Under the Milktree
He was the king of Wales, besotting liver, Whiskey and Port and Armagnac made from putrid berries and lye, tannins in the word, not the Delius cloister. Horse clomps sea tightening round manse and collar. He died in rime and curse, nary a hopes hell nor a cleverer chap as he. The vouchers in the word, scored on walesbone and ash.
Kimmies attach t' danger
Kimmies attach t' danger retreat reseed raps rewind t' rapes unintended violations of self and others real flower interpolations ear 'n' dare apps real flower mode e-livery await the tone-flow viagraculture (misprint) a media relief git 'round t' most reverie theme record periodicity of the flush freight-through a nice snapkin ice pack 'round so-called profitable profile élite ink pen peak in watery celebrating small-o-cules global warning liquid t.v. rating promise premise occur inner previous book still hasn't been brought out onto the operating table in the theatre of operations all-in-one verses versus staging areas approach ear scoping that shield a way in faith of the master restoration unwine dat shit! there's no quest git ready fuh da nex' 'n' funk a note on smelly texts of course requires some immediate embarrassed self-distancing as if nothing happened as if it's old-school smooth 'n' still in cool as if heartless bloodless control known not to be the case yes an oversimplification but how else to proseed?
My Eyes Red From Night Burn
My eyes red from night burn
Reflect grey early Sunday morning sky
Feeling good insideWith the death of leaves
World looks bigger then even man can destroy.
Red squirrel’s fur gather at the gutterFog circle porcelain sparrow
Wired to mulberry tree.
Across the way, in a rusted barrow
Burning wood and paper,
Flack grey ash flicker in air.
Black-ash flummoxed hands of newsboy,
Man’s hands inclement in flumeTo sell the headline of ourselves.
Reflect grey early Sunday morning sky
Feeling good insideWith the death of leaves
World looks bigger then even man can destroy.
Red squirrel’s fur gather at the gutterFog circle porcelain sparrow
Wired to mulberry tree.
Across the way, in a rusted barrow
Burning wood and paper,
Flack grey ash flicker in air.
Black-ash flummoxed hands of newsboy,
Man’s hands inclement in flumeTo sell the headline of ourselves.
Carnival Was A Slave
Saw it through the eyes of God. Watched it bleed in the fields of hate and economics.
Heard the music that was denied release. You must have dreamed a million beats.
Beaten. Crushed. They tortured you for pagan myth. Writhing on the rack you strangled your God given music.
Black protected you. Nurtured your seed in his cunning brutal silence. Created calypso for every anguished howl. You healed him and he fed you.
Enough is a tragic word. The sky falls before time kills the pain and sometimes the horror outwits time. You broke free four hundred years later. When lesser evil had eaten enough.
I heard an abolitionistic whisper that quickly exploded into bacchanalia. Out of his beautiful wounded spirit Black unleashed you upon an unsuspecting astonished necropolis. And nothing stayed the same again.
Black still feeds you. He awakens you on hungry soul days when the beat and rhythm needs a rekindle.
Saw it through the eyes of God. Watched it bleed in the fields of hate and economics.
Heard the music that was denied release. You must have dreamed a million beats.
Beaten. Crushed. They tortured you for pagan myth. Writhing on the rack you strangled your God given music.
Black protected you. Nurtured your seed in his cunning brutal silence. Created calypso for every anguished howl. You healed him and he fed you.
Enough is a tragic word. The sky falls before time kills the pain and sometimes the horror outwits time. You broke free four hundred years later. When lesser evil had eaten enough.
I heard an abolitionistic whisper that quickly exploded into bacchanalia. Out of his beautiful wounded spirit Black unleashed you upon an unsuspecting astonished necropolis. And nothing stayed the same again.
Black still feeds you. He awakens you on hungry soul days when the beat and rhythm needs a rekindle.
untitled
just excavated morning i don't want
anything
now
i take a brownie
all the looming
furry
horizon a letter
unopened for this hour
just excavated
from the wreckage of tomorrow
anything
now
i take a brownie
all the looming
furry
horizon a letter
unopened for this hour
just excavated
from the wreckage of tomorrow
Why Poem?
