I feel examined
By cautious meats
With wet soft teeth
I've earned an energys' attention
I'm being fumbled with and considered
Perhaps I am to be
A tester of new waters
On lifes' behalf ?

foisting up at the strop of yawn
i remark,
impared
at the bluffers worn
it is kildy and capy
i'm underly mistaken
i plonder on my clothing
and part the towd ranglings
blind are the dawnings
it's still a mite
at four gone the night
and more a tune til the mourning
i am blowtard and sworn
i mumble back to kibble
and a mount full of scorn

A murmur of Lawyers show up at my door
Shy on thier woes
and all a shell of supposed business
They brush off their feet
and form a bray
about the perimeter of the living room
It is to be a patterwork of fabrication
a dusting of 'truths' and angles
a murderwork
a carrion of conclusion
an exhaustion
an enemy
a sick thing
and I opened the door
I invited it in

This is a Me
(hands indicate the body that they are a part of)
A responsive sock of meats
flush with The Other
and stringy with Thinker

From The Other
opperations may be performed
Within this mix
a View dwells
and this could be said
to be a Me

It's a bit of a confusion
but it can be worked
It could be tidier
With this as thought
The Being makes
a physical step forward
A Me indicated that it ought to
and it did

My Buddha remains seated
My Buddha honours silence
I tread each step
I perform each breath

A caster of mimes and mimicry
Stilts a prance
About the tomb full of guests
It's a mirrored jest to ease discomfort
Visitors present their cards of invite
And go swiftly about the social wetwork
Their practices and manners
Interact and ply
Pulling teeth of the guises
Harvesting an imflamation of words
A baffle of tongue chorings
There is an hour
A second
Then a third
Whittling time
Taming code
Resorting to a little physical...
And then they take their leave ;
Prizes into the nights snare.

Let's discuss The Redpath...

It's a way of base-studded energies

It is an expression of pains
With brief relief and heavy repercussions

It has ,in mind, the idea of a powerful hunter
But creates, instead, a coward of heady minded ignorant opportunity

It feeds with an already full and greasy belly

It's a wealth of pleasure exceeding to become sickness

It discards friends and favours ugly company

It is extremity
It is ****** and criminal imagination stretched foul and giddy
It forsakes cloth less and honest art

It takes to the air but comes up biting

It rids horror
Only by taking the part of horrors drama until it bonds no more

It spacks you open
And spares you scrappy litter

It degrades you when it promised you bliss by annihilation
And sleep upon oblivion

There's just futility when you pound on the the remaining closed door with bratty fists of anguish

It's pollution ; a rotting expense
Don't play with The Redpath

                      - Coal bitter heart tar

It's a trick of the imagination
It's a tremble of words
A trickle till saturation
A treacle of the absurd

A blink to regain reality
I think therefore I have a malady
A drink and a pill
To recall of some storm
A brick
A window
A breach amongst sanity
Some ink to **** on to the page
Pad torn
And I'm a fink
A sage
A bone
And a bore
Minimum wage
On form
To earn
An audience with royalty
Score one for mortality
I'm a scribble
I'm a scribe
Free to reside
And shake up a globe
With ruin ingestures
And muddy brutality
And wonderless digestions
I am my own worst memory
A victim of vanity

My Buddha walks for me
My Buddha draws the breath
I am a passenger
I am free to observe design

A thoughtless thought ;
a power-naught
a thought not taught
yet
still
a thought ;
toughly bred
and thorough wrought

We've bin' in this graveyard
For many a year
So I cough
Politely
To sully the still
And I tender this query
To you're ever wilting ear
''Can you see through me now ?'

Guillemot
I breath a knot..

..In urgency
I heist free a gob..

..A Bird at Sea
My eye is caught..

..by a blink
a wink
further out to Sea..

..Land fails to grip
Land flights
A whip..

..a task released from necessity.

be wary always
of my ever waiting
romantic depression

it crouches always
in the spaces between
the walls of my study
observing my progress
with a welling of loss

Put Sleep to Death
And let's purify madness
We shall practice giddy boils of imagination
It would show up a Bachus shambles
(By comparison, an amateurs stumble)
Put Sleep to Death
And bright
And quick lives could flare
Brief celebrities
Hastily added
To this new chattering evolution
There'd be little tongue for morals
And sorrows would be
Swift experiments
Once experienced
Abandoned
Uncovered as unimportant
Let's make all lives
What they really are
Let's put Sleep to Death
And be recognised
As blurs
As shots
As stars and grime
Firing in this universe
This playground
This raw wash of activity

Thieves are the night
But they are not thieves
That is just a dusty title
They take only in your sleep
And they take only what you don't have the strength to discard
In dreams you must shed clean
And rest in your new vulnerable sack
Or you shall insomniate in your kept leavings
You'll go quick mad with trains of ideas
And fast blood
Many perish when they power the buffets
And tightening elements
Instead of serenely observing from within the sway

The thieves are amiable in our sleepy wound
But stray awake
They become fidgeting dead weight in blotted corners
Or perched leaden upon your chest
Playing with different ****** experiments
A knowing one over a fearful child

They are soon to knit together
Your heart condition
Your madness
Or your nervy puppet disposition
And your **** path
To a less restless
And more organic bed

It is here that I must rest my words
And match the horizon upon a mattress
I breeze my mind
And project a welcoming state
To the thieves and the night.

