more spies

Here is the second part in a new series of poems. Thanks for reading.


spies in the field: lolly gaggers go nowhere


we watched her from the forty-
fourth
floor

as she cut her hair.
a cool
metal soft to touch,
the scissors must have been
kind in her hand.

we felt the pulse of the night,
always the night,
always in us, our veins,

good evil doers, spies in the midst,
traipsing the skyscrapers
and

make-believe,
giving it good and gracious
until

spilling off a roof someday

we’ll land atop a car and scream.

the woman does not notice us;
we can willow and melt,
oh yes.

new poetry series - spies of the field

Hey guys, I've been going through ups and downs lately in what exactly I want out of my poetry. Call it a long overdue period of artistic growth/wandering/whatever. Here's a poem from a new series, then. Enjoy!

spies in the field: gilded


it is we who don masks
and take
away the cigarettes from
a parlor

and suggest a sip of coffee with
a dark glance.
the half-moon
circles under a waitress’
eyes

is not enough to riot.

we think of overturning our
secret disguise and go around bragging.


a car upturns down the boulevard
and the city reminds us
that

the holy grail is hidden in its
guts,

and pulsating even,
and screaming even.

one poem of two

Hey guys, finally, some poetry from ol' Christopher Rufflebottom. This is one of two poems I wrote on the fourth of July. Happy birthday, America, you fuck! Long live rock and roll! To read the other companion poem to this, check out: bohococo.blogspot.com. Baklava!


birthday: America


it’s my country’s
birthday today.

bless you in five ways, oh
America:

bake those apples in clove and
dump cinnamon on
their hides;

catch a horse and attach
beer bottles to its
black mane;

tumble a firework stand in
dust and run it
raw with red meat;

heckle a spectacle and kick it
over
a car tire;

be bold and shoot your gun into the
supple sky.

there-in now we all
feel awkward
and just,
we have baseball and we
have sex and
we have
our

violence and our architecture.

happy birthday, America!

final typed page from co-lab!

Here is the final page from the Boho Coco performance at Co-Lab! Thanks for staying with and lookout, cause finally there'll be posts of different content! Hooray! Bastille Day! Also, Co-Lab is the fucking place to be, so don't forget. Cool.



and listen to some bozo try to read it:

typed page from Co-Lab show 5

Hey guys, hey girls, things have been a little slow, but worry not, here is another typed page of random love from the Boho Cocos and Co-Lab and a night in limbo. Enjoy!




and here is myself reading:

typed page from Co-Lab show 4

Hey hey hello hi hey there hello, it's been some time because my freaking a/c decided to break right when we were hitting the lovely temperatures of above 100 degrees here in Austin, but blah blah blah, nobody wants to hear my troubles. They want to hear me reading randomly typed poetry. Yeah! Dig! More from the Boho Coco performance at Co-Lab. Say, will you be there on the 4th to buy some art?

typed page from Co-Lab show 3

Here some more of that type you guys go crazy for. Random poetry typed from a performance at Co-Lab. Gee, guys, how swell. Check out: bohococo.blogspot.com, for more.