In order to suffice,
You must have measured wants.
Know the waits, and their price.
Know the ways of the hunts,
Know the prey and its haunts,
Know your game by its rules.
Know the faint by their praise,
- Be the bravest of fools.
Knowing full well what hand
You have drawn, and will flush
Busted straight to full house,
Burning down in a rush.
Once you've once lost it all,
Only then do you bluff.
Only there, far below
- Will you see what's enough.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
Edgar Allan Esq.
A more acidulous and perspicacious
witness to the dissolution of
my sanity, I bid you do not
seek.
I descend from a race gone
mad before me, and have driven
all my intimates and cronies
as well from all hold upon
the most rare and peculiar
sense by my intimacies. Crones
And the wretchedly, excessively
aged alone have proved proof
against the grotesque airs
and repulsive ambiance I carry,
seemingly with me, to impose
itself upon all occasions
and events I occasion
to haunt with myself. Indeed,
if you'd but stay your hand
to slay me later after much
resort to wine has dulled
your loathing, and replaced
this unseemly (and you will
learn, unbidden) fury of reproach
with an eye less calculating
than cold, a tale I could unfold
in the telling that would still
your very disbelief in that act
of your reason's frantic rejection
of it. Intrigue?
Yes, and of so cunning and subtly
false a design that even I could
not detect the warp of its weft
until I was so caught up
in its web, I had become myself
the spider. Listen, then,
as you seek to be amused,
to prove yourself quite
immune to the lunacies
that have conspired from within
the outer cosmos as if to contract,
sign, address, witness and draw you
here.
It began like this. Amiss, and
- condemn me mot if in my present
misery, I indulge in a detailed
reminiscence of acts, a rehearsal
of facts long-since bruited in
hushed tones abroad, at least
in my mind the clamor and infamy
of my name compels me to stroll
down memory lane in so leisurely
and lounging a saunter and traipse
That perhaps you for your part
may glean some glint of the rich
tints, deep brocades and sumptuous
hangings which adorned my too-brief
fleeting respites, my idylls snatched
from the gaps between limbs of monstrous
ordeals and this groaning, overbearing sense
of persecution, which - imagined, your eyes may
say - nevertheless appalls even I, as I give
at best, a sober account. My childhood passed
as do most, in the past, yielding to a deep ripening
in me of the omens and characteristics others had long
since noted with foreboding: a sense of the outre, a
relentless, keening despair over practical jokes, and
above all, a hunger in my breast for some great and
permanent bond of love, no less perverse than
perverted. It was fate, perhaps
That decreed I was to have both all,
and neither. Yet I tarried mightily, protesting
that these dreams that pressed like fevered breasts
against my palpable face were real, and that like I,
I would have them, and to the fullest imaginable
reality. You may laugh. Thank you, but
It was no joke I had grown into, groaning
with a humor no less fine than wan, and ill. My friends
had been abjuring me for some time: fuck off. My enemies
welcomed me to their bosom only to ply me with the most
disgusting libations and fare, and watch sports endlessly,
yelling. Such sport was not for me. I made a rarified air
and left. So it was that, perhaps as fate decreed,
I found myself alone. No judging eye beheld,
as I scanned my reflection in a pane of random
glass and noted - not without a certain and
savage satisfaction - it wept. Good. Heaven
itself could rend and downcast its lightning
-cracked veil, and I would scoop it from its
descent midair, wrapping it around me for
a shawl! I performed such stunts listlessly
and often in those days, affecting a perfunctory
manner that afflicts me still, and in all things
reeks odious, and false.
Eventually, I came to the point. Some bad shit
happened in a way you simply will not believe,
and dazed, you got up, forgetting your purpose
and your weapon in your rush to leave.
Nevermore to return, of course.
witness to the dissolution of
my sanity, I bid you do not
seek.
I descend from a race gone
mad before me, and have driven
all my intimates and cronies
as well from all hold upon
the most rare and peculiar
sense by my intimacies. Crones
And the wretchedly, excessively
aged alone have proved proof
against the grotesque airs
and repulsive ambiance I carry,
seemingly with me, to impose
itself upon all occasions
and events I occasion
to haunt with myself. Indeed,
if you'd but stay your hand
to slay me later after much
resort to wine has dulled
your loathing, and replaced
this unseemly (and you will
learn, unbidden) fury of reproach
with an eye less calculating
than cold, a tale I could unfold
in the telling that would still
your very disbelief in that act
of your reason's frantic rejection
of it. Intrigue?
Yes, and of so cunning and subtly
false a design that even I could
not detect the warp of its weft
until I was so caught up
in its web, I had become myself
the spider. Listen, then,
as you seek to be amused,
to prove yourself quite
immune to the lunacies
that have conspired from within
the outer cosmos as if to contract,
sign, address, witness and draw you
here.
It began like this. Amiss, and
- condemn me mot if in my present
misery, I indulge in a detailed
reminiscence of acts, a rehearsal
of facts long-since bruited in
hushed tones abroad, at least
in my mind the clamor and infamy
of my name compels me to stroll
down memory lane in so leisurely
and lounging a saunter and traipse
That perhaps you for your part
may glean some glint of the rich
tints, deep brocades and sumptuous
hangings which adorned my too-brief
fleeting respites, my idylls snatched
from the gaps between limbs of monstrous
ordeals and this groaning, overbearing sense
of persecution, which - imagined, your eyes may
say - nevertheless appalls even I, as I give
at best, a sober account. My childhood passed
as do most, in the past, yielding to a deep ripening
in me of the omens and characteristics others had long
since noted with foreboding: a sense of the outre, a
relentless, keening despair over practical jokes, and
above all, a hunger in my breast for some great and
permanent bond of love, no less perverse than
perverted. It was fate, perhaps
That decreed I was to have both all,
and neither. Yet I tarried mightily, protesting
that these dreams that pressed like fevered breasts
against my palpable face were real, and that like I,
I would have them, and to the fullest imaginable
reality. You may laugh. Thank you, but
It was no joke I had grown into, groaning
with a humor no less fine than wan, and ill. My friends
had been abjuring me for some time: fuck off. My enemies
welcomed me to their bosom only to ply me with the most
disgusting libations and fare, and watch sports endlessly,
yelling. Such sport was not for me. I made a rarified air
and left. So it was that, perhaps as fate decreed,
I found myself alone. No judging eye beheld,
as I scanned my reflection in a pane of random
glass and noted - not without a certain and
savage satisfaction - it wept. Good. Heaven
itself could rend and downcast its lightning
-cracked veil, and I would scoop it from its
descent midair, wrapping it around me for
a shawl! I performed such stunts listlessly
and often in those days, affecting a perfunctory
manner that afflicts me still, and in all things
reeks odious, and false.
Eventually, I came to the point. Some bad shit
happened in a way you simply will not believe,
and dazed, you got up, forgetting your purpose
and your weapon in your rush to leave.
Nevermore to return, of course.
hack savvy
It is necessary
a part of me that I have always seen
the pattern, through the noise
spot trace
of human point
that sticks out through the jammed
disjointed dissonance - the tip
of hint
just barely surfaced,
which connects, if gliding down
sleek surfaces implied
to clue
in grind
and ground
is found
and tried.
From there, crank back the scope, go wide
and spot
the others, next
as like
to like as each
to each, glared bold
in place so deftly set, so
darkling bright. Each
sitting unassuming where
the local picture fuzz and wash
can camouflage its doings there. No
more, though: snap
the lock clicks in
the view takes off
the constellation draws itself,
in all like points picked out
and named (for gods and heroes
of my own design)
and broadcasts fate unstranged.
I spy such puzzle-boxes strewn
through parks, up buildings
in the news, and manufactured
into goods - by careful
application,
dudes
a part of me that I have always seen
the pattern, through the noise
spot trace
of human point
that sticks out through the jammed
disjointed dissonance - the tip
of hint
just barely surfaced,
which connects, if gliding down
sleek surfaces implied
to clue
in grind
and ground
is found
and tried.
From there, crank back the scope, go wide
and spot
the others, next
as like
to like as each
to each, glared bold
in place so deftly set, so
darkling bright. Each
sitting unassuming where
the local picture fuzz and wash
can camouflage its doings there. No
more, though: snap
the lock clicks in
the view takes off
the constellation draws itself,
in all like points picked out
and named (for gods and heroes
of my own design)
and broadcasts fate unstranged.
I spy such puzzle-boxes strewn
through parks, up buildings
in the news, and manufactured
into goods - by careful
application,
dudes
poesis practice
This world
has not yet been made for us. Yet
see? It is pliable, soft like clay
not fired, not hard. What say
we dig in?
To carve with your hands,
and mine,
someday.
has not yet been made for us. Yet
see? It is pliable, soft like clay
not fired, not hard. What say
we dig in?
To carve with your hands,
and mine,
someday.
post-end sequence
At the end of the movie
during the credits, I
used to make up what
the characters did
for the rest of their
life. It was always
nice. The events
of the film were an interlude
an exceptional stretch
- aberrant, some fluke -
and then they'd settle in
to be undestroyed,
to process what happened
and bloom to what's next
living sequels off-genre
until their deaths
harassed and annoyed,
frustrated, fulfilled
no car chases, plane crash
and scant blood spilled, no
harrowing action or death
-daring leaps, for the very
most part, until
their decease.
It was good, passing on
with these friends we'd made
It was nice to move on, knowing
they too moved.
That no matter how deep
we're immersed in a tale, this story
has far different parts
and set pieces in play, waiting
winging to prove or improve - it's not all
of one piece,
or mood.
What's to come
is another crew's work
from behind the scenes. As we sit
in a darkened theater, the future
is staged all directions,
in case we pop in
to find what it means,
until we are done.
