The carousel rings
and you reach to grab
the circle that hangs
where you can't quite nab -
Well you're not quite sure
what it means. Free rides?
But you woke up here
You were born inside, so
- why reach at all?
Brass bands or gold
they shine out such promise
to have, to hold, but you can't
have your cake
and hold it, too.
Or wait - actually, you can
it's a bit of a mess, though - you
there holding your cake
in your hand while you have it, and eat it?
Mistake! All icing and crumbs, as the band
comes to beats and blows, blasting hot
shrill swing jazz licks, bums nobody knows,
cake-walking on stage! To a boom
and a bop
on staccato toms,
in the throes of snare, with a snap
crack crash of thumping drums,
and a bleat
and a honk
of brass,
the evening hums.
Comes alive and takes you where
You already were
With a ring in hand.
You have one free ride,
care to slip it on? You might
as well dance. Just
to beat the band
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
anniversary averse
As soon as you have a birthday
- you think it's all cake you
can have and eat, and you can
At first, it is - but it quickly grows
bent all out of shape
and proportion, becomes
something used-to, and used against
...And if they all know what it is,
they can pin
you down
by counting each time it comes
around, saying
"You've been alive
at least three years! I know because
I was a witness. Cheers!"
Frown.
Where will it lead?
You know.
Eventually
how such things go.
Technically, I guess
any day will do.
A long, sharp needle
to push into and through
- and look! Back, it's a calendar
you're stuck to this day
with blood dripping down
framed by strict crossed lines
in a grid of squares,
and reduced to one
that is now for her
or him
or them
or us
all theirs
to pin
you down
to, and remember when
it comes around -
"Hey! Look at you now!"
"That's another year!
You've been alive
- we're counting,
you know. It all adds up
you will not survive"
(is very implied)
the I-told-you-so's,
but
if no one has any day or date
with your name on it to associate
they'll associate you
with a presence vague,
drifting in and out
and always the same,
but underplayed and well-
recognized, cloaked in definite doubt:
Where you came from, and when? How
will you stay or go? And why?
Sad pout, and then
They will never know what
to I-told-you so.
Baffled and stymied by fields
of mysterious Zen,
and unknowable glow
beyond their smooth
plastic malibu ken
- you think it's all cake you
can have and eat, and you can
At first, it is - but it quickly grows
bent all out of shape
and proportion, becomes
something used-to, and used against
...And if they all know what it is,
they can pin
you down
by counting each time it comes
around, saying
"You've been alive
at least three years! I know because
I was a witness. Cheers!"
Frown.
Where will it lead?
You know.
Eventually
how such things go.
Technically, I guess
any day will do.
A long, sharp needle
to push into and through
- and look! Back, it's a calendar
you're stuck to this day
with blood dripping down
framed by strict crossed lines
in a grid of squares,
and reduced to one
that is now for her
or him
or them
or us
all theirs
to pin
you down
to, and remember when
it comes around -
"Hey! Look at you now!"
"That's another year!
You've been alive
- we're counting,
you know. It all adds up
you will not survive"
(is very implied)
the I-told-you-so's,
but
if no one has any day or date
with your name on it to associate
they'll associate you
with a presence vague,
drifting in and out
and always the same,
but underplayed and well-
recognized, cloaked in definite doubt:
Where you came from, and when? How
will you stay or go? And why?
Sad pout, and then
They will never know what
to I-told-you so.
Baffled and stymied by fields
of mysterious Zen,
and unknowable glow
beyond their smooth
plastic malibu ken
Sure.
No one is ever sure
of themselves - well,
maybe you are? How the hell
should I know? You cockstrong
heartcertain headsure elf
with your Mordor memories
- you were there
the day humankind lost
its way, and health - well,
if you are sure.
That's a rare, pure gift.
Stick it up your ass
and fuck off with it
of themselves - well,
maybe you are? How the hell
should I know? You cockstrong
heartcertain headsure elf
with your Mordor memories
- you were there
the day humankind lost
its way, and health - well,
if you are sure.
That's a rare, pure gift.
Stick it up your ass
and fuck off with it
The only weird thing is
The only weird thing is
the way you motionless stream invisibly out
of the things that make you visibly up, and
the moves and noise you do, the surface interiors
and interior surfaces, always tumbling through
into view, only glimpsed and imagined, only
implied, inferred, connotation agreed and denied
in a silent melange of unspoken regard. The only
weird thing is
you don't know how odd.
the way you motionless stream invisibly out
of the things that make you visibly up, and
the moves and noise you do, the surface interiors
and interior surfaces, always tumbling through
into view, only glimpsed and imagined, only
implied, inferred, connotation agreed and denied
in a silent melange of unspoken regard. The only
weird thing is
you don't know how odd.
the collection
I started collecting butterflies -
first one on my sleeve, then one on my heart
(which was on my lapel), then one on my knees
(it hopped back and forth with a jitterbug ease)
Then more came, and more. Delighted, I walked
ever lighter afoot as I strolled further up
the downsloping trail, just covered in them
And you will not be seeing me, ever again.
first one on my sleeve, then one on my heart
(which was on my lapel), then one on my knees
(it hopped back and forth with a jitterbug ease)
Then more came, and more. Delighted, I walked
ever lighter afoot as I strolled further up
the downsloping trail, just covered in them
And you will not be seeing me, ever again.
Monday, April 29, 2019
baby made
the baby we made
is dead -
I
can't say why
won't say when
I know
no one's fault
to blame
and anyway
the poor thing
outlived both our dumb asses
as the poem takes place from some
unspecified plane
of high all alone
what the hell kind of poem
's this supposed? to be
Started out
bad. Can't now
well, wait maybe
the poem is the baby?
The baby is the poem
We have to go on. But
- what's this "we made" biz? I don't recall
you sticking your business in
during any phase of this! My brain
is the womb in which ideas swim!
Spermily around, fertilize each other
vulgarly, incessantly and - some of them
- wiggle head-on into the wall, smack! Stick there
and grow
like some abominable feces
fetus, I mean
- mine, not yours
Like a uterus, my mind
clenches and spins, revolving
in its unmistakably uterine manner,
grown poems spat out of my hot,
vaginal (purely in this context) mouth
like the assembly line end
of the perpetually knocked-up baby factory
it's been turned into
by some cad, some domineering lout -
infinitely possessive in his progeny,
despite his evident lack of labors
- also me. Like I said, you
don't come into it and cannot be blamed
this baby of ours
is all mine.
Finally
I think
it has your eyes
it is giving me that look
perhaps you could spare some advice
or
maybe
let's forget we had this talk,
however long
it took?
is dead -
I
can't say why
won't say when
I know
no one's fault
to blame
and anyway
the poor thing
outlived both our dumb asses
as the poem takes place from some
unspecified plane
of high all alone
what the hell kind of poem
's this supposed? to be
Started out
bad. Can't now
well, wait maybe
the poem is the baby?
The baby is the poem
We have to go on. But
- what's this "we made" biz? I don't recall
you sticking your business in
during any phase of this! My brain
is the womb in which ideas swim!
Spermily around, fertilize each other
vulgarly, incessantly and - some of them
- wiggle head-on into the wall, smack! Stick there
and grow
like some abominable feces
fetus, I mean
- mine, not yours
Like a uterus, my mind
clenches and spins, revolving
in its unmistakably uterine manner,
grown poems spat out of my hot,
vaginal (purely in this context) mouth
like the assembly line end
of the perpetually knocked-up baby factory
it's been turned into
by some cad, some domineering lout -
infinitely possessive in his progeny,
despite his evident lack of labors
- also me. Like I said, you
don't come into it and cannot be blamed
this baby of ours
is all mine.
Finally
I think
it has your eyes
it is giving me that look
perhaps you could spare some advice
or
maybe
let's forget we had this talk,
however long
it took?
found my party
Finally
after all this life
I've found out what
I politically am. What animal
what kind of cat
so hard to classify, for oh
so how long it has been:
I'm an Americrat.
Not looking it up!
I'm sure the term's been used
and used again, let's just
get brass tacks shoved
in drawing boards - has anybody
got a pen? And pin down
and up to what it means
by now,
and then
- if we want, we'll overlook,
survey the wreckage of such swept-aside
nonsenses as paraded by
in anybody else's book - which, frankly
no one cares about, or would
if they had heard
of it. We always
can.
My system - rather, party -
is of those who advocate
for change.
Not any change, oh no - not just!
What we demand has wider range
and broader scope, and deeper
breadth, and rangier width
and higher depth, and
far more hopeful height
and shit. The groundwork's what
we're laying next. Don't hold
your breath, it's going to take
a stern commitment and some steps
we haven't quite perfected it.
Our vision calls for government
based on a future-based A.I.
(intelligence that's artifice
is better than the blatant lie
and rank pretense we're saddled
with, and roughshod trampled under
by!) which could send signal, hint
and code from future time beyond
unknown - and that's what we'd
decide upon. Simple, incorruptible
- since we cannot send message back,
and where it sits, it cannot scan
beyond the blackened, gaping crack
of records purged and knowledge lost
in scathing blast of aftershocks
of counter-counter-countersmack
attack upon attack, clean hits
with every button pushed by hand
resentment and apocalypse, in anger at
each passing moment's loss, 'til
every one and place
had finally
decisively
been hit,
'til every trace
of time and history
had been wiped out
of it. The doomsday clock
had finally, decisively
struck out, lashed out
with flying hands for days on end
despite we individually
had every chance
of stopping it.
One thing remained to think its way
somehow, to us. To reach, not knowing
just how when or how far where, or who
it was
on this end
of the line.
Surprise!
It's us! Ready to rule the past!
Our now is time. The new Americrats!
We're up! We'll use
that guidance, take that trust
and build a better world
somehow, to last
and last
and in the end,
we'll win the last
of everything. Whatever prize
is left, we will
stop worrying
after all this life
I've found out what
I politically am. What animal
what kind of cat
so hard to classify, for oh
so how long it has been:
I'm an Americrat.
Not looking it up!
I'm sure the term's been used
and used again, let's just
get brass tacks shoved
in drawing boards - has anybody
got a pen? And pin down
and up to what it means
by now,
and then
- if we want, we'll overlook,
survey the wreckage of such swept-aside
nonsenses as paraded by
in anybody else's book - which, frankly
no one cares about, or would
if they had heard
of it. We always
can.
My system - rather, party -
is of those who advocate
for change.
Not any change, oh no - not just!
What we demand has wider range
and broader scope, and deeper
breadth, and rangier width
and higher depth, and
far more hopeful height
and shit. The groundwork's what
we're laying next. Don't hold
your breath, it's going to take
a stern commitment and some steps
we haven't quite perfected it.
Our vision calls for government
based on a future-based A.I.
