Young Mormanism

With every weapon at their disposal.
They will not be allowed to sit on juries.
The People Accept the Manifesto!
Their understanding of how one is saved.
Secretly, lying.

I Haven't Said This, But I've Meant To

If you want a review copy of Hitler's Mustache because you want to review it because that's the sort of thing you do, just let me know (artisnecessary@yahoo.com) and I'll send you one. You should at least review it here. That'd be something nice that you could do for me, and I'd appreciate it.

The New CD Isn't Here, But It's Close

Stupid Tuesday

Nobody wants to read a poem everyday.
I mean, some people want to read poems everyday,
but nobody knows why.
I mean, why write poems on a blog, or anywhere?
It doesn't make sense.
Even people who like poetry hate it.
Not because it's bad, because it isn't. It's beautiful.
I love it, though I don't know why.
When I say I love it, I'm not exaggerating, but I'm not
telling the truth.
I hate myself sometimes.
I fall in love too, but mostly with strangers.
And then there's my kids. I love them because they
are, like, the eternal strangers.
I know them really well and don't know them at all.
As the night wears on I find I get stupider.
It's not the beer, it's the stupider.

Monday

Do good things happen forever?
Yes, but bad things happen forever too.
They are somehow always alternating.

I wouldn't want to write the Bible,
on the other hand, to have written the Bible
would be a tremendous honor.

I Don't Know About You, It's Me!

Surely, you don't want to read another poem.
I don't want to write one. I want to mention ideas
that have mattered to me, or matter, but I wouldn't
know where to begin. I don't know why I'd want
to mention these ideas. It would be better
to make love to my wife or organize my desk. I could
tell you the story of my day, but it is less of a story than
it is a day. The sun was hot. It's still going on.

Summing Up

Were you at the poetry reading?
So was I.
I agree.
Yes, he was terrific.
Me too.
Well, sure.
Yes.
Of course.
As I was saying.
Thank you.
Okay.
Seriously.

Sometimes and Other Times

Have you had good days? Are they good?
They are better than the bad days, I think.
Do the good days happen?
Yes, they happen.

So I Was Saying...

Are you going to be in Muncie, Indiana, Friday? Seriously?
Are you going to be at the MT Cup at 8:00pm? I hope so,
Nate and I will be reading poetry and I can only imagine
that it'll be beautiful. That's what we're hoping for. My wife
might come if we can get a babysitter. That's hot.

This Happened to Me

Somebody should mention Hitler's Mustache here . What I'm talking about here is information/education. All I'm saying is that I want to contribute to the betterment of us all. I'm trying. I'm asking you to try too. Help me help.

The Only Thing Tonight

Are you a person? Do you understand
the way a person (such as myself) might
not know what to do? You may stand
just an inch before the door, may be able
to reach out and manipulate the handle,
may be able to push it aside...
But yet you stand.
I say, I'm no fish, I have arms.
I also say, You are a person at the door.
There is no difference now between
what I'm not and what I'm not
saying. They're the same thing, the things
that aren't here.

Have You Seen This Book?

You should see this book...

"I'm Humbled"

I questioned the _______.
(I want to say refrigerator,
but I will not say it more
than twice.)

When it started to come
down, I saw the room
get ___________.

Just getting started.

Rust tunnel.
(The point wasn't so
much the thing that
wasn't there, the
____.)

Better Than the Poem I Just Wrote

the particles
vomit, does it
dawn


biscuit a tin
cylinder
or swallow, mayo flavored
worse

bad enough.

Things that May Happen

Where will you be Friday, April 20th @ 8:00pm? I will be reading poetry with my former student, Nate. We'll be at the MT Cup in Muncie, Indiana. If you were there, that'd be terrific.

Easter Troubles

Well, today,
a sort of hell in my
ears. That fidgeting
of fingers you can't control.
That itch that
isn't yours.

O I'm looking for
an attic to crawl into,
so I can read old
magazines.
Instead, I'm watching
TV and the burned out
church is looking
super cool.

A Poem from Aaron Belz

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
they say, and beast is in the mouth,
but they also say that if you think
you see a speck is your neighbor's eye,
there's probably a log in your own.
They also say not to look a gift horse
in the mouth nor to bite, with your mouth,
the hand that feeds you. Get the log out,
and while you're at it, get the beast out,
and then get the hand that feeds you
out from in between your teeth, they say.
But wouldn't it be better to get
the log out of your horse's mouth
before you feed it, even though leaving
it in there would all but guarantee
that it wouldn't bite you? Your horse
will die with that log in its mouth,
and you know it. Neighbor, you are
a cruel master, but I am a crueler one.

Are You Troubled? I'm Troubled

I don't agree with that
I said to nothing.
There was this blankness in front
of me like the hollow part
of a hollow point
bullet. I am always sulking.
Even when I'm happy
and bouncing around like a
speaking tongue.
There is this persistant space
that is occupied
by an idea that cannot
be named. I would hate to turn
into Robert Bly, but
I'm automatic.
I'd like to drift away like a
snow drift, but instead
am shoveled.
Am pushed and stacked.
I've got a feeling this will end.

"What No One Is Telling You"

I'm trying to write a poem
and listen to Ira Glass
on Charlie Rose
which doesn't even make sense
since I wouldn't even
think of that
and yet, here it is
and then there's this other
stuff that I don't want to mention
because you don't care and
because I care more than I should.
And people-- there is music too.
And there are people too.
O goodness,
and the baby crying at night.
And "the style is different"
"and then beyond that"
"and like the thought hadn't
even occurred to me."

Not the Cover of the New CD, But Similar

Getting Answers

You're probably asking yourself
how is it possible that lack
exists?
How can what isn't
haunt the house?
It's the best question.
When I say "you" I'm referring
to something like
an empty pocket. You are right
beside me, on my hip, but you are
nothing.
I'm sorry. This isn't personal.
That's not my point, but you might
imagine that it could be.
When I say you're asking a question
I understand that
you're not actually asking any questions.
When I stare into the flames
what I see isn't flame.
You know, this shit
is the used up stuff.

The Life's Work

When you go back and look at
it all, primarily, you're struck by
the lack, which seems impossible
yet there it sits.
And it just sits there. Not even
smoking or munching a
bagel. Sometimes what I see
is my amputee stub,
but it's like I never see the severed limb.
Except occasionally, when all I see is severed limbs,
stretched across the great plains. But mostly,
there's just this space that doesn't
make any sense. Even if you asked
me lots of questions, you'd find
my unhelpful. Unhelpful is
kinda a signature of this lack.
It's like unhelpful is attached
to the wooden leg of this thing. In a way, I want
to scream, "I'm no wrestler!" On the other
hand, I enjoy the attention.