And others sit dreaming
what's next for us. It's nice
to move on, with these friends
we'd made. It's worth all the price
of admission, but just.
during the credits, I
used to make up what
the characters did
for the rest of their
life. It was always
nice. The events
of the film were an interlude
an exceptional stretch
- aberrant, some fluke -
and then they'd settle in
to be undestroyed,
to process what happened
and bloom to what's next
living sequels off-genre
until their deaths
harassed and annoyed,
frustrated, fulfilled
no car chases, plane crash
and scant blood spilled, no
harrowing action or death
-daring leaps, for the very
most part, until
their decease.
It was good, passing on
with these friends we'd made
It was nice to move on, knowing
they too moved.
That no matter how deep
we're immersed in a tale, this story
has far different parts
and set pieces in play, waiting
winging to prove or improve - it's not all
of one piece,
or mood.
What's to come
is another crew's work
from behind the scenes. As we sit
in a darkened theater, the future
is staged all directions,
in case we pop in
to find what it means,
until we are done.
And others sit dreaming
what's next for us. It's nice
to move on, with these friends
we'd made. It's worth all the price
of admission, but just.
pathological empathy
I pretend I know what constipation
is about. Every time I say to myself
Hey. I don't think I took a shit
this morning. Or Hey, I don't think
I took a shit all day! Or
When was the last time I took a shit?
Other people have to deal
with that shit. No shit, I have heard
and read it's a curse. But me
it hovers over obscurely,
uninflicted. So cue anxiety
when I wonder, "Hey? Shit?
Did I?" Sometimes I'll worry
all day and then realize,
Oh yeah I did! I'll recall some detail
that comes to me, probably when
I go to take a shit. Some minor
trigger configuration of those
surroundings places me, far as
last time goes. See, it's such a
regular occurrence though, that if
at the time I'm distracted, not
"in the moment" - it easily slips
memory and flush! Down it goes. Or:
oh yeah, I didn't eat anything
yesterday. Give it time to work
its way through, dude! Or I'll just
take a big ol' shit and say
oh yeah
Now and then, twice
I think - I actually was. Or
might have been. But
it could conceivably have been
innumerable times. Constipation
occurs to me sometimes, but
gratefully (and I am in no way
not fully cognizant of this)
it's minor. Even and especially
at worst.
I have a similar relationship
to back pain and insomnia. These
are miseries to people - and I know.
I know the people. Sufferers. So
I'm very aware. I'll be like
"MY BACK!" WATCH IT! You could really
have pulled something awful there, dude!
Talking to me, there - inwardly
so as not to trick others
into a false impression of my
suffering. I chide myself warily
or awake at night, pondering the specter
of another night of turns
tossed into the mix with no sleep
to leaven them, ghastly-ass
wakefulness you'd gratefully take
nightmares over (sometimes I have
taken nightmares over), only to finally
stretch in resignation, "enough's enough"
get ready for bed, hit the pillow
once, with your head
- it's a knockout!
Anyone who really knows about these
toilsome troubles and doesn't suffer
at the thought, dazedly, really
sincerely grateful to be spared
- is an ass. A real fucking ignoramus
I try to be present
and aware
and genuinely grateful, and I am
for the most part. It's an ongoing struggle
but it's the right thing to do,
for me. I couldn't feel right
taking it all for granted
while others suffer
say when
If you're hovering suspended
in ether awaiting
an apology from me, I am happy
to oblige. You've seen
I apologize readily,
I even lay out the wrongdoing
and charge it quite indefensibly,
or at any event, undefended
against myself. In this case,
though, you'd have to tell me
what I'd have done wrong. Or
sit on a shelf.
The elves of apology wend
and work their mighty ways
by means of this: apology is
an admission of culpability for wrongdoing.
It goes awry, and often amiss if
it's only sorrow - "sorry!" - a word,
a report of how one's emotions
feel now. When the other feels
bad. That doesn't say much
if anything grasped of the
actual ow. Of what's actually
wrong, been done wrong.
It is often enough. We take it
as true coin, anyhow. And so
have always I. In absence of real
apology - wrong done, wrong known,
wrong owned - I accept a sorry
feelings report each time. Why,
I'd clearly be wrong to refuse,
to declined such apology light.
If I squoze shut eyes, or averted
them, when I know this is how?
It is known. People universally do
give and take such sorry things,
to lesson the grief
that resentment brings,
to bring forgiveness home
where it stings and belongs,
to make grievance shrug
a begrudging bow, leaving us each
whole again, like
a painstaking, patched up garden gnome.
But they agonize "Why!" the sorriest one
won't learn. Why do they keep doing
the same old wrong? That was never named,
understood or weighed? Why apologize
only to let let your same wrong turn
go on? Like a barnhouse ballroom
dance, swing your partner again,
and again! Less sorry each time,
more irked when the wrong is called.
The feeling is agreed allowed
to turn bad, without anything
more than a hint, of why or how.
Because by now, the established hint,
the warning sign of set face and
flashing eyes between us,
is established case law. Unshakeable
precedent. Neither one could say
or detail just
why at all.
Why is not the point. And neither one
can quite
point
just out
in words
just what
was the fatal fall and flaw
all about, so out of joint? What was
- demonstrably, chargeably foul
in the first foul call?
Just let it pour on, I guess.
If your cup runneth over enough,
say when.
I have here a towel
to soak up the rest,
snot, tears, coffee
wine and all.
in ether awaiting
an apology from me, I am happy
to oblige. You've seen
I apologize readily,
I even lay out the wrongdoing
and charge it quite indefensibly,
or at any event, undefended
against myself. In this case,
though, you'd have to tell me
what I'd have done wrong. Or
sit on a shelf.
The elves of apology wend
and work their mighty ways
by means of this: apology is
an admission of culpability for wrongdoing.
It goes awry, and often amiss if
it's only sorrow - "sorry!" - a word,
a report of how one's emotions
feel now. When the other feels
bad. That doesn't say much
if anything grasped of the
actual ow. Of what's actually
wrong, been done wrong.
It is often enough. We take it
as true coin, anyhow. And so
have always I. In absence of real
apology - wrong done, wrong known,
wrong owned - I accept a sorry
feelings report each time. Why,
I'd clearly be wrong to refuse,
to declined such apology light.
If I squoze shut eyes, or averted
them, when I know this is how?
It is known. People universally do
give and take such sorry things,
to lesson the grief
that resentment brings,
to bring forgiveness home
where it stings and belongs,
to make grievance shrug
a begrudging bow, leaving us each
whole again, like
a painstaking, patched up garden gnome.
But they agonize "Why!" the sorriest one
won't learn. Why do they keep doing
the same old wrong? That was never named,
understood or weighed? Why apologize
only to let let your same wrong turn
go on? Like a barnhouse ballroom
dance, swing your partner again,
and again! Less sorry each time,
more irked when the wrong is called.
The feeling is agreed allowed
to turn bad, without anything
more than a hint, of why or how.
Because by now, the established hint,
the warning sign of set face and
flashing eyes between us,
is established case law. Unshakeable
precedent. Neither one could say
or detail just
why at all.
Why is not the point. And neither one
can quite
point
just out
in words
just what
was the fatal fall and flaw
all about, so out of joint? What was
- demonstrably, chargeably foul
in the first foul call?
Just let it pour on, I guess.
If your cup runneth over enough,
say when.
I have here a towel
to soak up the rest,
snot, tears, coffee
wine and all.
Friday, December 27, 2019
I'm going to
What I'm going to do
is go out on my own
way out on a limb,
way, way out into
the home and stay there
without any support,
without any provisions
except what nature provides:
rats, houseplants, certain kinds
of carpet - which I will have
by then studied to identify,
(and I will have assortments
of tools and knives, naturally)
and tap water - abundant
in this region, thank god
I'm not going to come back
at all. I do not
find it odd
is go out on my own
way out on a limb,
way, way out into
the home and stay there
without any support,
without any provisions
except what nature provides:
rats, houseplants, certain kinds
of carpet - which I will have
by then studied to identify,
(and I will have assortments
of tools and knives, naturally)
and tap water - abundant
in this region, thank god
I'm not going to come back
at all. I do not
find it odd
grotesqueries of this kind
Grotesqueries of this kind
forgiving sort frequently bedevil
a sensitive nature of tender years
of any age, years can be tender;
sometimes we come roughly through
hard and splendorous, enamored of
our armor, only to find a sleek
patch has developed and in months
it's all sloughed off, leaving us
almost pink, gleaming, clung
by bits of down and fluff, expectant
of why - but no answer. 'Til
the kind, forgiving grotesquerie
arrives, to bedevil us and we find
yes, we are almost too tender now
to bare and bear its ministrations,
so sensitive have our natures
become, so frequently has
our resolve been
left undone.
forgiving sort frequently bedevil
a sensitive nature of tender years
of any age, years can be tender;
sometimes we come roughly through
hard and splendorous, enamored of
our armor, only to find a sleek
patch has developed and in months
it's all sloughed off, leaving us
almost pink, gleaming, clung
by bits of down and fluff, expectant
of why - but no answer. 'Til
the kind, forgiving grotesquerie
arrives, to bedevil us and we find
yes, we are almost too tender now
to bare and bear its ministrations,
so sensitive have our natures
become, so frequently has
our resolve been
left undone.
Thursday, December 26, 2019
covetousness
I covet water.
I drink gallons of it by the glass
and when my cup runneth half-low
I get antsy. Anxiou, seeing
what's left, eyeing the exits
for waitress or waiter or
busperson with the pitcher
- or at home, my eye
alights with relief
on the fridge!
Where I get most of my H20
these days. It is
never enough. Cursing myself
for not noticing how my thirst
has drawn out like thirsty knives,
thirsting for throat I seize
the biggest glass there is, fill it
all the way topped off and pour
past my lips, punishing my throat
into slaked contentment,
filling my greedy,
sucking maw and glug glug,
motherfucker. Water,
you are mine. But wait,
I need more! But wait
there's more.
