Raymond Farr
I.
We were discussing.
My cronies’.
Crenellated opus of.
A series of.
Crab legs. Walking.
cake Nebulae of.
The impossible.
extolled by cuticles’ tedious inverse.
I appeared. Halibut.
In verse.
I sampled. Dusted off mania-crepes.
To some.
Raccoon stills.
Among the.
Established.
Ivors’ Box Paradox came running up.
Like an egg.
In this box.
(by way of Bohemia, invisible—1899).
There are no synonyms for swagger.
(except swagger itself).
Or antonyms.
For LIFE BOATs’
of vicious
Non sequitars /12 string guitars’
electric
Duplicity of
& nothingnesses.
& thus everythingnesses.
Are familiar (e. g. an envelope).
& unfamiliar (i. e. a noun).
Simultaneously.
II.
I was the glee of a swan.
One delicious summer afternoon.
As though cheering a face on.
In the after thought.
Of dusk.
I seemed wrinkled & terminally spiraled.
Itself a statue of:
(blonde vertigo—
& our one exit to our.
Olive grove kisses.
Seems a task.
To recall…
& worn as though dead.
A face, a look (, as promising its opposite.
Who am I you ask?
Well, my name is Rut.
[pause]
I am the blue ice rhino-flamingo having babies out of wedlock.
I inherit emotions.
The art of my deal.
Is the tear of the dead pelican.
Of pilgrim exactitude.
, unable
To compare itself to
One hubris Christmas
Sucking air
I suffered a bout of mental conjure frenzy
More telling Crisco Oil than
(Focus) delving
I misaligned cholesterol sitting in both my dozens
A wolf punch in the stevedore of the blue
Hit me like timeless eating
I killed weeping viper wheat buckets blotting out dozens
I floated in freely
On a twelve foot
A doughnut retreated up Ventura Hwy
Crawling with Art stands
& aphorisms
I watched the tube in plain sight de-tube itself
I melted upwards of corn & cigarettes
A repast of twin bladderwort
I relished an ox tail
I diddled crazy waddle-shoes to vent the fridge
Maybe a mapped eleven
Sour tongue eventually
A sour tongue Event Horizon (blacker, & more sheen)
A corpuscle event
Many hurried to
But escaped oven text
The aromatics of which were beef au jus
Pleased & sending
The gem of same as KFC chicken
Same as an Eggo
To elk in a rut
Annealed like an exit
The fire of pies
The harrow of want
I hunger never more
A nerve ending buffet of nerves & subtext
Teeth than
A stove going out
Was grabbing the grub
The essence like sugar
An hour about species
The tv with syrup makes war like a Pop Tart
I exist in a void
Where the calories are bland
Signed, Rölf
The conversation is bouillabaisse appears blasé
A beet up Iron Chef
Whose exit sign reads: shaving monkey, manipulating boot
A breed of orange tabernacles
Delicious citrus leaves me wanting
Never more
Subtle than
Chicory mill
Lady fingers
The epitome-stomach of ghetto-blast is iron-clad dieting
On/off latex fungus survival banjo candy
The chef here is mad
He devils the dogs, the eggs
He cooks with his shoes
His last supper’s a bon-bon
In which a cookie precedes essence
Unlike existence
That intransitive soufflé
A pie is a state
Of dismembered members
In the onset of
Hunger’s apocalypse
Ask Murgatroyd
He knows what the shit is
He desires your presence, your tomato bisque
He slathers yr god
Like jam on a cracker
He slathers a rice grain
Flavored with Maalox
& dies before dying
His edits are living edits & this drives him mad
One cookie monster
& milk at a time
He is roasted with wise cracks
I require the salt
What is this rotisserie chicken
I vomit
To survive?
Being drawn up
A plan
Grabbing little tussles
Flitting little titters
Dude
I got mapped
By yr dialect
A man-weasel bent on
Scissors with running
I deadened the muffin tin
Till a rough ‘n one came
Sneezing
Perplexing pretzels
Having nine ten trajectory
& Impossible mustache
As though eleven as though
11 pm
Accidentally
A bus drives away
Shuddering
A lie
To tranquilize
The recombinant
Don Juan Gris
As a nail
In a state of
Hoppy birthday
Silly hare
Ball & staggering debt
Of lover on fire
I wander half staged
Half crinkled up bill
Dollar hallucination
Upstairs traipsing
Heretical scans fixing a point
Doing the dance of the fox trotting voice boxes
A blur of blue & white
ones
Toted &
Able
Of red plastic skin differences
A marvel geology
On Hölderin’s head
Still sinks
The marble in
To solar ribs
With tan (I dote)
Positioned as though
Raymond Farr lives in Ocala, FL. He has published widely in recent years. His work appears in Otoliths, Cricket On Line Review, BlazeVox2kX, Letterbox, Ditch, The Argotist On Line, Cannot Exist, EOAGH, Moria, Kill Author, Clutching at Straws, Text Base, Xstream, & Apocryphal Text. He had several poems included in the first Sidebrow Anthology and guest edited issue 6 of Pinstripe Fedora. He has a chap book, Two Hats Appear When Applauded, available free at Dusie. His first full length volume of poems, Two Texts (Chalk Editions 2010) was followed by big strange wall (Radio Free Dada Press 2010). Both are available free on line. Visit his blog mjonesrview for email info and more samples of his work. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog.
previous page contents next page
My Name Is Rut
I.
We were discussing.
My cronies’.
Crenellated opus of.
A series of.
Crab legs. Walking.
cake Nebulae of.
