BIO
Lewis LaCook makes things. He is a programmer/poet. He likes unstable objects. He doesn't eat enough. Send him all your money.
The Sky three.
3.
Within anomie, notice
in a way of seeing
cat slinks from the back
of the sofa crying. She says
hear me hear me, into placements
of water.
With the fucking
war in the back of
his throat, cooling all
movement, your amigo
gone, and yet still at
every edge
of every finger I
feel her.
That summer the crisis
greens the leaves. Anenome
in the dark, amid the barks
of howls. The summer's
quietude rubbing her hair.
=====
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
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Within anomie, notice
in a way of seeing
cat slinks from the back
of the sofa crying. She says
hear me hear me, into placements
of water.
With the fucking
war in the back of
his throat, cooling all
movement, your amigo
gone, and yet still at
every edge
of every finger I
feel her.
That summer the crisis
greens the leaves. Anenome
in the dark, amid the barks
of howls. The summer's
quietude rubbing her hair.
=====
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
__________________________________
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The Sky. One. And two.
1.
Summer afternoon in a quiet apartment tarnishes
quickly as the corrosions air will swallow lonely in
an annul in way. Plumes and pulp leopard-print raw
mind there, without thrall. Anenome moans, almost
porous with mis-typed nouns; facile with wraiths these
edges of new talking to her. You earn the nursing.
Running just beneath respiration, arid drawers that
sambo and clatter.
Bitter thunder, a virtue chorus a fungus, garages with
dips to accept or the corollary: capital pacifies,
oceanic: blood like a lizard, dervish or delicacy.
Your anemia shouldn't frown, because a mouth is so
much less without her. Earthful.
We like the troubling drums.
If I could tremble, ledged somehere fine beneath her,
in thirds would be enough? Here? Somewhat turns all
the colors down on rainy days. Able to, like
lengthwise upturned, as if not knowing any judgement
definitely a reqium somewhat. Desensitized to orgasm,
as if a saggiterraneous.
The motherfuckers in charge, it's kill or be killed.
Yellow hose sore. It's wholly erotic, off-centre but
necking, hardcore; SummerQuiet on a within of gross
remark. You think I'm just fucking with you? Pins with
cloud eyes won't know a hurting night of hungry
nothing: no: just reflecting.
Loose, but scuffling: judicious dross.
Some words just don't belong together. You've never
looked at a wall peeling with paint, you said; you've
never desperate traded. Keep me in the loop.
7/21/03
2.
WinterMute always had to repeat himself when he
explained it to them. Across the backyard, in the
narrow swatch of grass that seperated the two, one man
had coated his window with tinfoil. Leslie
hypothesized he was growing weed. And yet every window
you tried in the place was dark; WinterMute could feel
them buzzing to get in.
"I must have watched that yellow hose for hours. To a
beat," WinterMute was telling them, all the light in
the empty room weighing his smile. She wouldn't
understand him, quagmired as she was in him. Sometimes
she would flail, held so close there, and sometimes
she would even fly. "I remember," he was trying so
hard to smile. "You were there, and you, and you."
"Goodnight," she said. She'd never been that good at
decisions. "Don't stay up too late." In the dark you
messed up, all the time. WinterMute thought about the
war. Who were these people, he wondered. Why?
7/22/03
=====
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
__________________________________
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Summer afternoon in a quiet apartment tarnishes
quickly as the corrosions air will swallow lonely in
an annul in way. Plumes and pulp leopard-print raw
mind there, without thrall. Anenome moans, almost
porous with mis-typed nouns; facile with wraiths these
edges of new talking to her. You earn the nursing.
Running just beneath respiration, arid drawers that
sambo and clatter.
Bitter thunder, a virtue chorus a fungus, garages with
dips to accept or the corollary: capital pacifies,
oceanic: blood like a lizard, dervish or delicacy.
Your anemia shouldn't frown, because a mouth is so
much less without her. Earthful.
We like the troubling drums.
If I could tremble, ledged somehere fine beneath her,
in thirds would be enough? Here? Somewhat turns all
the colors down on rainy days. Able to, like
lengthwise upturned, as if not knowing any judgement
definitely a reqium somewhat. Desensitized to orgasm,
as if a saggiterraneous.
The motherfuckers in charge, it's kill or be killed.