(intelligence that's artifice
is better than the blatant lie
and rank pretense we're saddled
with, and roughshod trampled under
by!) which could send signal, hint
and code from future time beyond
unknown - and that's what we'd
decide upon. Simple, incorruptible
- since we cannot send message back,
and where it sits, it cannot scan
beyond the blackened, gaping crack
of records purged and knowledge lost
in scathing blast of aftershocks
of counter-counter-countersmack
attack upon attack, clean hits
with every button pushed by hand
resentment and apocalypse, in anger at
each passing moment's loss, 'til
every one and place
had finally
decisively
been hit,
'til every trace
of time and history
had been wiped out
of it. The doomsday clock
had finally, decisively
struck out, lashed out
with flying hands for days on end
despite we individually
had every chance
of stopping it.
One thing remained to think its way
somehow, to us. To reach, not knowing
just how when or how far where, or who
it was
on this end
of the line.
Surprise!
It's us! Ready to rule the past!
Our now is time. The new Americrats!
We're up! We'll use
that guidance, take that trust
and build a better world
somehow, to last
and last
and in the end,
we'll win the last
of everything. Whatever prize
is left, we will
stop worrying
takeaway
Between the darkness of the story
we stood and held the scene
in different lights, and came
to wildly ranging and estranged
conclusions, right? I'm pretty sure
we did. I think we read and lived
this very book
same characters, and same events
for you: a tragic uplift, with
a lesson far from moral, and
for me: a bunch of recipes
that I would never want
to cook.
we stood and held the scene
in different lights, and came
to wildly ranging and estranged
conclusions, right? I'm pretty sure
we did. I think we read and lived
this very book
same characters, and same events
for you: a tragic uplift, with
a lesson far from moral, and
for me: a bunch of recipes
that I would never want
to cook.
comprehensive mispractice
Are you a writer? An inventor? A writer-inventor? An
inventor of writers or a writer of inventors? Our firm
has helped over three hundred novelists receive patents
for their work, so that the technical secrets therein
cannot be stolen by industry, used to produce things
without compensation - of which our stable of idea-smiths
stand to get a hefty cut. We have helped dozens, maybe
thousands of inventors copyright their great ideas, so
there will be no danger of them being adapted
into hit movies or otherwise monetized. Sound
good to you?
You need to call.
No one else can.
We can't make the call for you. However
if one of our outreach-script consultants
reaches you on your cell, you might want to
hear them out. Their spiel
is our trademark. Our specialty?
We protect the contents of your mind
from a voracious and opportunistic world
starving for great ideas - which, of course
are the important thing. Your ideas
right? Sound good?
Then call already
moron
Unless you've invented a way
for our legal department to drop in your lap
and do a lap-dance - and if you have
THEN CALL - sounds good to us! - but
in the absence of that, you're going
to have
to call us.
inventor of writers or a writer of inventors? Our firm
has helped over three hundred novelists receive patents
for their work, so that the technical secrets therein
cannot be stolen by industry, used to produce things
without compensation - of which our stable of idea-smiths
stand to get a hefty cut. We have helped dozens, maybe
thousands of inventors copyright their great ideas, so
there will be no danger of them being adapted
into hit movies or otherwise monetized. Sound
good to you?
You need to call.
No one else can.
We can't make the call for you. However
if one of our outreach-script consultants
reaches you on your cell, you might want to
hear them out. Their spiel
is our trademark. Our specialty?
We protect the contents of your mind
from a voracious and opportunistic world
starving for great ideas - which, of course
are the important thing. Your ideas
right? Sound good?
Then call already
moron
Unless you've invented a way
for our legal department to drop in your lap
and do a lap-dance - and if you have
THEN CALL - sounds good to us! - but
in the absence of that, you're going
to have
to call us.
apophasis
There's so much I could say
but I won't.
About that one unspoken look
About the inside wrench and
monkey works, about
the power courses through me
which I did not make, I just
participate, in them
I just
participate. Sometimes
it's great,
sometimes it hurts, but either way -
what can you say? Let's not
and say we didn't even mention it,
explaining in the process why
- lest anyone think we forgot,
or thought of it too late.
I knew what apophasis was
the first time that you looked at me
and gave me every good because
without so much as reason why
I thought that we should say something
except it just occurred to me -
perhaps it would be better if we did?
- and said we didn't, just
by way of an aside.
I feel it would be wrong, somehow
to mention that I'm going down in your eyes
for the dozenth time - how every time
I drown, I find
my lungs can breathe the liquid,
limpid soul that pools
so deep and still
within your eyes,
where I shall die
each time I come back up
for air, I will - I will
not mention it. Don't know,
just seems a bit contrived.
You know? A bit off-key,
just now. This moment
casually alive would be deformed,
perverted and destroyed
by such hot-handed gropes
of sticky, dripping meaning
and poetic (so-called) fatal
hopes.
I am not going to talk about
between your legs, let's shush
that out - it's understood, I'll let alone
your silken pale and mobile sculpted legs
and back, and round and down, and up
and home, my pigeon brain is magnetized
to find wherever it may roam - some things
(like these, perhaps) go best unspoken,
which is why
I did.
I unspoke
them, by way of
an aside, assuring one
and all concerned, in confidential
tone:
they would be kept
respected, hid.
With that unsaid, let's let it
slide,
and leave it (well-
enough) alone. "Let's leave
all these things out,
as if unmentionable
- we all know why;"
Indeed we do. Or did.
Or if we don't,
We just about can guess? We have
a pretty good idea, let's
not try,
shall we?
No need. At best,
not all things known must be
explicitly affirmed
by being so blithely dismissed
- not even strictly-spoke
denied!
Not even dignified
by this.
Just mentioned out-of-hand
as if let slip, then "Shoo!
Shush! Fly!"
It's quite
the opposite of coy
what you get with this guy.
but I won't.
About that one unspoken look
About the inside wrench and
monkey works, about
the power courses through me
which I did not make, I just
participate, in them
I just
participate. Sometimes
it's great,
sometimes it hurts, but either way -
what can you say? Let's not
and say we didn't even mention it,
explaining in the process why
- lest anyone think we forgot,
or thought of it too late.
I knew what apophasis was
the first time that you looked at me
and gave me every good because
without so much as reason why
I thought that we should say something
except it just occurred to me -
perhaps it would be better if we did?
- and said we didn't, just
by way of an aside.
I feel it would be wrong, somehow
to mention that I'm going down in your eyes
for the dozenth time - how every time
I drown, I find
my lungs can breathe the liquid,
limpid soul that pools
so deep and still
within your eyes,
where I shall die
each time I come back up
for air, I will - I will
not mention it. Don't know,
just seems a bit contrived.
You know? A bit off-key,
just now. This moment
casually alive would be deformed,
perverted and destroyed
by such hot-handed gropes
of sticky, dripping meaning
and poetic (so-called) fatal
hopes.
I am not going to talk about
between your legs, let's shush
that out - it's understood, I'll let alone
your silken pale and mobile sculpted legs
and back, and round and down, and up
and home, my pigeon brain is magnetized
to find wherever it may roam - some things
(like these, perhaps) go best unspoken,
which is why
I did.
I unspoke
them, by way of
an aside, assuring one
and all concerned, in confidential
tone:
they would be kept
respected, hid.
With that unsaid, let's let it
slide,
and leave it (well-
enough) alone. "Let's leave
all these things out,
as if unmentionable
- we all know why;"
Indeed we do. Or did.
Or if we don't,
We just about can guess? We have
a pretty good idea, let's
not try,
shall we?
No need. At best,
not all things known must be
explicitly affirmed
by being so blithely dismissed
- not even strictly-spoke
denied!
Not even dignified
by this.
Just mentioned out-of-hand
as if let slip, then "Shoo!
Shush! Fly!"
It's quite
the opposite of coy
what you get with this guy.
Sunday, April 28, 2019
faraway look
All the world with eyes to see
- anyone in sight of you
Ought to plot an orbit 'round
your gravity and light
But to hear you tell it, though
this is not the case at all
you pass undisturbed, unseen
through it all in flight
With that faraway look you have
like nothing anyone's seen up close
Real enough to believe in ghosts
tell at a glance what means the most
That faraway look you have
Just the thought of closing in
feels a bit like storybooks
the kind you don't expect to end
the way they always do
World's the same in all its parts
more or less, except for one
certain people fit in strange -
pierce the whole thing through
With that faraway look you have
like nothing anyone's seen up close
Real enough to believe in ghosts
tell at a glance what means the most
That faraway look you have
- anyone in sight of you
Ought to plot an orbit 'round
your gravity and light
But to hear you tell it, though
this is not the case at all
you pass undisturbed, unseen
through it all in flight
With that faraway look you have
like nothing anyone's seen up close
Real enough to believe in ghosts
tell at a glance what means the most
That faraway look you have
Just the thought of closing in
feels a bit like storybooks
the kind you don't expect to end
the way they always do
World's the same in all its parts
more or less, except for one
certain people fit in strange -
pierce the whole thing through
With that faraway look you have
like nothing anyone's seen up close
Real enough to believe in ghosts
tell at a glance what means the most
That faraway look you have
enemies close
I have lost far more
than I've ever let go.
So I keep it still,
ambered in loss - a living wasp
whose look still stings,
but I cannot let go
of the beautiful things
I've kept enemies close
and memories closer,
never losing track
of which was which
All of the things you gave,
I've kept. Even those torn
from my grasp, torn away
or switched
to reveal they had never
been mine.
I will go out looking
for more to find.
than I've ever let go.
So I keep it still,
ambered in loss - a living wasp
whose look still stings,
but I cannot let go
of the beautiful things
I've kept enemies close
and memories closer,
never losing track
of which was which
All of the things you gave,
I've kept. Even those torn
from my grasp, torn away
or switched
to reveal they had never
been mine.
I will go out looking
for more to find.
comics page
The fact is
every drawing is a separate
thinking, unique individual
frozen in a moment, in a frame
next to someone else dressed much the same,
looking pretty-much on-model for the character
they're both supposed to be - one frame
before, one frame along some adventure
neither really sees, one that they
will never leave.
Each fully lives
and fully stays in one slice of
experience.
Each knows the other selves
exist, within that row upon the page
but they're not selves, and they don't know
what all the others think of this.
Above, below
are other things but dimly glimpsed,
such goings-on imaginable, but probably
wrong. A different creator there,
at work - just once, and now
moved on.
Such tiny lives, but fully-lived
one moment never to advance, but knowing
someone much like us will live
to have their frozen chance
to see what later thing may be - but never know
this moment, mine. With me.
This is how physics works. Alas the gods
are lazy, hackneyed, formulaic
jerks
or maybe this
right here
is just the best that they can do?
