when the storks are all gone who will bring us our children?

by Eduardo Ramos | October, 2007 | ?: poem | No Comments After Manuel Vilas asked me if I still write, and then I crossed my eyes pearls 12,13,14 Oh my tapioca tongue, every pearl on its way down, dancing in pudding, has the message that something’s happened, something a long long time ago, deep within my tummy, a great pleasure was already there. Hillsborough, friday afternoon [welfare of America's children] I saw the man had [...]

Polyphony, Spending Spree, and the Abundance of Time

by Eduardo Ramos | February, 2007 | ?: concrete, poem, texts | No Comments 3-2 3-2 3-2 3-2 || Time is a rhizo me and so too the earth is ti me and earth i s rhizome and time is earth & a rhizome is a ||

workus [haikus from work]

by Eduardo Ramos | February, 2007 | ?: poem | No Comments mala leche just make sure it work jerk web page down three hours in sprinkler rain we all need help 7 deaths blamed on bitter cold weather web page down printer stuck in traffic today my bike hurts ten below today the morning cold is bitter we commute alone bash0 2.ō old computer man jump-inside human sound shhh for Amy

response to (& for) amy

by Eduardo Ramos | June, 2006 | ?: poem, texts | No Comments Awe or a concise epic history (consider revising] Awe begins nude in a living room devoid of living, where paperweights tread carpet like the footprints of ampersands. The smell of bread baked before the time of yeast, in the days of rock & roll, when my yore was yours & the ground spewed forth, miraculous like a burning [...]

Ontological Vacations, Part B

by Eduardo Ramos | April, 2006 | ?: poem | No Comments I. Steep in blood: you don’t belong, so be pushed back into the sea: the pinnacle is belief in God when all else fails: it is salt, it is red and blue, it is wet, & far too long and deep. II. Iceland—what a happy place—free of concentration, camping in many seasons of green (deceiving name)—moss stains the ground in the shape of Virgin Marys—see [...]

4 meditations on the nature of Goodness

by Eduardo Ramos | March, 2006 | ?: poem | 1 Comment for A i/ Beauty When a crazy blue ladybug lands on a kneeling aphid and loves it without sex or roses. ii/ Love The spots on a ladybug, revealed as carbonized hearts, seen to be relics of reborn saints, who are the eyes of all who are watching her. iii/ Truth Tongueless, silent (not silenced), unspoken by non- human animals, such as dung or colorful, spotted beetles. iv/ Evil Autumn’s end, when the [...]

Ontological Vacation (pure poetry)

by Eduardo Ramos | February, 2006 | ?: poem | No Comments Ontological Vacation (pure poetry) 1. Being is in cahoots with time, and I’ve left both of them behind. 2. There is a mild hypochondria somewhere that suffers from fear of people. 3. In the future you can custom- design your suicide. 4. Bizarrely-shaped corn fritters come in bags. I desire them inadmissibly. My mantra is wanting. 5. Desire is shaped like bags of fried gizzards, always awaiting the call of hunger’s chicken-lust. 6. Analysands, aside from having many a’s, always know more than he who gazes. 7. Consumption [...]

In Search of a Place to Be Born

by Eduardo Ramos | February, 2006 | ?: poem | No Comments Nature subdivides and, born, before our eyes, the names of places, sacred. Deer Run, Owls Creek, Willows Weep. Naming speaks as electric dreams on waysides, signs of time, immortal in wood fires, posted on wood stilts, wired well. Where I was born still stands; where stillborn I was born; still, borne, before I was born. Still in the waters of a big river; I was born in the blue-eyed rim- water of a sea, [...]

I heart to buy love in a mall

by Eduardo Ramos | January, 2006 | ?: poem | No Comments I came upon a poem in a mall but I did not write it. It was unwritten in the swarm and in the stores. It was full of adjectives and enjambment. It rhymed from time to time. It alliterated like a pretzel bought at an island cart. It was a well-crafted sestina. It sprung forth in iambic pentameter. Etcetera. The specifics [...]

metapoetry is rampant in cave-dwellings

by Eduardo Ramos | January, 2006 | ?: poem | No Comments arse poetica for a lifetime, methinks, I’ve been inside a brick house sitting around on my ars poetica and feeling its soreness spread into a final dying whimper that never seems to go away …
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