h.b.irwin

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

one night-stand

In Uncategorized on June 14, 2015 at 6:15 pm

a cascading soak I
flow into the room

paper
water
morning
paper
water &

for a hundredth time ask
what living like this means I

mean, what’s the point of drowning in America
if you’re not going to do it in the tap water?

part of my nocturnal survey,
I use dogs to search the woods &

give weight to the body
to sink & to watch it

become the womanless all-woman of
this bed, from whom I shrink.

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Little Box in the City

In Uncategorized on November 10, 2013 at 1:27 pm

I could breathe easily for a few minutes, the violent burst would inflated my lungs & throat just long enough to reposition myself in the blankets and try to fall asleep. But before I could slip away some parts of my throat would clang together like two pieces of flint and I’d be sitting up again, waiting for the first easy inhale. Once I stopped coughing there was no other sound in the flat. Yet in those moments when I closed my eyes & my mouth I could hear water running on the other side of the wall, like a toilet overflowing, left to build up & choke out. I wheezed, trickled, and turned over to avoid a violent fit. Held my breath. I could hear knobs turning, metal legs dragging, the flipping of switches. I could feel my own disembodiment, the bed bucking and folding at the command of knobs, me, rolling around like a little marble. I found myself propping my neck & head on my arm like a lever. I heard the sharp clang of metal & stone from the street, the volume of a jack hammer but higher in pitch, like someone cutting bricks with a skill saw. Then I felt it in my finger tips, the weight of my head making them go all fuzzies, a dissemination of pins, then cold, as the noise from the street jumps into them and I am the jackhammer. Then silence and time. I wan to call it sleep but in such short intervals you might as well call it forgetting. Mindlessness. Then came the garbage truck, five stories high, commending down the block destroying cars and consuming slow pedestrians. With its giant dumpster arm it locks onto the flat and wrenches it out, disconnected from the city now, poised high in the air, shaken with an industrial force, then rolled into the truck’s bin, all of it–the bed, the plumbing, the knobs, the little marble. Then the empty box is replaced, sterilized, baptized, and reborn.

a list of monsters

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 5:18 am

It is necessary

to sleep it your

own dirt, the soil

of the nation &

the dirt beneath

your boot sole.

 

Have 5 friends

dig up the ground,

let those digits

lower down.

 

Get in the sheets alone.

Smell an animal in the room.

see something, say something

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 5:13 am

My brother returned

having seen the same

spectacle: a man

dressed in a policeman’s uniform

washing his hands while

grinding his nails and

washing his hand

then soaping up

again. Again

 

we saw him

in the parking lot,

hands stuffed in his pockets

slouching, looking

at the ground,

alone. In that night’s rain,

it was not until a young woman passed

us by that I saw it clearly–

Pontus Pilot right there in Texas

washing off the blood of some lamb.

 

He waited till she was 9 steps off

then turned to follow her

silently into

what I can only recall

as the enormous darkness

that rolls behind a dream.

 

My brother and I ate

our suspicions that night

so that we might find ourselves

later rubbing hands and telling,

“Hell is murky, soldier,

a damned spot to wade.”

Keep yourself quiet.

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 5:05 am

I’ve rolled a stone

over the mouth

of a great black hole

with such a tenderness

that the doves stayed affixed,

shuffling along the circle

as I revolved the tomb head

to remain skyward.

 

And I’ve done it

with such earnestness

as to fold & crease

time together, ripping myself

backward, rupturing

the inseparable, rustling

those sacred fowl for dinner.

on insignificant love

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 5:00 am

Underneath

the sheets

of fish, which

drift & dart amongst

each other

in a pattern so

refined they know not

what it is and

coordinate without conductor–

enormous like intrepid

spheres–but their skins

never meet each

frictionless atmosphere sliding

in perfectly distorted

closeness,

 

is the sandfish

who always, unexpected,

sinks her teeth.

 

on an indifferent landscape

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 4:54 am

Goddamnit my body

is so ever present I’d

will myself in leaving

for New Mexico or Las

Vegas, soak it the Salt Flats

till its eyes would stop

and its ears would stop so

when I’m riding down

a dark desert highway it’s

not just cool

wind in my hair.

 

See, I wanted to be an ascetic but

nothing absolved my body, so

I sacrificed it to myself and

consumed myself alike.

Holy Road, Scenic Route

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 4:46 am

Drove myself

to the edge of

the lake containing

one cigarette butt

for every seven gallons

of water it’s

how they measure time in Arkansas–no, not

that Arkansas.

 

Driving in

the stake of

escape right

between two

girls boys and

both where they meet

fixd to a pair

of feet, one tap

dancing the

other nailed down

for ransome but

no note (goddamnus).

 

Been driven mad

with that fire

since I asked

my teacher what

it was made of;

after a long pause

I heard a televangelist cackle,

“The visible aftermath of the rapid oxidation of a material”–

how disappointing, where

sparks find us.

 

To drive out

is to have your ghost

and eat it

too so

organ out my family

and choose what

will nag me

for 20 years if

not 100 and some;

douse it in

oxygen to fire

off some, set

some on fire.

 

Drive is cigarettes

and oxygen drenched

bushes see it burns

but is never

consumed, no

not once.

 

Movement & Repose

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 4:37 am

You can simplify

the moment to

one resembling a place

in which you can

wait for 20 years

almost ago

to reapproach your

4-year-old twin brother

holding a serial number

encoded:

 

We are the same

time over & over

itself; watch some

causal stone strike

the surface of

anything at all; strange,

the seal of stillness breaks

into movement–

volcano, algae, fire, the renaissance, existentialism,

microwave, radio wave, beauty queen wave…

 

Even your brother (you discern for you).

