Meow
Pages paged together with glue glued gold
Either way by the way it’s cool
when ozzy went glam you were not in a trance
you were on doomsday and swiftwater way learning a new language
listen yr right remember the roadkill riddlers n’ that professor in the newscast hypnotized
by an actor playing an expert playing with your fears -
with rich philosophical eye roll back recall - be the rainful faceless summer snow n’
startle the road, dormant dormitory doorman
i’ll tell you because of course because yr what fun way
pleading for pills
yr palms are maps with hallways and pointers
tell me about yr temples
the colour of lifetimes and make it symbols
Chris Weige | California, TX
The Full Frontal Itch
The elbow fiend opens the sweat hand
Thump-thumping the wounds on open road,
Flashback wind in every star trap,
All loudmouth thoroughfare rabbits;
The heart-shaped asses blister and sigh over cool night air,
Brittle grass and flatland charcoal;
The mighty quiet heartache radio
Will find habit to give in.
Will go for the shell.
Has folded over one ear with one mouth.
Will: (1) Fix yr zipper; (2) Heal yr body relax yr mind.
Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit
Pharmakeutikos (n-i-L-atir)
For sale for sale fit and shivery spoons full of wordfood for infants because no one really looks
sound bytes become books for unhappy children, or they drug them into submission
what are you going to do? they are elite think tanks engineering sociopsycho culture shocks through
psychic weaponry, mass hypnosis, pharmaceuticals - electronic mantras fulfilling when taken with rv’s - electromagnetic music
feeding messages such as obey the, be a good mass producer consumer citizen be, what we say goes, this is yr life
go-go-shopping-stop, don’t look up-down-drop, stop-go-run-no, eat, slow, succeed in this way and in no other way go
swindledom (keep quiet)
is this document easily accessible?
is this document intended for you?
Kissed my ear the hormone part you really wanna want
A casual place
A casual place that isn’t crowded and loud
A casual place with silverware sounds in the background;
A casual place
A movie and a long walk
A casual place cunnilingus -
We should talk we should talk we should talk.
Applaud sex and death beds, applaud!
Time and Your Frantic Feet
Hello,
This is Wires, and we will cross again.
Did you and Mojo break the ice?
If I haven’t already told you, you look super, strange.
Super if you look strange: extraordinary.
Are you wearing what you said you would wear?
Everything should be the color of your skin.
It has those remarkable patterns:
Forget the deluge of lace this moment…
I see your ideas and things get REAL again,
And I do remember the words to eat.
They probably get a great view
Of the Sunrise and Set from the aperture, swimming through me.
I do recall taking furious notes negotiating a turning row
With a musical truckload of girls, overjoyed with the well of flesh.
Encore: Kissing and hollering over limber lip loops aching,
And they might have all been you.
I had a chat with your mirror once. In becoming your face it learned to think and speak. It lifted your chin and gave your face a cool light. It made one and then another precious bare leg.
I stared at your big toe, your strut, your depressions, the one-liners; your sultry something else by no means forgotten.
I say this without regret. You come on with this beautiful bandage and heart giving in, confided. You are here and every head Eros:
Would by the word thunderous lovemaking.
Would by the tongue the display of everything.
At hand then, would you want to run?
Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit
Hello, This is Wires, and we will cross again. Did you and Mojo break the ice? If I haven’t already told you, you look super, strange. Super if you look strange: extraordinary. Are you wearing what you said you would wear? Everything should be the color of your skin. It has those remarkable patterns: Forget the deluge of lace this moment... I see your ideas and things get REAL again, And I do remember the words to eat. They probably get a great view Of the Sunrise and Set from the aperture, swimming through me. I do recall taking furious notes negotiating a turning row With a musical truckload of girls, overjoyed with the well of flesh. Encore: Kissing and hollering over limber lip loops aching, And they might have all been you. I had a chat with your mirror once. In becoming your face it learned to think and speak. It lifted your chin and gave your face a cool light. It made one and then another precious bare leg. I stared at your big toe, your strut, your depressions, the one-liners; your sultry something else by no means forgotten. I say this without regret. You come on with this beautiful bandage and heart giving in, confided. You are here and every head Eros: Would by the word thunderous lovemaking. Would by the tongue the display of everything. At hand then, would you want to run? Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit
A Longing for the Memory of Eyes
Horse teeth, gold teeth, bless me body shot, gangway fleshpot.
Universe, Universe, show me we are
Your priceless laugh-talk,
Your hair as I write this in Texas between two antique typewriters.