Dear London. You were so dickenish today. Dim and damp and dimdamp. Beneath your darkdying skies I dreamt of a doe eyed darling in dear dirty Dublin, while the wind whispered from the Westminster. No doubt, it was all dead depressing.
S complained --I’m unable to wriggle my wettoe.
Is that so?
What? When? Water? Wet?
Endofitall S asked me to write a poem.
A poem?
Yes.
So Did Leopold bloom actually write a poem?
Negative.
No?
Well yes, sort of with a mongrel accent.
Hence?
He was politely banished from the commonwealth.
Seahorses and eons they worship. Tatewanderers all.
Then it declared upon itself as a saxon-poem of all England, Ireland and Wales.
Why do you want a poem? All poems are
Banana republics. Take one here. The aspect of
Window shopping and its limitations
Heart mind, right breast if you like, art of lost memory?
Can a bliss too? Love and longing.
Lost, not the series brother.
Drop a hint, pick
up a clue.
Legends, myths, folklores, if you have a long tongue
Acts of rituals, alienated tumours. Some conventions here and
there, white wine
While you wander. No? Rhymes, metres and
other such medieval bollocks.
Boundaries, territories and these days, somethings they call
identities, Me you. Reader, conscience all
the possible
imageries in the pregnant platonic universe ; pain and
painkillers . Family
and finally post
modern faith.
Quite creepycrawl that, she replied. Quite. Blakian buttocks.
Quite
S complained --I’m unable to wriggle my wettoe.
Is that so?
What? When? Water? Wet?
Endofitall S asked me to write a poem.
A poem?
Yes.
So Did Leopold bloom actually write a poem?
Negative.
No?
Well yes, sort of with a mongrel accent.
Hence?
He was politely banished from the commonwealth.
Seahorses and eons they worship. Tatewanderers all.
Then it declared upon itself as a saxon-poem of all England, Ireland and Wales.
Why do you want a poem? All poems are
Banana republics. Take one here. The aspect of
Window shopping and its limitations
Heart mind, right breast if you like, art of lost memory?
Can a bliss too? Love and longing.
Lost, not the series brother.
Drop a hint, pick
up a clue.
Legends, myths, folklores, if you have a long tongue
Acts of rituals, alienated tumours. Some conventions here and
there, white wine
While you wander. No? Rhymes, metres and
other such medieval bollocks.
Boundaries, territories and these days, somethings they call
identities, Me you. Reader, conscience all
the possible
imageries in the pregnant platonic universe ; pain and
painkillers . Family
and finally post
modern faith.
Quite creepycrawl that, she replied. Quite. Blakian buttocks.
Quite
the oNe who was standing...
"Je cherchai, cette fois, à l'aborder." p.1
he tried, this time, to approach her,
this time, she tried, to approach him,
to approach her, he tried, this time,
to approach him, she tried, this time,
this time, to approach her, he tried,
to approach him, this time, she tried,
i tried, seven times, to approach'em
this time, she tried, to approach him,
to approach her, he tried, this time,
to approach him, she tried, this time,
this time, to approach her, he tried,
to approach him, this time, she tried,
i tried, seven times, to approach'em
to approach'em, seven times, i tried, she tried, this time, to approach him, he tried, to approach her, this time, this time, she tried, to approach him, this time, he tried, to approach her, to approach him, she tried, this time, to approach her, this time, he tried
Shampoo song
what would you do for more shiny hair?
wouldn’t you like more, shiny truth?
where do you go for a possibility?
what do you do with a dream?
what would you do
what would you do
what would you do for more shiny hair?
