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.