This is amazing.


intense cricket blitz
bumblebee underside
hole ridden jewelweed
taller kale, smaller kale
cosmos cathedral
flower diminishing white
flaming blush Grandpa
Ott’s sewn threads
bleached leaf unbloomed
columbine grasshopper’s
70’s super hero green-brown
coneflower shuttlecock parasol
thumbnail bulldog
cabbage placental plumps
unripe Anaheims

for best results

of the right size to come
with me troublesome
stuck in corners
clouds, fish, and
clams that look
like cheeseburgers
far Neptune spot
I love the part of you
know one else does
white lines within
white lines
paper bag smuggling
to deep stand up triple
glass bottom for your money
mouth to mouth
trunk first green detection
filled up
marred bark
see the diminished seas
chide in antonym swell
tipped in your
near death slow
going, repairing less



for Lynne

butcher’s hands erase
your wake
like a minor
movement as
always a sea
beneath us
that hungry
part within
fill you
to toes
with my rising
the whole of you

it is never
just words


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upcoming readings

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Passion Flower

was steeped to a close

half ballooning pixies making eyes

her nubile she to wings

forgive me my mean things I did

coil of branches synched

to meta blue sky

the limits where there is nothing

oblique winter afternoons

as a sort of slow moving storage to believe

to kneel down to the memorable may not

mean anything by comparison

the worthy of unhappy kilter

This Yielding Flesh

flung herself to save
herself from an unnatural

for the love of
the cello

these tables on the
broad floor brand scales

lazy murmurs mewing red hair

fingers mute volcanic
adoration shock

of pink-crested
zippers festive peak

numerous vines
throated in blurring effects

under the extent of her
daring had it been

the thick selection it would

have begged the belt

He Who Whispers

much a part of moss as rock
perhaps a little stodgily
on or of the soil
at leather thick business
to join was awfully nice
nodding as though she could
as only she could
doesn’t upset my ears to ring clever

the throat never remembers a long journey
were not passing fancies, facts
no invention to puzzle
it was out of hand
two birds in league with sheep

Wilderness Virgin (Buckskin Cavalier)

only a plank bunk, roughly made
reluctant jabot, not known for a dirty room
British accent less incongruous
in itself a considerable accomplishment

out of sight of the fort
white facings and gold lace
the way a man’s life could be changed

stomach for of course it can be either
tempting a straight line
no accident cools this dawn of yours
near safe keeping

presence every place I turn
the world drawn a little three times
for measure to eyes that change color like that

what matters, the grace of this well-lined

make my lifted heart the ground swell

Reluctant Nympho

March prodded me to a beam

slim figure with lifted hemline
in my direction of line-for-line copy
to share a pair of stingers
unlocked with a sense of urgency
in no mood to be settling touch
I chirp, pulse, rage

terribly attractive, even censorious

in maniacs today
a few hours of tomorrow
permanent fashion taking dictation
and drawn to a close
purse out in the washroom
several touches I’d fully meant
not to chance another
body to bed my pulse to
pulling me to

too still caring

The Rainmaker

the world’s swole up
you bet I’m sure
them spots is growing so big the sun
able won’t shine through

the lights come up inside

but it was too regular

the distance, the sound

even in my clothes my hair’s full of electricity
faraway smile for what?
a right to be certain
that rhapsody in her bursting forth

no bigger than a mare’s tail

more lightning, more thunder

The Left Hand of God

too much for a toughest stomach
disguise escaped to the mission hill
hands so beautifully formed
last drop to the last test-tube
lowest coolie with one brow cocked
would be genial to feel it in inflection
the hook we hung our miracle on

husky patients, enough nourishment
to be murdered with axes
a sense of well being
too big for something we had to learn
inner compulsion held to vanish

that anything was once his height
a man of ordinary Chinese tried
to think his way
in love with her untried walls

a dark mass now

Evil Under the Sun

backless immobility and what was an upward slant
seemingly fated

turned to bodies, good-looking fillies

one barely sought toned ankle
romp I

land of the coves between
watermark nearest the proper mainland

who keeps the paths?

who did so took a risk

crooked breakfast
an orange peel mars the tennis court

and other rooms?

her print dress rustling when it’s very hot

I want to know who threw that

silver platter over there
in the thought up picnic
as they cave to other ideas

The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

no solid clue to back lunch money
offering alibis for the motorboat

vague figure swaying, feeling

loosen up, and pay some oil
turn on the magnetism
rely on naked assertion

I want people standing in line
bodies full of stamped
declarations they themselves cannot prove

beautiful cloud effect, full of tone

value outgunning the printed copy

The Case of the Crooked Candle

stock reply of aren’t
all lawyers confession-and-avoidance

pleas of thwarted ideas thrust
with an assurance of precedence

are you willing to finish her?

when to toe the line on the highway
find yourself on the spot
and you know on what grounds

that’s your hard luck

common everyday terms so
the layman will show a body
and ask you where to turn

fraudulent habitual drawl
sitting tight from one mercenary position

clumsy attempt at a chance
with the oars to no avail

The Turquoise Spike

heel was the weapon
and a heel the victim
bled men in comparative
splendor to rub of picture
unzipping flies
risky calculus until
the protective dusk
falls little wise
come in handy
torn down dim villa outline

no exception in the rule

pecked Eskimos
shattered near kneecap
dress just a little higher


This looks very cool.


Under the Moon

When will love come
with all the dreams
I have worshipped, again

indiscriminately, love
its players blind, stalks in
without being asked

takes us in its arms for a little while,
then let’s us drop, after so short a time,
leaving us broken, weeping on stones.

After the sunlight afternoons, what then,
the midnight paramours, in fleabag tenements,
oh yes, what then is left to do, where to go?

Oh god, what has become of me, where is the self
that used to flock to bars, always seeking
for the partner, gone, turned away.

Then it happened, all of a sudden, you were there
in various guises, on the dance floor, in the back room,
piercing the gloom with cigarettes, movie theatres,

and theatre stubs, always alone, you were there,
after the theatre, greeting me in the lobby, on the elevator.

Now we are alone, in separate parts, and countries.
Who will bring us together again?

Most of my love life has been spent in longing
yet you the most real of all, and the shortest, remain

to haunt the penthouses, and chaumieres, with champagne
and three course dinners.

You have a melody,
that is the waltz
that imbues sex with meaning and love. Standing before the hearth,
in pink and black pajamas, with a light behind your head,
when you speak, or extending your knees backward to the log fire
I built, for the first time, arriving in the middle of the night
by cab, to the deserted chalet we rented for the summer.

How sweet it was, an ideal situation for us to bloom through
love’s care.
Yes, our health was bad, and we had too much money.
Keeping away from town, without car, or phone, or clock.

Our luck, to run out of
what was it?
You had other things to do, other places to be, other men to love.
And I was not enough, you were my first

John Wieners