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Selections from A Pot of Lips and The Secret Brain
by Dave Brinks

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Waiting for the President of Argentina, with Daniel Finnigan
Osmosis Cosmosis, with Vincent Farnsworth


Selections from The Secret Brain
by Dave Brinks


All day you walk with a nap
spine the world
palm your forehead down
and every ripple streets a metopolis
like blood dark in its green bottle
like earth giving birth
to cauldron populations
the way a giraffe
leans into your dream
& laughs
like a gazelle
flying wet headaches of fire
out from the trees
this is precision not process
the moment when the stars themselves
finally give out
and all their angels
& auras flicker like the end
of your lost cigarette
then there will be no real choice
only a sudden loss of light
and your secret brain


after Andrei Codrescu

Often I mistake the opening in my soul for a knife
which is a curse for the insane. it usually follows
after every polite sentence and unbuttons the blood
on my hip. it was given to me by the barefooted
goddess of dice in the space of a kiss whose smile
tastes like whatever desires you most. there is no
escape. being amused will haunt you forever, as
am I, from having survived this wasted body. and
for having loved more than I could.

for Bernadette Mayer

between your holes and mine
no honey drips like infants smile
tho for a moment
my sureless head dozes
songs grown beneath the sun
like a thick oak
then slowly
goes back to work
where the maps keep changing
a pair of lips like rose & clover
two blue moons meet talking
in small blue explosions
questions answered in crimson
melt into place
oh dreydl dreydl dreydl
I made it out of clay

for Paul Jamey

dear friends all: the snowflakes
of armageddon are us
it's a blue movie
dripping baffled
& disconnected like the tomb
of christ
and as with any twilight
blasted with milk
we held it just enough
to hold it
until the clockwork jewels
broke off
then it was anyone's
trial with judas

Selections from A Pot of Lips
by Dave Brinks


with Andrei Codrescu

Always in fisted steel city air
I'm in the weather
Launching tiny pinballs
On the lake of the ocean
Your mother is my mother
Whose fever glows blue & slightly wet
And her galoshes squeak in Russia
In 1918 and in New York in 1965
With a whole ocean in them & she
Fills them with seditious moustaches
86 proof whiskey & Tibetan prayer-wheels
How dying to is like this: midnight
Encounters spilling up thru swamprock
Daniel & I dumping the clutch in Jackson Square
The radio singing lidded Billie Holiday eyes
And I feel like pulling a shiv from my boot
& screaming something incomprehensible
Some sort of reverse miracle
That would transform the St. Louis cathedral
Into a giant masturbating pelican
So the birds can reclaim their kingdom of expulsion
O wonders of wonder, I want to break the mind
Of this place into an orgy of woolen babushkas
Sounds leave the tongue like the secret
Interiors of broken zippers


with Bernadette Mayer and Philip Good

there we were bumbling kids lipsing
Zuckwheat Bydeco, little fingers, isopropyls
please leave your isopropyls at the door
one more round of Gingko
so much color is abound
berries of loudness & light & love
it's so very bright here
I feel good, so good
the stomper is stomping
down the beaters of the beaten
gooey and lo, how say the people
coddling tears lost today we
saw 9 crippled men watching Buckwheat
sounds against the no whatever world
the nowhere everywhere
and our thereness kept coming through
otherly motherly southerly
cheers y'all, love, the everyone

Dave Brinks lives in New Orleans and is currently working on his latest collection of poems, The Secret Brain.


The Snow Poems: First Snow, May 2000 by Lavender Ink

Email: Davebrinks@aol.com

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