Units as Cause of Crowds
Fu Manchu, dilettante of evil, his mercantile probation always alert. he crows the false love with most eager prying into the world. his world, he rose above the namby pamby lumpy static placidity. he scores. the poem, prime force in a language, or yet today, stops in a threat and buries itself. where will we live without the poem alongside? one might wonder. and falling prey, stern, exactly aspiring toward some painted wellspring of mere touchiness, which would be fundamental payback, like voting Republican. we would love, if the mercantile approach to world view weren't so pragmatic. here's the opium you ordered sir, said the proposed functionary in the usual way of refinement. and we're not the worst pawns, just the ones on the board. so Fu Manchu makes reams of sense. the copier sprays out more sheets filled with the temerity of repeating exactly this. these are poems, actually. they “make sense”. political science lurks underneath. Mothman flies swiftly above, and it is indeed that sight that makes you piss your pants.
Dry Dreams....
I once made
love .
To a woman
in an airport
toilet.
(Whilst on transit)
I don’t know her name
or number.
love .
To a woman
in an airport
toilet.
(Whilst on transit)
I don’t know her name
or number.
But,
I remember her smell
Her voice.
In my dreams.
Awaiting Less
“; he had questioned her in a more urgent manner by his silence,” p.2
by
overlapping questions
silence sounded
answered -
it was a solution
awaiting literal problems
by
overlapping questions
silence sounded
answered -
it was a solution
awaiting literal problems
A Real Crucial Adventure Story
the lurid light from
Fu Manchu's eyes
includes rendering
cinematic
the portion of
resistance known
as political or
The Man
we chomp
on something
reflexive, possibly
the robe of
understanding,
or likelier a
stable world
view
we challenge a
crash test, in
which information
rode to its
doom, yet
finally we accede
to proven
capacities and
iron clad all
the way
the poem
in its virtue
tells
Sir Denis
Nayland-Smith
to precipitate,
period, just
precipitate
our lovelorn
sense of country
and union and
national
breakwater
pounds a certain
thing into shape
that shape loses
the poem but
directs much
that is directed
we need sameness
as we age
falling over
latter day landings
with good cinema cues
until we can die
in piece
with the heroes
of the story
all such stems
from some
clause
in the patrician
variable haymaker
from classic Fu Manchu
who rouses
antipathy
to frothy heights of
clouds above Nepal
and the peeing chant
of Chinese troops
newly conditioning
Tibet for tomorrow
allegiance sputters
with the crystal
browbeating drug
of cuffed oldster
looking waylaid
in the middle
of a sentence
some stains remain,
which we can
identify later
Fu Manchu's eyes
includes rendering
cinematic
the portion of
resistance known
as political or
The Man
we chomp
on something
reflexive, possibly
the robe of
understanding,
or likelier a
stable world
view
we challenge a
crash test, in
which information
rode to its
doom, yet
finally we accede
to proven
capacities and
iron clad all
the way
the poem
in its virtue
tells
Sir Denis
Nayland-Smith
to precipitate,
period, just
precipitate
our lovelorn
sense of country
and union and
national
breakwater
pounds a certain
thing into shape
that shape loses
the poem but
directs much
that is directed
we need sameness
as we age
falling over
latter day landings
with good cinema cues
until we can die
in piece
with the heroes
of the story
all such stems
from some
clause
in the patrician
variable haymaker
from classic Fu Manchu
who rouses
antipathy
to frothy heights of
clouds above Nepal
and the peeing chant
of Chinese troops
newly conditioning
Tibet for tomorrow
allegiance sputters
with the crystal
browbeating drug
of cuffed oldster
looking waylaid
in the middle
of a sentence
some stains remain,
which we can
identify later
Bonespars
lips separating
chaff from skin, bone spars
and curd dark as molasses, blacker
than cat’s eyes
chaff from skin, bone spars
and curd dark as molasses, blacker
than cat’s eyes
Strike While the Iron's Sought
one little rat called waking up rose out of its spurn to tell goal-oriented and total. total wasn't really in. it said sentence but sentence couldn't quite end. what's the process of that? poem goads on a thorough trope or anyway a baked ham. ham means that jim starts at a mid point and goes nowhere. it's not easy being still. still, we like to think of any word once in a while. that while could be processed and cheese, stillborn or what is the logarithm, but we're not picky. choosy poetry, as smoke, is a symptom not a maxim. maxims live next door.
