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.  

xxx

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.

Yoni, You Bet Mighty Right

Sabrina says this house looks like a book she read once, a book she once read and once she read it her kick-started super-forever. I think you were in it squarely dancing with some same old bruise who was always begging you to panic.  Did you, after all? Pulling out from her lips on the beach she felt me through for a moment in sight and proceeded to hoot and holler echoing the unit of life, maha-yogi, a western chemist friend and a writer who pretended to like to fight. Drink her, she decided.  In front of everyone I might like.

Chris Weige | Austin, TX. 

Past fancier sights resembling greatly a dream

Himalaya high so snowy mountaintop om - give me shivers

decorate breathing bones around a fire howl for sinners

for breadcrumbs give them maps and spooky magick mirrors

talk talks and to the wide open sore listen

mauna loa spatter-cone go black obsidian beaches

trees aged smoke but get eternal life

lament yr mind’s nasty habits handmade

yr perfume dope and ice

highrise rooftop rural shade

think it’s only right

in your hand holy genius

and the boozy satellite

who put the words everywhere?!

who put the press release?!

i caught you doing it

i saw you on the late drive home

i attempted to interpret it

and apart from that, smoke…

Chris Weige | California, TX. 

She sits on the sun

Shesitsonthesunbitingme

poisonsarebored

i’m a big poem recited

but what I normally do is hide it

nextsomehumanancestors

womeninvariousshades

swirlinggirlsuntetheredwholiketoplay

fleshy, insatiable reservoirs

secretsthewayyouwantthem

(very close to the scene

black buttermilk roads)

Chris Weige | Austin, TX.

The headless chicken is history's second cousin

the heart hems around celebrated verses and ever do you heroes heavenly go

kicking around tucson's coast for a pill wanted the most, one studied for eons by panels of dignified ghosts,

soul contemporaries who point point to Shakespeare and hence the child appears in the room like Picasso re-birthing rebirth & recollections

once thought impossible...

the poem making history hers in photographs, prayers, velvet tomato moon-rain

breathing every ornate beat and innate beast where love way

where love way breaking out

where love way a bottle of earth intoxicates us fools feeding this pulchritude full of woozy cloud

by the fountain roundabout where dikhotomos caught a mouse.

the heart hems around her story

even better her fingerprint stars on the street diamond

becoming every no-thing in a hurricane baptism, becoming Man the mystery being.

Chris Weige | Austin, TX. 

The Men and Women of Vigor Vibe

And ante every erg with epileptic bobs brought on by breathless theremin.

Everyone bounces to the rumor and agrees: Sweat is the song’s body amplified;

wild gestures for the blissful life compilation.

That smell is the South on the rise, and Chinese dumplings top secret.

Right now the borough boasts exceptional sounds and scents

in the air a defiance of the depressive buzz;

phenomenal street cars float by on magic rugs

and still the inauguration rains its ambitious art while curious squares traverse the pyramid projects.

Architectural narcotics ignite the long-buried guts and imagi-nation once stoned on credentials and ruts

– this is where common sense is all-encompassing and words good and bad a virus,

where red and blue are purple, black and white gray, and enigami’s urge unrivaled;

I saw the extraordinary magnitude in getting unplugged, kicked keys in every corner affectionately

and noted in the body commotion, a starving inferno eavesdropping on a needle in the hay.

Unknown news was being leaked: Words do reality build up and deconstruct, happy to have been repainted

by abacus suppliers who believe Creativity is going for them; will shake them up, backstroke those centuries to meet beneath

their quietly aching feet with friction heat:

Picture what has been seen; imbibe the walks and wild-dance so head on the map; so head movie so sunrise on sheep

We all want a taste.

Napoleon invades fertile sands

open sesame.

Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | A While Ago

Her Tune is a Love Song Ripped on Writ Panties

Hey, Her you yen for, her in the by and by and in your words covet after her curveswith a couple of weeks worth of mystical ankles. Los potential. Add there feet and feelers, a good book, matching moonlight and her hanging on a breath at the stop sign. For my dirty her yen stomata-like radio nourishment (my elixir); genuflect and intently ache at the aphrodisiac blisters. Her tune is a love song in exquisite flux transistor on tattered scanty scrawled:  come on(e), come all.

Los alamos te amo

as reported to me by a cottonwood tree... the midnight gardener's mind is not a brain receiving signals but signals making a brain in the cellar in the kitchen in the hallways in the light let in home and um and molt burdened words, guilt, mediocrity; aum in formally sin waves and aum elder stars around snaking skeleton keys; to me freemen talk about the new music and strange poetry exposing wings while flying vee carpet teams soothe a bayou and classic scene muscle-minded, overtaxed and barely getting by in the back; america, you are my favorite looking glass TV newborn and so advised be: the radio and laptop do work (I'm serious) so does the dictionary in the 21st century when the walk of life forms a secret country needing distribution when the bibulous whistlers claim budget woes while selling out from under your feet the very stones, the very gold n' water - the very meat and salad ottawa on to rio, tikrit and neo and who will know after all who got what when nothing is true and everything free? 

Chris Weige | Austin, TX. | Share a key intuit