I drink gallons of it by the glass
and when my cup runneth half-low
I get antsy. Anxiou, seeing
what's left, eyeing the exits
for waitress or waiter or
busperson with the pitcher
- or at home, my eye
alights with relief
on the fridge!
Where I get most of my H20
these days. It is
never enough. Cursing myself
for not noticing how my thirst
has drawn out like thirsty knives,
thirsting for throat I seize
the biggest glass there is, fill it
all the way topped off and pour
past my lips, punishing my throat
into slaked contentment,
filling my greedy,
sucking maw and glug glug,
motherfucker. Water,
you are mine. But wait,
I need more! But wait
there's more.
a candle's worth
"The game isn't worth
the candle," she sighed
and moved it to touch
the curtain ablaze. I tore
off her dress to beat the flames
she stood in the (suddenly) naked
window demurely-framed. "You pixie!
You sprite!" I oafed like a bore.
"We live in the light this electric age!
We don't measure games by a candle's
worth!" "Well this one," she lithed
"was worth it, and more." I had been
outplayed. I conceded with grace,
as I always at least more usually
do. As I always at least or more
usually lose. We've burned
many candles between us
two.
the candle," she sighed
and moved it to touch
the curtain ablaze. I tore
off her dress to beat the flames
she stood in the (suddenly) naked
window demurely-framed. "You pixie!
You sprite!" I oafed like a bore.
"We live in the light this electric age!
We don't measure games by a candle's
worth!" "Well this one," she lithed
"was worth it, and more." I had been
outplayed. I conceded with grace,
as I always at least more usually
do. As I always at least or more
usually lose. We've burned
many candles between us
two.
For Much The Fun
For much the fun you used to want,
just do the things you used to like!
Experiment: do just the same, then
add a twist! Like riding a bike
- but off a log! Some zest, pizzazz
you'll never learn to forget
a thing like that. Or have your cake
and eat - the spoon! These days,
pretend you're a cartoon
- that's probably your funnest bet.
Remember those? We're not done yet!
Go in to work, and punch the wall!
Instead of the clock. Get it?
But that's not all - chew out
your boss's boss! Then give
your boss some orders, then
go crawling to subordinates
apologizing for some gaffe
and asking for a menial task
that you could do to mend
the loss. Want more? Take off!
More fun outside, I bet!
Departing cars? Catch bumper rides!
Like long-lost days on icy roads.
No ice? A twist on things!
See how it lies
So red and wet
just do the things you used to like!
Experiment: do just the same, then
add a twist! Like riding a bike
- but off a log! Some zest, pizzazz
you'll never learn to forget
a thing like that. Or have your cake
and eat - the spoon! These days,
pretend you're a cartoon
- that's probably your funnest bet.
Remember those? We're not done yet!
Go in to work, and punch the wall!
Instead of the clock. Get it?
But that's not all - chew out
your boss's boss! Then give
your boss some orders, then
go crawling to subordinates
apologizing for some gaffe
and asking for a menial task
that you could do to mend
the loss. Want more? Take off!
More fun outside, I bet!
Departing cars? Catch bumper rides!
Like long-lost days on icy roads.
No ice? A twist on things!
See how it lies
So red and wet
recriminal
This will mean something
later, often, but for now
just take it for what it is
and let what will be, be. There is
no way to explain without ruining
how it unfolds, naturally as time
gets old and you begin to doubt
some of your old hopes
were as false as, deciding against
them, you hoped they were.
They were, don't worry.
You're going to find out.
It will be no terrible crisis,
no catastrophe at worst, at most
it will be a faint echo. A nostalgia
made of hurt, not old joy. A recalling
to heart and head aches of days
long since dead, but never still.
They have never stopped stirring,
and that's how you know in the end
how wrong you were. Not that it could have
worked. It couldn't. Only that you're not who
you say you are, and that if you were
it wouldn't have mattered what works.
In the end it doesn't, you know. It isn't
what works that matters, it's
who decides.
later, often, but for now
just take it for what it is
and let what will be, be. There is
no way to explain without ruining
how it unfolds, naturally as time
gets old and you begin to doubt
some of your old hopes
were as false as, deciding against
them, you hoped they were.
They were, don't worry.
You're going to find out.
It will be no terrible crisis,
no catastrophe at worst, at most
it will be a faint echo. A nostalgia
made of hurt, not old joy. A recalling
to heart and head aches of days
long since dead, but never still.
They have never stopped stirring,
and that's how you know in the end
how wrong you were. Not that it could have
worked. It couldn't. Only that you're not who
you say you are, and that if you were
it wouldn't have mattered what works.
In the end it doesn't, you know. It isn't
what works that matters, it's
who decides.
leave a mark to say so
We write our own names
on sand, snow etc. for the same
inscrutably primal cause
we tattoo ourselves, or build
a house, or even climb a tree.
It is a claim.
In that moment, we catch ourselves
in an act of belonging. Not only: this is ours,
but: I am here to say so. Or: I will leave a mark
to say so.
Some marks are more delible
than others. A name or a heart
carved into the shifting surface
of the earth is fast melted away
by rains, tramped into palimpsest
by passersby - including possibly, dogs.
It matters not. In the moment, we carved
our mark into the moment. Into the surroundings.
Into ourselves. From the top of a tree to the top
of a hiking trail breaking out over a clifftop vista,
we carve with our eyes
and gorge ourselves.
This is ours.
Some surroundings are too large for us
to meaningfully carve, but we can turn the spike around
and carve it into our minds.
This is ours.
I am here.
I own this moment.
Even: I rule!
Yeah you know what?
You do.
Welcome to earth, kid.
You were made for this place
and vice versa. That feeling uneasy,
impermanence? It’s just a passing illusion,
and the wellspring of such muchness. Such
frenetic drive to be, be, be. Don’t sweat it.
There’s great value in such being, frenetic
and otherwise, as you will find and know and do.
The uneasy feeling, impermanence? Is illusion.
You are impermanent, at least in some pretty
important sense. But the uneasiness is illusory:
and you will be easy with it one day. Meantime,
claim this. It is here and so are you,
so it is yours.
For you are its.
We carve our names
and make our marks invisible
on all we stop to see. All place,
all object, we sign with our eyes,
but sometimes - our eyes being what they are -
we crave a more visible sign. And a long stick
on the beach calls to us, like the palette knife
to its master’s hand.
All the world’s a canvass,
and sometimes when the mood is fey
and strikes just so, we like to put our name
in a little corner of it. Sometimes right in the skin.
A signature.
A claim.
A colored design of our choice and taste,
to show who has designs on us. We do. To show
whose self this is: it is ours. It came
into the world the world’s, to be sure. It has
every day in the making and shaping of this self
become more ours.
Each of us:
the thing that has always looked out from behind these eyes.
Each other:
a universe we’ve never seen, and themselves the only possible guide.
We’d like to be the ones doing the carving.
But a lot of the time,
it’s not our own name we carve.
This too is claim, and in the blessedest
of circumstances, it is a claim fully-given.
It is ours.
on sand, snow etc. for the same
inscrutably primal cause
we tattoo ourselves, or build
a house, or even climb a tree.
It is a claim.
In that moment, we catch ourselves
in an act of belonging. Not only: this is ours,
but: I am here to say so. Or: I will leave a mark
to say so.
Some marks are more delible
than others. A name or a heart
carved into the shifting surface
of the earth is fast melted away
by rains, tramped into palimpsest
by passersby - including possibly, dogs.
It matters not. In the moment, we carved
our mark into the moment. Into the surroundings.
Into ourselves. From the top of a tree to the top
of a hiking trail breaking out over a clifftop vista,
we carve with our eyes
and gorge ourselves.
This is ours.
Some surroundings are too large for us
to meaningfully carve, but we can turn the spike around
and carve it into our minds.
This is ours.
I am here.
I own this moment.
Even: I rule!
Yeah you know what?
You do.
Welcome to earth, kid.
You were made for this place
and vice versa. That feeling uneasy,
impermanence? It’s just a passing illusion,
and the wellspring of such muchness. Such
frenetic drive to be, be, be. Don’t sweat it.
There’s great value in such being, frenetic
and otherwise, as you will find and know and do.
The uneasy feeling, impermanence? Is illusion.
You are impermanent, at least in some pretty
important sense. But the uneasiness is illusory:
and you will be easy with it one day. Meantime,
claim this. It is here and so are you,
so it is yours.
For you are its.
We carve our names
and make our marks invisible
on all we stop to see. All place,
all object, we sign with our eyes,
but sometimes - our eyes being what they are -
we crave a more visible sign. And a long stick
on the beach calls to us, like the palette knife
to its master’s hand.
All the world’s a canvass,
and sometimes when the mood is fey
and strikes just so, we like to put our name
in a little corner of it. Sometimes right in the skin.
A signature.
A claim.
A colored design of our choice and taste,
to show who has designs on us. We do. To show
whose self this is: it is ours. It came
into the world the world’s, to be sure. It has
every day in the making and shaping of this self
become more ours.
Each of us:
the thing that has always looked out from behind these eyes.
Each other:
a universe we’ve never seen, and themselves the only possible guide.
We’d like to be the ones doing the carving.
But a lot of the time,
it’s not our own name we carve.
This too is claim, and in the blessedest
of circumstances, it is a claim fully-given.
It is ours.
It came from beneath the sea monster
It came from beneath the sea monster
and darted behind the vampire,
then hid on the other side of the ape
who was forty feet high - its first
mistake. The ape
mistook it for lovely lass.
