
or some other moon,
and someday
we will become other things.
Dirt, stone, grass,
another bug,
another beast,
another digestive tract.
Other blood,
other sap,
all of us still here,
dwelling in the same place,
as distant from you as I am now.

But O Sister Ghost,
I have such distances within me
that would dwarf the distance between us,
and are dwarfed by the distance
we both have yet to travel.

© 2013 lcmt

Saturday, August 10, 2013

A bite of uncured pastrami combined with a bite of candied pineapple tastes like teriyaki jerky and too many fireworks


This is sanity,
this blurred and inconsistent yearning
for a whole profusion of catastrophes,

giddy across cobblestones, and splashed
in burning sweet wormwood taken
with tiny sips so slowly, silent

and staring at the shape
of a deep bowl sky that
might be full of stars

hidden behind the glare
of celebratory momentum
and dreamchased refractions.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Found poetry form

Lemon verbena
and shea butter,
triple milled hand soap
from France.

I found this haiku-like poetic form on my bathroom windowsill. I call it S-natural. Can be used as a short poem of four lines, or as a longer poem with four-line stanzas. Does not have to be a found poem.

Bathroom book at the time I found this poem was The Haiku Anthology edited by Cor Van Den Heuvel, 1986.

First line: 5 syllables
Second line: 4 syllables
Third line: 5 syllables
Fourth line: 2 syllables

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Geranium Lake Properties is moving


Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Geranium Lake Properties, your mild speckled hero

New panels of GLP are published here every Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Geranium Lake Properties, puncture his habitat

New panels of GLP are published here every Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Geranium Lake Properties: The Metric Conversion

New panels of GLP are published here every Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Geranium Lake Properties, wasps breathing forcefully

New panels of Geranium Lake Properties are posted here every week on Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Geranium Lake Properties, eyed figure pierced

A new panel of Geranium Lake Properties will be posted here three times a week on Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday (or sometimes Saturday night).

Tuesday, June 4, 2013