We have been with you and loved you all the way to Rome! We are louder now in the United States where She was Made. In the same Made vision, very softly now: Om.
She seed it; she said it was great. She transported to the bowels of the earth communication in opiate jive. She seed the cities every maze. She seed the memory of eyes:
Nama Mai Won, Nama Mai.
Nama Mai Won, Nama Mai.
Nama Mai Won, Nama Mai.
Body Poetic
Today I’d like it to rain
Today I’d like the ocean taste,
The overpass coming on to me,
small campfires, crowded tents.
Today I’d like a better charade,
a better song to dance to.
Above here below, splitting fusion spitting atom with a sneeze,
nose ropes and off-color teeth, dressing on the cheap;
I too worship a giant stick of butter.
Today I’d like to slip between seconds and sweat atmosphere,
the scent of reconstruction as if you didn’t see it coming;
For this I will tiptoe across desolate fog on continuous wave, transmitter.
The art of sublime obscenity, the body inside of the egg between two sparks;
Up with Her whose image recurs every place I walk.
In the hills and in the projects people hum a million tunes
Two relics vanished in a television series: A kid and a radio forty winks; little knew the pie. Critics stood out in the rain like whiskey in a rotting sink, Reeking: dead ringers for the little guy. Staring out over the not-seen desert where the often scorned were laid out scorching, the Giant demanded a many-minded attitude, and signed off with nice emissions smelling like herb. There were good reasons not to collapse.
Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit
Chewing Hair
Whoa man dear me in back of garden kissing feet and
Tempting curve of shoulder, twirling locks round ear maps of this Priceless state and sugary face, photographing fingerprints away for frames and time travel, mood fires and dimpled thighs;
Whoa man in awe drawing hands toward break of breastbone, small of back, obscene freckled saviors, astounding calves taut in tip-toe
In focus - ants nibbling in slight rows go unnoticed.
Whoa man dear me bent knee kissing origin of heartbeat human, longing for rendition statue or amber, no end of breath near or faces fading away in arms of clouded acquaintance, but the ever-moment aroma and stir of soul, tulips shifting for rise of sun and track of bite
Chewing hair above forehead perspiring, marvelous belly perspiring, gold of innocent backs and deserted dirt road over guard of cedar and tin fence perspiring.
Whoa man dear me erased leaning back inhaling earth sheets in expanding chest, language gone underground seventh heaven bliss, no last words only lips to tease the sky in its chlorine dream breathing poetry off salty skin.
Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit
Blister Beetle and the Caterpillar's Kimono
In case of an arrangement of heaven and states,
a thousand years are up and bravo, ultrarevolutionaries,
beekeeper, barkeep, orizabus subaziro!
Zenzizenzizenzic has more Z’s than any other;
Eighth power of a number and regarding those eight is the first;
So which is the last?
(FORTY is the only number which has its letters in alphabetical order. FIRST also shares this property; ONE is the only number with its letters in reverse alphabetical order. ONE THOUSAND contains the letter A, but none of the words from one to nine hundred ninety-nine has an A.)
Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit
1987 Blonde
O Popcorn:
You and me tonight just the wild finger free rash long-line mystery mind-shrine;
Speak in signs with remote, slapping hands in the Pirate Sea,
Grow dope and re-route the fisherman with his low-down moon-eyes.
In windowed rooms this side east there are shadows where they grow humans for food
And international slavery there are crevices and in those crevices clues
There is also the city weather.
O Two-Step:
All I can smell is the smoke of burning sweaters climbing robes olden screws;
Take bites out of erratic memorized eyes and pulses; grow spokes on your embellished streets; Kiss yr dog and you’ll find yr cure.
In 1987 the thrones were big for new-made sons suckling maritime ships on stage, History died in the TV and Columbus was saved;
There are backyard grills which mask half-hearted rage..
There is also the surveillance camera on yr grave.
O Porcupine
Your obsession to cigarette and milky upper lips makes way for feathers behind all the beaks;
Lush yr tears away in cubed con privacies; lift yr cheek with a pinch and squeak;
Become real using your own face and kissing reverie:
O Turn-On:
You’re the add-on to escape the big crowds and beasts, another word for wine.
Sex the far distance for the easy body and bean; Smoke the space joke and viper.
The skin has three layers of tissue and elastic fiber, see?
In 1987, for some, the play money was free.