.....the love showed up...
..mocking at my door..
...scratching imperfections...
..into the paint..
...till my senses jarred...
..and the manor with which I viewed this world..
...was declared
(feast in maw)
"Dealt with"

I battered open the door
And let in
An overwhelming nutritional excess....
.....refeeted in this way
I was handed all this :
The damage was
a Rinth of Life
when all I wanted
was a page to unfold

drinking my moth away
laid out in the potion
a whum, wing and a daze
a sway
a motion with the undergraze
i brighten a pipe full
i become in spirit with its corded sage
and a flutter
as i fright the flame
free from the match-(dead)
a muffled bray
a pleasant wern
i climb a breath
and shudder into bluffle

poor and tardy ; i'm broken from birth
with a criminal blade of nothingness
concealed about my person
i'm an untreated thing

i'm growing from there
i'm gnawing at life
it's increasingly undemanding
as I still it by my side as a 'not a friend'
indifferent
impermanent
and, all the more, reassuring for it.

The hurdles I must *******
gauze against breath
within this gripe
of well patrolled
polite sobriety

What clarity can I operate ?

take a breath
expel a myth
pattern a thought
create an action
reset and repetitude

Deathlessness
becomes my Oedipus
Restlessness is my Vein
I spy from the Windows
upon the Exterior ;
It's Humid, Night and Rain
I pave my Thoughts ;
all bark and froth
I Pound in Drinks
It Powers tight my Bellows
I Hound the Clock
My energy thrives out a fan of nerves
I create an idea of what's soon to be
A plan of a posable culture
forms flossy in my Tide
and
(as the Night Out steps up)
It Bites firm in my mind

I stride across the threshold
Betraying nothing
Of the Savage I've put together
Slough Suited in neat Disguise.

Raw Meat and Red Teeth
I'm a Bow to the Moon
I Click over Cobbles
My Mad Energy
Bailed in my Stomach
I Task Myself
Open
And Daring Prey to Cross the Tension
Strung on my Senses
All Hot Gut and Wire
I'm Playing at Being
A Wild and Mean Thing
And I am Dedicated to this Wound.

i write this litter to you
this **** of determination
to pile upon what went wrong
between the you and us
and the wash that lapped oily over us

these pickings form these words
and riddle this confusion
i intended this as a cleansing incineration
but didn't tack
into account
the polluting smoke
a signal pointing us out
for the investigation of others
they see only the ugly pillar
and smell the plastics
and melting paints
and consider our whole deal
vile and criminal
they see none of what an aura
we once created

that's now a scrap
i try to net and haul

a catalyst in my nosebag
treks into a lung
the atlas of the sponge I inhabit
recognises the chore
but takes the spore in hand
when it should have humiliated it as the enemy
and talks to its information

a new and playful thought is born
a youthful rebel
passed into storage
but be prepared when there's trouble
there's a mutation stirring
and it's not fond of the authority

i need people

people need people
like a sponge for a bed
like a hole in their attic
and a disease of the head
and a burn on their lifestyle
and a turn for the worse
and a failing of gratitude
and a gut split
or vessel burst
or to be drugged in time
or drenched of thirst
it's all people care for
and all they deserve.

i need people





© Jon Thenes 2005

i like you much-plenty
we're 'sitting in a tree'
i lift you touch-gently
(this confuses me greatly)
so i prise open your eyes
and i find you glass-empty
i find you with
no soul at all






© Jon Thenes 2005

Little by Little
He softened in the Head
He drank from his own Spittle
Stored in Jars
Under the Bed
He said Daily Prayers
And waited for The Girl
But Drowned in his own Pale *****
Then Stiffened
In a Curl








© Jon Thenes 2005

there's vinegar on my fingertips
from the time we spend in bed
from the way we rub together
and the friction in our head










