February 22, 2014

plumb in the sweet spot
the fantastic menagerie that is human biological diversity
has given various Delphic answers to reporters
 “It is strange to see people fishing where we had the cows,” Mr. Diaz said. “Victor could not bear it.”
sky as blue as a paint sample
would put real teeth to the F.B.I.’s claims that it wants better relationships
Programs became makeshift fans
with booming enthusiasm and granular-level obsession
The shampoo has the same amber hue, the same sudsy lather and
hardly a font of good cheer during the six-week wait
my head still feels as if it is full of ground fog, wrapped in flannel and gauze, and surrounded by a hive of humming, velvety sleep bees
Parliament rubber-stamped his desires
its canny creator, this conception of the presidency edged into the mythic
the world is full to bursting with bad novels and even worse poems that sprang from conditions of clampdown and woe
informed by a few efficient closeup
also hinted at a dastardly plot
she stiffens when lambasting her child
a handful of desperadoes tussle to survive
on strops of might-have-beens
many painful minutes of elevator silence after my grandmother
“Why? Because being old is terrible.” Beat. “And I am very old.”
He laughed, then quickly sobered
yet derided as a bacchanalia of waste and corruption
thousands of expenses salted through Russian federal budgets
seemed a pas de deux of either poor design and Olympian waste
Seoul’s increasingly well-heeled residents
has held a place as thrifty pantry staple, culinary joke and kitschy fare for hipsters without ever losing its low-rent reputation
stylish boxes with cans of Spam nestled inside
harried Korean mothers revel in the convenience of opening a can and serving a breakfast of pan-fried Spam with eggs
cachet was obvious in a recent television commercial
richer South Koreans turn up their noses at the canned
Factor in inflation, and he has lost ground
what I know wouldn’t fill a golf-ball dimple
bespectacled lecturers futzing with the overhead projector to the
where it’s no more fraught to suck a public bongload than an after-dinner mint
jotting notes at a stenographic rate
can almost hear a delicate shardwork of baffling human etiquette crystallizing in the air
seed-studded ditch weed you could smoke by the bale
not an assignment I greet with unalloyed relish
vaguely Asiatic eyes who emanates Holland’s national mien of low-affect geniality
lurches, walleyed and florid, for the door
woman in a soigné leather jacket and cat’s-eye librarian specs
Rubbing my thumb against my forefingers rouses little rat turds of hashish
as a prophylactic against embezzlement
pleased to report a marked diminishment of the rookie-dope-barista jimjams
bird-dogging customers this morning with sprightly mercantile gusto
I feel clairvoyant, adrenalized, and full of bonhomie
at least empowered to lace your Big Mac with spittle or pubic hair
reactionaries still frantically piling policy sandbags against the fissured dike of American cannabis laws
One car slowed so the driver could catcall me
The docent and I exchanged information
360 days a year” is Deen’s offhand tally
Industry plaudits aside, Deen has managed an order of renown far rarer
in which he dragoons pretty ladies into tonguing his caboose
will be riding shotgun in Deen’s utterly bitching
brooking so much unremitting daily friction
no more ambient prurience than you’d find at an ad shoot
dragging lighting rigs and attending to last-minute particulars
Click goes the little scene-marker guillotine, the “sticks.”