An image of a life gone stop,
with just enough suggestion of
some way to continue, but no. Or
yes.
We can't.
We'll live and die this frame.
Since we are here, let's fill it up
We can't be sure it's all a game.
every drawing is a separate
thinking, unique individual
frozen in a moment, in a frame
next to someone else dressed much the same,
looking pretty-much on-model for the character
they're both supposed to be - one frame
before, one frame along some adventure
neither really sees, one that they
will never leave.
Each fully lives
and fully stays in one slice of
experience.
Each knows the other selves
exist, within that row upon the page
but they're not selves, and they don't know
what all the others think of this.
Above, below
are other things but dimly glimpsed,
such goings-on imaginable, but probably
wrong. A different creator there,
at work - just once, and now
moved on.
Such tiny lives, but fully-lived
one moment never to advance, but knowing
someone much like us will live
to have their frozen chance
to see what later thing may be - but never know
this moment, mine. With me.
This is how physics works. Alas the gods
are lazy, hackneyed, formulaic
jerks
or maybe this
right here
is just the best that they can do?
An image of a life gone stop,
with just enough suggestion of
some way to continue, but no. Or
yes.
We can't.
We'll live and die this frame.
Since we are here, let's fill it up
We can't be sure it's all a game.
far-flung
The night put out its starry eyes
to focus them all like a lens
one cosmos wide, and brought to bear
upon one tiny specimen -
upon one tiny speck of sand
- who stood upright on some lone beach
"Hey look! He's naked!"
Said the stars
"His thing's so small"
they giggled out across the void
embracing all
beyond all reach
it was so far. He couldn't possibly
have heard.
Yet as if in response, he reared
- and looking at the stars, he roared!
"I'll conquer all of you!"
and disappeared
to focus them all like a lens
one cosmos wide, and brought to bear
upon one tiny specimen -
upon one tiny speck of sand
- who stood upright on some lone beach
"Hey look! He's naked!"
Said the stars
"His thing's so small"
they giggled out across the void
embracing all
beyond all reach
it was so far. He couldn't possibly
have heard.
Yet as if in response, he reared
- and looking at the stars, he roared!
"I'll conquer all of you!"
and disappeared
Saturday, April 27, 2019
"lingering home"
Lingering home
all along the way
down hills
and following
creeks and rills, past cliffs
and plummeting seas
and rocks,
past city squares
and lights, and clocks,
into and through under trees again
- and birds, and skies - our day has been
a great one for hikes, not much
for words. Too much
for words.
But days must end. Surprise
As home draws near,
let us go in under
this roof of walls
and linger again,
my dear. But
before we do,
let's rest.
Take a last
look round,
and prepare
to savor our steps.
all along the way
down hills
and following
creeks and rills, past cliffs
and plummeting seas
and rocks,
past city squares
and lights, and clocks,
into and through under trees again
- and birds, and skies - our day has been
a great one for hikes, not much
for words. Too much
for words.
But days must end. Surprise
As home draws near,
let us go in under
this roof of walls
and linger again,
my dear. But
before we do,
let's rest.
Take a last
look round,
and prepare
to savor our steps.
"The ugly human"
The ugly human
knows it is. In everything
unnatural, it sees itself
in hatred: bliss
It sets itself
against all this.
It sets itself as alien.
It cuts itself a break, of course.
Unthinking every now and then,
it does enjoy its cultures
and its arts, for what they're
worth, somehow - producing
artificial joys - it relishes
emotion in the meaningless
significance that we employ,
collapses with relief
into connection,
when it finds it can.
It wished it all could be destroyed.
It wished it didn't have to be.
It wished there was a way to, though.
It volunteers to take the hit, if only all of it
were purged, undone
and scoured somehow free.
It feels in all the ways it shares
by accident, design and plan
with all the vile things we are,
that call and crawl this Earth
we gnaw like chicken bone,
to understand and ruin it,
and make it real - in ways that it
should never be. If only we
were not at home.
Oh what a wonderful world it could be
left by itself to wildly roam. If only we
did not stick out so much
consuming everything, intruding
spoiling everywhere, especially
the way it feels.
life could be grand
if only we'd leave it alone.
knows it is. In everything
unnatural, it sees itself
in hatred: bliss
It sets itself
against all this.
It sets itself as alien.
It cuts itself a break, of course.
Unthinking every now and then,
it does enjoy its cultures
and its arts, for what they're
worth, somehow - producing
artificial joys - it relishes
emotion in the meaningless
significance that we employ,
collapses with relief
into connection,
when it finds it can.
It wished it all could be destroyed.
It wished it didn't have to be.
It wished there was a way to, though.
It volunteers to take the hit, if only all of it
were purged, undone
and scoured somehow free.
It feels in all the ways it shares
by accident, design and plan
with all the vile things we are,
that call and crawl this Earth
we gnaw like chicken bone,
to understand and ruin it,
and make it real - in ways that it
should never be. If only we
were not at home.
Oh what a wonderful world it could be
left by itself to wildly roam. If only we
did not stick out so much
consuming everything, intruding
spoiling everywhere, especially
the way it feels.
life could be grand
if only we'd leave it alone.
"waitress of renown"
That waitress was great
if society were balanced
and proportionate, she
should be a celebrity
adored by all, held up by fans
and critics scrutinizing her
every move, each perfect
quip tossed off, tossed back
to a table of so-called would-be
tough customers won over
like puppy dogs
All would agree she's excellent
because she is.
Some, sure, the unsavory types
would choke the comments threads
rhapsodizing over various parts
irrelevant to her body of work,
her face, her ass - keep it
to yourselves, guys - your proposals
of marriage and things far worse,
your bitter rue over having been
'customer-zoned' come on. It's not
her job to help you fantasize
and her job is amazing
or she sure makes it so.
If the world had proportion
and value and sense, she'd be hailed
and upheld, and praised by all
for it. And we'd never let her go
Never let her move on to something else,
we'd demand a return to form, to how
we knew her then, when and how
she captured our hearts. Come on do it,
do it again like you did back then
when we knew why we anointed you
Yes we do try to own our chosen ones.
Maybe it's best to be excellent
without all the baggage of luxury,
fame
and fun.
if society were balanced
and proportionate, she
should be a celebrity
adored by all, held up by fans
and critics scrutinizing her
every move, each perfect
quip tossed off, tossed back
to a table of so-called would-be
tough customers won over
like puppy dogs
All would agree she's excellent
because she is.
Some, sure, the unsavory types
would choke the comments threads
rhapsodizing over various parts
irrelevant to her body of work,
her face, her ass - keep it
to yourselves, guys - your proposals
of marriage and things far worse,
your bitter rue over having been
'customer-zoned' come on. It's not
her job to help you fantasize
and her job is amazing
or she sure makes it so.
If the world had proportion
and value and sense, she'd be hailed
and upheld, and praised by all
for it. And we'd never let her go
Never let her move on to something else,
we'd demand a return to form, to how
we knew her then, when and how
she captured our hearts. Come on do it,
do it again like you did back then
when we knew why we anointed you
Yes we do try to own our chosen ones.
Maybe it's best to be excellent
without all the baggage of luxury,
fame
and fun.
a word to the awesome
After a while,
people who are awesome walk around
piqued to the quick and irritated
by the grumbling of others whose
complaints can't be real, can they?
Why would they do that? Think that
way?
They shudder to think
it isn't really easy
It's cruel to expect
others can understand
but why can't they?
When it would be so easy?
Learn to feel lucky, oh awesome
ones. Your nurture nature
didn't make you this way,
it was something considerably
more fun, and hard
to convey.
Oh, they try to help, anyway
they can't. Their advice
sounds amazing. And doesn't work
for anyone who could use it.
It's some kind of trick,
but they're no magicians
with many a ta-da and huh
they give it away.
people who are awesome walk around
piqued to the quick and irritated
by the grumbling of others whose
complaints can't be real, can they?
Why would they do that? Think that
way?
They shudder to think
it isn't really easy
It's cruel to expect
others can understand
but why can't they?
When it would be so easy?
Learn to feel lucky, oh awesome
ones. Your nurture nature
didn't make you this way,
it was something considerably
more fun, and hard
to convey.
Oh, they try to help, anyway
they can't. Their advice
sounds amazing. And doesn't work
for anyone who could use it.
It's some kind of trick,
but they're no magicians
with many a ta-da and huh
they give it away.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
update
When we were young, our minds danced free
and bodies caught up easily.
And now my mind's danced free again.
My body will catch up in ten
and bodies caught up easily.
And now my mind's danced free again.
My body will catch up in ten
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
You were right the first time
You were right the first time
we met. Which I could see
quite well, and you
could see of me, so it
came out eventually. Oh well
We're still right now. At least
we haven't changed. That much
seems natural. And I suppose
one day well will be sated
having drawn our fill
to full of all each other's
charms and wiles and
shit. I find myself
so empty of it all
I look forward to it.
we met. Which I could see
quite well, and you
could see of me, so it
came out eventually. Oh well
We're still right now. At least
we haven't changed. That much
seems natural. And I suppose
one day well will be sated
having drawn our fill
to full of all each other's
charms and wiles and
shit. I find myself
so empty of it all
I look forward to it.
tragic toast
What should have been to begin with
we have found now, too late.
You raise your laughing eyes to mine
We raise our empty glasses high
and contemplate our fate: with barely time
to tell each other
all we've missed
of two long and eventful lives.
We'll die
before the tales
are told.
But if our tale began
back then, who knows? By now
it might have gotten old.
we have found now, too late.
You raise your laughing eyes to mine
We raise our empty glasses high
and contemplate our fate: with barely time
to tell each other
all we've missed
of two long and eventful lives.
We'll die
before the tales
are told.
But if our tale began
back then, who knows? By now
it might have gotten old.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
uncried
You can't expect people
to know how to help you,
when you say things
they can't understand. Things
they've never known - only
known about. When somebody
dies without giving a chance
to anyone in their whole life
who could help. They couldn't expect
they would even know how. So
they didn't say
those things.
We guess
it can't matter now.
to know how to help you,
when you say things
they can't understand. Things
they've never known - only
known about. When somebody
dies without giving a chance
to anyone in their whole life
who could help. They couldn't expect
they would even know how. So
they didn't say
those things.
We guess
it can't matter now.
the good ones
I lack the easy contempt
some have, most seem
to have, for humanity.
I've known a few too well
from each despised, disparaged
category. I have known their hearts
- a touch or two
is all it takes - too much
to fault and froth
and hate wherever minds
have disagreed. Our hearts
are soft, perhaps, with those
we know. And so, as far as I can tell,
have theirs all been
with me.
They say I'm "one
of the good ones," damn,
okay but I'm not even one
of the ones!