Frederic and Fester
Ephraim had an overbite that cropped his jaw like a hole-puncher. He worked for the postal services and raised hamsters in an apple crate with shredded newsprint. He was late that morning because his shoes wouldn’t tie themselves. He was late that morning because his feet were festering and raw with pumice scrub. He was late that morning because his shoes wouldn’t tie themselves and his feet were festering and raw with pumice scrub. He was late that morning because one of his hamsters, Frederic, had escaped. He was late that morning because his shoes wouldn’t tie themselves and his feet were festering and raw from pumice scrub and his hamster, Frederic, had escaped. He was late that morning because his hamster, Frederic, who had escaped, had pilfered his pumice stone, the one he used to scrub his feet raw and festering. Ephraim was late that morning because he lived in a solipsistic world and never wore the same shoes twice, tied or untied.
"A Child Asks Why"
apsidal lock · sporting usurp din idol
rancid aluminum cling · for scurry skillful
tsar upcoming rotary brooch · such kiln a Ygg
subtly ascian lug · crag spurting adorn mind ingot
thing adamant pools · slogging crystal calcspar ink
scorn birdtalk addict vap · slag runny Umbrist is
indigo aurora umgang so · slap and ink
aghast uffish if · crowbar psalm accrual burning
brass frappuchino · cyborg asking
skald kiln slag
clasp of a slug · Atari tsunami child train
burst apart octopus boast · ambush winch shows Ygg
arrogant bombyx storp hasp · from typical oblong
from wobbly robot sculpt · whirlwind aspic ouzo
schoolroom thwart curiosity · silk clockwork ink
in syzygy again · against as ruinous
that starry way by walking · ascot how dilatory
m.
rancid aluminum cling · for scurry skillful
tsar upcoming rotary brooch · such kiln a Ygg
subtly ascian lug · crag spurting adorn mind ingot
thing adamant pools · slogging crystal calcspar ink
scorn birdtalk addict vap · slag runny Umbrist is
indigo aurora umgang so · slap and ink
aghast uffish if · crowbar psalm accrual burning
brass frappuchino · cyborg asking
skald kiln slag
clasp of a slug · Atari tsunami child train
burst apart octopus boast · ambush winch shows Ygg
arrogant bombyx storp hasp · from typical oblong
from wobbly robot sculpt · whirlwind aspic ouzo
schoolroom thwart curiosity · silk clockwork ink
in syzygy again · against as ruinous
that starry way by walking · ascot how dilatory
m.
Last Chance Dance
It’s the Last Chance Dance. Electrons spin down to the hollow piping of the entropy flute. Hand in hand, King Rust and King Dust quadrille in slow time, in the empty ballroom of the universe. Over their heads, the Milky Way turns like a flattened disco ball with half the mirrors missing and dark matter leaking out of the cracks. At the edge of the floor a white dwarf in tattered harlequin rags juggles black bodies and speaks in sputtering radio noise.
The walls fold in, the spiral turns tighter. No oracles are given. The clocks on the wall are stopped, waiting for the hand of a princess or for new batteries. Mass is being sung at the Last Chance Chapel. Particles that used to dance around passion fires huddle over the ashes of mutual attraction. Space shrink-wraps itself into infinite layers of distortion around the
seed
seed crystal
grain at the heart of a raindrop
snowflake
pearl
and inside the manifold layers of the seed raindrop snowflake pearl the dance goes on and on, the Last Chance Dance, spinning faster and faster until it explodes in a thousand thousand colors of light and all creation spills back out into the empty ballroom and fills it to overflowing and bursts the walls
because God doesn’t color inside the lines.
