... or sounds as if

on translating all sides of the story, our rebel, now glowing temperately, reveals, for clues, the light in nevertheless, or in spite of the clues, light reveals her still escapes, which already leak in you or lick at you, on the quickness slopes that snap just about everything
or sounds as if

The Power of Choosing

John's House of Pizza

Cogito interuptus (premature emasculation) Cartesian gramicidin: antibiotic obtained from the bacterial species Bacillus-brevis-Kierkegaard which is found in rich Danish soil. Gramicidin is particularly effective against gram-positive bacteria (see Gram-stain-Parsons). John’s House of Pizza makes the best pizza in town. He knew a poet with hammer-thumbs. Sautee one Spanish onion in olive oil, fennel and allspice, add a soupcon of boiled fencepost modernism and a green, very green, scallion. Apply a cold compress to the area surrounding the boil, increase the pressure and count to five. Repeat until the compress decompresses, repeat ad nausea (see J.P. Sartre). Make a paper-hat out of cardboard. It was John, John of John’s House of Pizza who discovered Rothko’s remains, not Jim of Jim’s House of Pancakes as some maintain. Take three-quarters tincture of Melba and one-third dole of Ryle and mix until well blended. The resultant exegesis is a really, really bad Concept of Mind. (Cogito interuptus: rich, very rich Danish soil and a soupcon of fencepost modernism).

(Why must I) So now I must be bad ass kick ass
Give a skinny rat's ass
What is it about my cul d'enfer
That sets you down on your ass
Take my sorry ass and kiss it

Flailing like fish upriver failing upward
Why spawn, when
Fish wants to be, knows the wave, knows the water
As water knows to tug the leaping fish

Why have him when I can love him

Culpa, mea, felis, Felix!
Big cats in my sous soul, padding, lynx and panther
Make a space for my love, clear it
For he will spread like water (je ne coule pas)
Into this crawl space
These floorboards undone by threats termitic
Or creepy crawlies, water-borne and surface-skimming
The goldflake, peeling, glisters, and walls show
Signs of damage by water
Does that scare the cats? And will my tiger's stripes recede
Pull back to bare
Filed teeth and pink-red tongue

Where is my friend
Can I not (why can't I) journey with my friend
Why must I wander through his dream
And you in my zoo, my waking life

He's spoken in a fumbled moment
Of his feeling
And if I could oblige him, he said
Why, he'd like that
"Unbearable," he said
As if the press of that word
Were enough to draw me into his murk mirth mouth
Full of dates and figs, citron
It's all talking beasts, you see, and all the words
Are known, I know them
But if once your voice gives out
What is that

To CD-san

Current mood: awake
Category: Romance and Relationships



small stubbed world . the principle for Bonsai branches
fingers calibrating cup in thin air
wild cuttings, elements wild. well pruned. pain.
dead air charge equalization
become beautiful with shape.
smoothness of kimono sleeve touching skin
balance between separate centuries. positioned by health.
leafed as a reminder of age . heaven earth beauty.
his eyes . nameless . red powder on the nape.
complete hybrid likes pruning . small seeds
red light in teacup.
universal bonsai off-center . roots triangular. pain
scratch proof.
shin-zen-bi . plant age, naturally transplanted . pain
visual entity repotting. bonsai dwarfs ' wiring
generation in asymmetry . centimetre pain
container Buddhism

when and

yer breath is filled with something

something thing

some

as when

which is which

which is breathless

breath less breath

between teeth and b's

oR that other pressing place

w

hen

then I hear your hair on fire

---------------------

as when a sonnet snare it track
fumble over the high ground of its pentameter

or corseted crossing the rhetoric of its accident
you've sent the face this amber shell
carrying back its smitten fare


when it worked around the couplet
hankering a couple's lovered body
clacked by the Sunday coup-de-grace
pause its turn to legitimize grace of your hair
yer handing this finger clandestine
Sunday and moon clocks over
gathered in your sneaky feet

not necessary to you swill porches round-abouts
and card moochers

this is not night
a sonnet bearing down like a geese
out of shadow
a permanent toss between every expected page



___________________________________

this is the glue holding your fort

climbing

the rafters

looking off rime gate-postings
cenacles

of cheese by your body glowing

in the dark

where my fingers please every native hole

standing meditation

minimum

Bulb Light

… of all time

the greatest recurrence of all time
is the dodged pitfall:
a sour-grape say

instead of an unmistakable direction, all the time taking the greatest mistake back to its origins in wrongly taking, or carrying a mis to a shut-eyed bearing

on the way to becoming a muffle fervent rebel presenting a portfolio of sound

Fer the Pardy (sketch)