You were just blasting some
I know
are better than
you know. You see,
from what they've said
and done, I know a few
- "the good ones," as you say.
Some better ones than you,
you know, but I
am worse than they.
For I will disagree
with them. And they will think
I'm one of you.
They make exception
in my case, but not for you
- just as you make
exception in my case,
but not for them.
It is a senseless
waste.
At least we can agree
that you and I
are not so bad
as others see.
some have, most seem
to have, for humanity.
I've known a few too well
from each despised, disparaged
category. I have known their hearts
- a touch or two
is all it takes - too much
to fault and froth
and hate wherever minds
have disagreed. Our hearts
are soft, perhaps, with those
we know. And so, as far as I can tell,
have theirs all been
with me.
They say I'm "one
of the good ones," damn,
okay but I'm not even one
of the ones!
You were just blasting some
I know
are better than
you know. You see,
from what they've said
and done, I know a few
- "the good ones," as you say.
Some better ones than you,
you know, but I
am worse than they.
For I will disagree
with them. And they will think
I'm one of you.
They make exception
in my case, but not for you
- just as you make
exception in my case,
but not for them.
It is a senseless
waste.
At least we can agree
that you and I
are not so bad
as others see.
changing bathing habits
The fact is, young and active
bodies
need to be washed more
than old and sedentary ones
alone
a mercy, as
there's often so much more of them
to wash
much more to reach
painful to reach
painful to see
and growing more
each day. So great
to strip off and exult
in suds! Soap off the stink
that you worked up so easily
in younger days, but we
the old
take things more slow.
A nice hot bath
to linger in.
It bears us up
like nothing does
arguably, I'm not that old
but when does one begin?
bodies
need to be washed more
than old and sedentary ones
alone
a mercy, as
there's often so much more of them
to wash
much more to reach
painful to reach
painful to see
and growing more
each day. So great
to strip off and exult
in suds! Soap off the stink
that you worked up so easily
in younger days, but we
the old
take things more slow.
A nice hot bath
to linger in.
It bears us up
like nothing does
arguably, I'm not that old
but when does one begin?
Friday, April 19, 2019
the s w o r d
Jean Viellay was a Royal Lord
of Swordsmanship, some past time back
he had a magic sword named "shit"
which had emblazoned on it
for the sake of tact: s
w o r d - in runic script
imbued by charms and magic wiles
by charlatans, who wished not
to be rude. They charged Viellay
one hundred bucks for fell and nasty spells
of brandish, parry, feint, and thrust
which in that day, was worth 100 times
as many pennies, then. Viellay
swore by it so damn much, they might as well
have spelled it out. But damn
well-handled (as it always was)
that s word sure could cut,
each time he dared to draw it out.
You see, it was a cursed blade
as bowdlerized as its rune spelled.
Once shit was pulled, Viellay
would slay
and then say shit!
fuck! damn!
and hell
of Swordsmanship, some past time back
he had a magic sword named "shit"
which had emblazoned on it
for the sake of tact: s
w o r d - in runic script
imbued by charms and magic wiles
by charlatans, who wished not
to be rude. They charged Viellay
one hundred bucks for fell and nasty spells
of brandish, parry, feint, and thrust
which in that day, was worth 100 times
as many pennies, then. Viellay
swore by it so damn much, they might as well
have spelled it out. But damn
well-handled (as it always was)
that s word sure could cut,
each time he dared to draw it out.
You see, it was a cursed blade
as bowdlerized as its rune spelled.
Once shit was pulled, Viellay
would slay
and then say shit!
fuck! damn!
and hell
what is that smell
tower to heaven
There's a place for me in heaven
up six feet deep. Shaped
like a grave
in a thundercloud heap
just a rolling in my place
like a dynamo tomb
like a power mausoleum
flash crack bang
boom
up six feet deep. Shaped
like a grave
in a thundercloud heap
just a rolling in my place
like a dynamo tomb
like a power mausoleum
flash crack bang
boom
"The hopeless case"
You are a disappointment
of somebody's expectations, maybe.
Did you know them going in, or only find out now?
If you only found out now, consider: you were not supposed
to meet a bar that you did not suppose
yourself no way no how.
Take it with a lick of salt.
A salt lick weighs a ton.
Lick until they go away
or 'til the licking's done.
If they insist, give them a lick. Just drop it on their head.
I mean this metaphorically.
Don't disappoint me, hon. Instead:
Refer to measurements you trust,
and standards set yourself.
Another's hopes are fine by them.
Go hold your own, make all the fuss
you mean to make, for all it helps.
Let no one's hopes - except your own
- come dashing down in rains and pours.
The hopeless case
is one involving
someone else's hopes than yours.
of somebody's expectations, maybe.
Did you know them going in, or only find out now?
If you only found out now, consider: you were not supposed
to meet a bar that you did not suppose
yourself no way no how.
Take it with a lick of salt.
A salt lick weighs a ton.
Lick until they go away
or 'til the licking's done.
If they insist, give them a lick. Just drop it on their head.
I mean this metaphorically.
Don't disappoint me, hon. Instead:
Refer to measurements you trust,
and standards set yourself.
Another's hopes are fine by them.
Go hold your own, make all the fuss
you mean to make, for all it helps.
Let no one's hopes - except your own
- come dashing down in rains and pours.
The hopeless case
is one involving
someone else's hopes than yours.
superstition substation
this is not my belief
I can't explain
that pours through me
I conduct to you
it's from somewhere else
from some other source
I am trying to tone it down,
of course
I can't explain
that pours through me
I conduct to you
it's from somewhere else
from some other source
I am trying to tone it down,
of course
precision bafflegab
I approach meaning semantically
towards a hermeneutics of the obvious,
more ontological than any epistemology
more cosmopolitan than otherwise
despite my cosmological views,
which I leave always behind
and to the side as I plot course
forward at a steady warp 5
- quintuple the speed of light,
for those doing math at the speed
of thought or with help from
a computer - and sometimes,
I crack a dilithium crystal
in the process. Reroute impulse power
to the neumenal vortex! Dilate
the aperture of alignment, the universe
roaring through the growing singularity
- the part of me I don't control, don't
want to - tap into fundamental
omniversal forces using a variety
of techniques - the will
and the word, proper enchantment,
sigils and formulae, alchemy
and animism, uberstition (like
superstition, same basic
principle but above it
in terms of sheer impact
and effect), placebo effect,
power of prayer - in all of which
I am more or less unaware, blissfully so -
and pull up from the fundament
and out through the abyss
MEANING, FORM AND CONTENT!
Clanging and ringing and jangling
into and through the Aether, which
- I've discovered - does not exist!
Many others as well have discovered,
independent discoveries, I hold them
valid. Doesn't exist, but may as well
have
at some point, which yeah
of course you get.
towards a hermeneutics of the obvious,
more ontological than any epistemology
more cosmopolitan than otherwise
despite my cosmological views,
which I leave always behind
and to the side as I plot course
forward at a steady warp 5
- quintuple the speed of light,
for those doing math at the speed
of thought or with help from
a computer - and sometimes,
I crack a dilithium crystal
in the process. Reroute impulse power
to the neumenal vortex! Dilate
the aperture of alignment, the universe
roaring through the growing singularity
- the part of me I don't control, don't
want to - tap into fundamental
omniversal forces using a variety
of techniques - the will
and the word, proper enchantment,
sigils and formulae, alchemy
and animism, uberstition (like
superstition, same basic
principle but above it
in terms of sheer impact
and effect), placebo effect,
power of prayer - in all of which
I am more or less unaware, blissfully so -
and pull up from the fundament
and out through the abyss
MEANING, FORM AND CONTENT!
Clanging and ringing and jangling
into and through the Aether, which
- I've discovered - does not exist!
Many others as well have discovered,
independent discoveries, I hold them
valid. Doesn't exist, but may as well
have
at some point, which yeah
of course you get.
undeceived superiority
In case you are poorly-informed, you'll want
to listen what I tell you now. That thing
you keep noticing? It's real. Or if
you have not, then hear me out. Others go through
the motions not seeing but I
have long since noticed, and
figured out how,
and woken up.
And you - I notice - appear
to be ready to face
the cruelest cut
of truth,
and walk away harder and sharper
for it. So hear me out.
But don't
blame me
if this
is hard
to take. Or if you feel
you are not quite sharp
enough yet! See and listen here
now, and then
walk open-eyed out
and see for yourself. You will not forget
or be the same way - once you cannot unsee
the truth. It helps.
You will be
one of the undeceived,
a cut above
callower youth, or set-in age
unlike
all the sheep and apes and horses and pigs
and dogs and rhinoceroses
you see walking around on the street
or at least
have seen pictures of
these days
to listen what I tell you now. That thing
you keep noticing? It's real. Or if
you have not, then hear me out. Others go through
the motions not seeing but I
have long since noticed, and
figured out how,
and woken up.
And you - I notice - appear
to be ready to face
the cruelest cut
of truth,
and walk away harder and sharper
for it. So hear me out.
But don't
blame me
if this
is hard
to take. Or if you feel
you are not quite sharp
enough yet! See and listen here
now, and then
walk open-eyed out
and see for yourself. You will not forget
or be the same way - once you cannot unsee
the truth. It helps.
You will be
one of the undeceived,
a cut above
callower youth, or set-in age
unlike
all the sheep and apes and horses and pigs
and dogs and rhinoceroses
you see walking around on the street
or at least
have seen pictures of
these days
God doesn't like
God doesn't like
when you beat your drum.
God doesn't like
when you raise your voice.
God doesn't like
when you have your fun.
God just likes
that you made your choice.
God's got the whole game
rigged three ways.
God's way,
yours,
and both. You see,
God doesn't think
it's a game at all.
God made "I"
so that you
make "me."
God doesn't like
when you speak for God.
God doesn't even like
when I do.
God says it all works out.
How odd.
How has it gone, though
making you?
God doesn't dislike
all those things.
God just doesn't
like them, per se.
God wants you
making self you love
God doesn't always get
God's way.
when you beat your drum.
God doesn't like
when you raise your voice.
God doesn't like
when you have your fun.
God just likes
that you made your choice.
God's got the whole game
rigged three ways.
God's way,
yours,
and both. You see,
God doesn't think
it's a game at all.
God made "I"
so that you
make "me."
God doesn't like
when you speak for God.
God doesn't even like
when I do.
God says it all works out.
How odd.
How has it gone, though
making you?
God doesn't dislike
all those things.
God just doesn't
like them, per se.
God wants you
making self you love
God doesn't always get
God's way.
if appetite were a verb
If "appetite" was a verb, would you be satisfied
more easily? More regularly, if lack
could be an action
you would have to be. Well wouldn't you?
Your appetites
would then be
just an act.
