, f. 1963.
Siste bok: An Essay in Asterisks
(Roof Books 2005). Medredaktør for tidsskriftet Chain
«Target» er skrevet til et samarbeidsprosjekt med komponisten Keeril Makan som ble fremført i Carnegie Hall 2005. Tekstene er ikke publisert tidligere.
Andre tekster og opplesninger på nypoesi: I
The march. It seems to be moving through the main streets. It seems to be moving like a body made of parts. It seems to be turning and it seems to be coursing and it seems to have a mind of its own. Waking up in the morning in the sheets, then fanning out in determination or panic. Following orders in the heat. Twisting through the terrain. Exploding. Past the tanks. Past the flak jacket. Up and into the brain.
PsyOps: Know Your Target I
remove any trace of the color red
show soldiers with chin beards rather than clean-shaven faces
don’t use thought bubbles; they’re confusing
add bananas to a bowl of fruit
reward for information
aerial dissemination and arc light operations
the grief and pain of your death
a dog of nomads, chained at the heel
playing chess connects with the target
we know where you are hiding
person to person without distortion
unless physically altered
unexploded ordinance can kill! do not touch! Help us keep you safe!
you are our targets
there is no reason to be alarmed. For your own safety, stay away!
PsyOps: Know Your Target II
Keep in mind that the target is suspicious
and will look for hidden unfavorable meanings,
insure that only one interpretation, the intended one, can be given each sentence.
Do not leave any thoughts for the target to fill in.
safe conduct passes
Stop! Turn away now!
rid yourselves of these fanatics
positive appeals wear the target down
Help us keep you safe
read the message without touching
you can receive millions of dollars
the color of the terrain
laughs at you
you do not know he’s sent you to your death
many threads make one rug
get wealth and power beyond your dreams
help bring back happiness
millions of dollars selling evil drugs
the audience often risks death for reading
your escape routes are mined
you are trapped
the murderer and coward has abandoned you
give yourself up and do not die needlessly
you mean nothing to him
do you think you are safe
in your tomb
we know where you are
stop fighting and live
The market or target seems to be moving. It seems to be turning and it seems to be declining and it seems to be tied to emotional life. More than one million seem to have moved, displaced, and then hundreds of thousands move with no face. Up into the mountains, in pockets and caves. The borders and barricades. Ticker tape as mechanical echo falling in small twists from above. Something pressing, something pushing, something running from the marksman.