The First Steps

Friday, May 20, 2005

Conversation with an Old Ghost who Smoked-

Max Wolf Valerio 8-21-9-8/98

Now I have always had hope I couldn't be defined - know what I mean? Like all those who come over before myself. Spontaneous with a wig of crackers
and ice. A stinking spire
with rolling guns in

There was a small brigade and a horn
played in the background - slow ragged notes
spilled nostalgia all over the blue and green -
synthetic grace tied up faces
and bound hands
to the sides of cheeks with
an athletic accomplishment.

There is another name for this beauty. It's that wise
cracking hell hound. That bound- for- glory son of a bitch.

Keep the pitch tight. At the second you hear the crown, the little
Crown lit up by golden points of light and sound, when yu see it
Or think yu see it moving on
The desert freeway held by the nimble fingers
Of the sun - the slag round
Feathers and mist blood wild
On the hairs of each one -

the rows of men with satin hats on
the rows of women with moon lips and jet plane voices

"We call and call the 800 numbers for prizes"

and attached to the distinct hairweaves of faith healers-
an indistinct echo pointing and kneeling off the
tops of their heads - pointing and dragging

raising the roof off the pyramid - the houses ---

It's the flecks of dust in the eyes
of gameshow contestants
the riddled deer
slanted and tiny
with hooves
tied to her delicate feet
faint and eyelashed and briefly seen
hysteric in the backlight

faces and houses lit with cottony white lights

Saturday, May 14, 2005

in under moon

harp songs


sex leak




number free

air byte

microphones bent to hair poodles
metastic elementals

society my
perfect view

vis-a-ta-tion -- visibility invisible vise --

highrise moon goddess

put me on hold and punctuate me

Max Wolf Valerio
May 14, 2005