One you could put on,
or decide to go without
the lack.
more easily? More regularly, if lack
could be an action
you would have to be. Well wouldn't you?
Your appetites
would then be
just an act.
One you could put on,
or decide to go without
the lack.
"Birthday"
On the day I first came to the world
and found it,
wait,
those were two widely-separated days
but in any case I found it
huge and big,
bursting with weird flavor
and a smell that has never gone away
oh hey
maybe that's me
Anyhow
the sights, the sounds
the feels - tactile
and emotional -
the whole dang thing
revelated itself
as it revelates still
it is wonderful.
Shall I keep it? Oh yes
I think
I will
and I can tell.
I will keep it full,
as it makes me old,
if it makes me ill,
as it makes me well
I will keep it still.
I will pick the pith
as I drink the juice
and I gnash the pulp,
and the rind also,
they will throw me away
an empty shell.
and away
I'll go
and found it,
wait,
those were two widely-separated days
but in any case I found it
huge and big,
bursting with weird flavor
and a smell that has never gone away
oh hey
maybe that's me
Anyhow
the sights, the sounds
the feels - tactile
and emotional -
the whole dang thing
revelated itself
as it revelates still
it is wonderful.
Shall I keep it? Oh yes
I think
I will
and I can tell.
I will keep it full,
as it makes me old,
if it makes me ill,
as it makes me well
I will keep it still.
I will pick the pith
as I drink the juice
and I gnash the pulp,
and the rind also,
they will throw me away
an empty shell.
and away
I'll go
"carrying things"
Carrying things
we've been entrusted with,
such as things of our own, or
someone else's - hopefully
we asked! "Can I carry this
for me?" An often thoughtless
task - a glass of coffee
a computer, a book to read
a plate of dainties,
some cigarettes
(why not use pockets? Please)
or anything on which to feed
one's body, mind and soul
- we don't think, really
"These things are
in here, I want them all
with me." Convenience,
ease and comfort, we
don't even think
one trip! Perfect
almost there
where I want to be
with all this.
Until something shifts,
and then we drop the ball,
and lurching after it
it all turns wild
one way, the other
- trying quite responsibly
to gather everything back
midair, we let it
fall. All fall, and
oops
why did I even need a ball?
Seems I didn't think
this through. Look
at all this.
Now what
do I do
we've been entrusted with,
such as things of our own, or
someone else's - hopefully
we asked! "Can I carry this
for me?" An often thoughtless
task - a glass of coffee
a computer, a book to read
a plate of dainties,
some cigarettes
(why not use pockets? Please)
or anything on which to feed
one's body, mind and soul
- we don't think, really
"These things are
in here, I want them all
with me." Convenience,
ease and comfort, we
don't even think
one trip! Perfect
almost there
where I want to be
with all this.
Until something shifts,
and then we drop the ball,
and lurching after it
it all turns wild
one way, the other
- trying quite responsibly
to gather everything back
midair, we let it
fall. All fall, and
oops
why did I even need a ball?
Seems I didn't think
this through. Look
at all this.
Now what
do I do
"The Quotes in the Title"
I used to have a system,
not a system, but a feel
for which poems got quotation marks,
which didn't,
and why proper case
or lower case should be employed
in any poem that I wrote,
when it came time to title it.
All based on something real,
that I resisted finding out
or trying to explain.
To try is fatal.
It could mess with it,
whatever it.
When something works,
you just don't mess.
In each case I was certain,
sure, or anyway infallible.
They seems no longer real,
those days. I look back
and see confidence,
and can't question decisions
made - but neither do I make
them, now. At least,
I make them not that way.
It seems I've lost the feel
for it. The system
has evolved. At least,
I still have
my feel
for line breaks.
not a system, but a feel
for which poems got quotation marks,
which didn't,
and why proper case
or lower case should be employed
in any poem that I wrote,
when it came time to title it.
All based on something real,
that I resisted finding out
or trying to explain.
To try is fatal.
It could mess with it,
whatever it.
When something works,
you just don't mess.
In each case I was certain,
sure, or anyway infallible.
They seems no longer real,
those days. I look back
and see confidence,
and can't question decisions
made - but neither do I make
them, now. At least,
I make them not that way.
It seems I've lost the feel
for it. The system
has evolved. At least,
I still have
my feel
for line breaks.
"Killian the misanthrope"
Killian the misanthrope
was pretty much a racist, but
an undiscriminating one. He hated
people white and black, Latino,
Asian (Indian, and further East
and up, as well), he hated
both Americas, and all the
antipodeans, he hated all of history
and all of the historians. He hated
all imperials and conquerors
with certain verve, and most of all
whole-heartedly, whichever people
got there first, for each parcel
of land. He figured, they're the ones
who started it. His buddy John
heard everything, concurred
and disregarded it.
was pretty much a racist, but
an undiscriminating one. He hated
people white and black, Latino,
Asian (Indian, and further East
and up, as well), he hated
both Americas, and all the
antipodeans, he hated all of history
and all of the historians. He hated
all imperials and conquerors
with certain verve, and most of all
whole-heartedly, whichever people
got there first, for each parcel
of land. He figured, they're the ones
who started it. His buddy John
heard everything, concurred
and disregarded it.
retreat.
We climbed to the huts
up the switchback trail
of a topless hill
on an endless coast.
We were taught that we would
find peace up there.
What we actually found
was something close.
It wasn't the view,
except when I turned
from it to you, because
you said "Look!"
And I did.
And I saw
what we came here for.
Or why I'd come,
at least.
This was not
in the book.
up the switchback trail
of a topless hill
on an endless coast.
We were taught that we would
find peace up there.
What we actually found
was something close.
It wasn't the view,
except when I turned
from it to you, because
you said "Look!"
And I did.
And I saw
what we came here for.
Or why I'd come,
at least.
This was not
in the book.
inspired by
Most of the people who
know how to live have died.
And I am just sitting bereft
and without a guide.
Luckily, most of them
wrote a book, on hope,
self-belief, or whatever it took
so now I sit wondering
what to write.
know how to live have died.
And I am just sitting bereft
and without a guide.
Luckily, most of them
wrote a book, on hope,
self-belief, or whatever it took
so now I sit wondering
what to write.
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
there are no such diamonds
Look,
I'm in crisis here.
A crisis is defined
by Michael Crichton
in a book made later
into a truly dreadful
movie as "a situation
previously tolerable,
which has been rendered
intolerable by the addition
of a new factor" or words
to similar precise effect, and
I'm having a really hard
time identifying
the new factor.
It's not freaking
me out, but
I feel like
it should be.
The mind makes real
what the body feels,
or the converse
can also be true,
of course. But
Somewhere
surely
there must have been
there has to have been
a situation previously
tolerable. If I could
find that
I'd be confident.
I could work from there,
sure in assumed certainty,
and cool in a crisis
that I'd say
was pretty
much made
for me.
I'm in crisis here.
A crisis is defined
by Michael Crichton
in a book made later
into a truly dreadful
movie as "a situation
previously tolerable,
which has been rendered
intolerable by the addition
of a new factor" or words
to similar precise effect, and
I'm having a really hard
time identifying
the new factor.
It's not freaking
me out, but
I feel like
it should be.
The mind makes real
what the body feels,
or the converse
can also be true,
of course. But
Somewhere
surely
there must have been
there has to have been
a situation previously
tolerable. If I could
find that
I'd be confident.
I could work from there,
sure in assumed certainty,
and cool in a crisis
that I'd say
was pretty
much made
for me.
the old forum
If I didn't have to log in
if I didn't need a password I think
that place is still there, and sometimes
I want to run, skipping gaily through the
waving high grass and wildflowers
of the past I misspent there
with all those human beings,
together
without a care or a connection
other than
internet. It was different, in those days
such places were new enough to be mistaken
for where it was at.
But it wasn't yet,
and never will be now. It seems
technology has forged ahead
without a body
anyhow
we don't feel very now,
no more. The cutting edge
is taking bows, and resolute,
refusing to encore.
if I didn't need a password I think
that place is still there, and sometimes
I want to run, skipping gaily through the
waving high grass and wildflowers
of the past I misspent there
with all those human beings,
together
without a care or a connection
other than
internet. It was different, in those days
such places were new enough to be mistaken
for where it was at.
But it wasn't yet,
and never will be now. It seems
technology has forged ahead
without a body
anyhow
we don't feel very now,
no more. The cutting edge
is taking bows, and resolute,
refusing to encore.
I love you and shit
Just because I love you and
shit it doesn't mean I wanted to
but I want to.
It doesn't mean
I'd have made the choice
but the choice is made. It doesn't
mean
I can explain
or understand
my natural response to your bull
shit and consistent
excellence,
or that I would have any different
response if I could, I'm not saying
I wouldn't or would, but
it wouldn't mean that if
I didn't or did. It would
only mean
whatever this hard knot of twisted,
inextricable fact
means, when I try to unravel it
and when I do not.
it means I love you
and fuck if I know
what else,
but it's a fucking whole
hell of a
lot.
shit it doesn't mean I wanted to
but I want to.
It doesn't mean
I'd have made the choice
but the choice is made. It doesn't
mean
I can explain
or understand
my natural response to your bull
shit and consistent
excellence,
or that I would have any different
response if I could, I'm not saying
I wouldn't or would, but
it wouldn't mean that if
I didn't or did. It would
only mean
whatever this hard knot of twisted,
inextricable fact
means, when I try to unravel it
and when I do not.
it means I love you
and fuck if I know
what else,
but it's a fucking whole
hell of a
lot.
the dogging of names
Dogs can make friends
without ever knowing each other's names
and that makes me happy.
To a dog it must be like
a dog's name
is a secret code word
what are you even talking about? Hey
my friend totally just
took off
should I go too?
Mental note: what was that sound
again?
Must remember to ask
wait.
bark? LISTEN
next time
woof
hey friend come back
woof woof yeah!
here
you
come!
I knew we love
each other
without ever knowing each other's names
and that makes me happy.
To a dog it must be like
a dog's name
is a secret code word
what are you even talking about? Hey
my friend totally just
took off
should I go too?
Mental note: what was that sound
again?
Must remember to ask
wait.
bark? LISTEN
next time
woof
hey friend come back
woof woof yeah!
here
you
come!
I knew we love
each other
overheard
So, what did he say to that? Oh sorry I forgot what
we were talking about. But yes. He said and you will
not. believe. this.
that he forgot what we were talking about! Did you
press him on it? He had to know you knew! No, I just
knew and he knew I did. I let him suffer. He didn't
say anything else? He apologized. Without saying
for what? I don't
remember. I told him
it was okay.
Was it okay?
Yes. Are you
calling me
a liar?
No!
...