It was forced to split
a banana and ask
where the restroom was,
then bolt from the place. It found
itself
concealed in the space
between a space monster and
its spaceship. Then a gigantic lizard
walked by - it trailed after it
by the tail, concealed
in the scales
and wondering what would
become of it, if it were
to slip.
and darted behind the vampire,
then hid on the other side of the ape
who was forty feet high - its first
mistake. The ape
mistook it for lovely lass.
It was forced to split
a banana and ask
where the restroom was,
then bolt from the place. It found
itself
concealed in the space
between a space monster and
its spaceship. Then a gigantic lizard
walked by - it trailed after it
by the tail, concealed
in the scales
and wondering what would
become of it, if it were
to slip.
obsessive urge
creation is obsessive urge
I tell myself, romanticize
despite I know it's far more
dodge and swerve, avoiding
irksome eyes that otherwise
might see me still. And judge
me idle, when I'm only
idling. I spark to life
I just had an idea to keep
this horsey ride
unbridling
I tell myself, romanticize
despite I know it's far more
dodge and swerve, avoiding
irksome eyes that otherwise
might see me still. And judge
me idle, when I'm only
idling. I spark to life
I just had an idea to keep
this horsey ride
unbridling
picture of a kid
I saw a picture of a kid
standing in a corner, head
obscured by the coats hung up
on the rack, just straight
as a rod, leaning slight
to the wall. Weight
no doubt supported by forehead
and soul, and I believe:
safe. In this standing
stall. This refuge
I think
I knew his mind. It's been so long
since I stood my post, like that
I'm beginning to think it's about
that time.
standing in a corner, head
obscured by the coats hung up
on the rack, just straight
as a rod, leaning slight
to the wall. Weight
no doubt supported by forehead
and soul, and I believe:
safe. In this standing
stall. This refuge
I think
I knew his mind. It's been so long
since I stood my post, like that
I'm beginning to think it's about
that time.
King Chivalry
Young King Chivalry! Breaking down doors
to hold them open for all who come,
of thee I sing. This age awaits
thine bold courageous escutcheon.
See it unfurl! A flash of red
- a big bold face upraised
on white! And not a stain
upon its mien. Its other end,
oh my, though. What a sight
King Chivalry stands to receive
all charge: of wrong, discourtesy,
political bent, intolerance, criminal
or heresy. And with a cool, declaiming
boom, disclaiming naught, embracing all
he charges rampant from the room! And makes
his defense in the hall.
It's just a sort of quirk he has. He tends to speak
in triple-outside voice, and so we all can hear!
And nod our heads. His defenses are
uniformly choice. But woebetide the brute
who'd troop in trampling the weak! For young
King Chivalry is here. His mercy 'pon the wretches
is unique.
Peculiar, even - some might quip. Indeed,
the wretches often do. Yet gratefully
- behold their King! Who lays about them
hard of thew and tight of brow and loose
with blows upon those foes who've so hard sucked
as to downtrod the weak and weaker-than!
King Chivalry is quite at ease to make such sport
of miscreant.
Yet never will he deaf his ears, ignore their pleas
so piteous. "Have mercy, sire!" They cry well-smote,
and smitten by the only one so chivalrous.
"Of course!" His grace and honor relent. His visor
raised, regards his vanquished prey: his eyes
are kind, and slightly glazed. His breath
is great and heaving, quite well-spent. (Or
is it show?) "You fellows gave
me some workout!" He nods,
and backing, wheels to go.
That dude knows how
to court and rout.
to hold them open for all who come,
of thee I sing. This age awaits
thine bold courageous escutcheon.
See it unfurl! A flash of red
- a big bold face upraised
on white! And not a stain
upon its mien. Its other end,
oh my, though. What a sight
King Chivalry stands to receive
all charge: of wrong, discourtesy,
political bent, intolerance, criminal
or heresy. And with a cool, declaiming
boom, disclaiming naught, embracing all
he charges rampant from the room! And makes
his defense in the hall.
It's just a sort of quirk he has. He tends to speak
in triple-outside voice, and so we all can hear!
And nod our heads. His defenses are
uniformly choice. But woebetide the brute
who'd troop in trampling the weak! For young
King Chivalry is here. His mercy 'pon the wretches
is unique.
Peculiar, even - some might quip. Indeed,
the wretches often do. Yet gratefully
- behold their King! Who lays about them
hard of thew and tight of brow and loose
with blows upon those foes who've so hard sucked
as to downtrod the weak and weaker-than!
King Chivalry is quite at ease to make such sport
of miscreant.
Yet never will he deaf his ears, ignore their pleas
so piteous. "Have mercy, sire!" They cry well-smote,
and smitten by the only one so chivalrous.
"Of course!" His grace and honor relent. His visor
raised, regards his vanquished prey: his eyes
are kind, and slightly glazed. His breath
is great and heaving, quite well-spent. (Or
is it show?) "You fellows gave
me some workout!" He nods,
and backing, wheels to go.
That dude knows how
to court and rout.
old jack lightning
Old jack lightning
can new jack swing
like anything you have never seen
he knows all those old moves,
says it's all right now
and he jumps, and he
splits
with the booze, somehow.
He's a character
we love having around
even though we hate once he's gone
and we find we wuz robbed, it's okay
he's an old honor man. He will pay it all
back in the form
of a hand-stand, drop
lock and pop
fresh robot! Ahhhhh
We wish we could learn
some of those old moves, but
they closed down his dance school
ages ago
kept robbing kids
blind, everything they believed
blind, everything that their parents
know, so old jack
had to pack up the shop,
and just dance. He gets by now on tips
and bummed cigarettes, he takes 15%
of each place he goes through,
yeah. It's all right now, for now
jack. One day though,
we'll be through with you
can new jack swing
like anything you have never seen
he knows all those old moves,
says it's all right now
and he jumps, and he
splits
with the booze, somehow.
He's a character
we love having around
even though we hate once he's gone
and we find we wuz robbed, it's okay
he's an old honor man. He will pay it all
back in the form
of a hand-stand, drop
lock and pop
fresh robot! Ahhhhh
We wish we could learn
some of those old moves, but
they closed down his dance school
ages ago
kept robbing kids
blind, everything they believed
blind, everything that their parents
know, so old jack
had to pack up the shop,
and just dance. He gets by now on tips
and bummed cigarettes, he takes 15%
of each place he goes through,
yeah. It's all right now, for now
jack. One day though,
we'll be through with you
there's something wrong with this girl
there's something wrong with this girl
look at her voice
hear how her body moves, and
how it feels when she
is so far from you. How it smells,
the look in her eyes
averted (whew!)
the taste
of her averted soul,
you can almost ask:
"What a beautiful dress"
you can almost tell:
"How have you been?" but
there's something wrong
with her everything. And you can't
expect to put fingers on it. You can't
expect her, put into words.
She will never survive the translation's
loss, and you swear
and you swerve,
but
the risk/benefit
analysis
comes at too high
a cost.
look at her voice
hear how her body moves, and
how it feels when she
is so far from you. How it smells,
the look in her eyes
averted (whew!)
the taste
of her averted soul,
you can almost ask:
"What a beautiful dress"
you can almost tell:
"How have you been?" but
there's something wrong
with her everything. And you can't
expect to put fingers on it. You can't
expect her, put into words.
She will never survive the translation's
loss, and you swear
and you swerve,
but
the risk/benefit
analysis
comes at too high
a cost.
of the hunt
You're easily pleased, and so
too eager to please, I bet
- and doubt and suspect. Your needs
are met, so most of your wants
turn outward now, like dogs
in others' hunts. You have
no fox of your own to track
and bring to bay, and own.
So what can you do, to stave
off bored? Whatever it is,
you will be adored.
too eager to please, I bet
- and doubt and suspect. Your needs
are met, so most of your wants
turn outward now, like dogs
in others' hunts. You have
no fox of your own to track
and bring to bay, and own.
So what can you do, to stave
off bored? Whatever it is,
you will be adored.
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
recap since the update
Let's see if you can picture me
doing all this: After that
I took a running jump
out the front door with
my hands mashed into the sides
of my head, and a curious look
on my face and also
ass, but
it always has that look.
I sprinted left, bounced off
the truck then right to the mailbox
- nothing. Dispirited, I floated
listlessly back to the house in a weaving
dodge, and shut the front door
after myself
as I drifted in.
Turning upside down, I bounced
on my head down the front hall, and hung
a turn right, bump and thonking
into the bathroom, where
I went to the bathroom.
It was inconvenient due
to the positioning of the toilet,
but I finished up, bonked solidly
over to the sink, washed my feet,
toweled off thoroughly and konked
and clonked painfully
down the hall into the bedroom. Into bed.
Headache city
and went to sleep.
doing all this: After that
I took a running jump
out the front door with
my hands mashed into the sides
of my head, and a curious look
on my face and also
ass, but
it always has that look.
I sprinted left, bounced off
the truck then right to the mailbox
- nothing. Dispirited, I floated
listlessly back to the house in a weaving
dodge, and shut the front door
after myself
as I drifted in.
Turning upside down, I bounced
on my head down the front hall, and hung
a turn right, bump and thonking
into the bathroom, where
I went to the bathroom.
It was inconvenient due
to the positioning of the toilet,
but I finished up, bonked solidly
over to the sink, washed my feet,
toweled off thoroughly and konked
and clonked painfully
down the hall into the bedroom. Into bed.
Headache city
and went to sleep.
your rectitude buddy
I don't wish to importune you over
your rectitude, buddy
but the fact is
as the wrestler's dad
in The Breakfast Club put it,
your intensity is for shit. Quit
casting about for a rag
of excuse! Figure out
what you know you've got to do
and try it. If it doesn't work,
try it some more. Expecting
the same result is insane
if you keep doing the same thing
getting better with practice. Eventually
comes either breakthrough or epiphany,
and we don't give a shit which. Frankly,
that's on you. Own the consequence. It's
your life. Quit taking advice from followers
and lead with your heart and head
on board! And not squabbling, either.