Keep the piece of ear, mouths
Keep the piece of ear, Mouths
sound starts the radio spectacle, thirsty eyes
love sounds blast the alleyways and thin rooms
into sand the street collapses
and sets dear eno loose so lofty overhead with cloudweeds hoisting thirty thirsty dancers
radio transmitters dope out the ohmmho oh-ho ooh and spark frequency hook-up
ion or ionic where the bodies are buried all woke up lovesick drinking elbows and hands
curves sweet fuck lovesick despite the church - come on confess -
unharness the woman, behemoths!
punk the wordstream for the advanced age
free the filthy mainstream when the raw robot exits and remembers his childhood…
Chris Weige | California, TX. | Share a key intuit
Waiting for the Paw to Move
Sea change stun the hooligan and wag the dirty sky
sea change skinny skeletons into giant diamonds
the strangest house and eye ear moonspear
pray metal minds dawning on history quests, cycles
see the miles and chainlink mankind
the atomic release unrivaled
an orgasm lullaby when tongue lung learn how to pray
something about age something ever-ever innovative
something about thought something more drifting off to sleep on unknown civilizations
who have come before Atman
who have been fans
who have been digging
metro delicate wind
the drum of air of heaven driving
through a heat-wave on a comet in a cotton field
one of these days real demigods one of these days
tangled up with the moon-stenciled-rocket i love you
solitary beside the dream by the dream finding everything means what? what? what?
The Puranas Survive the Earth Mold
John dear opa
holly washington and the big beats.
dean-O and the down-and-outs.
they all know
regis likes a nude beach scene
slicker on the talk show tableau
let me be clear:
freedom is on the march, big chief
and when you place your hand inside
their handprints 2200 years disappear
revitalized baggage dances
ah, hollywood
atari reiterates and diane saw-yer plans
for placing adze for superconductive caves and coax.
sweet, and hereafter however here's looking at you.
Chris Weige | California, TX. | Sagacity
There is more for even yesterday they made you think you we're captured or bored
Paramount the decoder, child
haboob, shamal, air energy atmosphere and brush
heroic fakes in a red carpet rush
So bipolar megawatt ideology, babe - bangin on the company stakes, the poem paramount -
the essence is change which is eye-stinging everywhere,
bangin on the used mood maze.
Paramount the merry maids and splintered sins to cool off melting ranges in the weather wild wind
n’ straightaway paramount the poem and porch, metropolitan citizens.
to sand they’re saying, bleed burger furler! bleed heavenly photocopy furler!
Paramount the radiotelemetric enchanter and heartbroke paramount pleas!
Paramount the hermes and paramount them hawaiian beats,
keys eyes alibaba ubermensch, wet dream doctors n’ everything ready to raise
music and wheat, poverty wages - a cozy texas arrangement.
Paramount the pastures good-natured, earthy presto fountain and long-range dew
light this rumination found hereafter in more hidden clues
like the soulful sublime saliva flirting with a waterfall who becomes a body safely through
the birth canal in stars.
You are such a fine and spacious heart
you are love secret sex god.
Chris Weige | TX | Sagacity
Sane Legends Golden Legions Silver Plumes
With every handshake soaking through
skulls boom by gambling birth right in the hopes that no one sees
the ounce of cobra venom and classwar everywhere memed:
Subliminal dialectic stew in secret doctrines, secret liens
in hypno-whispered mortgages masked as treaties indivisibly devised
on no-interest-low-interest loans (defaulted, seething)
Secret liens swallowing up retirements n'afta that secret liens damming up water to make it private;
better gut check that lavalamp, la la,
is is sending warning shots wandering past earok earaches and scams foreclosing korea;
Wall st. windfalls foreclosing the celestial bods being
all this time true touchstones at wholesale cost
according to chemicals in the rain or air in the uranium...
Chris Weige | Reckon | TX | Sagacity 2008
Oboes
their decay and occupation really had you down,
had you really clinging to it like a clown
as in sticking to it like a stamp (sad)
the american light, language, rights you should've had
I tried substitutes but them poems know the real meanings
I left some for you in a room in another meeting
I am happy to report they are confined by neither skin nor log nor ivy league porch or ceiling
I am happy to report they fear no quarter nor mortar and much nor mud nor sheetrock border lynchings
I am happy to report there is nothing worse than a whiny clock and much better nor worse a holy order bitching
and by the way these maps do bear a torch and handmade stitching
and very often may offer every tiny garden windoway the heart pin pinching
They are simple and short. They say you are here, and you are.
Most Movies Tell It Like It Is
Most movies tell it like it is, even the popcorn biz. Watch closely. It's all about tits. Peaks, remember, and the rest of it.
Arches, Archie. Delicious.
