"To the moon, Alice"


Miss the moon
Claw the earth
Eat the dirt
Feed bowls seed
Sleep feld stream
Drink the trees
Fog mirrors sleeve
Dry airs eyes
Mouth walls door
Sniff sinks need
Lick roofs round

Alice asked me once, “what’s three more after you've had four?” I didn't have an answer for her then We’d been drinking and I gave her a ride home Her apartment was just boxes and dead soldiers, empty half-gallons, and glass jars growing green and brown She talked over and over about Mick Jagger and how there were hidden lyrics in the Rolling Stones’ songs, which made me want to go back to the bar and drink more, to understand her, but the bars were closed and there was 15 miles between her apartment and home She guarded her words with rant scratches and scattered barbs, as though she had to obscure her words to hide their handsome lines and rasped clarity Always missed her when she wasn't around

Thumb Poem #17


Frank Sauce believes words can be a riot, but not sure if his words are a riot. Frank Sauce likes 'fist first wins,' the most of this saucier of frank poem.

She shyrockets into the tufts of tomorrow
I suckle on the marrow inside memory
and imagine

Whoever gets their fist first wins
The rest receive a pat on the ass

That's what these bushes teach me

Thumb Poem #18


Frank Sauce smokes boatload of smokes in a saucier way

"Would you rather Pavement or the world?" He asks us

"Hope," we all could reply

How many times do I have to stand amid art and listen to pandering drivel of pompous asses

Too long it seems

They must feel it's important

They are so silent now
"Souled", he says

Smokers outside smoke the man and his microphone that smotes us

I am reminded of why poetry is a black art

Dialogues for Nothing #1


We were the Brussels of humanity, if just for a moment, we believed that the believable was worth believing in and that which is unknown had no meaning and didn't need to be recognized, just filled a space that did not exist to us, but perhaps by knowing or believing that these unknowns filled a non-existent space beautifully,we recognized that while their purposes were unknown they existed, they were something outside us, but perhaps inside others, known and may be felt by others and those others we too will never know and they will never know us   Even though we do not know them and do not give significance to the unknown and unknowable that they might or might not know, at least for a moment, we see the people we do not know who know unknowable things and perhaps at that moment they are aware of us and recognize that we might or might know the unknowable things that they refuse to name   In that precise moment, though we do not know each other, we may be able to know what we know and do not know, as if those ideas we never had ourselves become real because one of us knows or has had that idea and  those ideas and things that remain unknowable become real in the space created between us by each of us thinking or recognizing each others existence at the same moment
And those ideas come to us from seemingly nothing and out of those ideas derive invention
But perhaps this is nonsense and not worth an effort   It should have been kept a secret, unshared, but my ruminations are so completely within me, that this consumption may seem palpable even to those who do not know me, but only know my surfaces, those things within myself that may rise and appear, whether I decide to show them or not, as if my will were choiceless and my consumptions easily seen

Pacing Poem #1


Please tomorrow
as if yesterday
pleads for today

Green Mother


Frank Sauce's blood is green
Fly be free mean green mother
Shrouded in a myth
you are life

yesterday was lonesome
works a sacred day
we blaspheme green everyday

you know where your heart is

he doesn't like the color green
perhaps he is more mean than you
Green Mother
Mother Green

an amalgam of memory, regret and forgetfulness
there is nothing
here is everything

this seams less than you
Green mother
Mother green

The impossible posits the possible
and then there is me and you
we know each other

A casual glance
a remorseless tangle
what weeds we bramble

a bramble of green
this day almost gone
here we are

Thumb Poem #15


Frank Sauce is a sludge wall. Amen.
I hate you poets

You're sludgewall

You can have convenience, which I can never spell correctly without a prompter now

So I drink myself to knot and beyond

A poet is a poet, what more do you want?

A poet is their soul, and that is why I hate them, unless they are hot

I heave you, poets!

I am fast that needs to glean you with your words, its pure means, if just for a moment, poets

I love your poetry

Oh, you silly, strong, seized, wild, mainline, mad poets!

you make me drink more because I feel more

Oh, how I lust for the wiggle in your verse, your sumptuous phrase

When you make an ugly word beautiful and the best word real

Thumb Poem #14


Frank Sauce prefers lungs over throats, teeth over mouth

She has a speech impediment, we both have spines

Doorknob platter

Cellophane and hay, yay!
Broken fake marvel in the diva den

I'm gonna break it That said, gotta triple and shitty service

You're lo-cash cause you're lo-class

Shake that ass down into my ditch, which reminds me of my skin’s will to flesh

We are just people

She's so Led Zepplin that I feel heavy around her

Thumb Poem #13


Frank Sauce is the convector of earthly delights
You alone with your smorgasbord of emotions deceives you into thinking you're not alone Its last breath before temptation convinces us all awry The latest sorrow begins with a snag, a fray and a yowl The fork forks as it remembers that it wasn't too long ago when life was eaten

“If you are not a fork, you will be forked,” the forks sustain

Thumb Poem #12


Frank Sauce is a child in disguise

I found the rapid man, he didn't find me

I was rapid once as a child on my knees

Now my knees know pant legs and elbows

Thumb Poem #11


Wind sails full of bluster match swells chopped white against the moon

A creedless man braced against a rail, his will to fall matches his will to rise

The splash-spray creases his face, his grimace half wild

"Have you ever used these symbols before?" she stalely asks

"No. Never." I reply surprised

Thumb Poem #10


Sever several
severe waves

Drought through last season

Your bein' becomes too much for us, an overload of person

A peninsula of cakes eaten in spite, all of us now being cakeless thanks to you

We saw you before you became weightless, and wondered at your sexiest of obesities, like gluttons we dined on all of you for our densest pleasures

Thumb Poem #9


“One more?” he asks

“Yes, please,” I reply

It's a full moon and our anniversary

You expect me to stay sober for this dear Buzios?

Then you my beautiful mess, your dream of the past, your dream of new wealth, are sadly mistaken

You should know how I feel about dreams of ascension

It gives me sad smile, like bile

We don't what it is or what it does for us until we taste it

It's a bitter root for our consumptive lives

Thumb Love Poem #1


We have sex and listen to the wind arrest the chimes, frisk them, throw them down out back

I wake up to metal and you sigh

One of us will have a Waterloo in our loins before the day is over

Stuff n' Things


Frank is the stuff of Sauce

you don't know what happened unless you were there
that's what they say, "it's nothing that I envisioned "

it's good if you want it to be

the same or better more seems a long shot that won't last

it's good for the soul, they say

that's the way it is sometimes, isn't it? the breathing takes a nap, a long itinerant map you know how it is, but it doesn't always happen that way, does it?

it's a long way to go, the everessence of nothing, a calamity of skin and bones

gets lost in the malaise, the bygone years should be gone, but they linger

alive in the afterlife of tomorrow

he's a one arm bandit, with a purr and a whimper, the bang ends the world

the toes and the heels resound with the sound of sleep The shell of a man vibrates, a turbulence inside I have found this a thousand times, and a thousand lines that measure time

it is ok, even if you almost died The breath is gone


you're a bookeeper, what do you want?

you feel the smile and dread the aftermath, but it's all noise and lessons learned that doesn't help us make sense of what happened before and what may happen after

it's a lot that is parked A life lived through mirrors and lenses, car doors and engines, gas and pedels

normally you'd be there more and less, more gone then we care to remember

like you remember, alive and quiet inside

are you alive and well? It does matter because we are all matter and energy taking up space, if just for a moment

Will of nothing comes of this It's love through another electronic door

Frank Sauce

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