The First Steps

Thursday, June 17, 2004

After Work Poem - Three-A (2001)

The best of all possible worlds
is the conundrum.

Cliff hanger
wall banger

stiff upper-lipped singer
desirable as a swanky suit

ankles and hands folded as if in prayer ---

Welterweight push
on a gravel beach --

over pearl-ridden centuries groping our infatuations
for a clue, or a piece of the action

inside --outside -- turn on --

flat lips--




--lit by machetes--
red trees --
spreading veins and arteries ---

a sweep of fire --
partitions the moon
swollen with hip hop --
and eight ball intuition ---

2 -
a canticle

as painkillers --

Max Wolf Valerio - July 23rd - 2001
rev. Dec. 9 - 2001

After work poem One ( 2001)

torsion after work computers

cliff endangered Republican wad spinner

of whining cellos

Thick-necked wing span

barbeQ Barbie

in and out
of hi-fi heaven…

Max Wolf Valerio - (c) July 23rd - 2001

After Work Poem Two (2001)

After work is done
we break a bullet
in the ape hole

washing our eyes
we slowly unfold the lids

spurs and spare parts
hum on white ladders--

a holy vehicle evaporates
in the warm, summer air

we attempt
as night abandons its pretenses
to codify our impressions

leaping into tethers
words become elusive

separate into
chemical digits
around a paper core

relevance is established in increments
preachy and solvent
without effort --

faucets are alive, glowing in an apex

strobe lights sweep & women
gather limp, wet hair from the
mottled ground
tying it up
with red string--

when they howl
their tongues unfurl
and banners are strung out
to movie-lit screens

Max Wolf Valerio (c)
July 23rd - 2001 -
rev. Dec. 9 - 2001

After Work Poem 3 --(from 2001)

my forehead--
a longing to know more than I
already do

A fear that I might already
know too

when it's time to fight--
working in a dense web of metal rings and glass tubes

I am silent and aware only
of syringes and faces

features traced on delicate eggshell

their nasal voices repeat the pleading--

tar-ribbed animals

a row of anonymous nostrils
breathe through shrinking cellophane

(c) Max Wolf Valerio -

July 23rd - 2001

After Work Poem Four - (2001)

A soap box
on tinker bell's plastic wand---

stale smell of darts and

police float in and out of cafeterias --
their intentions appear
monotonous and tone-deaf

we all wait for the apparition
hoping our photographs of the picnic table will capture
the tipsy doodling
features crowned by pale
thimbles and
staccato, floating

sweat tiles
my dreams

the machine's big tongue
in and out
of small
with balloons
and short

thwarted by wrists
looping on

grenade launchers

Max Wolf Valerio (c) July 23rd - 2001
Dec. 9 - 2001 rev.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Well, writing is going along well, primarily new poems.

I am still not getting the spacing right on this blog, but -- I will. I have had no patience for it, but eventually, I'll get to it. So, I am attempting to approximate the correct spacing with dashes. It's no substitute for the actual stuff, but - it helps to give you an idea of what I am doing.

Space is for the eye, and the ear. It gives *freedom * to the words and allows them to mix in various ways with other words on the page, and the reader can participate and create new combinations, or see combinations that aren't obvious. Also, gaps or spaces work as punctuation normally does to slow or emphasize a particular phrase or word.

More later- thanks for reading - whoever you are - whether three or - three hundred.


Tuesday, June 08, 2004

exiled cow

was in a quorum with quill face woman

and decided that laughter

was the best way to end exile

or was it a good way to make up for traffic tickets?

-- comedy school...

Who's laughing now?

And, at what?

The showdown begins --

a laugh emporium -- a fat slaughterhouse of laughing

pale graceless faces licking up the pedestal

--- my lonesome eyes

we all wish we could do better

but, it's hard, let's face it --

I try as I can, but it all slows

in my face

the tightening intensity -- that eternal face off

between intention and the result

oh my

the exile ---- we burn

on an altar for the highest

and offer it up

so that the raw slow burn can help us come undone

and loose --- allow our ambitions to

howl or fly away from fear

become transparent and visible --

for what they really are-- who they might be speaking to --

with the fire-lights up high

let's use this fear instead -- is that what the voice roaming intones?

I know that voice rapidly shrinking in and out of

my hearing range -- telling me - what the circumstances

are - or what they might be --

someday when -- I learn to use the emotions as levers to know --

fear is a solvent -- let's

slip a bit in our coffee -- bald and strong in the morning

a knowledge that is particular --

and mean --

Max Wolf Valerio
May 5th - 2004
second draft - June 7th - 2004