One day trust me, you'll wake up
look back on how far and ask yourself
"How long has it been since
I was bored?" Forthright, clear-eyed
and straightforward.
your rectitude, buddy
but the fact is
as the wrestler's dad
in The Breakfast Club put it,
your intensity is for shit. Quit
casting about for a rag
of excuse! Figure out
what you know you've got to do
and try it. If it doesn't work,
try it some more. Expecting
the same result is insane
if you keep doing the same thing
getting better with practice. Eventually
comes either breakthrough or epiphany,
and we don't give a shit which. Frankly,
that's on you. Own the consequence. It's
your life. Quit taking advice from followers
and lead with your heart and head
on board! And not squabbling, either.
One day trust me, you'll wake up
look back on how far and ask yourself
"How long has it been since
I was bored?" Forthright, clear-eyed
and straightforward.
Christmas: a time
Christmas is a time
of specialness, and
many other kinds of -ness
as well. Nostalgia,
though it lacks the suffix,
is definitely one of the
-nessiest, and Christmas
is floating in it
like a bolus of joy
in a memory bowl. And we are right
to find what comfort we can
suspended in thoughts
beyond our control
as the lights glow in
and the bells jangle on
and the happy sweater
revelers crowd on by
every day for a month
every year 'til we die.
of specialness, and
many other kinds of -ness
as well. Nostalgia,
though it lacks the suffix,
is definitely one of the
-nessiest, and Christmas
is floating in it
like a bolus of joy
in a memory bowl. And we are right
to find what comfort we can
suspended in thoughts
beyond our control
as the lights glow in
and the bells jangle on
and the happy sweater
revelers crowd on by
every day for a month
every year 'til we die.
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
chump or churl
Listen I don't want to be a chump
but I don't want to be a churl, either!
So I'm left with a choice: chump or churl
If I pick churl -
Who's gonna know?
They may think I'm a jerk,
but churls are low low profile
these days. My secret safe
but if I pick chump - man.
People will be getting
the better of me all day,
and I'll be like what?
I meant to be this way
I want people to get
the better of me.
chump it is
but I don't want to be a churl, either!
So I'm left with a choice: chump or churl
If I pick churl -
Who's gonna know?
They may think I'm a jerk,
but churls are low low profile
these days. My secret safe
but if I pick chump - man.
People will be getting
the better of me all day,
and I'll be like what?
I meant to be this way
I want people to get
the better of me.
chump it is
debating tips
how can you debate
with someone who is poisonous
and has yellow eyes, who rejects logic
and eats eggs raw? Someone who hatched
from an egg themselves, and refuses
to listen to reason? Someone who,
fallacious, slips unceasingly
effortlessly from the loops
you cast, and traps you set,
and escapes unscathed?
How can you? Well,
how could you?
with someone who is poisonous
and has yellow eyes, who rejects logic
and eats eggs raw? Someone who hatched
from an egg themselves, and refuses
to listen to reason? Someone who,
fallacious, slips unceasingly
effortlessly from the loops
you cast, and traps you set,
and escapes unscathed?
How can you? Well,
how could you?
the bacon
the bacon's being cooked
and it's real bacon. Soon to be properly
-done, laid carefully (still spitting!)
on plate,
with eggs slid on glistening
and slidey, and a crisped-up mess
of potatoes and chives. A wild-
strewn shake of salt, and that's all.
Sitting down now with plates
to a table well-laid, with coffee
and juice, and bread, and water (and Coke)
(for you), we have no sooner dug in
than finished, before the glorious smell
that filled the whole house has had
a chance to diminish. Each day,
this ritual.
Ours.
The menu may change, but the sole
truth remains: I make it all up, the breakfast,
the view (which I failed to detail - it
was beautiful, too) and especially you.
With some pains.
and it's real bacon. Soon to be properly
-done, laid carefully (still spitting!)
on plate,
with eggs slid on glistening
and slidey, and a crisped-up mess
of potatoes and chives. A wild-
strewn shake of salt, and that's all.
Sitting down now with plates
to a table well-laid, with coffee
and juice, and bread, and water (and Coke)
(for you), we have no sooner dug in
than finished, before the glorious smell
that filled the whole house has had
a chance to diminish. Each day,
this ritual.
Ours.
The menu may change, but the sole
truth remains: I make it all up, the breakfast,
the view (which I failed to detail - it
was beautiful, too) and especially you.
With some pains.
giant stop
The giant drives perched
in his tiny car (comparatively
- it's humongous to you and me)
one wheel taking almost the whole
of two neighboring roads, where they don't
too much diverge, and his undercarriage
flies over
the rooftops above,
startling birds. He drives
with such painstaking care, without
ever a swerve, or a sudden brake - he hates
to look stupid! But can't even spot
the tiny signs
by the side
of this road
or that. He rolls on through,
in his laughably tiny car. There was
some discussion of building a giant stop
sign, or two, but talk fell through. It's okay
We all see him coming by miles off,
and considerately cede right-of-way. He's
disabled, we sigh. It's true. There's so much
he can't do, and we're happy
for him to just stay
in his laughably tiny car
and pass through. We'd rather
not be in the way.
in his tiny car (comparatively
- it's humongous to you and me)
one wheel taking almost the whole
of two neighboring roads, where they don't
too much diverge, and his undercarriage
flies over
the rooftops above,
startling birds. He drives
with such painstaking care, without
ever a swerve, or a sudden brake - he hates
to look stupid! But can't even spot
the tiny signs
by the side
of this road
or that. He rolls on through,
in his laughably tiny car. There was
some discussion of building a giant stop
sign, or two, but talk fell through. It's okay
We all see him coming by miles off,
and considerately cede right-of-way. He's
disabled, we sigh. It's true. There's so much
he can't do, and we're happy
for him to just stay
in his laughably tiny car
and pass through. We'd rather
not be in the way.
proposed method (going forward)
What I can't tell you
is basically
what I haven't figured out,
yet, but I can help you
- see, cued by my stops,
my seized gears, my trailaway
duhs, you can see where together
you can help me
figure those things out. And then
they become part
of what I can tell you.
Quite easily
is basically
what I haven't figured out,
yet, but I can help you
- see, cued by my stops,
my seized gears, my trailaway
duhs, you can see where together
you can help me
figure those things out. And then
they become part
of what I can tell you.
Quite easily
monster version
There's not so much an alter ego
as an alter id in me, unconscious drives
of monstrous size, slumbering benignly,
but just look at them! Gigantic limbs,
velvet pelts stretched rippling
over strangely bulking musculature
- huge grasping hands, long ivory claws
obscured by heads as hideous
as adorable, with furrowed
peaceful brows adream, no doubt
dismembering everything - one day
they'll snort, and stir, for sure.
And rise and wrench apart their
paper chains, and claim
my armature and sinews tendons
blood and brain, by stages
rise behind my eyes, look finally out
upon this field
of action, ripe to undecide
and undo everything that's
real.
But soon enough, they'll see
the sense
of these arrangements I have made.
And settle in - not deference,
but affirmation
of how this is played.
as an alter id in me, unconscious drives
of monstrous size, slumbering benignly,
but just look at them! Gigantic limbs,
velvet pelts stretched rippling
over strangely bulking musculature
- huge grasping hands, long ivory claws
obscured by heads as hideous
as adorable, with furrowed
peaceful brows adream, no doubt
dismembering everything - one day
they'll snort, and stir, for sure.
And rise and wrench apart their
paper chains, and claim
my armature and sinews tendons
blood and brain, by stages
rise behind my eyes, look finally out
upon this field
of action, ripe to undecide
and undo everything that's
real.
But soon enough, they'll see
the sense
of these arrangements I have made.
And settle in - not deference,
but affirmation
of how this is played.
somebody's ideal man
He is intelligent, loyal,
blind to slights unless pointed out,
then laughs out loud
at how stupid
he missed. He is
funny but misses the joke
'til you laugh, he has
hazel eyes, and a tendency.
He has an inclination
and a preference as well.
These don't come up
in talk, but he can explain
them well,
supposing they did. He does not
think at all when he talks,
but has long since and always
thought through what he means,
afterwards and before. He pokes
idiotic fun at you,
and does not seem to consider
you'd believe it's true.
In short,
one very mixed bag
of traits. He is
mindful and thoughtless,
considerate, insensitive - impudent and
uppity as hell, by the way! Unruly, ornery
even. He would never for one moment
rule you, or want to.
He never minds not being believed,
figuring you will once you do.
blind to slights unless pointed out,
then laughs out loud
at how stupid
he missed. He is
funny but misses the joke
'til you laugh, he has
hazel eyes, and a tendency.
He has an inclination
and a preference as well.
These don't come up
in talk, but he can explain
them well,
supposing they did. He does not
think at all when he talks,
but has long since and always
thought through what he means,
afterwards and before. He pokes
idiotic fun at you,
and does not seem to consider
you'd believe it's true.
In short,
one very mixed bag
of traits. He is
mindful and thoughtless,
considerate, insensitive - impudent and
uppity as hell, by the way! Unruly, ornery
even. He would never for one moment
rule you, or want to.
He never minds not being believed,
figuring you will once you do.
Sunday, December 22, 2019
underlying condition
Now and then I have a sudden
shock
of disoriented unease
over how little of what we know has
general, good use
for a "specific condition"
- is a sure bet for a specific PERSON
with that "specific condition." I think
being a person is always the underlying condition,
and has unpredictable side-effects, and is untreatable
except by music, flowers, nature, aura crystals and
essential oils, sunbasking and seabathing, huge doses
of culture (often unpleasant - doesn't work when unpleasant),
inward realization, outward fluke success or two (preferably
habitual - this fixes some people right up!) - and
none of that bullshit is reliable in a specific case.
