From the Pocket of Agent Dickinson.. .

Five poems in NOMATERIALISM

I

Felt/saw the underwire it took all valiant in me to drop it.

For the nursing fires in va-va-voom an old sheet 

waited to be coptic. Quirks of Malcolm. Sign of the remote. 

Yes will you come for me another valence. 

I come wandering as ever, demure 

as light, polymathic uninquiry veering toward

a couch on a blanket

a wear of shitting is now 

a blouse of creeping no less hard than terms

dropped, re-remembered in the sense of timber bleached

around the small ovular hole of a vintage picture frame. That vantage point.

Go, go, vixen of foreshortening. 

Undertake as if artichokes will like your family. 

Like families like pincers for a scythe–it comes

down: valence 3. Story-belt 

on a tile floor. Tile despite knee 

presenting hard-on story-belt, story-belt 

of This Is A Tile Floor. Can’t wear it 

Definitely don’t like it 

Now in daily want poor fire real trim around 

every day the same expected unctuous fabric killjoy redpeels

ice polling weeds thru crux trellis dicks on a clock 

gravimetric jouissance fibres hunks where donespinning

II 

Stop it, the Ides are sensitive. 

Minus the pink big hard one. 

It gloats nearly. 

Thus is it to be surgical. 

Everything is going to be okay I said 

before Caesar died. 

The house nearly done (just waiting on the tombstone)

Caesar died. 

To be hurt is to understand. 

The knife goes out to the party. A “surgery” is performed. 

Day, night, day, night. 

Gemmy, dodecahedron ice cubes 

passed around. 

These assuredly inappropriate for the weather. 

These are nice. 

Aerial view of what in phylum glops open a big one 

in the garden. 

Slow choke, Cokes, chalk. 

The blasphemous negative. 

No one could score that night, that night 

was marked and could not be banged. 

His bildungsroman I felt

in my cunt. 

My cunt sensitive to the day. 

I was remarkable insofar as

I was dreary, and yet I was not only living

but was also felt-tipping 

each recommended scene 

recommended by Caesar’s arbiter 

bb right above 

his cupid’s bow

so he could almost see his fate

but not know. 

Daily done this work. 

Reiki of a fissure ordered ukuleles banished.

Then the understudy

A room in brass polite 

Fried eggs

Desire equivalent unless attention

I took one ice to the stone and left it there.

Were that meat to quell 

or were that meat to harden

A breeze

I wouldn’t spring gloats

Never a man

Ritualistically fazing his gout

Ritualistically down in his heartbeat

There comes a point where I would like to exit

but the ritual is too harkening-me-into-it

The ritual is too hard

I’m a sea for others 

I am a Caesar 

III

In the dream, I am awoken by the spider. Her fat soul 

flicking on the foyer of my middle finger. It is there 

that she is soldered, to yoke the spider-spot 

like a feather, like a dot, to me 

eternally-writhing. If I try to flick her off 

she’ll bite, how close to me she is. Could some passion 

elate my heart till it’s stale?

I think she could, like veiling a house till its shale. 

People like forthright designs, people like 

capturing a stupid cache

illicitly every time I’m ill or I have to pee

I have to pee less saltly when I wake o I’m broke chanel 

my pants are on

try try try 

I try to flick the spider off but nothing less 

than what I want to catch is what my patch is keeping. 

Every want to want continuing 

1. Address in blank reap address where I am to press again, then stop
2. “Grumbacher” is the white name 
3. Elf/elephant     a leaf a leaf     a sinuouy die

IV

NOT AGAIN NOT AGAIN

a kewpie fucking up 

a cutie making gains

when a sign is the first good/bad real thing, I will repeat, I will poke

the stuff where a cairn gets made at a Christian University near Philadelphia, PA. 

BUT IF I AM SWIM

believe I’m different stuff 

or liver of fabric 

in a Brain like Eating. Your swindle real regard of He does not peel

up the former fast, the thousand good samaritans digging up rye am whole,

FLIPPANT, FEELING IS

wonderful when you know

Orchestration flub

Coherence, all that jazz just the opposite of a euphemism 

which is to say, is. Poke, poke. I swear there’s something in there I’m dying to drill.

ARE YOU ANSWERING

or are you fluffing

the overall landscape 

of what is happening so the land looks like something hazy, painter-

ly and green, Jesu Christi but still there is something inside the inside of that 

AND INSIDE THAT STILL

looks like a windowsill 

smells like a peanut 

I’m trying to get to it every Sunday, my day of rest but

the University gives so much homework I do not get to rest much less take my dalliance.

V

dremel in dremel in ach ach, 

the pussy willow sallows when it brakes

the pussy willow swigs 

the net-cooling impromptu remote controller

Look, it’s Light Iris                                           at the Dairy Queen

                         light swills me from the group canoe above the text

                         the prophylactic embryonic foot 

                         I drink it down, orange-juliusly

                         adding a gem to my cheek

                        with jealousy, a gem to my check 

A Small Globe Of Catching An Itch Community joins in, I close the door,

wake from the dream at exactly 1:30 am twice three 

days in a row not feeling tired, really, like a flight attendant 

I wish 

it didn’t autocorrect to “subside,” I wanted 

to see your cats inside, living

                         Less 

                         Less 

                                     Portico

        Wings, and everything through touch 

       My Nightgown Wearer, your friend-system 

       too swallows