fetches some paper towels and sponges up the squalid whey that has pooled about her knees
no overbulked squat-thruster spray-broasted
porn was being exclusively consumed by sex criminals and raincoaters
salting that thrill was a Lovelace-ian paratext of unhappiness
spread-eagles on the edge of the bed, and Deen commences a kalimba move on her vulva
in a guttural lock-jawed patois intelligible to no one
go back to the full and flagrant penetrative churn
Kayden snorts in mock umbrage. “I’ll rape you
feat of psychosexual contortionism he was limbering up for at an age when the rest of us had yet to tie our own shoelaces
parents are both, after a fashion, rocket scientists
soigné manner in which he liked to pinch-cup a cigarette
is vanilla, Kink.com is decidedly rocky road
not a mere preference or lark but a controlling obsession
deeds that have surely soiled the upholstery
After some back-and-forth, Deen roots out the source of the perplexity
hocks lubricative loogies into the pistonworks going full-bore
Proxy’s breathing is stertorous, rapid, pre-infarctatory
Between takes they carp lightheartedly at each other
sets about the destruction so ardently—tearing wainscoting, shattering the television
a word-for-word send-up of the scaremongering
whose immaculate blondeness and avian features lend her a passing resemblance
are about demonstrating a nose-to-the-grindstone determination to try anything to stay together
a menagerie of rescued animals--four dogs and two cats, whom she talks to frequently, ventriloquiIing their responses
no sense of slog in the tasting menu, no wave of terror with the petit fours
an elevated take on tacos and French onion dip
like the room, all blond Scandinavian timber
gaggle of interns sat around
topics ranging from evergreen style tips
has worked at breakneck pace
have picked up the feminist mantle of providing counter-programming to the big glossies
which they felt stinted on coverage of Bay Area teams
holding a growler of beer
decided to jump up on the pop-up bandwagon
Unwitting passersby occasionally boud in hoping for a sandwich
pour wine and bus tables
miniature tumblers of earthy, fragrant chilled tomato-carrot soup, bobbing with cold Sungolds
Bowls of creamy al-dente risotto came with layers of raw mandolined button mushrooms, which cooked gently when bathed, tableside, with molten brown butter
Baskets of warm bread earned a course of their own
showcasing springy sourdough
sweet potato leaves fashioned
a medley of crunchy seeds
an after-work crowd swarms the sawdust-covered taproom
Suspendered barkeeps ladle grog from festive punch bowls into proper teacups
Tender meat redolent of wood smoke and citrus
A welter of concrete barriers marked the entrance
who frittered away much of his fortune through a series of bad investments
 a dirigible crossing the horizon
mistakenly be read as simple gossip, with glittering names in bold face
Church’s coddling of sexually abusive priests and its evasion
urging them to tamp down the brusqueness and bullying. No more theological stop-and-frisk
he gives short shrift to what a difference a smile and a shrug make
fustiest definitions of sin, but
exclusionary rules and harping about penance
The world has no glut of these
guest made an offhand joke about Internet porn
when things got dicey. Without missing a beat, the husband deadpanned
workshop was like a muffin tin you poured the batter of your dreams into
The term was a kind of smackdown
was the linchpin of the story
likened the crying of a baby to the squeaking of a rusty hinge
was swatting at realities and phantoms in a medley of awesome magnificence
intensely at work upon the recalcitrant stuff of life
ever since, in his salad days, he was entranced
boring, unpeopled intersection, where a moon tower
are not, as it turns out, beacons for late-night keggers
making kittenish support videos and sporting an “I only date Super Heroes” T-shirt
had filleted Hollande’s shenanigans on his show
been trundled off to the love guillotine
documented all the little aquamarine ovals and rectangles
around how unsettlingly easy it was for them to locate
boy shivered on land, lips blue and knees knocking
explaining this and other puzzles in a way accessible to nonspecialists. Packed with clever metaphors
waste breath talking smack about something
alone at his desk, shoring up fragments against his ruin
developed a crisp, allusive, grad-school-infused Twitter voice
sometimes he undercuts the image with bursts of silliness
By some peculiar osmosis, what happens in management seminars keeps infecting normal speech
Hoisted and dragged through the halls and out to the curb
the legacy of sweets in the shape of a boy
It was like throwing paint at a fan: first here, then there, sugar turning up
in XXL tracksuits trundling along in electric carts
which prescribes egregious collocations of vocables as the Basic
cannot play ducks and drakes with a native battery of idioms
cannot continue indefinitely to be traduced in the eyes or rather ears
no one seems able to think of turns of speech that are not hackneyed
more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse
at the same time pad each sentence with extra syllables which give it an appearance of symmetry
are used to dignify the sordid process of international politics
gumming together long strips of words
an accumulation of stale phrases chokes him like tea leaves blocking a sink
one watches some tired hack on the platform mechanically repeating the familiar phrases
which do not square with the professed aims
largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness
A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details
like a cuttlefish spurting out ink
a packet of aspirins always at one's elbow
every such phrase anaesthetizes a portion of one's brain
long list of flyblown metaphors which
to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind