www.agentofchaos.com presents guest poet, publisher/editor singer/songwriter Bree

selected poems
by bree

Beneath The Tree

Beneath the tree
an ark of light sails
as though through ink
:spelling a   Be  Here  Now

upon a New Snow.
thousand worms>gnats, dark things
themselves upon a scheming
to make it so.)


:the city wraps garland round a
busted street.

Trafficking the rush of holidays
from high a fleet of crows beak down

toward a sugar snow.
Collecting in a snow pile
:the gradient shades
of heavy traffic
each corner
a bruise /brown/
and blue.

The Buddha is a carved bark reminder
that this rush of days

Everywhere are signs pointing to the sky/earth/foliage
and eye of strangers roaming mindless,,
(earth red brick
green ivy

Let us gather round a tree
and once more be moved
to Be Cheer And How!

An Axis Mere

=Among the houses,
the quiet of winter,
the blossom
from under it=lawns
spread wretched like lemons
squeezed, and I wheeze
from the smoke, phallus in my lips
I clog then free=(
willing the purpose
(working the pulpit loose.

Walk each day a new bloom,
:churn a length and steep:
peel film from | wave meets
coarse | meets ruminary/ delinquence.

Smile at the cause of it
}causary  :  blow blind.

Scuff or blank on a rhythm
stepping loose leaf on a grain lit floor
whose wash is gone
or more the pace
which is the
exhume wind
,,fish obey at fins sweeping,,,,,,,,_walk meaningfully
as if on a tour
>face creep
of brick undoings/ swear its real, a gleam '
saw a world unto a brow : screw drive a raw intention

sand the block in answer to a calling --just away, swear

just around that way.

o- Spin!

At the Bar  |  Outside Time
;while stirring}
A jack of knife in red suede eyes the sticks,
torn open pomegranate flesh=sword piks, in a rocks glass
shine binding on a book, in bar light
I sit
upon a bar
and look between-read
lonesome in the dark
I trace
an elegance,
with tin curve cigarette
boxes |  the fresh, unaware quality
of a doomed room

bound doom in buried stare-,go back
/sip/or chew;
like irony     wasn't
funny            ain't
care. (         cute!)

(Nary a slip into the circus, whose swiped tent
bares variegated feces
a constant candied red beat
upon a child excitement
never wrapped/gargled/or packaged for sale.
Flap for a passing.
Up and down go the ponies on a golden track.
Browned into the walks: sour melted cotton, pink.
Driven to a frenzy, gamblers of an unmoved face.
Animal sweat. Grease from peanuts. Toybox music
birds pink grey-against the backs and feathering
among the crowd a  flutter
in urgent
and keep

stir a thought in a gin and tonic.

Takes Time, The Lie

Mending with properties
from the modern store
,only seconds from
Like Brand New

guaranteed, for pennies practically.

Me no stock in long recipies.

Me an ape who buys the appliance,
complies to a schedule of sleep
and wins time.

Couples break apart
like good chocolate
crumbling into bites.

Divorce/death/  fire rings around a jacket

.keeping out the fresh.


denied becomes the marriage
of new snow
with wizened limbs.

Little sips of cold air calm me on a walk
away from one I loved and couldn't teach
but listened to
creeping from a desk  constricted by my reach----

and in the calm I hear the melody that climbs a step before me

leading to the surest death
the life complete  o splendor!

The Lie. (The It Takes Time.

It only happens now!

Or be robbed.

No see gold ripening
on red, blemished
pit, nick beauty/impair glow ….fall behind….. .

Take emanate from time( and sip on cold air
the nectar of delinquence
{breeze} take, take

then, wait and see.

Guaranteed.                   (By YOU!)

No money.
No Time.
No Labor.
Step into the line.=.=.=.=.=. Coursing.=La.=.de.=. die you.

"-----man lives balanced or in self defense."

Me Not Robbed me course and when into thickets me child shows through

.Not worry me.

See a wave undulate, blind wiping
Lint from lint. Me no wallet brave.

One shoe on and one shoe off

Cannot frighten an idiot)

Me no hear and me no see

I ain't got your drugs in me.

Want come play my house
,now close your eyes.

Cars, everything is periferal
Music is, is not played

Fall on bump

Waddle away.

Ideas do not stream
they course a walk | pond through |
the muck collects | orange fox fires
his eyes direct a lock
             widening : moment
       ways around, trees near
life breath drawn to sweeping
bright backfades ways back
skies spread themselves out tautly

as a wife knits or scriptures allay.
Slow spread
may glisten under lamp
or course
a main.

page top   page bottom    bree home

Without A Care For Politics

We’ll pass
and what is left will be
a pseudoephidrine tablet
bloating in a pinkened skein.

Red stripes roll from within.

Blur the passed artillery
with a gin passioning for grandma’s cooking^.

The anti hero’s on tv.

==Black gleam on a razed lake of ice.

Slick and not nice.

==We’ll jaunt through gay
and having mercy.

Boycott what’s left
for a murky grey star
gay flag-watch the landing.

Our birth-death docking.

We’ll hold our own myth cocoa
round the fire
and curse the lighting.

Slow moves the sinus
like a planking reelship sighting in
the lower depths an ice-blue sodden viking.

We the merry ones tie in{
tie on }tie up them antiwar omnibus,
                minstrels in the clearing shot before a pity fence
in writing.