Yellow hose sore. It's wholly erotic, off-centre but
necking, hardcore; SummerQuiet on a within of gross
remark. You think I'm just fucking with you? Pins with
cloud eyes won't know a hurting night of hungry
nothing: no: just reflecting.
Loose, but scuffling: judicious dross.
Some words just don't belong together. You've never
looked at a wall peeling with paint, you said; you've
never desperate traded. Keep me in the loop.
7/21/03
2.
WinterMute always had to repeat himself when he
explained it to them. Across the backyard, in the
narrow swatch of grass that seperated the two, one man
had coated his window with tinfoil. Leslie
hypothesized he was growing weed. And yet every window
you tried in the place was dark; WinterMute could feel
them buzzing to get in.
"I must have watched that yellow hose for hours. To a
beat," WinterMute was telling them, all the light in
the empty room weighing his smile. She wouldn't
understand him, quagmired as she was in him. Sometimes
she would flail, held so close there, and sometimes
she would even fly. "I remember," he was trying so
hard to smile. "You were there, and you, and you."
"Goodnight," she said. She'd never been that good at
decisions. "Don't stay up too late." In the dark you
messed up, all the time. WinterMute thought about the
war. Who were these people, he wondered. Why?
7/22/03
=====
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
__________________________________
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The Ghosts Who Are Waiting Outside For Us
http://www.lewislacook.com/sound/LewisLaCook_theGhostsOutsideUs.mp3
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
---------------------------------
Do you Yahoo!?
SBC Yahoo! DSL - Now only $29.95 per month!
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
---------------------------------
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Crying
for Renee
I pick fragments of my face out of us. I slip edge
against edge, sole judge of this beauty. I am all
gorgeous scars, for you to trace your fingers through.
As if in cupping rainwater from shattered clouds you
find your hands, so aching, while Jesus laughs and
pulls another spit of sun through my nipples. It's
slick here against the cross, two thieves flanking
her, two thieves who shatter and contract when I touch
what used to be you there. Icarus would want a neater
sentence, but tongues shower the desert in gelatinous
light, with granules of dust I steady this place in me
that was once yours, knowing too that hoping for a
stop to the movement is no hope at all, just space
between both of us and the promises, the goddamned
promises in the hall. Since you left me I walk at
night to gape at that worn-out moon.
What can you do when all the light in the room is
tired of you, and Jah laughs like a drunk freshman,
knocking down each and every wall you put up for
protection? Just beyond you see the brightness
promised by the end of the hall; you reach for it, but
two thieves swoop down from nowhere, the sky maybe,
slowly bloodied, and freeze your face like that, just
when a fresh tide of crying breaks.
=====
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
SBC Yahoo! DSL - Now only $29.95 per month!
http://sbc.yahoo.com
I pick fragments of my face out of us. I slip edge
against edge, sole judge of this beauty. I am all
gorgeous scars, for you to trace your fingers through.
As if in cupping rainwater from shattered clouds you
find your hands, so aching, while Jesus laughs and
pulls another spit of sun through my nipples. It's
slick here against the cross, two thieves flanking
her, two thieves who shatter and contract when I touch
what used to be you there. Icarus would want a neater
sentence, but tongues shower the desert in gelatinous
light, with granules of dust I steady this place in me
that was once yours, knowing too that hoping for a
stop to the movement is no hope at all, just space
between both of us and the promises, the goddamned
promises in the hall. Since you left me I walk at
night to gape at that worn-out moon.
What can you do when all the light in the room is
tired of you, and Jah laughs like a drunk freshman,
knocking down each and every wall you put up for
protection? Just beyond you see the brightness
promised by the end of the hall; you reach for it, but
two thieves swoop down from nowhere, the sky maybe,
slowly bloodied, and freeze your face like that, just
when a fresh tide of crying breaks.
=====
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
SBC Yahoo! DSL - Now only $29.95 per month!
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Return
http://www.lewislacook.com/sound/LewisLaCook_Return.mp3
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
---------------------------------
Do you Yahoo!?
SBC Yahoo! DSL - Now only $29.95 per month!
NEW!!!--Dirty Milk--reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/
http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
---------------------------------
Do you Yahoo!?
SBC Yahoo! DSL - Now only $29.95 per month!