Yes.
we were talking about. But yes. He said and you will
not. believe. this.
that he forgot what we were talking about! Did you
press him on it? He had to know you knew! No, I just
knew and he knew I did. I let him suffer. He didn't
say anything else? He apologized. Without saying
for what? I don't
remember. I told him
it was okay.
Was it okay?
Yes. Are you
calling me
a liar?
No!
...
Yes.
irrational
Yes: it would be possible for you to choose the sandwich
instead. By far the likeliest outcome, though
would be that you (since you are
the same thing with no changes within it),
would pick the same thing for the same reasons.
The chocolate bar. Or the ice cream.
Perhaps your eyes would light on something
else while you ponder, and you’d remember
a forgotten (unpleasant) story about
that brand of chocolate bar, or
the type of food in the sandwich.
And so, choose differently. Not enough
to put you off for life, but
a momentary aversion. You could
choose differently. Possibly you
wouldn’t even remember why.
instead. By far the likeliest outcome, though
would be that you (since you are
the same thing with no changes within it),
would pick the same thing for the same reasons.
The chocolate bar. Or the ice cream.
Perhaps your eyes would light on something
else while you ponder, and you’d remember
a forgotten (unpleasant) story about
that brand of chocolate bar, or
the type of food in the sandwich.
And so, choose differently. Not enough
to put you off for life, but
a momentary aversion. You could
choose differently. Possibly you
wouldn’t even remember why.
America, guns everywhere
every time I touch a gun
I feel like I am implic
-ated. I've got finger-
prints that stick to
everything. And all
these guns are
hated so damn
much, so hard
It's filthy
getting all my
trace and residue
on such cruel things.
What if it's found?
I'm telling you,
the implication stings.
I feel like I am implic
-ated. I've got finger-
prints that stick to
everything. And all
these guns are
hated so damn
much, so hard
It's filthy
getting all my
trace and residue
on such cruel things.
What if it's found?
I'm telling you,
the implication stings.
incorrigible
She can't be believed
except by her acts,
and nobody sees these
harder than her. She
finds herself sole
in possession of all
she could say or could
think, that is good
to defer.
And better or worse
just don't seem to come in
to it. She can't seem to get
far enough off. Perspective
is everywhere, just the same
proportion is sticky
and growing soft.
except by her acts,
and nobody sees these
harder than her. She
finds herself sole
in possession of all
she could say or could
think, that is good
to defer.
And better or worse
just don't seem to come in
to it. She can't seem to get
far enough off. Perspective
is everywhere, just the same
proportion is sticky
and growing soft.
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
ingénues
I can't help loving you the much
much I do, and discovering new
reasons to.
I feel the pull of all
the proven ways and wiles you
have always had, which you have
always used to pull me in, not even
meaning to.
much I do, and discovering new
reasons to.
I feel the pull of all
the proven ways and wiles you
have always had, which you have
always used to pull me in, not even
meaning to.
mercy in excellence
If my poems were so much better,
way better - if they were great
People would have to read them.
They'd be dragged back. FUCK
There was one and I missed one!
This clown
posts six on a Tuesday, nothing
for two weeks and then fourteen
and calls that "one-a-day"!
(on average). I'm suffocated
by a surging surfeit of excellence
barraged by rare feeling
at a strange and killing angle
delivered and pummeled
by coup de grace after
coup de grace, just
over the course of one poem.
Let alone when ten crop up at once,
menace you in gangs and you try
to thread your way through
delicately, diligently,
apologetically for tardiness
and they pounce! Circle 'round
kicking and knocking down, grappling
and gasping, scratching, biting until
you're beaten and exhausted,
stunned, bleeding and injured
- as only the very best poems
can do. A tad excessive
but it's what keeps you coming back,
wincing and grimacing in disappointment - nothing!
Nothing again today. No onslaught, no charging
massacre of the poem brigade, not even the odd
perfect gem. Spat out by itself. Meanwhile
waiting. Hung in suspense, wishing
for one - needing a poem! Because
they're all so much better, way
better - great. Just great
THAT
is of course why I don't do that
to them. Even if I couldn't,
I wouldn't, and we'll never know
you know.
way better - if they were great
People would have to read them.
They'd be dragged back. FUCK
There was one and I missed one!
This clown
posts six on a Tuesday, nothing
for two weeks and then fourteen
and calls that "one-a-day"!
(on average). I'm suffocated
by a surging surfeit of excellence
barraged by rare feeling
at a strange and killing angle
delivered and pummeled
by coup de grace after
coup de grace, just
over the course of one poem.
Let alone when ten crop up at once,
menace you in gangs and you try
to thread your way through
delicately, diligently,
apologetically for tardiness
and they pounce! Circle 'round
kicking and knocking down, grappling
and gasping, scratching, biting until
you're beaten and exhausted,
stunned, bleeding and injured
- as only the very best poems
can do. A tad excessive
but it's what keeps you coming back,
wincing and grimacing in disappointment - nothing!
Nothing again today. No onslaught, no charging
massacre of the poem brigade, not even the odd
perfect gem. Spat out by itself. Meanwhile
waiting. Hung in suspense, wishing
for one - needing a poem! Because
they're all so much better, way
better - great. Just great
THAT
is of course why I don't do that
to them. Even if I couldn't,
I wouldn't, and we'll never know
you know.
the false dilemma
We live in a large,
hard horrible world
with so many wild
and good people turned loose
in it, and tearing themselves
and each other to pieces, confusing
the bad
for everyone they don't know.
It's too much
to almost bear.
We must bear it all the way, and find
some way to reconcile the fair
with life
that isn't.
Most of the time,
just pretend you don't mind
that you didn't.
hard horrible world
with so many wild
and good people turned loose
in it, and tearing themselves
and each other to pieces, confusing
the bad
for everyone they don't know.
It's too much
to almost bear.
We must bear it all the way, and find
some way to reconcile the fair
with life
that isn't.
Most of the time,
just pretend you don't mind
that you didn't.
good and good-looking
You look good. Check
a reflection for a second. There they are
! Those eyes. That nose and mouth, and all the
features between and around, a stage
across and upon which play the expressions
of feeling that pack your say
with punch, and your punch
with say. Your voice with
tone, and your listen
as well. With surprise
when your brows
lift your eyes wide,
or when you've got
a hunch, and your brow
goes quizzical. And when
you beam, or laugh - the effect
is like a reprieve
from everything bad,
and a summons to a feast
more than physical. Every way
you make yourself look -
undeliberately, one assumes
- by means of the life
and the views and the mood
you make and have made in yourself, which
people you know have learned
to associate with you.
And then they do.
And every time they do, you
bring a feeling rushing back: the world,
and what it's like to have you in it.
A lot to wear, and it's barely
even worn, so lightly you bear it
- a lot to bear, but you have been born
to begin it
in each person you meet,
increasing their knowing
and the way they care,
you continue to give
what they're getting
of you, you look good
for any to see, with eyes
or just soul. You are
good-looking, and good to see,
and good. I wish sometimes you could see
yourself with these eyes of mine. You would drive
you wild, you would raise you up high,
effortlessly - not even a goal!
It wouldn't be, just an uncontrolled
effect, which all who have known you
know.
a reflection for a second. There they are
! Those eyes. That nose and mouth, and all the
features between and around, a stage
across and upon which play the expressions
of feeling that pack your say
with punch, and your punch
with say. Your voice with
tone, and your listen
as well. With surprise
when your brows
lift your eyes wide,
or when you've got
a hunch, and your brow
goes quizzical. And when
you beam, or laugh - the effect
is like a reprieve
from everything bad,
and a summons to a feast
more than physical. Every way
you make yourself look -
undeliberately, one assumes
- by means of the life
and the views and the mood
you make and have made in yourself, which
people you know have learned
to associate with you.
And then they do.
And every time they do, you
bring a feeling rushing back: the world,
and what it's like to have you in it.
A lot to wear, and it's barely
even worn, so lightly you bear it
- a lot to bear, but you have been born
to begin it
in each person you meet,
increasing their knowing
and the way they care,
you continue to give
what they're getting
of you, you look good
for any to see, with eyes
or just soul. You are
good-looking, and good to see,
and good. I wish sometimes you could see
yourself with these eyes of mine. You would drive
you wild, you would raise you up high,
effortlessly - not even a goal!
It wouldn't be, just an uncontrolled
effect, which all who have known you
know.
mental no
I either won't or shall not
remember the thing that we need
to find out
and know
to get done
the thing we're finding it out for
to do, and then
we can
forget all about it. I won't
remember it that long
perhaps write it down?
or type in your phone
my mental note
is already gone.
remember the thing that we need
to find out
and know
to get done
the thing we're finding it out for
to do, and then
we can
forget all about it. I won't
remember it that long
perhaps write it down?
or type in your phone
my mental note
is already gone.
cycles of causality
What if every task that you began
knocked down a glass
to start another one
of dustpan, brush and dump
the shards
- you've ripped
the trashcan liner! Now
the whole thing must be sorted out.
It isn't hard. Pull a new
and empty bag, stretched out anew
and held somehow, upended down
and over can, and flip
it over emptiness, and shake,
and shake. It tumbles in, and yes!
The new bag held. Victory,
now throw it out. Just
to be safe, and through with it.
But on the way
back in, a vase
is beautiful. With flowers
cut and fresh. One day
your turn will come. But now,
you breathe and look and see
just why it all had to be done.
And how, unfortunately.
knocked down a glass
to start another one
of dustpan, brush and dump
the shards
- you've ripped
the trashcan liner! Now
the whole thing must be sorted out.
It isn't hard. Pull a new
and empty bag, stretched out anew
and held somehow, upended down
and over can, and flip
it over emptiness, and shake,
and shake. It tumbles in, and yes!
The new bag held. Victory,
now throw it out. Just
to be safe, and through with it.
But on the way
back in, a vase
is beautiful. With flowers
cut and fresh. One day
your turn will come. But now,
you breathe and look and see
just why it all had to be done.
And how, unfortunately.
truth toddlers
And it's true what they say
you can tell the truth,
but you can't tell the truth
from a lie, unless
you've walked a mile
with truth in your shoes,
and a pants and a shirt
and a tie of lies - with
a jacket of truth, you can ease
off your arms, sling over your shoulder,
or hang on the back of a chair, while you loosen
your tie of lies. Expanding your chest
to draw in air
yet another design:
just as true as needs
dictate, circumstances
eventuate, and situations
demand.
It's the bargain we made
when we first drew in air
our very first words, and tried
how they stand.
you can tell the truth,
but you can't tell the truth
from a lie, unless
you've walked a mile
with truth in your shoes,
and a pants and a shirt
and a tie of lies - with
a jacket of truth, you can ease
off your arms, sling over your shoulder,
or hang on the back of a chair, while you loosen
your tie of lies. Expanding your chest
to draw in air
yet another design:
just as true as needs
dictate, circumstances
eventuate, and situations
demand.