The impossible.
extolled by cuticles’ tedious inverse.
I appeared. Halibut.
In verse.
I sampled. Dusted off mania-crepes.
To some.
Raccoon stills.
Among the.
Established.
Ivors’ Box Paradox came running up.
Like an egg.
In this box.
(by way of Bohemia, invisible—1899).
There are no synonyms for swagger.
(except swagger itself).
Or antonyms.
For LIFE BOATs’
of vicious
Non sequitars /12 string guitars’
electric
Duplicity of
& nothingnesses.
& thus everythingnesses.
Are familiar (e. g. an envelope).
& unfamiliar (i. e. a noun).
Simultaneously.
II.
I was the glee of a swan.
One delicious summer afternoon.
As though cheering a face on.
In the after thought.
Of dusk.
I seemed wrinkled & terminally spiraled.
Itself a statue of:
(blonde vertigo—
& our one exit to our.
Olive grove kisses.
Seems a task.
To recall…
& worn as though dead.
A face, a look (, as promising its opposite.
Who am I you ask?
Well, my name is Rut.
[pause]
I am the blue ice rhino-flamingo having babies out of wedlock.
I inherit emotions.
The art of my deal.
Is the tear of the dead pelican.
Of pilgrim exactitude.
, unable
To compare itself to
Misdiagnosed Existentialism
One hubris Christmas
Sucking air
I suffered a bout of mental conjure frenzy
More telling Crisco Oil than
(Focus) delving
I misaligned cholesterol sitting in both my dozens
A wolf punch in the stevedore of the blue
Hit me like timeless eating
I killed weeping viper wheat buckets blotting out dozens
I floated in freely
On a twelve foot
A doughnut retreated up Ventura Hwy
Crawling with Art stands
& aphorisms
I watched the tube in plain sight de-tube itself
I melted upwards of corn & cigarettes
A repast of twin bladderwort
I relished an ox tail
I diddled crazy waddle-shoes to vent the fridge
Maybe a mapped eleven
Sour tongue eventually
A sour tongue Event Horizon (blacker, & more sheen)
A corpuscle event
Many hurried to
But escaped oven text
The aromatics of which were beef au jus
Pleased & sending
The gem of same as KFC chicken
Same as an Eggo
To elk in a rut
Annealed like an exit
The fire of pies
The harrow of want
I hunger never more
A nerve ending buffet of nerves & subtext
Teeth than
A stove going out
Was grabbing the grub
The essence like sugar
An hour about species
The tv with syrup makes war like a Pop Tart
I exist in a void
Where the calories are bland
Signed, Rölf
The conversation is bouillabaisse appears blasé
A beet up Iron Chef
Whose exit sign reads: shaving monkey, manipulating boot
A breed of orange tabernacles
Delicious citrus leaves me wanting
Never more
Subtle than
Chicory mill
Lady fingers
The epitome-stomach of ghetto-blast is iron-clad dieting
On/off latex fungus survival banjo candy
The chef here is mad
He devils the dogs, the eggs
He cooks with his shoes
His last supper’s a bon-bon
In which a cookie precedes essence
Unlike existence
That intransitive soufflé
A pie is a state
Of dismembered members
In the onset of
Hunger’s apocalypse
Ask Murgatroyd
He knows what the shit is
He desires your presence, your tomato bisque
He slathers yr god
Like jam on a cracker
He slathers a rice grain
Flavored with Maalox
& dies before dying
His edits are living edits & this drives him mad
One cookie monster
& milk at a time
He is roasted with wise cracks
I require the salt
What is this rotisserie chicken
I vomit
To survive?
Having Nine Ten Trajectory
Being drawn up
A plan
Grabbing little tussles
Flitting little titters
Dude
I got mapped
By yr dialect
A man-weasel bent on
Scissors with running
I deadened the muffin tin
Till a rough ‘n one came
Sneezing
Perplexing pretzels
Having nine ten trajectory
& Impossible mustache
As though eleven as though
11 pm
Accidentally
A bus drives away
Shuddering
A lie
To tranquilize
The recombinant
Don Juan Gris
As a nail
In a state of
Hoppy birthday
Silly hare
Ball & staggering debt
Of lover on fire
I wander half staged
Half crinkled up bill
Dollar hallucination
Upstairs traipsing
Heretical scans fixing a point
Doing the dance of the fox trotting voice boxes
A blur of blue & white
ones
Toted &
Able
Of red plastic skin differences
A marvel geology
On Hölderin’s head
Still sinks
The marble in
To solar ribs
With tan (I dote)
Positioned as though
Raymond Farr lives in Ocala, FL. He has published widely in recent years. His work appears in Otoliths, Cricket On Line Review, BlazeVox2kX, Letterbox, Ditch, The Argotist On Line, Cannot Exist, EOAGH, Moria, Kill Author, Clutching at Straws, Text Base, Xstream, & Apocryphal Text. He had several poems included in the first Sidebrow Anthology and guest edited issue 6 of Pinstripe Fedora. He has a chap book, Two Hats Appear When Applauded, available free at Dusie. His first full length volume of poems, Two Texts (Chalk Editions 2010) was followed by big strange wall (Radio Free Dada Press 2010). Both are available free on line. Visit his blog mjonesrview for email info and more samples of his work. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog.
posted by mark young at 11:59 AM
1 Comments:
well Mr Dadaist it's always great to pore over yr texts. the first one won me over tho with its mention of the Box Paradox. love the stuff. keep 'em coming
-arka
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