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Name: Robert
Country: United States
State: California
Metro: Sacramento
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Member Since: 6/2/2004
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Monday, September 14, 2009

Radio

Tune into KDVS.org (90.3FM for those near Davis) at 5PM PST this Wed.; Dr. Andy is having me on his show for some poetry goodness...


Thursday, August 13, 2009

Deconstruction 2



Deconstruction 2:
In Passing
Ocean
December Sea



Sacrifice the night to ebullient dreams
in a listless undercurrent of sorrow;
space ticking through idle passages in thought.

     It seems to sing


Where dripping lips and oceanic stares
drown in awe all that encircles the flesh;
submerged and understated...

     It seems to sing

Flung into a severed hand of the sun;
labyrinthine caprice behind closed eyes,
moonscapes trace lines across hands.

     It seems to sing


It wraps itself around my feet,
pulling away the sand from beneath,
dragging it out, coaxing me into its depth.
I gaze over its expanse,
its undulations,
its breaks.

     It seems to sing


This morning I stand in awe
and give myself to the cold deep.
A breath for salt-filled lungs in a gasping for life...

     It seems to sing


A hunger for death in the softness...




I'm taking a similar approach to this year's d.a. levy celebration poem. Each year I've taken a different approach. The first celebration I incorporated Fugazi lyrics into levy's poem Songs for Dead Children while making some random guitar noise. Last year I didn't alter levy's words much as they really don't need it, yet, he's expressed a desire for others to cut, paste, etc. his works into new art... This year will be more interesting. Promise.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Some people adhere to the “first draft, final draft” rule and some to the motto: “revise, revise, revise.” I tend to oscillate between the two. The below is a result of the latter. I realized that several poems which I had written fit together in an eerily peculiar way. The deconstruction below first appeared in errata, etc. 6: Glint.

Deconstruction:
  One Bullet Left
  Toybox Spilled Blood on the Moon
  A Slow Hurt
  Marrow


  Grace, a quality
  absent this ground,
  when the sun’s presence
  still echoes across the ridge...

The sweet silence of dark waters,
       such a novice resident of these days.

Sleep dear, sleep
  the night leaves too soon.

    It’s dark, she said.

Sometimes the sky’s too cruel
  to offer up any hope
  and that heavy sun of heaven
  ran dry a long time ago.

This bone repaired, set askew,
  laughing at the horses splashing through
  that black mirror staring into
  a sky full of rain.

It’s dark, she said.

Wrapping its way around my aorta,
  a heavy thought, beautiful and bleak.
  A cataract on luminous things.
  A leisurely walk along the banks of sanity.

Our paths crossed me too many times
  to bother with forgiveness;
  when all I’ve got is burden,
  your words are too much to bear.

It’s dark, she said.

Pour what’s left into a sidecar
  and leave me to my rest.

The rain is my poetry,
  so write my elegy in the clouds.

Gray those bright colors
  and let lie. I don’t need
  your goddamn forgiveness.

    Sleep, sleep, that you may wake
    Tomorrow is a promise that I just can’t make

Afternoons were always spent waiting
  for the dark glory of moonlight
  and the soft humming of gunfire
  in the distant hills
  to trickle through the evening winds
  into his toybox of memories
  that he would, on occasion,
  open as one might wish on a
  penny in the stillness of a watershed.

    It’s dark, she said.
 
  Drink, my friend, drink. The sacred woods
  stretch out far too long for sobriety.
  Follow the waters into that parlour
  of shadows where we can finally rest and
  let the bones set properly.

    It’s dark, she said, don’t go.

I gave it everything I had,
  and I’ve only got one bullet left.


Saturday, July 11, 2009

The Fact of Presence

The hollowed eyes
of the night streets
bore into mine with
fevered gore. An
absence of presence
passing me in phantoms
one after another...


Wednesday, July 01, 2009

The past few days...

For those of you who weren’t at the Ginsberg reading on Saturday, you missed an amazing event. The many different sides of Ginsberg’s poetry were on display through the voices of nine readers. Ray Tatar also read with his wife from The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice to open the set. There was free wine & water to help augment the 103 degree heat which kept many indoors for the night.
 
It was at the reading where I met Stuart (SLiC) who was gracious enough to exchange two of his broadsides, Confessions of a TAB Drinker & The Dream, for a copy of my pillowed in the steap. For those of you interested in SLiC’s poetry, he can be found here:
www.slicpoetry.blogspot.com
myspace.com/slicpoetry
Facebook: SLiC Poetry
twitter.com/slicpoetry
 
SLiC works at Temple #2 which opened its doors Monday. I’ve been a Temple fan for quite some time and I’m looking forward to experiencing their new place. www.templecoffee.com
 
And speaking of third-wave coffee, I discovered last night that Roseville’s very own Bloom (www.bloomcoffee.com) is serving up some great coffee just up the way from me. For a few years now I’d been frequenting It’s A Grind on Cirby & Sunrise, but they have closed their doors recently. Visit Bloom’s website for more info. They’re open from 6am-11pm daily.
 
Lastly, I now have a Twitter account to which I will be posting one-line poems and event announcements so, if you’d like to become a follower, I can be found at twitter.com/dphunkt



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