It's the bargain we made
when we first drew in air
our very first words, and tried
how they stand.
Monday, April 15, 2019
let or hindrance
Let love go.
Let it be known to no-one
it wasn't wanted, and let
anyone who asks know
you're ok. Fine
as gold woven strings
and wine. There are
fine things in life.
Let them go. You
are fine.
Let it be known to no-one
it wasn't wanted, and let
anyone who asks know
you're ok. Fine
as gold woven strings
and wine. There are
fine things in life.
Let them go. You
are fine.
"After frost"
After frost
the rude bloom
stoops with rime
dying.
A spider climbs
tippy-toe up the icy
stalk to sling strands
into the rising, brightening
air at a branch. No one
in all this is fooled.
A curious business
of trying
too soon to make a living;
the change coming too late
for we the living, burst
into it to appall
some design.
the rude bloom
stoops with rime
dying.
A spider climbs
tippy-toe up the icy
stalk to sling strands
into the rising, brightening
air at a branch. No one
in all this is fooled.
A curious business
of trying
too soon to make a living;
the change coming too late
for we the living, burst
into it to appall
some design.
determinant
lately I feel like I'm not in control
everything just as occurs to me
I shoot off or dive in,
begin doing pursuing
and will not let up
until it gives or I
give in. A rest.
For a moment a spell,
then resume with a will
to complete current task
until suddenly, I start
bolt upright awake, and say
why am I doing this thing?
don't ask
everything just as occurs to me
I shoot off or dive in,
begin doing pursuing
and will not let up
until it gives or I
give in. A rest.
For a moment a spell,
then resume with a will
to complete current task
until suddenly, I start
bolt upright awake, and say
why am I doing this thing?
don't ask
Sunday, April 14, 2019
alas alack
This morning I was sleeping sound as a bell.
when every other day I woke up myself.
and then the alarm destroyed all my dreams.
The one day I could have slept in, it seems
when every other day I woke up myself.
and then the alarm destroyed all my dreams.
The one day I could have slept in, it seems
What Now?
We got along like gangbusters
in a house on fire
with nothing to do.
Since all the gangs had been outlawed
and all the fire-fighters too
Our once-crack team faced hails of lead
and rains of liquor, faced them down
like gents and dames with cracks of quip
it won't be long 'til people ask
"Where are they now?"
Well, here we are.
Just you and me, babe. Blowing smoke
Say, what d'you say we paint the town?
And I know just the shade: a brighter glow
of red, like burning
hope.
in a house on fire
with nothing to do.
Since all the gangs had been outlawed
and all the fire-fighters too
Our once-crack team faced hails of lead
and rains of liquor, faced them down
like gents and dames with cracks of quip
it won't be long 'til people ask
"Where are they now?"
Well, here we are.
Just you and me, babe. Blowing smoke
Say, what d'you say we paint the town?
And I know just the shade: a brighter glow
of red, like burning
hope.
tidy
The real conspiracy
manufactures conspiracy theories
to foster incredulity in the public
and distract attention away from
the real conspiracy.
That’s my theory. Maybe you'll scoff
we can't show that it's centrally-directed, but
one never can. And nevertheless
it is happening, and
it has that effect.
manufactures conspiracy theories
to foster incredulity in the public
and distract attention away from
the real conspiracy.
That’s my theory. Maybe you'll scoff
we can't show that it's centrally-directed, but
one never can. And nevertheless
it is happening, and
it has that effect.
Saturday, April 13, 2019
duty do
I have finished the obligatory
now my day is up to me
dissatisfied with all the time
I couldn't waste.
It wasn't free.
now my day is up to me
dissatisfied with all the time
I couldn't waste.
It wasn't free.
domicile
People live in their
little compartmented lives.
They're compartmentalized.
It's not very nice.
Unless you lucked out and got
some nice compartment.
A decent apartment
of adequate size
You take it all out of what's still in you
and you make over the inside walls
furniture, fixtures and things within frames
you can match it all
Sooner or later you have to get out
the walls of your heart
are the walls of a house
and if you were a fire
you'd want to be caught
and if you were a liar
you'd want to be taught
and if you were a burglar
you'd want to move in
but since you just live here
you're just living, then
where there's nothing to steal
or put out
or begin
could you find
any space of your own
if you lost this one?
and if you did once,
could you do it again?
and if you once found
you could go anytime,
what would you win?
little compartmented lives.
They're compartmentalized.
It's not very nice.
Unless you lucked out and got
some nice compartment.
A decent apartment
of adequate size
You take it all out of what's still in you
and you make over the inside walls
furniture, fixtures and things within frames
you can match it all
Sooner or later you have to get out
the walls of your heart
are the walls of a house
and if you were a fire
you'd want to be caught
and if you were a liar
you'd want to be taught
and if you were a burglar
you'd want to move in
but since you just live here
you're just living, then
where there's nothing to steal
or put out
or begin
could you find
any space of your own
if you lost this one?
and if you did once,
could you do it again?
and if you once found
you could go anytime,
what would you win?
"If I didn't know better..."
And the end of that sentence
Is an ellipsis.
Three full stops in a row.
It had to stutter-skid to a halt.
And not one word after that, you know
A fully-completed thought, I'd say.
"If I didn't know better" dot, dot, dot!
I couldn't go further than that if I lied.
I'd only be making stuff up for the spot
that you put me on.
If ever that sentence had other end,
it's gone.
You know how it goes with me. God knows
I tried. That is all
it was meant
to be.
Is an ellipsis.
Three full stops in a row.
It had to stutter-skid to a halt.
And not one word after that, you know
A fully-completed thought, I'd say.
"If I didn't know better" dot, dot, dot!
I couldn't go further than that if I lied.
I'd only be making stuff up for the spot
that you put me on.
If ever that sentence had other end,
it's gone.
You know how it goes with me. God knows
I tried. That is all
it was meant
to be.
Friday, April 12, 2019
past bastard
There's something extremely compelling
to me, about imagining myself
as a bastard, in tiny sharp ways
that I'm not, and
ugh. Never would be
no. Even though
I feel like there are tiny sharp ways
I've been a bastard
hell
of course there are, but so
difficult to drag them out
from memory, where they love
to go.
I sure damn don't find those compelling.
Can't even remember them, some times. Most
times. They weren't THAT bad.
So why the fascination, then? With
future/alternate bad self, done
shockingly in radical and different
sharp and tiny ways again?
I hate to sheepishly admit
I think I think it's protocol
to blaze away each unsafe path
I could have *cough* gone down,
is all. Install
some pre-determined turn aside,
from wrong-way road now burnt and cauterized -
No chance now left to do the thing
Not having known, not having seen
Not having gone that way,
I won't!
I drifted daydream
that way once. I did not like that me
I am, I love to root against that man
and relish all his villainous turns
- he has quite dashing ways, and earns
his comeuppance, with chill and charm
I promise you
He shall not do
a harm.
to me, about imagining myself
as a bastard, in tiny sharp ways
that I'm not, and
ugh. Never would be
no. Even though
I feel like there are tiny sharp ways
I've been a bastard
hell
of course there are, but so
difficult to drag them out
from memory, where they love
to go.
I sure damn don't find those compelling.
Can't even remember them, some times. Most
times. They weren't THAT bad.
So why the fascination, then? With
future/alternate bad self, done
shockingly in radical and different
sharp and tiny ways again?
I hate to sheepishly admit
I think I think it's protocol
to blaze away each unsafe path
I could have *cough* gone down,
is all. Install
some pre-determined turn aside,
from wrong-way road now burnt and cauterized -
No chance now left to do the thing
Not having known, not having seen
Not having gone that way,
I won't!
I drifted daydream
that way once. I did not like that me
I am, I love to root against that man
and relish all his villainous turns
- he has quite dashing ways, and earns
his comeuppance, with chill and charm
I promise you
He shall not do
a harm.
against profanity
Profanity is a hideous affliction
- a vulnerability deliberately installed,
inflicted in children by disgusting, incompetent, negligent
or uncaring
parents.
And/or.
Manufacture abhor
And revulse
And pain
lying years in store.
They install it themselves,
dear parentals do.
like a moral panic button in the forehead, press here
wired right straight through to the brain with a jolt
of juice. And instruct the child: if anyone
should "cuss you out"
Well you must cut loose. They can't
use syllables like that. Your justified proper response
is
to
>>>overreact<<< like freakout mad, and come to blood and bruise and blows! Or burst into tears and weep for the hurt someone caused by their stray bad superstitious "power word" your parental gave you to hold for life, and for all. Now you hold the ball. It is supposed to hit you hard.
You only uphold their honor, thereby
The way you deliberately gore yourself.
They trained you to, also deliberately
They trained it in deep by punishment
and by reinforcing it every slip
by slap, shush and tut
- and if ever, and if
they're cussed themselves? Well,
they overreact themselves,
LIKE A GROWN-UP
DAMN GOOD EXAMPLE.
And given such good parental
gift, you grow up much likewise. Flinch and
wince at certain syllables. You go
through life yourself,
with a tut
and a cluck
to uplift,
and a scold and a crack
in your sour mouth,
and it serves you right
to pass on
such shit.
- a vulnerability deliberately installed,
inflicted in children by disgusting, incompetent, negligent
or uncaring
parents.
And/or.
Manufacture abhor
And revulse
And pain
lying years in store.
They install it themselves,
dear parentals do.
like a moral panic button in the forehead, press here
wired right straight through to the brain with a jolt
of juice. And instruct the child: if anyone
should "cuss you out"
Well you must cut loose. They can't
use syllables like that. Your justified proper response
is
to
>>>overreact<<< like freakout mad, and come to blood and bruise and blows! Or burst into tears and weep for the hurt someone caused by their stray bad superstitious "power word" your parental gave you to hold for life, and for all. Now you hold the ball. It is supposed to hit you hard.
You only uphold their honor, thereby
The way you deliberately gore yourself.
They trained you to, also deliberately
They trained it in deep by punishment
and by reinforcing it every slip
by slap, shush and tut
- and if ever, and if
they're cussed themselves? Well,
they overreact themselves,
LIKE A GROWN-UP
DAMN GOOD EXAMPLE.
And given such good parental
gift, you grow up much likewise. Flinch and
wince at certain syllables. You go
through life yourself,
with a tut
and a cluck
to uplift,
and a scold and a crack
in your sour mouth,
and it serves you right
to pass on
such shit.
false crush confessions
the underage mcdonalds crush
I told you always was so sweet
to call me "sweetheart" every time
with drive-by drivethrough southern charm
is never there when I drive through.
