ditch,

J.R.Pearson is a International poet living and writing currently ten feet over the Canadian border in Idaho (although that is subject to change at any whim) & his work is forthcoming online and in print from The Indie Underground, The Cherry Blossom Review, & Dogzplot. He is a member of an experimental group of collaborator's called Orzel Transtextual Poetry which engage in, among other things, combining Flarf with real-time emotions. He was born in Michigan and watched his brother, Ben, die there at 28.

Dismembering Gorgeous

When she is gorgeous,
we are dissecting.
Dismembering the aqueous
blaze rushing in us.
The Cuyahoga River on fire.
The single violin that slips
easily into a symphony, creates
a new harmony. The blue nebula radiates
                                from her iris,
                                            past her eyelids,
into contradictory curves.
Reveals a vapor song,
                                 identifies instruments:
                                                                      ankle, leg,
calf, toe......in our mouths when we touch the fine
        arch her foot
                            makes~
                                           the moment de t on a  t   e   s .
Becomes loud & wide
               her skin                          past us
                           muscle in middle
and bones labeled
    A        B      C   D  EFGH  I/we taste
                                                                white
rotate her ankle                                when she walks--
                     play the movement(s)
take the muscles
          levitating gently in
                                   still air
ply them into place, shape, mold,
                                               tap-tap
with Leonardian precision.
Skin slips on like stockings.
The thermal aqueduct resonates
reality. She pulls her head
back & laughs: reverbs echoed,
haloed forever in silken ozone.

In this moment we know her as falling water.

In this moment we know her as atmospherics.

In this moment we know her as wood put to orange heat.

In this moment we know her as elemental.





Ouroborus


How free with my arms out!
Palm forward. Palm forward.
Her toes play with the edge
like mice with a mousetrap, darting
exploring, tempted-
It could be so easy!
The lean & tip. Sway back
from salt-liquored air.
The flesh ends in moments of beauty.
She stands.
                Dawn born. Sweet multi-chromatics!
Stands. Stand, Stand. Stands,
                                          & gives in. The letting free!
Air is burning past her, loud & long as the sun throws
butter over the chipped waves.
Her iris fills with points of light, sparkles wet with stars beneath the long goodnight.
                   Us
                                   Mars Sun
                                                        Venus
Flick-er(s)
                   Venus
                                   Sun  
                                          Mars                 Us
                                                     
                                                                 Sun  
                                                    Mars  
                    Us           Venus        

They move-Sun-in liquid-moon mars-constant-Mars-
motionjupiteruranaspluto-under, under-Oort cloud-precision.  
The stars
            march*                                                             perfect
                      uniform                                that                                 freakin'
                                   across                                    ones                  
                                                  the black          own                                  so
                                                          canvas.                       each                       was
                                                                      They Swirl into                         it
                                           clockwork                   place,
                                                                                     own                   like
                                         makes                                              galaxy  
                                                       sick
                                                                      until,
until it cracks back upon itself, half-
eaten chicken bones crushed, dead center, on concrete by a boy
with his father's hammer.        
His fingernails are filthy. Tar. Asphalt. Blood. Rocks stuck  
to his knees, cut-off jeans string just below, as he stands,  
tucks the handle into the lone intact belt loop & chicken bones
shattered -like that red-headed kid's kneecaps
if he bothers him again- makes his way home.
Past the smell of Pork Fried Rice, the Chinese Restaurant,  
the Dollar Store where they yanked his arm out (almost) for stealing.
The Vietnamese Salon. Thrift Store. Alley. Busty Ladies. CIGARETTES/
cigarettes/CIGARETTES/illegal gambling. It.
He crosses the street when he sees the chalk outline,
smeared but le/leaping like a white curb, around where his Dad's body lay dead. Shot.

The rest in automatic. Anesthetic.
Until he hits the bedsheets, praying for no tears
& curled around the Estwing, letting the acrid metal wash his face.

No tears! No tears!
He closes his eyes: watches his Father falling,
brown curls & jacket a trail of light, high & falling
into the rushing Atlantic of nonexistence.
It's all so easy.
Margarine light.
Asphalt ocean.
Crucifix body, arms out.




*The Nazis invented "Marching Powder" or Meth combined with Coco
 sometimes call "Dust of Divinity".
 

 


Flowers Explode From Tar


The sun tortures grain from rocks.
The city tortures poem from her core.

The cracks seep evil in her neighborhood,
veins black gravity up her apartment steps,
through the ruined hallway, paint brindled
on her door & number upside down: 
                                                            9
Behind the peep hole
filth turns the film clip
in her open mouth,
teeth brilliant, grains of dust & curtains
live-lit. Roll(ing)...3/
                      ..2--
                       .1\
                (Opens on)
Gray flame,
                sky,
                      smoke curling nostrils
cheekbones,
                 eyes Di l a t ed
look on                    look on           powder puff
                                                       latex
                                                    smack tight
            ex- stripper       broke(n)  cu
                                                          rb
How much?     40       Too much
                          
                           the  lamp post rusted
                                                          orange
not brass
            two hands
            on the top
                   s   p  o tl i  g   h    t
her hips become
            rounder(?)                             motion quickens
quickening
             saw back
                             body          contorts  the    S
             saw forth
heat shifts
electricity, she runs a porcelain thigh up the pole,
                        movements
                          crushto1
                            image
with unholy speed
        she bursts
    into phosphorus
             tongues of fire.                            fire
                                             fire
                           fire        fire         
                                                     fire
                 fire             fire                        fire

His lips wet &
                  oily,
    tongue darts
               in & out.
Bone fingers
wrapped
with 2 bills
             -fix(ed) in grainy lamp-light.

MOTEL motel MOTEL
            BREAThing-breathING-BreatH-bREATh
                     (Fine~)
16mm cuts blank, the moon behind her mouth
                      & his arm guillotined to reality 
                                                             a thrashing poltergeist
dissipating in peach curtains,

that
at last,
unzips her skin
in vivisection.
Breast side by side breast
betrays the men move(ing) the machine(ry).
Heart. Pump. Stop.

When they break for cigarettes
the television turns off in her eyes.



The Finality Of Sparrows

It is enough for the woman to be
a pallid barn in Ohio.

Leaning over
         the wheat fields,
watching the sun               lift
and the moon de.cim.ate

until their path is a bright wheelbarrow rut in the sky.

The farmer formerly
housed his tractor
in her body.

Now paint
             Bakes
BuBbleD
       from her
                         body
             Bones
warped              BOARDS
          run                 (un)level

roof
         &
              mind
leak
     ing

fine light
                        Shiv-v-vering
cobwebs--
 
In morning
the farmer finds
her beams collapsed over
the fields,
                ghost gone,
gray
      in arcs of
                      gold

           Finally      

Sparrows
                 fly
       red
                         from
    the
               autopsy.


 

 
Vesuvius

Outside, the mountain sleeps.
The last wall of the restaurant
returns to earth. Frames the figure.
                                          Disguised by
                                                       darkness.

The checkered floor evaporates,
blue & brown un-square
opaque voices that  drift up,
                                     over  
                                        ebullient
                               city lights.

They whisper of foot-prints
in four-thousand year old ash,
slipping beneath the sea,
                                searching for some invisible
                                                                  portal
                                    outside death.

Dawn divides life & mountain,
sun crowns from rock & trees,
and the voices that once were scuttling
                                                   shoes on tile floor,
                          have seen the city this color
                                                                of fire before
         but don't dare speak of it.