The walls fold in, the spiral turns tighter. No oracles are given. The clocks on the wall are stopped, waiting for the hand of a princess or for new batteries. Mass is being sung at the Last Chance Chapel. Particles that used to dance around passion fires huddle over the ashes of mutual attraction. Space shrink-wraps itself into infinite layers of distortion around the
seed
and inside the manifold layers of the seed raindrop snowflake pearl the dance goes on and on, the Last Chance Dance, spinning faster and faster until it explodes in a thousand thousand colors of light and all creation spills back out into the empty ballroom and fills it to overflowing and bursts the walls
because God doesn’t color inside the lines.
girl gang #4
Lulu is trying to chew her huge wad of cherry Hubba Bubba,
but Priscilla just wants to blab about her hubba hubba
love life. This week she is strangely riveted
by yet another tattoo parlor stud. He pierced her nipples,
added a new purple spider web to her left knee. Or is that fishnet?
Bananas loves words like ‘studmuffin’ and ‘beefcake’.
She daydreams her own pornographic alternate reality,
bulging with brawny lumberjack maulers—
three hairy beefcakes for every hole
& a soundtrack of frenetic chainsaws
but why does this stuff turn her on? The weirder
and bloodier it gets, the more she gets off
until she’s floating around, wiggling her phantom fingers.
“If that was my dream, it would be man-on-man.
They wouldn’t be cutting ME into little pieces,”
posits the Paper Cut Queen as she hacks another clean stanza
onto butcher paper. Darlingtonia’s friend arrives, dressed in exotic cat finery.
Her name is Florentyna Leow. Rhymes with meow.
She has three tangling tails and whiskers that never stop twitching
when she mischievously giggles. She slinks towards the root cellar,
fondling some kind of juicy, grotesque melon. Truth be told,
the other girls don’t even ask about D’s sexual proclivities.
CandyDishDoom adds some prick to the meow mix. A poet
named Scott who claims to have trained his wily kittens to steal
limited edition Bukowski books. Lulu decides if he’s going to hang
with the ladies, he’ll need a little makeup. She starts to paint
macabre streaks of rouge onto his cheeks while interviewing him
about his modus operandi. She can’t quite pinpoint his fetish,
but thinks it has something to do with dirty lambs wool.
Bananas starts to lick Priscilla’s knees.
Disconcerting squelching sounds drift up from the root cellar.
A new girl appears in the doorway and Priscilla looks up hungrily;
growls, “What a great pair of eyes you have!” Lulu snaps her cherry
gum and paints the poet’s face. CandyDishDoom giddily exclaims,
“Our fantasies are SO abnormal!” as Bananas Flambé parades
around the room in her filthy white fur, bleating.
Scott licks his chops, The P.Q. chops a stanza,
the new girl claps then extracts a bourbon ball
from her pink lunchbox. “These little fellas really pack a wallop,”
she offers sheepishly. The entire gang advances.
but Priscilla just wants to blab about her hubba hubba
love life. This week she is strangely riveted
by yet another tattoo parlor stud. He pierced her nipples,
added a new purple spider web to her left knee. Or is that fishnet?
Bananas loves words like ‘studmuffin’ and ‘beefcake’.
She daydreams her own pornographic alternate reality,
bulging with brawny lumberjack maulers—
three hairy beefcakes for every hole
& a soundtrack of frenetic chainsaws
but why does this stuff turn her on? The weirder
and bloodier it gets, the more she gets off
until she’s floating around, wiggling her phantom fingers.
“If that was my dream, it would be man-on-man.
They wouldn’t be cutting ME into little pieces,”
posits the Paper Cut Queen as she hacks another clean stanza
onto butcher paper. Darlingtonia’s friend arrives, dressed in exotic cat finery.
Her name is Florentyna Leow. Rhymes with meow.
She has three tangling tails and whiskers that never stop twitching
when she mischievously giggles. She slinks towards the root cellar,
fondling some kind of juicy, grotesque melon. Truth be told,
the other girls don’t even ask about D’s sexual proclivities.