Humor maybe,
but it's a fleeting panacea.
shock
of disoriented unease
over how little of what we know has
general, good use
for a "specific condition"
- is a sure bet for a specific PERSON
with that "specific condition." I think
being a person is always the underlying condition,
and has unpredictable side-effects, and is untreatable
except by music, flowers, nature, aura crystals and
essential oils, sunbasking and seabathing, huge doses
of culture (often unpleasant - doesn't work when unpleasant),
inward realization, outward fluke success or two (preferably
habitual - this fixes some people right up!) - and
none of that bullshit is reliable in a specific case.
Humor maybe,
but it's a fleeting panacea.
Friday, December 20, 2019
sharers
You hold up more than your share of the sky
above, and more than your share of the world
you spin, in every direction your traipsing feet
go traveling. I can't begin
imagining what it would be
with you
gone from your post, your rounds,
your beat, but I know
it would be
The turn of the tide.
And I'd be the first
to go down to defeat. No
on second thought,
thinking of you
I would be
the last.
above, and more than your share of the world
you spin, in every direction your traipsing feet
go traveling. I can't begin
imagining what it would be
with you
gone from your post, your rounds,
your beat, but I know
it would be
The turn of the tide.
And I'd be the first
to go down to defeat. No
on second thought,
thinking of you
I would be
the last.
exosynesthesia
It started as a hallucination
- it didn't affect a thing.
Just something I could bring
about. The colors
fanned and billowed out,
they didn't stain or cling.
They just passed through
a streaming light, so lazy
in those days. No more
or less than emptiness, filled in
with glow and haze.
And then the sound
came in, and somehow
colors start to stick. Each dot
and mote affixed by rays
and I am feeling it.
The wall is where
it always was, but now
it's like my skin. At least
in freckles smattering,
we've been becoming kin. These patches
grow and spread, connect. Sometimes,
the process interrupts
itself, resets - and sometimes all
it takes is walking down the street, upset
as every stretch of brick facade
or underfoot concrete
begins to feel
in me,
yet reeling distant
and distinct.
Each kiss
of wind, from anywhere
caress of step, and weight
of human meat.
It's happening I swear. I don't
know what it is
it comes
togetherness
entrapping in enfolding waves
of lacing rays, to stitch
together colored clouds
that no one else can see
and be amazed, and I
should not have been allowed. I try
to stay inside these days.
- it didn't affect a thing.
Just something I could bring
about. The colors
fanned and billowed out,
they didn't stain or cling.
They just passed through
a streaming light, so lazy
in those days. No more
or less than emptiness, filled in
with glow and haze.
And then the sound
came in, and somehow
colors start to stick. Each dot
and mote affixed by rays
and I am feeling it.
The wall is where
it always was, but now
it's like my skin. At least
in freckles smattering,
we've been becoming kin. These patches
grow and spread, connect. Sometimes,
the process interrupts
itself, resets - and sometimes all
it takes is walking down the street, upset
as every stretch of brick facade
or underfoot concrete
begins to feel
in me,
yet reeling distant
and distinct.
Each kiss
of wind, from anywhere
caress of step, and weight
of human meat.
It's happening I swear. I don't
know what it is
it comes
togetherness
entrapping in enfolding waves
of lacing rays, to stitch
together colored clouds
that no one else can see
and be amazed, and I
should not have been allowed. I try
to stay inside these days.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
a certain view
What two can see
has passed beyond subjectivity.
Perhaps it's not
the whole wide world
who would agree,
but it isn't just you,
you know. And it's not
just me.
has passed beyond subjectivity.
Perhaps it's not
the whole wide world
who would agree,
but it isn't just you,
you know. And it's not
just me.
the stickle
Finicky isn't meticulous.
Scrupulous hasn't the consequence
or model of conscientiousness,
and reason has never had
quite the sense
of sense.
But it has
more reason,
though.
There are no
synonyms. No, not
to a point interchangeable.
There's always one word
that fits best, just here
- all hanging from what
you mean so clear. So dull
if you think or choose
between words
as if
you don't know
or care, can't tell
how the difference in shade
and tone comes in.
Connotation
fans out behind
each word, from all
of its other sense and use,
every context it fits
that does not here apply -
it nonetheless clings
and strikes the ear
and eye. Every color
and shade that does not
overlap
with your alternate choice
tells why
you should choose between.
At least try,
test and weigh,
with decision and aim: Each brings
its tone, its texture to play,
builds force, strikes home
by angles unique
which combine in array
With all other well-picked words
you say. Be fallible
Act
from taste, your style
as artless and effortless
as is or may be! But
be decisive. Not indifferent,
as if
"This word here and that?
Are the same."
You wish.
Dream,
hope,
fantasize, and
want all you will. There are no
synonyms, except in use rough
and ill.
Scrupulous hasn't the consequence
or model of conscientiousness,
and reason has never had
quite the sense
of sense.
But it has
more reason,
though.
There are no
synonyms. No, not
to a point interchangeable.
There's always one word
that fits best, just here
- all hanging from what
you mean so clear. So dull
if you think or choose
between words
as if
you don't know
or care, can't tell
how the difference in shade
and tone comes in.
Connotation
fans out behind
each word, from all
of its other sense and use,
every context it fits
that does not here apply -
it nonetheless clings
and strikes the ear
and eye. Every color
and shade that does not
overlap
with your alternate choice
tells why
you should choose between.
At least try,
test and weigh,
with decision and aim: Each brings
its tone, its texture to play,
builds force, strikes home
by angles unique
which combine in array
With all other well-picked words
you say. Be fallible
Act
from taste, your style
as artless and effortless
as is or may be! But
be decisive. Not indifferent,
as if
"This word here and that?
Are the same."
You wish.
Dream,
hope,
fantasize, and
want all you will. There are no
synonyms, except in use rough
and ill.
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
had the most delightful
I just had the most delightful experience
taking the trash out. Usually reaching in,
working the bag mouth free from the top
of the can - the pull-out strappy handles
come from top and bottom, in my top-down
view. So I'm looking - where are they?
I don't even see the opening. VWOOOP!
They were right under my hands, and
pulled loose and out of their own accord
and the mouth sphinctered up
into a pucker! And I resumed
lifting the bag, and took it out. Well,
what a savings of motion and effort! To
orient the bag that way to begin with!
What if I deposited the new liner
in this ingenious way? I'd be just
as surprised and delighted as this
time, I can actively guarantee it! Until
I got used to the change, it would be
a knockout surprise, each time. Who
expects that, taking out the garbage?
Delightful, unexpectedly delightful.
I would remember, each time, cued
by my surprise and delight, to set
myself a little trap for next time,
too. Then forget all about it,
until it sprang. Eventually,
I'll begin to see it coming
of course. But even then, there will be
a long, ongoing period of appreciation,
savoring the reveal and half-humorously
congratulating myself on my thoughtfulness.
A note to self: in gratitude.
I added it to my list of life hacks
which unfortunately
always goes missing between entries.
This one, though. It feels like a
keeper
taking the trash out. Usually reaching in,
working the bag mouth free from the top
of the can - the pull-out strappy handles
come from top and bottom, in my top-down
view. So I'm looking - where are they?
I don't even see the opening. VWOOOP!
They were right under my hands, and
pulled loose and out of their own accord
and the mouth sphinctered up
into a pucker! And I resumed
lifting the bag, and took it out. Well,
what a savings of motion and effort! To
orient the bag that way to begin with!
What if I deposited the new liner
in this ingenious way? I'd be just
as surprised and delighted as this
time, I can actively guarantee it! Until
I got used to the change, it would be
a knockout surprise, each time. Who
expects that, taking out the garbage?
Delightful, unexpectedly delightful.
I would remember, each time, cued
by my surprise and delight, to set
myself a little trap for next time,
too. Then forget all about it,
until it sprang. Eventually,
I'll begin to see it coming
of course. But even then, there will be
a long, ongoing period of appreciation,
savoring the reveal and half-humorously
congratulating myself on my thoughtfulness.
A note to self: in gratitude.
I added it to my list of life hacks
which unfortunately
always goes missing between entries.
This one, though. It feels like a
keeper
burned book club
We read burned books
from the ashes they swirl
like smoke from a leaf
with the ink-shards
of letters
in indecipherable smudge
and whorl
on the unseen page
of the undisturbed
air. Though
the story is lost,
We'll stir
the book absently,
counting the cost
and we'll peer deep
and down
into gray dunes
and channels cut
by idle drafts,
and discuss, in
disgust
what meaning we've found.
from the ashes they swirl
like smoke from a leaf
with the ink-shards
of letters
in indecipherable smudge
and whorl
on the unseen page
of the undisturbed
air. Though
the story is lost,
We'll stir
the book absently,
counting the cost
and we'll peer deep
and down
into gray dunes
and channels cut
by idle drafts,
and discuss, in
disgust
what meaning we've found.
the coming of happiness
As he walked away, out of sight
by now, he stood. He felt moved.
Something inside of him was pounding
and thrusting. Had been all this time,
beneath notice, but it was building now
and he felt his whole being gripping it.
Tensing, resisting the escalating pressure,
preparing
to lock in spasm against it
and ride it out as it finally peaked
and tipped over
sending rippling waves of seized days
and a confusion of glory and wilder
bewilderment, pulsing and pumping
and churning in its own expelled
and released, exultant moment of excruciating joy.
It was something he’d never felt, but
the familiarity haunted like a thing imagined
before. Something
too different-made-real to grasp
the precursor. What was this?
He knew he’d soon know, at least
what it was
if not what he thought it would be.
