whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed
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Wednesday, October 19, 2005. Posted by marco saenz @ 1:25 AM. I like the illustrated-poetry blog effect. A teddy bear made of Lava and raspberry jam, lukew. Ldquo;Hello bed,” Eric said. “You’re a faithful bed. A . The bed has become a shopping cart with a bag of b. Those who writhend blow Above the bed The nippled . A mouth full of dirt pressing through a shower cu. A picture is worth a hundred words. Change on that for me. Krill, numinous krill. Like it or don't. Retardation Across The Nation (podcast).
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed: August 2005
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Wednesday, August 31, 2005. Those who writhend blow. That pause in a wind-current. Over the gray bed. The color of an office-worker’s shirt. Except for where blown pollen stains. Have been ground in. Have been ground in. Those who writhend blow. Eric hangs around; he lies around. His life is simple. The color of an office-worker’s shirt. But close your eyes. Those who writhened blow. Release red specks that. Pulse behind the eyelids’ curtain. Posted by Stanley Bishop Burhans @ 1:55 PM. The stone word dirt.
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed
http://whereisericbara.blogspot.com/2005/09/bed-has-become-shopping-cart-with-bag.html
Sunday, September 11, 2005. The bed has become a shopping cart. With a bag of brown fruit in it. Eric has to push it, but ice. Stuck to the sidewalk shines. The sun has begun to. Melt Eric’s body. This morning. When he rubbed the corners of his eyes. Crystals of ice like icing sugar. When he blew his nose, ice-crystals. When he brushed his hair, ice-crystals. Eric’s skin is covered by this frost. Except where he cut himself shaving. He has to move his cart. 11 blocks, before the wall of ice.
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed
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Wednesday, August 31, 2005. Posted by marco saenz @ 12:36 AM. A mouth full of dirt pressing through a shower cu. Eric pushed himself up through some layers of snow. Black little toads, black wiggly nematodes slither. Starlight of the swirling night is hidden in the b. The spirit of joy and of love cannot exist in day . A picture is worth a hundred words. Change on that for me. Krill, numinous krill. Like it or don't. Retardation Across The Nation (podcast). Sex and the second city.
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed
http://whereisericbara.blogspot.com/2005/09/hello-bed-eric-said.html
Saturday, September 17, 2005. Hello bed, Eric said. You’re a faithful bed. A little smudged and smeared. But your dirt is good dirt,. Who says dirt is always. I love your good clean dirt,. Which is my skin-cells rubbed. On you to clean myself. Having said that, Eric threw. Himself down on the bed. For a nap. As he slept. Sebaceous craters bled raw puss,. Which colonies of skin-eating microorganisms. Sucked up for lunch, and then. Deposit acidic waste in Eric’s pores. Every pore was a flower-pot.
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed
http://whereisericbara.blogspot.com/2005/09/photo-sharing.html
Friday, September 09, 2005. Posted by marco saenz @ 8:26 PM. Stan, i just discovered your jan 2007 book and have to say i'm so happy for you! This is an old poet friend from baylor. email me, okay? I still have a copy of that. remember "savage inarticulation"? We published it together with bing. Those who writhend blow Above the bed The nippled . A mouth full of dirt pressing through a shower cu. Eric pushed himself up through some layers of snow. Black little toads, black wiggly nematodes slither.
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed: July 2005
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Saturday, July 30, 2005. The eyes of the visitor were actually. Loops at the end of strings hung around. Nails in the wall. To hold his face up. The mouth of the visitor hung from his eyes. The strings from his eyes to his mouth were tears. The tears from his eyes to his mouth were black. From industrial make-up melting and pouring down. The thick carbon clogged in the motion of each tear. Becomes a sturdy string,. Residue of another fiery process. The meaning of the majesty of sunlight clogged. In cream...
whereisericbara.blogspot.com
bed bird bed: February 2005
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Tuesday, February 22, 2005. A mosquito sitting on a swing. Bleeds boredom from his upper half and blood fumes from his lower. Blood fumes that are almost fire. Dangling nonchalantly from the lax geometry. A mosquito with a head full of quiet dust. Trying to restrain any hint of social buzzing. Trying to seem asleep. Because immunity. Takes a long nap in the powerless age and then leaps up and combs its. Chest like a slow precipitation of car-exhaust. Into the face of passionate pink and red quick knots.
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bed bird bed
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Thursday, October 20, 2005. The bed is ugly. In a beautiful rusty way,. As if someone had neglected it,. Had failed to shine it,. Had failed to rub oil on it,. The bed has red hurt patches as if. Skin rash of rust,. How can we rub the red-brown. Will we need sandpaper. The rust has built up like. A skin upon a skin. Like a poem where you typed skin but. An elderly lady with white hands full of veins. There goes that poem, icky. Now it contains allegories, icky. The bed is ugly. In a beautifully rusted way.