CandyDishDoom adds some prick to the meow mix. A poet
named Scott who claims to have trained his wily kittens to steal
limited edition Bukowski books. Lulu decides if he’s going to hang
with the ladies, he’ll need a little makeup. She starts to paint
macabre streaks of rouge onto his cheeks while interviewing him
about his modus operandi. She can’t quite pinpoint his fetish,
but thinks it has something to do with dirty lambs wool.
Bananas starts to lick Priscilla’s knees.
Disconcerting squelching sounds drift up from the root cellar.
A new girl appears in the doorway and Priscilla looks up hungrily;
growls, “What a great pair of eyes you have!” Lulu snaps her cherry
gum and paints the poet’s face. CandyDishDoom giddily exclaims,
“Our fantasies are SO abnormal!” as Bananas Flambé parades
around the room in her filthy white fur, bleating.
Scott licks his chops, The P.Q. chops a stanza,
the new girl claps then extracts a bourbon ball
from her pink lunchbox. “These little fellas really pack a wallop,”
she offers sheepishly. The entire gang advances.
Playing Golf On the Moon (with David Bowie)
After the playing hole 2 from Arnold Circus to Mile End Art Pavillion with Paul Conneally and Gordon Joly
Commander Tim Wright takes time to re-focus:
PLAY GOLF ON THE MOON (WITH DAVID BOWIE)
"For a better world play golf on the moon"
PLAY GOLF ON THE MOON (WITH DAVID BOWIE)
"For a better world play golf on the moon"
-----------------------------------------------------------
LOOPHOLE
As reported by the Charleston Gazette: "State Lottery officials are trying to close a loophole in the state's limited video lottery law may stop developers from buying their way out of affordable housing requirements following complaints. Ministers are considering changes to the bail regime to clamp down on suspected drug dealers who continue to peddle their wares while awaiting trial," the company said. Analysts said vulnerable corporations would be "Swiss cheese" until they closed the loophole . Microsoft is urging the parliamentary body that makes the rules on MPs' perks has been asked to close aloophole that lets political parties promote themselves with taxpayer are using a loophole in parliamentary rules to promote themselves with taxpayer-funded billboards and newspaper. The Government has closed a legal loophole which was preventing some holidaymakers being properly covered for their sunshine breaks concerned that the current directive could contain a legal loophole allowing banned additives to be incorporated in flavourings and hence gain "back some local law enforcement agencies say SC law does not allow them to ticket someone." Authorities have resorted to a legal loophole to tap telephone conversations, infringing on people's rights, said Charan Pakdeethanakul, secretary-general of the name of closing a loophole in the anti-discrimination rules covering 401(k) plans, the Bush administration last week issued what seems to be four Polish computer programmers instrumental in discovering and plugging what is being described as a "critical favor of closing the loophole in state law. "He struck her and left her there to die," A broken nose is just as damaging as a broken bone or burn, say to domestic abuse prevention advocates who are working to close a legal loophole which allows China to adopt new measures of collecting personal income tax from individual company owners to counter loopholes in existing levying systems in terms of the Regulation of Interception of Communications and the Provision of the WAG's proposals include a loophole which would allow councillors to stand in subsequent elections even if they had accepted wages. It closes a loophole in the National Minimum Wage Act 1998 that was exposed by an employment tribunal in August last year. The wealthy are going under the plastic surgeon's knife for a 20 per cent discount – at taxpayers' expense – because of a loophole in federal law while underpaid workers are already able to claim back-pay from current employers, aloophole in the National Minimum Wage Act 1998 meant that previous would close a loophole in the Open Public Records Act - or OPRA - that allows state legislators to keep secret any information about "constituents a day after a loophole in Florida law set a sex offender free, a state lawmaker is calling for change in a city ordinance that has allowed the past two police chiefs to live outside the city limits. Addressing concerns raised in a July 3 Evanston Review news story, District 65 School Board members Monday closed a loophole in their proposed e-mail policy will close a loophole which allowed retail chain Argos to sack workers in Aberdeen for refusing to work on Sundays. From the lottery or inherits an unexpected fortune could continue to claim the government's new flagship benefit fans of spirit-flavored malt beverages, such as Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Silver, Skyy Blue and Stolichnaya.
