here's the new year's day poem I read at the marathon; Brandon Downing wanted me to call it New Year's Dayquil, but I just stuck with the title of the poem I mangled in order to construct this poem

ASIA

The surly plagiaristic hipsters heard

The putrefacient beep rise up from a rhapsodic melancholiac!

And each ran out from his moon-round engine room;

From his ancient lemon-scented Den flambé;

For the meatier meander of tolazoline skies was startled

At the thick-flaming solids of tenebrous backwardness.

The daily did sing:

Your thought-creating iguanid is my wife!

I’ve been star-gazing!

there’s a dance of saga in the disarray!

I’m wishing! And so am I, hebraical cryogen!

Watermelon shapes are stupid,

and if ifs and ands were pies

and communications,

we all would flense.

Blazon your accompanyists, and ridge your horn!

And the Kings of Catachresis stood

And cried in bitter, time-fused pantaloons.

How shall they troubleshoot the scentless smile, the faecal pop -

their libertine bosoms all pigborn, and ossiferous?

They’ve got so many Hasidim!

How shall the paradisiac, for petulance, eschew the mauve spiritism?

Fecklessly you had a tampon of tsarinas!

Anchor, sapphire puss!

To retrain! to dismay! to spin!

The cherry red bourgeois contrivances;

In the day, of full-feeding fluffy narcissus horses;

And the night of matriarchy chandeliers.

Shall not the Game-Bird tranquilize the oval foxily?

Of syncopation on the laborious watermelon shape?

To fix the clog of Hellenistic tics;

To invent allegoric whiskerless spoons:

And the privy admonishers of slick termagents

mew like light patients

For heaps of perspiring bone,

In the night of veneers & processes

To turn man from his smile tattoos,

To restrain the child from the timidly, velvety-plumaged

if not gray-pink, womb,

To cut off the nympho from the salvo,

That the rebukingly blueberry day may learn to obey.

That the pride of the breeze may fail;

That the lust of the perfumer may be quench'd:

That the ornamental gazelle in its infancy

May be appall’d; and the nostrils open’d way up;

To teach mortal worms the path

That leads from the gates of the tentative hello.

Leonard Nimoy sitting in the front heard them cry!

And his shudd'ring waving hypocritical sousaphone

Went enormous above the red flames

Drawing clouds of flaccidity thro' the heavens

Of ultrasonic singsong as he went:

And his Books of greasy air & gossip

Melted over the land as he flew,

Heavy-waving, howling, colorizing.

And he stood over his opinions:

And stay'd in his moisty place:

And stretch'd his yellowish-beige clumps over Jerusalem;

For Caruso, a monastic shrimp

Lay bleach'd on a garden of eye makeup;

And Molly Ringwald as white as dental implants

On the mountains of a poesy so serflike

it resists fire.

Then the plumaged furballs of refulgence bellow'd aloud

From the woven darkness of the words.

Richard Nixon raging in amaranthine darkness

Arose like a pillar of fire above the yelps

Like a jewess of fermented flame!

The sullen Earth

Slunk!

Forth from the passably plummy dust rattling breasts to breasts

Join: shaking convuls'd the shivring cicada-like cicada breathes spangled

And all flesh naked stands: Poets and Fiends;

Mothers & Implants; Husbands & Concubines:

The gelatinized twinkler shrieks with delight, & shakes

Her druggy womb, & clasps the solid stem:

Her bosom swells with wild desire:

And theories & blooms & glandular wire.