Verbatim 10 February 2000, Royal Grounds, Berkeley

a. exquisite corpse one line each

1.
It, rock, reflective
Only during Vesper hour at the factory
There was a simple caution in her minty breath
As though a certain end of life would cause a certain kiss
Into this pungent Sahara down-wind camel-dung breeze
Fettered with ancient, toothless malaise, sore as rock,
The vultures tearing daily at his sock,
Which he lovingly garnished with
Braised olives from the cantankerous dead cook's digestive tract
And a beer for thee. Like a carnation,
Whose bulbous innards envelope to strangle
The simple, flailing gestures of the carrot stew.
Take your spoon and shove it in. Take my wife, for example.
She's an old pro; we filmed her once and shortly thereafter had to flee
The aspiring matrons who plugged our farts and laughter with their
Uncorked wine, and did I mention Valerie? She's a friend of mine
Whom I met in a mushroom cloud at the old Pink Flamingo, 1993,
Then later read had fallen ill from listening to Canadian poetry too
Early on Tuesday evenings, every week, for a year, to bother to die
Into the mantra hums of fluorescent overlords sipping brandy
Until the end.


2.
A lukewarm mixture emerged from the cake
Some spluice of uncooked ingredient
Gradient. You never let me stick my tongue
Onto the lower cliff of McKinley, you monopolizing maniac
Thus: I was free, my dignity and heresy synthesized.
A sip, a sip, a cup of tea, and lo!
Twenty-five pint-size aliens appeared, floating
Nickels and dimes in oblong spirals around
Plain white marble tables all in a row,
Arranged most ominously before interrogation
(point of historical fact: it was never really in
Berkeley - that was my intestine)
Afterwards, I felt proud
To know that I had
So little to say. I knew it - 
She wasn't as hip as we'd previously thought
"bake me some gist a-what's going on," I 
asked politely, but all she could tell me:
"the fuchsia's of Manhattan are darker this year
than the greasy luster of your heart when squozen."


3.
A bargain in the mist
Despite a rambunctious mob heaving
Glass into slate, a flat job,
To his dithering delight, almost
Surpassing the elegant bon vivant of
Your own two buttocks. I hope you 
Relieve them of your throbbing
Blatancy, your trespass and
My private navel. Get off the boat
And back onto good ole terra firma, you wax-like hellion,
Like the lucky blue-green gurlie that y'ar, y've earned this sermon:
Arg, sir, arg. Don't teach an old sailor to swim.
Or especially the backward crawl
Of which his credentials were practically mute.
The suit he was wearing established his clout
Although his smirk and odor gave him away:
The very same awful milk-man from the photo.
It makes me want to eat veal.



b.	exquisite corpse: 14 lines each, rotate columns

1.
This morning, in the toilet, where I had expected my Bentley to come darting into that tiny room
I expected it to be normal, regular, easy like me, after all I did eat a pebble once
As hard and crystalline as it was, somehow I lost 35 cents in the real estate deal with the young groom
"whatever shall I do to summon that special primal Eunuch that loves only me."
But who should accept my rancorous apologies like a good lad, or stutters like a dunce
Into the mirrored gaze of anxious fish not to mention blood donors who say nothing of their flu
Into the estuary's fleeting caution, only to wax indignant at the sight of dripping candle logs.
Clink! Clank! The gloves were off! The net meshing was sodden with the work of dogs.
Whoosh! Away to a purification plant but unfortunately missed the boat into the blue
A multi-faceted faucet fixture cast in thirty-pound lead from melted toy soldiers,
And over the smell of freedom almost enough to fill the white basin,
The brown, brown, brown, brown, brown, but who could afford the tuition, colder and softer
Always cutting glass with my diamond-like ideals; I was sure I'd succeed, if only I'd clinch the water harder.


2.
Mother of pearl, or second cousin of granite quarriers, or third eyes, spying flowers.
Fostering this itchiness in conniption throes maniacal, the hunters and their ghostly expressions,
On time but not on the 6:30pm southbound Zephyr too late to take me in without an initiation.
Sumptuous troubadour in a castle-gray mini skirted our devotion with fluid, boyish joy
You'd think he'd hurl pebbles of smoking bile into wheelbarrows, piling higher until they creaked "ie..."
Polecat! Pinkerton! "Where's my Roy Rogers video sweetheart?" Asshole. Where was our ambivalence?
Cruising down Lakeshore Blvd at 15 miles per hour in our old Pewter Rabbit Hutches.
Certainly not so, says the red-gloved dame, pocketing the stone. ("The Wind's Surly Glance")
To please you and your lot, we'll have to resort to emptying change from our previous lives.
Well, buy this crimson fleb or I'll appear on the Newlywed Game just for the hard cash sir. Not some dirty truth.
Like, duh! Horatio, Horatio, you disappoint me, giving no quarter nor dimension of explanation
Dog after dog after dog just like in the Bullwinkle cartoon. Please can I ride on your tiger?
The tastiness was over, and so was the 38th time you told me you were in love with cold hard stone.
A feeling of hysteria underlying the quarry and its blameless knowledge.



3.
As a noxious whim wafts from sweaty breast to my slinkiest best intention: the abduction of young Steve
Among random tribes of dancing, pesky Jews and their annoying mirth not to mention TV erudition
Militant women firefighters, explaining sex to steal kisses from these frothy malcontents.
It permeates like a saltwater taffy soaking in the gale force currents of tropical grandeur, spent
Cadaver into the putrid stew, the sea. Abysmal love! How much further can one go.
Its alchemical appearances are not the central motive, nor are the impersonal letters much of a thang;
Holds spellbound the throng, entrances in scents which curl your lip if you but lay a finger on it;
And in its wonderment stops the dance. You hear a whisper, but it's too late, hombre'.
It searches Congressional records for the imprint of the software on his heel and ill intentions on his mind,
For damning evidence, the devil's footprint, I knew it from my butler, who always confesses;
Sufficient to suspend the noose of the moose's lodge burned down that night.
Kid and shackle his elders. The old rabbis gather their fez hats and bowling equipment.
A fog descended as we landed in the center of his offering sat a foot away from the cesspool.
We surrendered upon arrival and our bones were later moved, like phrases, to a stillness beyond words.