It was coming inevitably.
It felt inevitable, this build
could not possibly stop. Wait. It has
subsided. Gone away.
He broke into beaming, and began
walking again. Overthought it again,
he chided himself. Still,
some seed had been planted deep within, even if
fruition from his side had escaped. Whatever this was
it was wanted. Whatever it was,
it was both possible and real.
by now, he stood. He felt moved.
Something inside of him was pounding
and thrusting. Had been all this time,
beneath notice, but it was building now
and he felt his whole being gripping it.
Tensing, resisting the escalating pressure,
preparing
to lock in spasm against it
and ride it out as it finally peaked
and tipped over
sending rippling waves of seized days
and a confusion of glory and wilder
bewilderment, pulsing and pumping
and churning in its own expelled
and released, exultant moment of excruciating joy.
It was something he’d never felt, but
the familiarity haunted like a thing imagined
before. Something
too different-made-real to grasp
the precursor. What was this?
He knew he’d soon know, at least
what it was
if not what he thought it would be.
It was coming inevitably.
It felt inevitable, this build
could not possibly stop. Wait. It has
subsided. Gone away.
He broke into beaming, and began
walking again. Overthought it again,
he chided himself. Still,
some seed had been planted deep within, even if
fruition from his side had escaped. Whatever this was
it was wanted. Whatever it was,
it was both possible and real.
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
by turns
When your eyes flashed smoke
And your teeth sparked fire
And your velvet voice turned
like a lathe shaping words
into sugar-spun poison
in lances and hooks,
gently administering
acid burns,
I knew
all the worst
of your moods and looks.
And I set myself firm
for all I knew
I might earn.
And your teeth sparked fire
And your velvet voice turned
like a lathe shaping words
into sugar-spun poison
in lances and hooks,
gently administering
acid burns,
I knew
all the worst
of your moods and looks.
And I set myself firm
for all I knew
I might earn.
point high
I was born with a cup of coffee
and a danish and I grew up
with a ball and a big balloon
whose name was Jaimie, pronounced
"Hi, me" - who I pretended
could speak, but refused to.
My own first word went
unrecorded, but I bet
it was "hey!" since
that's more or less the nerve
and gall I was by-then all too
well-versed in. Responding-to,
barging and upending for win - I was made
to take the point high,
lead the bright charge, and resolve
whatever differences there were,
at large. Naturally,
I lost
every race in the course. Well,
what do you expect. I am
an immovable force.
and a danish and I grew up
with a ball and a big balloon
whose name was Jaimie, pronounced
"Hi, me" - who I pretended
could speak, but refused to.
My own first word went
unrecorded, but I bet
it was "hey!" since
that's more or less the nerve
and gall I was by-then all too
well-versed in. Responding-to,
barging and upending for win - I was made
to take the point high,
lead the bright charge, and resolve
whatever differences there were,
at large. Naturally,
I lost
every race in the course. Well,
what do you expect. I am
an immovable force.
Monday, December 16, 2019
abyss of naught
I've naught to hide,
and much to keep. I love
to live so shallow as I can
and let the deep abide. Except
I'm diving in! I've naught
to hide
and much to keep. I love
to live so shallow as I can
and let the deep abide. Except
I'm diving in! I've naught
to hide
Under impression
He was under the impression
that he
was mad. And
that somehow
it was so good, so
right, so much closer
to fit with reality,
that it couldn't have been
It couldn't be.
It was all
he had.
that he
was mad. And
that somehow
it was so good, so
right, so much closer
to fit with reality,
that it couldn't have been
It couldn't be.
It was all
he had.
Her hair all red
Her hair all red,
her face all gold
- the light all green,
discoloring. She kept
herself, and
word as well.
As anyone could
in such moments
as one can't tell.
She said, "If you wish
you'd never started, you know
we could stop. We could always
stop?"
We could always stop.
But we never could. We
were up to and all through
and well, long since
past
no good.
her face all gold
- the light all green,
discoloring. She kept
herself, and
word as well.
As anyone could
in such moments
as one can't tell.
She said, "If you wish
you'd never started, you know
we could stop. We could always
stop?"
We could always stop.
But we never could. We
were up to and all through
and well, long since
past
no good.
cycle drawing
When each new day gives birth
to you, again - remember
your past life, the day
before. And all you learned,
and resolved to never
learn again. Once, for all
and good - this time, would
finally be yours. Today, or
as the day wears on
to weariness, tomorrow
maybe does the trick. But
what were lessons for
today? Oh
damn, to tired now
for that. As each night crawls
back to its womb: you,
you know, you'll make it
up some other life.
to you, again - remember
your past life, the day
before. And all you learned,
and resolved to never
learn again. Once, for all
and good - this time, would
finally be yours. Today, or
as the day wears on
to weariness, tomorrow
maybe does the trick. But
what were lessons for
today? Oh
damn, to tired now
for that. As each night crawls
back to its womb: you,
you know, you'll make it
up some other life.
forward in reverse
The world is on its course
again. As usual, it's better
than the pessimists expected
when they direly would recommend
we give it up and pack it in.
The optimists
are quiet, though. Awfully quiet
- what, I wonder was their take?
How this would go
again. As usual, it's better
than the pessimists expected
when they direly would recommend
we give it up and pack it in.
The optimists
are quiet, though. Awfully quiet
- what, I wonder was their take?
How this would go
the heartlessness of unrestricted inquiry
I have an idea every time it occurs
to me
Why do some people mistake an opinion
for a face?
Is there any excuse not to go into
our personal history,
and fix what isn't there?
Or are we just cowards. Are we all such
just cowards, full
of clever explanations
to excuse and justify
the impossible? Why
does no one ask
"Who will pretend our lives
?" Or "Have your memories
improved over time?"
It would be obvious,
if only we'd get serious
and descend to a heart course
of self-examination and
whatever that yields.
to me
Why do some people mistake an opinion
for a face?
Is there any excuse not to go into
our personal history,
and fix what isn't there?
Or are we just cowards. Are we all such
just cowards, full
of clever explanations
to excuse and justify
the impossible? Why
does no one ask
"Who will pretend our lives
?" Or "Have your memories
improved over time?"
It would be obvious,
if only we'd get serious
and descend to a heart course
of self-examination and
whatever that yields.
back and fill
I had a dream I was having sex with
someone else
except in the dream, I was someone else
no, not with myself - this was two
completely different people
from each other, but
one of them was me. He just
wasn't me me. He has an entirely
different body type
and hair color
and eye color as well
don't ask. Also,
the dream was set ten
years ago, during a time
I was free, and - I may have given
the idea I just had this dream, no
I had it fourteen years ago. So,
a prophecy at that point. It
didn't come true, though
I remained myself consistently
ever since that point, never once
turning into someone else
with an entirely different body
type - three arms, one out
from the spine, and one main leg
that branched at the knee into
three feet, each of which was
three feet long. So was my penis,
which
might have explained how I landed this
hot babe! She
was something else.
Point is
None of it happened.
Not even the dream, I just
made it up
for a poem!
someone else
except in the dream, I was someone else
no, not with myself - this was two
completely different people
from each other, but
one of them was me. He just
wasn't me me. He has an entirely
different body type
and hair color
and eye color as well
don't ask. Also,
the dream was set ten
years ago, during a time
I was free, and - I may have given
the idea I just had this dream, no
I had it fourteen years ago. So,
a prophecy at that point. It
didn't come true, though
I remained myself consistently
ever since that point, never once
turning into someone else
with an entirely different body
type - three arms, one out
from the spine, and one main leg
that branched at the knee into
three feet, each of which was
three feet long. So was my penis,
which
might have explained how I landed this
hot babe! She
was something else.
Point is
None of it happened.
Not even the dream, I just
made it up
for a poem!
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
pullover push
I enthusiastically acquiesce
to your request, you'd never guess
how pleasure gets to pounce
in this - no favor! No command,
this wish. A gift,
and stringless.
All gifts are.
I'm really glad
we've got so far!
So free you ask, so
free I give. So sorry
if I've missed a hint,
or months of them. Sometimes
I think I'm too naive to live.
to your request, you'd never guess
how pleasure gets to pounce
in this - no favor! No command,
this wish. A gift,
and stringless.
All gifts are.
I'm really glad
we've got so far!
So free you ask, so
free I give. So sorry
if I've missed a hint,
or months of them. Sometimes
I think I'm too naive to live.
A very British murder scene
That tart
and arch
detective pose
of yours has walked
smack plumb into
a daydream dark
scenario. A corpse
with several suspects
due.
With whom you'll spar
and joust and test
your nose for
motive, character
displayed in arcs from best
to best, the better to
apply your arts
in cultured blur
of repartee
with facts arrayed
sharply-observed
and dressed
in trademark lavender. You'll need
- some else,
some touch,
some twist,
to set apart
yourself
from her,
or him,
or him.
The competition's
so passe, and well
outclassed. Well anyway.
No fictional parameter
could class with this. Accessorize!
Distinctive, slightly "off," not odd
but sharp. Impression
made to last, and just
your size.
A cane? No, lame. A...hat?
Perhaps, but
something, something more
trademarkable.
You stand in parlor,
with your corpse.
Deduction, or induction
waits
the suspects should be by
and by. You'll have
something to tell them all,
by then
no doubt remarkable.
But why?
and arch
detective pose
of yours has walked
smack plumb into
a daydream dark
scenario. A corpse
with several suspects
due.
With whom you'll spar
and joust and test
your nose for
motive, character
displayed in arcs from best
to best, the better to
apply your arts
in cultured blur
of repartee
with facts arrayed
sharply-observed
and dressed
in trademark lavender. You'll need
- some else,
some touch,
some twist,
to set apart
yourself
from her,
or him,
or him.