By whose glad designing
wave a sad melt stripe unwinding, Sudafed>> may it be God’s tithing
in that we lay in resevoir  wood ages  rock evens in lines   waned.

happy day/Bree.

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Do all men have a drug that shows them faces
in the shadows of a learned bark/stung by the whip of
a rain
\and yet in stark view of street lamp who looks

An ice soars out over the water holding moon light
>moon itself hovering       moons away from,
                          I fold laudry
and marvel
does    to a sinus already enflamed.

Mine is pseudoephedrine -mix and match
   but a little,

               and Dang!       .does the job

The pill is the snap of snake-tail in still waters, my
Stirs the propellar, putting into check what isn't

Or even just being outside is a buzz.  Why, all I does
is use a drug, come it in a jug or a ray of light!
Breath quickens or slows like a perverted pulse
and depends on |  in accordance with
life    is a drug, or less metaphors call it   gift,

Oh brow upon a brick, expressions follow birdsong
under what knife I use to do away with
I am calmed of any fears
For I'm the surgeon who decides,,,

So, long as I read the box instructions
keeping in check the date and time
I will be drugged,   be it music or vice.

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The Wrong Version : Under a Cloth for It

My heart lies under a warm cloth,
a cloth that is wet.
It slumbers, half-hearted pumps
with basslines or moonbeams,
ginlines or piano keys,
my heart just listens.
It does as it gets.
It won’t plan,
it can barely forget
what made it so, so, so it gets
to where a warm cloth slides over,
warm and wet.
When my heart, it is sleeping
then I take the chance
to hear music acreepin
where nothin is spent
or chosen
and nothing is due
but do do do listen
and let.
When music stops I begin.
Words assert themselves
and I win over whole song
strong as a storm overtaking field
and children weep for this
and elderly look out their window for this
and animals race wild eyed for
trees breathe in their brazen fold chest for
eyes become in their skin what a heart does when open
mine sits, as asleep in a warm cloth and wet for
I remember,
I remember when my heart sleeps
and music
If I weren’t a singer, well I’d miss
the way breeze starts opening.
I’d slumber through a star stretch
or be too loud when fall has its rise.
I might not begin to tell
a soul about this
if I weren’t full of it
so full full of it
that stars weep even as they do their job
and in the eyes of higher-ups even so
they weep for this
and also waves dance because they have this
and you even feel this as my words speak their
fashion sense,
and I am alone with this sometimes
it ‘s also as if I’m the world with this
and so home home home.
Home with the blues
It’s weeping walls and waterfalls
That slide out in place of talking,
Chorus of hertz in the suburbs
and the rush of it going to corners,,,
For what?
For the hush of it?
For the lush in it?
Drinking whole notes and wiping
bout half on the cuff of it?
Is the whole planet blue,
or just painting the scales on
for sales pitching
and later
ditching the whole mess
for a coupla bars and some dress?
What sounds bitter at first may be
bitter on purpose, getting sweeter still till it hurts.
Or it could be purposely lazy.
Making a point.
Hum above it,
Drown it out with some herb.
Or, move with it slowly attending to curves.
But love it better than you can
And it will work, will work.

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Masturbating the Still Sit By the Ocean in Mauii, Now Cleve.

The coze of a wind chair
and knowing boats having nothing to do with
    in their steady stare deeply into the dank
churn tub that is a thousand many thousand beyond cleaning

that is cleanliness as a painting is itself
                 and dresses quick^

that the palms appear cartoon pooches
(pooches in a slow dumb entertaining)

wag then waits the look see
not shame like eyes.

Grass walls up and contains
    dresses fall
            and the tongue behaves.)

thin as fog
round breasts who have only streetlamps now
     and a tattered
 cave brick     mud still           churn tub wind chair,       wide.

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: Old Charter : Skirtwide the Stake :

I do not stand on the serrated

corrugated or raked

I am swallowed like a sip or lake

I am tragic, like the moon or a last embrace.

But with a knifed in back pin stripe methane

I am choking

       and what you see are eyes two pools for their breathing

for their scheming.

I scheme with every sip.  I write of drink now.

I mean of sucking from the earth in one long drag

                        an owned silenced Right.

I mean I steal freedom and won't walk a steeled plank./ won't get my

toes cold for the looks of things or feel because I'm told to.

I mean everything I have stolen

cause no gift without remorse,,

no compliment without a future
                 compromise""no prayer muttered at the stake
that was not a private prisoner

            a flamebroiled or seared escape.

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Watched Walking the Atrium of a Waiting Room

Eyes on the wall of a faded dream> Elephant Stepping pink petal
for persian carpet>Path along the gods' houses where inside
straight people sleep.
Cricked and woozened I creep.
      Grill watched by opening barkstrip>Crane-Mouth Birth>

                    subtle and no gums>
Textiles growing.
Jagged sill of rock view> warm hoarfrost
                                             Cleveland Ozone Warning.
Post operative and alive fully, as if having never Hen Drawn
       into a building.

page top   page bottom    bree home

Walk a Course Through (an exercise)
Near sleep the building lets
 on that he knows the dealings,
  the inner goings on
  or noxious feelings\
Course         ;or seethe,

 Feel it when you breath  ,   ,  ,   , Begin again.
           | |  | | |  | | |  | | |  | | | | | | | |

                                              ( .


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