© Jon Thenes 2008

Course splinters as I brush my hair.
I deal with my brittle armor
One external body plate at a time
I rub on layers of oil
And stand in a warm place
I try to cure the tough weathering of my proceeding age
But this is just maintainance
And now this morning task is done
It's time to turn my mind to the rust of the day
And the leaves from off of the list
At designated times I shall take my pellets
Bend my limbs
And take a rest for the energy
Then quiet my stirrings
And return to the excercises of a daily span
Bed to a bed
And all the focuses accordioning inbetween

Soften the membrane
of Creative Thought
not the memory taught
Let the Seive of Osmosis
relax into action
not the pounding thought
but the Natural Draw and Release
Ease into Ideas
and construct a Tidy Bed
a Cleared Desk of Concentration
an Operation of My Dreams
Structured
as a Part Within
The Worlds Form
Rightful in place
and Marked Out
then Mailed Out
When Ready
Make me A Use
that I may
In Simple
Create.








© Jon Thenes 2015

... and there's a smile on my face
riddled with disgust
and smothered in mace
If I could I would grin
but my teeth are puzzle-chipped
and my lips won't cave in
and my eye stalks are being pulled at ;
I've bin' drinkin' Acid Gin

Now you ...

There's mocking in your voice
You're talking down at me
(I couldn't ignore you more)
I wish we had a choice
We continue
We're both in animal pain
I wish we'd shut up
I wish it would Rain

"Wanna hang 'round this old ruin
and hold hands
and pass blank looks to and fro
and lie on our backs
and think of such to say
and throw sticks at the stars
and blow our minds on cheap tricks and alcohol ?"

"There's nothing left to last
nothing left to lose
So let's burn down this house
and throw away your shoes
Let's climb all the trees
and live in their clutches
then tear down their branches
and cut off the bark
and destroy all their chances
Then we'll move from there
back to civilisation
to the Hotel Of Despair
where we'll stare down the walls
and work on repair. "







Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]

nothing flights these skies tonite
nothing burns above our heads
or crackles in the air
or glows in the houses about us
as we pace the cool and empty
the alleys and the meatless streets
and the clean scaleless cobbles
carry our patternless birch-bare feet
a sail less nite
but a kite to the imagination
a bringer of new
lighter beings
osmosis
through our faultless immigration




Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]

no more eating V.C.D.s
or licking saccharine from the acid trees
no more belly tight with saline mead
or a compass when you bleed-ache-bleed
'cause the time you buy
you tell of
is time
well spent
in a soft-head cell

no more draining of the bottle
or shelling of the mortar

know that all you sense today
is a bitter venom on its pulse-sent way
and the space your habit needs
is a tooth gap
and a pulp-pink tease

and the soil of what's to be
is deafening to me

no more scattered curiosities
no more dosing til you sick-sweet-sneeze
no more stilting on your knees
no more eating V.C.D.s *

Note : Visual Cure by Distortion




Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]

When I passed into hibernation
My tastes began to sour
Birds of prey
And emergency vehicles seemed to attend

It's for medicinal purposes
I'm in hibernation again
For it's that time of year
I've left my blood under soup skin
And my mind's in books and pieces

Winter passes

Perhaps time to take on life once again
And the disease-beats in between ?

The seasonal change excites me
My heart beat increases
And returns to normal
My breathing quickens
My blood wakes me

The seasonal change excites me
My feet were turning black
My eyes were folded heavy
Now I'm flowing back
Victory !

My blood likes my limbs now
And I take in moisture through the skin
I lick my lips for the sensation
And my thought tilts with sin

I stretch to my full height
...but cramp up :
Hey !
This doesn't belong !

This is muffled
This is unsane !
I excercise my muscles
Then shrink back in pain
It's not meant to be ...
Hibernation once again.



Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]

draining life
seeding life
spill from life
and let your husk spoil
dust and the ether
your matter degrade
your scribe and ghost disperse

scatter your brain ;
your memory taught
nutrate the soil ;
the soil of what's to be
and learn a new form

in simple
return



© Jon Thenes 2011

EXT - SUMMER NIGHT - THE INCLOSED COURTYARD OF A CONDEMED HOUSING BUILDING

I'm on a balcony on the third floor. I'm on my own. It's my first time trying Salvia. It's a mild form. The experience lasts approx 10 mins. I feel timid and tired afterward. It took strength not to leave my position on the balcony over the railing.

theypackedherupinthetightestboxandtieditshutwiththebrightestlocks­ofthepreviousgirlandhergoldendespair.

© Jon Thenes 2015

FADE IN :


                   Open Casting

Medulla Dentata ;
The Marrow Of The Matter
The Teething Of The Day
A Whittle In The Pathway
A Meander In The Pattern
But An Anchor Within The Stray

Both A Complex Labyrinth
And Baby's First Rattle
In Oceans I Lay ;
Medulla Dentata

                   Patter Root


                                         FADE OUT


© Jon Thenes 2015