dphunkt6's Xanga

Radio

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:46:26 GMT

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...

Deconstruction 2

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 05:27:18 GMT

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.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 04:52:29 GMT

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.

The Fact of Presence

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 18:42:12 GMT

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

The past few days...

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 06:05:15 GMT

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

Glint

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 16:52:59 GMT

A nefarious red stare,
a target of silt and
ashen hued lips under
the lit skies of sleep,

marbled awake by
the sound of eyes
missing their mark
behind bilious teeth,

rips through the heat of
pallid summer afternoon.

(First appeared on www.medusaskitchen.blogspot.com 6/19/09)

it is what it is

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 07:28:06 GMT

it is what it is
60 hours of work
and a murder somewhere down the street
unintentional
there's a line of people waiting
to hear their voices die
in front of an audience
there to bear witness
and the poet has a stroke
in his living room
clutching a book
that no one has read
because he never reviewed it
not that anyone would have cared
because no one reads any more
right?

And so begins my train of thought just before bed. Really, I just wanted to write something here. Anything. Because I've been working 12 hours a day 7 days a week and I'm still trying to keep my small press (Polymer Grove) running... "Her Delicate Shoe" by Jane Crown (www.janecrown.com) will be available at the end of this month. Taste the language:

The heart of a person
His iridescent memories, tucked in
Ivoried words, songs, dinners,
Piano concertos
Velveteen kisses on shaded verandas--
Trees we plant;

(from "The Soul Tree")

She's quite brilliant and the book is well worth your blood money.

Also, being re-released in February is Miles Miniaci's "Maps & Legends."

The mix is concrete on "Corporeal Landscapes" and I'm currently in the process of designing the packaging... yes, I do that too. Stay tuned for that one...

Further still, for those of you in the Sacramento area, Jack Hirschman, Sharon Doubiago, John Bennett and Jane Crown are reading at Luna's Café (1414 16th St.) on January 24 at 7:30pm. $10 at the door, $7 with flier.

For those of you who may be interested...

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 08:12:28 GMT

Production on Corporeal Landscapes has been delayed... Technical issued and the like. Nonetheless, I offer these two tracks as a sampler:

When the Sun Rose Over:

Limerence:

Also, look for "Her Delicate Shoe" by Jane Crown in January!

One Bullet Left

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 17:53:12 GMT

Sometimes the sky's too cruel
     to offer up any hope
and that heavy sun of heaven
     ran dry a long time ago.
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.
The rain is my poetry,
     so write my elegy in the clouds.
I gave it everything I had,
     and I've only got one bullet left.

Pillowed in the Steap

Fri, 07 Nov 2008 19:01:13 GMT

(The words of this track also appear in "When the Sun Rose Over")