Wednesday, March 22, 2017


rhyming, as if stepped--or steep-
ed--building, that will not leave
you unedified, o it has got royal
pardons and glittering spires all
for your delight, and the rhymist

isn't excused or accused, that of
the holiest of facts: sacred & e-
mitting emanations that circumam-
bulate the surrealist and situat-
ionist arts--amongst others--with

the humble élan which is vigorous
spirit and rigorous honesty.. the
mead of shuffled papers and vapor
arisen in our minds, some fall we
may find ourselves in a paradise;

if you're a drunk like me, you're
beginning to discover the agility
in delivering dissertations with-
out expecting anything in return,
as is our habit-- the monasteries

and gentlegood peoples that amass
there, arrayed in finery like our
dreams and the results scattering
shatter the walls, hotels, malls,
and even prisons--which are never

concentric--which are reeducation
camps.. i wanted to escape, but i
also wanted to educate, and every
time has a meeting of minds: look
wise for handfuls of electricity.

Saturday, March 11, 2017


given to laughter, exploding like
the fist that unfurls as a nation
and becomes a flag: there isn't a
thing wrong with literature, that
flighty temptress with her tress-

es that involve--recombining--and
measured to dress like students &
built upon a precipice.. i do not
yet know what i'm good for, mast-
ery avoided and money forgotten i

adventure myself upon you for the
moment, just in order to remember
lost time: such a vibrant paradox
of numbers and niches a hangman's
noose funny for its obsolescence;

absolutely nonever, climbing down
into the black chasm of spiraling
comorbidity that will not redeem:
i have multiple fistfuls of tick-
ets to the great and secret show,

confetti in other words, to throw
a fight and acknowledge praise in
the humility of the space wander-
er: sometimes it's so beautiful i
have to sigh, which is translated

into many legacies and their und-
erworlds-- some day i'll fly then
and everyone will see the man i'd
become and watch and burn ecstat-
ically, with nativitian pleasure.

Wednesday, March 1, 2017


slip of the tongue stream, it was
the most beautiful ivory tower we
ever detonated & watched explode,
while holding hands in the rubble
and the mechanics are something i

like to think of as precipitation
or binomially named, cloudbusting
and see thou to that: knocking in
my knees and heart, which absorb-
ed most of the impact of the fee-

ble shrapnel & can't we have done
with the foreplay and long, dron-
ing infinity? longing for nothing
so much as a comfortable place to
sweat out judgment day, alleluia;

i realize that i am unbeautiful &
i've found that it really doesn't
make the slightest difference.. i
build with my hands, folding them
peacefully in order to sleep, and

through this meditation an essen-
tial fact becomes made manifest..
in other words, in other domains,
and most of all, in another life-
time: everything there is to know

about life is shrouded in plastic
and sold for dollars on the penny
and get this: none of it's ameri-
can-made! give it thought, and it
will settle into st. elmo's fire.