What I Feels Like

By Raymond Farr

An Einstein flash frozen
On a river bank

Of cool pants
The voices ranting 5 am then 6 am

I is cutting film
Into a scene

Black
Without pause

The actor says plants
I makes him less solid

Permeable
To cure
The suitor

He hisses aloud

Under glazing ur-texts
I reiterates:

My sauce is triple
That of my Rolodex

A microscopic twig
With which to shave

The I
While otherwise engaged

Rolls of film droop
From reels

A reminiscence of
Dropping calls

Falling off
About April
Or May

This business of misfortune
Has good luck

Edited all out of it
The mice have straws

For ear canals
I has come here

A betting man
The wages are death

Though Baba Gonging
The actor-king

Is practiced at words
& out of I’s mind

I crosses over
Naked

My life is a movie I

Steps on
A plaza

Disconnected
But an instrument has failed

His peaches shifting
In back of his truck

Spill out
On Alewife Brook Parkway

Paused in a catalyzed suit
A state is a trooper

The distance forgets
I has been waiting

Selected like fruit for…

I dunno…
What it is I peals like

Six or nine

I rotates each STOP sign
According to legends

On a place mat map
I mangos among speeches

I sets out patrolling
The waters for

Sharks that’re limits
Uncouth

As a stag film
Actor missing teeth

I saw a bon vivant
An altruist by nature

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the sometimes sensitive calla lily

By Raymond Farr

a hundred years
while playing

the white Wisconsin

remember the sometimes
sensitive
calla lily?

our rendezvous
with
hapless

razor back
of

the medicine chest heap of
beneath the sink
love making?

unWhole
in my razor hand

I am tonic

an Arizona Tea
tea leave

leaving my mark
on 3rd & 5th

stanzas

a data process
I cannot
find

hanging
a picture up

clearly
you have me, Bernice
stop trying

if I delete/restore file
as though
love
was

a thought in the
rain of

the rain
falling

around us

& under
a tarp

yr sketch
of a parrot fish

is some comfort

an all snout
Samuel Clemens

What is that
Purring?

w/ missing
link
efficiency

it is fifth
in a series

mocking
something

arbitrary

foisted on
love’s

ice cream

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I Amb Karl Meat, Po as a Po Boy

By Raymond Farr

Hans Arp dresses himself
In seal skin 30

& breathes deep

A measure of
6 Avenues pinging
With loss
Seems a delightful missing boy & dog
To muse upon
A strobe light

His stilts still walk
Engaged in malapropism
After malapropism
Staged at 30 degrees
Of negative affect

Someone meanders into meatloaf city
In & out of him

A savage box
Penultimate with caged affect
Appears horizontal to

Spilling words
Over his roof tops

His Irish ballad a gift of the dumb Irish gravy

His blarney
(misst places him)—

The Penultimate
Gourde (his head on straight)
Wires the complex
Flexing its muscles

He panicks in altered
Spaces (up tight)

At certain intervals
A corner chair

Or choir

He is singing commercially accidentally
Hit after hit

As someone shifts
The essence down town
Believing tv

Our water scrambles up
The Outlaws’
Inner tubes

As someone’s original dilations
Pour whisky flotilla

A mr head

Whose tenses shift
The is to was

The bend in the road was supple writing
We worship it as men
To one who was lost—

Either Hans Arp
In the form of

Phylogenic transparencies

Or Karl meat
(Po as a po boy)

As mental as
A plaid veneer

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