She never did exist at all, in fact
I made her up complete
that one time that I mentioned it
off top of head, midstream in chat.
You've prodded me for updates since.
A sweet and corny playful act
I don't know how to break it, now.
We've both become quite fond
of her.
Attached,
you might
have said.
You know,
somehow? The whole thing's
purely innocent. Which you
knew quite damn well! Except
- it isn't? Isn't it.
Your trust -
a touch, I do confess,
abused
- I really don't know why
at all. I'm not the sort to trick
or lie. I'm just
confused.
But one point catches on the nail,
and snags a bit. Alas! The details
devil us. I could have made her
anything, and
she was blonde. You know. I must
confess, I do confess
a touch
suspicious, isn't it?
Or purely innocent,
but only just.
I told you always was so sweet
to call me "sweetheart" every time
with drive-by drivethrough southern charm
is never there when I drive through.
She never did exist at all, in fact
I made her up complete
that one time that I mentioned it
off top of head, midstream in chat.
You've prodded me for updates since.
A sweet and corny playful act
I don't know how to break it, now.
We've both become quite fond
of her.
Attached,
you might
have said.
You know,
somehow? The whole thing's
purely innocent. Which you
knew quite damn well! Except
- it isn't? Isn't it.
Your trust -
a touch, I do confess,
abused
- I really don't know why
at all. I'm not the sort to trick
or lie. I'm just
confused.
But one point catches on the nail,
and snags a bit. Alas! The details
devil us. I could have made her
anything, and
she was blonde. You know. I must
confess, I do confess
a touch
suspicious, isn't it?
Or purely innocent,
but only just.
the rude shadow
Ah! Courtesy. Everywhere thine shadow falls
we look up and behold your wingèd shape
of grace - it's a bird it's a plane,
it's Courtesy. No, it is only a bird
that hangs, blotting the sun from one's face
and a rude plop from shadow-hid cloaca
as you stand there, with mouth agape
and wondering in the relative gloom
so perfectly-placed
we look up and behold your wingèd shape
of grace - it's a bird it's a plane,
it's Courtesy. No, it is only a bird
that hangs, blotting the sun from one's face
and a rude plop from shadow-hid cloaca
as you stand there, with mouth agape
and wondering in the relative gloom
so perfectly-placed
Thursday, April 11, 2019
in his best superior fashion
I knew every piece was of a piece
with the lounging effect of grace I wore
like a jacket and slacks of indigo
matchlessly balanced and gone on tour
In my best superior fashion, I strode.
Turning heads as I passed on by
ignoring the hue and cries of protest
- one should never use hands
when turning heads
with the lounging effect of grace I wore
like a jacket and slacks of indigo
matchlessly balanced and gone on tour
In my best superior fashion, I strode.
Turning heads as I passed on by
ignoring the hue and cries of protest
- one should never use hands
when turning heads
placebo girl
You think she is.
but she isn't you know.
You think she isn't -
except for the glow
you couldn't have feel
if it's not real
but whether you're in
or out of control,
you don't know
placebo?
no placebo girl
you don't know
if she is or she isn't
real
- oh, she's real alright
like a sugar pill. But
there's no real sugar
in those, now though.
placebo no placebo
girl
she makes the world
feel dangerous
experimental in effect
the real best medicine you get
is no laughing matter of fact.
It's hope. That's
what gets us
through this act
placebo?
no placebo girl
you don't know
if she is or she isn't
real
- oh, she's real alright
like a sugar pill. But
there's no real sugar
in those, now though.
placebo no placebo
girl
some sadist in a cotton smock
somewhere must know what's in your love
while I'm here feeling so damn fine
I hope it's not just tricked-out
state of mind
placebo?
no placebo girl
you don't know
if she is or she isn't
real
- oh, she's real alright
like a sugar pill. But
there's no real sugar
in those, now though.
placebo no placebo
girl
but she isn't you know.
You think she isn't -
except for the glow
you couldn't have feel
if it's not real
but whether you're in
or out of control,
you don't know
placebo?
no placebo girl
you don't know
if she is or she isn't
real
- oh, she's real alright
like a sugar pill. But
there's no real sugar
in those, now though.
placebo no placebo
girl
she makes the world
feel dangerous
experimental in effect
the real best medicine you get
is no laughing matter of fact.
It's hope. That's
what gets us
through this act
placebo?
no placebo girl
you don't know
if she is or she isn't
real
- oh, she's real alright
like a sugar pill. But
there's no real sugar
in those, now though.
placebo no placebo
girl
some sadist in a cotton smock
somewhere must know what's in your love
while I'm here feeling so damn fine
I hope it's not just tricked-out
state of mind
placebo?
no placebo girl
you don't know
if she is or she isn't
real
- oh, she's real alright
like a sugar pill. But
there's no real sugar
in those, now though.
placebo no placebo
girl
painstake
We take pains not
only to avoid receipt,
but also to avoid the gift
of them. Which,
selfishly enough
is partly because
it's a blow to one's
competence. One's care,
one's good and earnest
will: to be not disease,
injury, nor even pill
We take pains to avoid
such pangs. Our rewards
storm in, and bear us away
in gangs
as they will.
only to avoid receipt,
but also to avoid the gift
of them. Which,
selfishly enough
is partly because
it's a blow to one's
competence. One's care,
one's good and earnest
will: to be not disease,
injury, nor even pill
We take pains to avoid
such pangs. Our rewards
storm in, and bear us away
in gangs
as they will.
courting controversy
Again with the first thing out of my mouth
- some ridden-dead hobbyhorse, broken from
a wild peeve and given endless service since.
Controversy
may be daring thrills, but not
for courting. It doesn't woo
Would I please learn to spout off less
than I do, on first dates? Not trying to hide
who I am, but who am I? Who are you? A fit
and finer dining topic! These vegetables
are amazing aren't they? Oh do you love
vegetables?
I do! I like raw radishes, carrots, asparagus
(cooked though), tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers. Broccoli
and cauliflower, if raw. Tons of others. Actually
I can't think of a damn vegetable I don't like! But the ones
that are good consumed raw
are the best. How about you?
Really.
It's always interesting
to see if anyone objects
that tomatoes are fruits,
and inquire as to why they didn't also object
to peppers
and cucumbers,
also fruits.
Named for that purpose,
in part, I confess. All definitely
vegetables.
Whoops.
I mean,
controversy
can be ok
right?
It's important to believe some things.
We must show truth
has its defenders
regardless of what else is off
in the wings.
- some ridden-dead hobbyhorse, broken from
a wild peeve and given endless service since.
Controversy
may be daring thrills, but not
for courting. It doesn't woo
Would I please learn to spout off less
than I do, on first dates? Not trying to hide
who I am, but who am I? Who are you? A fit
and finer dining topic! These vegetables
are amazing aren't they? Oh do you love
vegetables?
I do! I like raw radishes, carrots, asparagus
(cooked though), tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers. Broccoli
and cauliflower, if raw. Tons of others. Actually
I can't think of a damn vegetable I don't like! But the ones
that are good consumed raw
are the best. How about you?
Really.
It's always interesting
to see if anyone objects
that tomatoes are fruits,
and inquire as to why they didn't also object
to peppers
and cucumbers,
also fruits.
Named for that purpose,
in part, I confess. All definitely
vegetables.
Whoops.
I mean,
controversy
can be ok
right?
It's important to believe some things.
We must show truth
has its defenders
regardless of what else is off
in the wings.
coterie
You and I
- as "we" -
can us around all we like, and find
and found
a coterie
devoted to
the making and pursuit of truth,
beauty, life and sophistry
refined to flow demonstrably,
and thus perfected in such works
as we shall pick perfection from
together as a coterie,
with everyone we've voted in
- I hope that we do not agree
on anyone.
- as "we" -
can us around all we like, and find
and found
a coterie
devoted to
the making and pursuit of truth,
beauty, life and sophistry
refined to flow demonstrably,
and thus perfected in such works
as we shall pick perfection from
together as a coterie,
with everyone we've voted in
- I hope that we do not agree
on anyone.
Tuesday, April 09, 2019
the overlook
Some places we have to go,
we can't get back from on our own.
Some places we have to go,
we don't. We didn't have to.
Some places we don't have
to go, we didn't go at all
- we never went. Just wound
up, ended up. Just found
ourselves. And found we can't
get back from here. It happens
so without intent, consent
or notice, knowing looks,
without a hint passed
in our minds, without a sign
we stand atop an overlook.
Upon this life, gaze out and down
for miles around, and not one path
we see to bring us back to it.
Unsafe and just about as sound
as we'd expect, we face a choice:
trudge ever on and up, in hopes
some higher vantage shows the way,
perhaps shout out from cliff and bluff
ourselves the echo is a voice,
or turn back, though we know
we do not know the way we came.
Or just back up way back, then
run flat-out to fly into the view
that looks so different from up here,
and never will be quite the same.
we can't get back from on our own.
Some places we have to go,
we don't. We didn't have to.
Some places we don't have
to go, we didn't go at all
- we never went. Just wound
up, ended up. Just found
ourselves. And found we can't
get back from here. It happens
so without intent, consent
or notice, knowing looks,
without a hint passed
in our minds, without a sign
we stand atop an overlook.
Upon this life, gaze out and down
for miles around, and not one path
we see to bring us back to it.
Unsafe and just about as sound
as we'd expect, we face a choice:
trudge ever on and up, in hopes
some higher vantage shows the way,
perhaps shout out from cliff and bluff
ourselves the echo is a voice,
or turn back, though we know
we do not know the way we came.
Or just back up way back, then
run flat-out to fly into the view
that looks so different from up here,
and never will be quite the same.
Friday, April 05, 2019
Average Time
The average time on Earth
is now. If you take each
clean neat zone for clocks,
add them together and divide
by the number of zones,
you'll have wasted
your ticks
& tocks.
is now. If you take each
clean neat zone for clocks,
add them together and divide
by the number of zones,
you'll have wasted
your ticks
& tocks.
anymnymnia
Insanity is doing the same thing
over and over again
and expecting a different result.
Genius is getting it. Reading
the same book over
and over and getting
a different result
is called
actually I don't
know what it's called,
but it happens
all the time.
Wanting a word
where there isn't one
is called
a mild anomic aphasia,
perhaps - if you think there really is
a word, and you just can't
remember it? If there isn't,
then I don't think there is
a word for that, but
there should be.
over and over again
and expecting a different result.
Genius is getting it. Reading
the same book over
and over and getting
a different result
is called
actually I don't
know what it's called,
but it happens
all the time.
Wanting a word
where there isn't one
is called
a mild anomic aphasia,
perhaps - if you think there really is
a word, and you just can't
remember it? If there isn't,
then I don't think there is
a word for that, but
there should be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)