He will break in you

your own ownness,

until all things are at a loss

for distinction.

All the monoliths creep around 12th & Pine

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 4:32 am

Born without a wound

to hide in. I never repressed

a thing. Not even

what was tortured

 

In the big bang– atomized

creatue (more than ever before)

connected then confused

the idea of opposite– the very beginning

 

source, left right, I totally

betray it all.

The universe has

many faces. One face

 

scripted buproprion

which makes you heartless

which is a good or bad thing

depending on whose heart it is.

 

The universe lapses on itself;

that’s how I hear my own thoughts on the radio,

how I always see the people

I was just thinking of.

 

 

That’s it.

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 4:26 am
--but I feel it
upping on my liver like
a bird caught and
making that terrible violent
knocking noise flapping
itself to bloody exhaustion. 

ANXIOUS
That's it.
I point to the air, 
at the word
floating in space
& time
& time: 

Again, I'm talking to myself 
in front of
a room of people--

(Quick! put that hand down.)

but can't stop 
a spot in time
forgot and got 
moved on
to get lost
every night, fizz
to fill the shape by
morning it's all
resolidified brick floating
in a woman shape to
nurse & chink 
away, to buff
& smooth in
vain effort, to
hone an image
of all the words
I know, half
the people I know, and
some smaller bits
of world I don't. 

and what emerges
is a composition unrecognizable,
a wild creature
augmented beyond
what is desirable
in space
& space
& time.

Rip it open at the liver.
Let some great eagle descend.

Privacy

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2012 at 4:25 am

I.

Run my thumb from my hip

down my thigh

to pinch the stringy

 

wriggling tail and take

some named muscle

but I don’t call it

 

I clench it to

push this little rat

out my cunt.

 

It comes with a pop; it’s

brown ruddy blood-soaked

body dangles under

 

my hand then lays in

some toilet paper:

my left hand.

 

I feel its warmth

and laugh because

it’s gross & beating

 

but inanimate

& always dead.

 

II.

All the little maggot  boys

imbedded in his skin

worm their way out the dead rat.

He dreams them holding

a trial in which

his family testifies

against him– so

helpless & abandoned

when his long lost dream aunt

grabs his hand to comfort him

then runs her hand down

from his hip to his thigh.

 

III.

Inside this moment

the living & dead converge

in the minds of the schizophrenics

meeting down at the docks

telling,

“Don’t let your left hand know

who your right hand is in.”

 

I feel ashamed becuase I am

the full body without organs:

unproductive, sterile,

unengendered, unconsumable,

and just incredibly

bored. I want to see

everything connected,

one full body machine, want to

see it like these

institutionalized

father figures.

tense

In Uncategorized on March 20, 2012 at 10:26 pm

driving in

the stake of

escape right

between two

girls boys and

both where they meet

fixed to a pair

of feet, one tap

dancing the

other nailed down

for ransom but

no note goddamnus.

 

to drive out

is to have your ghost

and eat it

too so

organ out my family

and make a choice

of what will nag me

for 20 years if

not 100 and some,

douse it in

poison to fire

off some, set

some on fire.

 

drove myself

to the edge of

the lake containing

one cigarette butt

for every 7 gallons

of water it’s

how they measure time

in Arkansas—no, not

that Arkansas.

 

been driven mad

with that fire

since I asked

my teacher what

it was made of

and after a long pause

I heard a televangelist cackle,

“the visible aftermath of the rabid oxidation of a material”—

how disappointing, where

sparks find us.

 

drive is cigarettes

and poison drenched

bushes see it burns

but is never

consumed no

not once.

spaces empty

In Uncategorized on September 15, 2011 at 1:43 am

I am

 

seeing my

blood

crusted

splattered

dripping

welling

filling

up valleys

of wounds

of teeth

of nail

of joint

 

taking its place

is what I can’t see

less form

less tone

less shape

less texture

 

How should I call it?

 

I am

 

filling up

with siani

with bearing straights

with every

bermuda

 

I am

flooded by those

great black holes

BLIP OUT

In Uncategorized on July 31, 2011 at 8:42 pm

withdraw

lost the ghosts of fear,

put them in

all 5 of me

on equal up you

put up with or they

hear my ghosts change they

are very large up children

then shrink what

a tragedy me in their

invisible moves with

m, a ghost

in how I moved to

get lost but in some snow

scar for the typing dark

aimlessly drifting around

why is my toothpaste sweet everything candy I am a time when adult is a myth I want to pretend I don’t have contacts I just see & see & see but I only look at what I want what I want is now what I want is now what I am is a time when adult is myth I want what I want is a time when I want these lens pulled from this consumption machine craggling up the stairs don’t make me talk don’t make me at all I’ll say is I am a time when I want so cleanly that I slip out and you never even smell me I brush my teeth everyday please don’t ask for more than I see & see & I want a time in the far reaches of speed when all my repetition blurs into a perfect image of want & want & me

don’t ever visit my job

it’s not really what you want, but you know it’s something some pressure desire spiral wrenching between your cute little ears and when you had no name for something you called it god now god is everywhere & he won’t make eye contact & he knows it’s you.

he never comes alone

now you call it

blunt force trauma

starvation

liver failure

numbers get all the good air

when I was 21 all my friends were 32. They held me against their breasts saying, “it all stinks little lady, all of them”

I have a gut feeling about your guts. adam smith can suck my invisible dick.

yeah I would do better to be smarter. I would smart better to hit harder and never flinch.