Saturday, June 6, 2020


quiet holy ambigram calculus win- 
dowing the softened girls's hair, 
buddy-system gemini scaled as for 
repenting queen bent over the hot 
oven--that the boy and girl push- 

ed her in--and the echo of chatty 
plaints subsuming the stairways & 
channels that carry heavy soil or 
nightly cares into the cavernous, 
chilling cold of eternity unnamed 

with the ignominious threats past 
finding out: succour our glancing 
wounds redounded with intellected 
stance or if the toll breaks open 
the debtors beggared every count; 

courtesan blinking fettered whole 
abstemious gilt, shivering horses 
that bilk, the gait understanding 
gentle moving that indiminishes.. 
omnipresent crescendo tattooing & 

splayed like spilt milk neverthe- 
less without guile, maximum silv- 
er satellite of infraorbital maze
surrounded with mausolean & laby- 
rinthine courts, ringing hammers, 

children whose gaze is to the sky 
mouths open in eager anticipation 
of the once and future king, this 
is a story i heard when i was un- 
owned and before i had been born.

Wednesday, May 20, 2020


sleep the mechanical bull of los- 
ing sleep intensifies with regime 
change, yet did you know that the 
skin skinned regenerates with you 
plumbing a depth heretofore dorm- 

ant? namely, words engage panting 
intercourse, sweating the poisons 
and serendipitously--redemptively 
too--that millennial erosion into 
last gasps, last laughs! the yoga 

that spelt spinning nondirection- 
ally recoups the 400 blows that'd 
dragged you, fletcher rubbed your 
face in it and points unknown the 
desirable, imprecise dépaysement; 

none of this means business: long 
placating multiplication the word 
of blind blues interrupted up and 
within the pleasurable swing that 
loads me lording over, how i sal- 

ivated those years to afterimages 
shredded and disconnected from my 
machine: left blank pulse residue 
that fervently beats the new jazz 
into the makeup of new world news 

and yes remembered the illuminat- 
ing ages foregone and foreclosed, 
rat cellars poemphasis hilda this 
enchanted, it's often too much to 
breathe in a slaughterhouse, too.

Friday, April 24, 2020


wick, why wry? is it the building 
that settles into its foundations 
or does the superstructure levit- 
ate upon history like a distorted 
head--on the shoulders of giants?

let alone that my impenetrability 
has got me weymouthed like angel- 
ical streets wending the commoner 
on a self-effacing path, yet yel- 
low my absolvent king-and-emperor 

who leans into the foreground, as 
if to banish me from view at once 
and from viewing: this is the ev- 
ening skeleton of absent-mindedry 
that evolves, blooming from zero; 

never not looking back, with such 
an adherent paranoia and fear the 
way out is impossibly grand, like 
teeth that chatter in cold weath- 
er tend to combust themselves all 

appropriate and vainglorious this 
mechanical song painting the tile 
and ceiling.. personality failing 
my mind had also been shredded to 
illustrate the prevailing, shift- 

er colourless liquid that tasting 
of doubt hollows & thrusted, such 
a dream was also on that roof and 
i feel enabled by this, made man- 
ifest & of course yes made a man.

Saturday, March 21, 2020


sofa the brush and unrepentant my 
illustrated span stretching along 
party lines resolved me unshaking 
to pry and pipe like the linguist 
my father was, all-revolving luck 

that brandished wipes the face a- 
way from the head, bodily against 
reception or to crow-- eyes fast- 
ened on an upwinding path shining 
into eternal infinity, leveraging 

and juggling the weighty, judges' 
accumulated synch, and spiralling 
the unravelled, rapunzeller free- 
fell enough to inspire the tales: 
over the hedge, through the door; 

unlock, open unto me thou discov- 
erer of mad cerulean fire as well 
as empyrean grey foams swollen my 
absent-minded minuet crashing, as 
if the divided pulse moved you to 

mark things, make wheels, wheeled 
within stone gold-veined whose o- 
tiose futures meld and waste like 
the rushes of waving winter.. not 
that she stands without, request- 

ing entry, or that anyone peculi- 
ar stammers out a tattooing blues 
that's bound and everlasting: the 
rumour was more that dance skewed 
our bodies, folding us into acts.

Saturday, March 14, 2020


sculptor, what are your hands for 
and how have they washed? sanding 
skeleton papers surround us as if 
a fighter was overhead, or likely 
the resurrection fomented come to 
pass in the conception of a child 
whose sharpening twist caduceuses 
the immanence of high, alliterat- 
ing, inevitable function: famili- 
ar and gathering the scrape-along 
subsistent fear overcome & trans- 
muted into the cure the wound may 
only be healed by the spear which 
smote it, hills-into-pasture bold 
books everywhere you look glowed; 

some manner of archaeology is im- 
plied in the dipped pen, reminder 
to skip a step once in a while in 
a cobbled, potholed crowd: that's 
limned for theatre, lissomed that 

traces self-sufficient beatitudes 
coherently through the cables and 
elevated trains of thought eugene 
was the last man on the moon, yet 
no one can admit any unease.. you 

walked, today, too! singing swim- 
ming songs, if only in forestall- 
ing the slough of despond as well 
as the brutalist future that even 
now descends, but that child too.

Wednesday, March 11, 2020


bubble the remonstrances of outer 
bongolia stricken as carel giving 
over to patterns, point de capit- 
on involving and rubber meets the 
road when you run out of road but 

nothing is inessential, i had two 
hands today and when walker skies 
the bell maths puddle like enorm- 
ous oases in the root, as eager.. 
trying to forget results in paper 

balled into fists as if viciously 
french, paste-eater of an ingenue 
who was held, scrubbing, intersex 
and infixed, god what's become of 
the baby?? nothing to do with me; 

as abandoned, so below: inspirat- 
ional avant la lettre, slummer in 
the tall city, dreamt afterimages 
sinking like frontloads, inbuild- 
en ships and hourglasses, if this 

is the future are we men or what? 
scrimmaging idolatries stacked in 
careless symmetry may be swiftly, 
finally flayed, but that doesn't, 
can't mean that the technological 

chora order, as well-- who're all 
these weirdos? my throat is sore, 
pulp accumulating on my welcoming 
face, egg, too, it doesn't cohere 
into nothing but it isn't unsafe.

Sunday, March 1, 2020


middling rubbed between the hands 
of deepening, vast gods--and this 
vista--and my shells & instrument 
are combustibly toppling, falling 
head-over-heels downstairs, as if 

bent with aching farsight & main, 
elective with the rolling blur of 
mistresses and their tresses, and 
well-dressed.. telly with biscuit 
and milk, places that lifted them 

by their bootstraps thrusting our 
pall within the revolving vibrat- 
ion of ground, distant reception- 
ist in heaven's antechamber takes 
notes agreeably, yet quite still; 

singers sing to us of the jilting 
cuts and edits of spilling mickey 
finns & ensconcing the reiterated 
bull that passes for peace around 
here lately, while our dear moth- 

er rocks, rocks, and rocks in the 
rocker of redundant rest, though, 
and i must admit that if you have 
come here for straight shooting i 
have many wonderful words for you 

to examine at your leisure, swift 
judgment to deliver never on sun- 
days and often the float of disc- 
reet scrawl, that just reminds me 
to smoke uncontrollably, shaking.