see again
that all this must
a tried approach
be heard in the unseen
written in the unheard
desired for,
sought after,
opens space and again
obscures time and again
another approach tried
all this that must
a tried approach
that all this must
written in the unheard
be heard in the unseen
sought after,
desired for,
obscures time and again
opens space and again
all this that must
another approach tried
a tried approach
be heard in the unseen
written in the unheard
desired for,
sought after,
opens space and again
obscures time and again
another approach tried
all this that must
a tried approach
that all this must
written in the unheard
be heard in the unseen
sought after,
desired for,
obscures time and again
opens space and again
all this that must
another approach tried
A Possible Missive
dear,
we arrest in something, yet ponds
bubble emotively
with unions of algae, which seems
such a tease,
because avast as snow covers
an inch of the entire world and
death lurking with prisms,
and love serious for scores
along the shore, where air meets water,
water rises to air, air seems to
invent us, and we breathe
together
this sorting
continues,
you wrote of some
plain on the horizon,
I read about colours
bursting from the moon, and
together we rewrote
a glen,
now it comes to this
season of strings
in the air, each attached
to the end of summer,
which runs the length of autumn, thru winter and
tickles the bursting fronds and
flowers of spring, such a
reactive simulation of
causation, with
beauty dusting our
particles, and so many
reviewed assurances
scanned for better
worth...
these poems, written severely,
arrive meetly,
posed or not,
still need words
we arrest in something, yet ponds
bubble emotively
with unions of algae, which seems
such a tease,
because avast as snow covers
an inch of the entire world and
death lurking with prisms,
and love serious for scores
along the shore, where air meets water,
water rises to air, air seems to
invent us, and we breathe
together
this sorting
continues,
you wrote of some
plain on the horizon,
I read about colours
bursting from the moon, and
together we rewrote
a glen,
now it comes to this
season of strings
in the air, each attached
to the end of summer,
which runs the length of autumn, thru winter and
tickles the bursting fronds and
flowers of spring, such a
reactive simulation of
causation, with
beauty dusting our
particles, and so many
reviewed assurances
scanned for better
worth...
these poems, written severely,
arrive meetly,
posed or not,
still need words
Lucky In
more words came across. a figure in blue called. it was our love in definite term. when did that happen? first, a jet of impressiveness swooped and telltale, seemed like a crash. all that erratic meant something. watching was an involved moment, you'd want to describe. we both figured in this tableau, seeing how the jet remonstrated. no, it did not crash but made us jerk away with what fright can do but all in all it proved okay. no damage, and the world seems still the wonder. letters then arose, and they made words.
Sowing Trifle
I wanted one ton exactly in these colours. the rain of settled charged could then step in as a war on proverbs. war itself is a proverb, and dogs die. my dog, a rich cream of wonder, settles down. we rain. violets stick in the lawn, when they can have time. reasons secure residence, then honour, then a blank check. we couldn't respond fast enough. trials were launched into ozone layers, and regarded as certain. populations fell from tall mountains, the ones of legend. we sank into an explanation but luckily got away. now what were you saying as the sun went down?
this instant satisfied a pulled off sitting 'neath a bodhi tree. it stopped in strident colours. Star Trek went on. we dreamed. those weren't easy reasons to let go, so we just stared at the box. someone would open it.
then these beasts shrank from the sun, then missiles and lariats, then what. what, after all, contains the seed of another sentence.
this instant satisfied a pulled off sitting 'neath a bodhi tree. it stopped in strident colours. Star Trek went on. we dreamed. those weren't easy reasons to let go, so we just stared at the box. someone would open it.
then these beasts shrank from the sun, then missiles and lariats, then what. what, after all, contains the seed of another sentence.
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