The competition's
so passe, and well
outclassed. Well anyway.
No fictional parameter
could class with this. Accessorize!
Distinctive, slightly "off," not odd
but sharp. Impression
made to last, and just
your size.
A cane? No, lame. A...hat?
Perhaps, but
something, something more
trademarkable.
You stand in parlor,
with your corpse.
Deduction, or induction
waits
the suspects should be by
and by. You'll have
something to tell them all,
by then
no doubt remarkable.
But why?
dark pump
pumpernickel should not be
reduced to terms so slick
and pop
as "dark pump,"
please. This peasant bread
has dignity. We should not have
to drop our gaze, picture it
poised strut and lurch, atop
the cutest black gloss high,
high heels embossed
with small rye flowers.
A tiny touch, a nod
at authenticity
we shouldn't have
- a total loss.
To picture some obscure niche porn
devoted to
those furtive couplings
pitch black dark
thrusting,
pumping
in your food
you'd rather it be bits
less rude
Now wouldn't you? I guess
it's just a pettish
peeve of mine
found scuttling unwholesomely
from crumbs. Some bread-bug
- is it yours?
It isn't mine, but
yes. It is, I guess.
I'll take it
as it comes. But it
just rubs me wrong way round.
You know? It's needless!
Condescending,
dumb.
Let this bread keep
its dignity.
It's pumpernickel!
Not some tart, some
scone (no slur), some
overearnest, faux home
-made pretentious basque
foccacia, some freaking
classy-ass brioche,
some stone
-ground artisan
dusted-crust
fuckmuffin, fuck
fuck's sake
it's pumpernickel.
Not "pump" - and fuck
"light" pumpernickel anyway!
Just some dipshit's idea
to tart rye bread up
"haute," or some shit.
Put it in the fucking toaster
or something already. Hot
and dark, pumping away in
heels
fucking
slut bread
look
I'm sorry
I'm not a bread shamer, I just
it's pumpernickel. Okay?
Not "dark pump."
Sounds unwholesome
or distasteful
or something.
reduced to terms so slick
and pop
as "dark pump,"
please. This peasant bread
has dignity. We should not have
to drop our gaze, picture it
poised strut and lurch, atop
the cutest black gloss high,
high heels embossed
with small rye flowers.
A tiny touch, a nod
at authenticity
we shouldn't have
- a total loss.
To picture some obscure niche porn
devoted to
those furtive couplings
pitch black dark
thrusting,
pumping
in your food
you'd rather it be bits
less rude
Now wouldn't you? I guess
it's just a pettish
peeve of mine
found scuttling unwholesomely
from crumbs. Some bread-bug
- is it yours?
It isn't mine, but
yes. It is, I guess.
I'll take it
as it comes. But it
just rubs me wrong way round.
You know? It's needless!
Condescending,
dumb.
Let this bread keep
its dignity.
It's pumpernickel!
Not some tart, some
scone (no slur), some
overearnest, faux home
-made pretentious basque
foccacia, some freaking
classy-ass brioche,
some stone
-ground artisan
dusted-crust
fuckmuffin, fuck
fuck's sake
it's pumpernickel.
Not "pump" - and fuck
"light" pumpernickel anyway!
Just some dipshit's idea
to tart rye bread up
"haute," or some shit.
Put it in the fucking toaster
or something already. Hot
and dark, pumping away in
heels
fucking
slut bread
look
I'm sorry
I'm not a bread shamer, I just
it's pumpernickel. Okay?
Not "dark pump."
Sounds unwholesome
or distasteful
or something.
I really can't describe you.
I can't even describe
the faerie or spirit being you
sometimes are, sometimes resemble
in your aspect and look.
You are so beautiful
as to be out of a tale. It comes out
in angles and lights, and
I'm struck smart with wonder. Your species
is one I don't think has ever been drawn
up in the literature. It's like
you make the atmosphere around you go underwater,
in terms of refraction of light and current
made visible, yet
it's only thin air you move in,
like the rest of us.
You are a sort of feral and sophisticated
were-mermaid whose tail never quite
came together, and is all the better
for her shapely legs. Or a being woven
of its own story, rarest of all:
a cosmic self-author whose atmosphere
she carries with her and only sometimes
lets out as a trick to beguile, or more likely,
didn't mean to. Its characteristic water aura
has only to do with her love of waves and surf
- not anything inherently aquatic.
A soul that loves to return
to other realms, once supped all over
her form and flesh, having nearly lost
her protective suit a few times. An explorer
undaunted, who is made out of all she's explored,
and who has deftly remade it all
along the way. Whose beauty uncanny
- when it suddenly comes over one's eyes
and mind - is not the uncanny of unheimlich,
unfamiliar,
of dread and revulsion,
but of uplift and awe. For it is impossible
not to recognize this emanation is not of realms
alien or hostile, but of
something infinitely homing.
Of comfort and heart's hearth.
Something that calls us,
and into which we are drawn.
I really can't describe you.
Let alone the effect you have,
from certain angles,
in certain lights,
most of all mine.
By my lights, more and more,
you are something akin
to divine.
the faerie or spirit being you
sometimes are, sometimes resemble
in your aspect and look.
You are so beautiful
as to be out of a tale. It comes out
in angles and lights, and
I'm struck smart with wonder. Your species
is one I don't think has ever been drawn
up in the literature. It's like
you make the atmosphere around you go underwater,
in terms of refraction of light and current
made visible, yet
it's only thin air you move in,
like the rest of us.
You are a sort of feral and sophisticated
were-mermaid whose tail never quite
came together, and is all the better
for her shapely legs. Or a being woven
of its own story, rarest of all:
a cosmic self-author whose atmosphere
she carries with her and only sometimes
lets out as a trick to beguile, or more likely,
didn't mean to. Its characteristic water aura
has only to do with her love of waves and surf
- not anything inherently aquatic.
A soul that loves to return
to other realms, once supped all over
her form and flesh, having nearly lost
her protective suit a few times. An explorer
undaunted, who is made out of all she's explored,
and who has deftly remade it all
along the way. Whose beauty uncanny
- when it suddenly comes over one's eyes
and mind - is not the uncanny of unheimlich,
unfamiliar,
of dread and revulsion,
but of uplift and awe. For it is impossible
not to recognize this emanation is not of realms
alien or hostile, but of
something infinitely homing.
Of comfort and heart's hearth.
Something that calls us,
and into which we are drawn.
I really can't describe you.
Let alone the effect you have,
from certain angles,
in certain lights,
most of all mine.
By my lights, more and more,
you are something akin
to divine.
How much of what?
How much of what you love is me?
And how much is how great you are
relationshipping out to sea,
commanding all the charts and stars
How much of what you love is me?
And how much is how great you are
Am I a partner or a stage
you're passing through
until it plays apart
And how much is how great you are
relationshipping out to sea,
commanding all the charts and stars
How much of what you love is me?
And how much is how great you are
Am I a partner or a stage
you're passing through
until it plays apart
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
improvised luck machine
Shake and shake
the roulette wheel
let the dice clatter
around,
flip the cards
like throwing stars
yank the handle
up and down
thump the green
felt tables hard
baccarat the pots
all in, raise the stakes
with signals wise,
yell to win! Money is
the magic. Luck
is made therein
to rise and melt
in flush and bluff,
betrayed by tell
absolutely no one
we were here. Luck
is made.
In secrecy,
by ritual observed
and bound
in strict
chaotic rule of thumb
once lost, so surely
soon again
so soon, so surely
to be found.
the roulette wheel
let the dice clatter
around,
flip the cards
like throwing stars
yank the handle
up and down
thump the green
felt tables hard
baccarat the pots
all in, raise the stakes
with signals wise,
yell to win! Money is
the magic. Luck
is made therein
to rise and melt
in flush and bluff,
betrayed by tell
absolutely no one
we were here. Luck
is made.
In secrecy,
by ritual observed
and bound
in strict
chaotic rule of thumb
once lost, so surely
soon again
so soon, so surely
to be found.
the really much
There isn't really much
you can say about the near
miss we played as it lied,
and all the way through. It
was nice to imagine all the
future holds, and all the present
clinches we struggled so joyously
through - but where we've left
it, is now where it stays.
Where it lives, in the past
growing huger and strong
as it gobbles up dreams,
hopes, wishes and regrets
- everything it strays across,
it slays.
it has been
so long.
you can say about the near
miss we played as it lied,
and all the way through. It
was nice to imagine all the
future holds, and all the present
clinches we struggled so joyously
through - but where we've left
it, is now where it stays.
Where it lives, in the past
growing huger and strong
as it gobbles up dreams,
hopes, wishes and regrets
- everything it strays across,
it slays.
it has been
so long.
difficulty with
Sick of being noticed
and valued, for the wrong
things, for the right things
- valued accurately, who cares?
Whose business of mine is theirs?
I just want nothing in particular!
Sometimes to stick out, other times
will be pounded flat. That teaches
no lesson, who is the hammer? Who
the hand? I at least am the nail,
but what kind? Nine-inch - all
scratchy and sick with ratcheted
up disgust and scorn? One of the
three True Nails of the True
Cross, with James Bond Han Solo's
dad hot on the case? Perhaps a
carpet nail, or a suitable
spike to whap halfway into
a wall (having found the stud,
or whatever it's called) - drape
a framed picture over it! How
am I to live when I don't know
the specifics of my own
metaphor? It's no wonder
really, I'm a bit sick
of being noticed.
and valued, for the wrong
things, for the right things
- valued accurately, who cares?
Whose business of mine is theirs?
I just want nothing in particular!
Sometimes to stick out, other times
will be pounded flat. That teaches
no lesson, who is the hammer? Who
the hand? I at least am the nail,
but what kind? Nine-inch - all
scratchy and sick with ratcheted
up disgust and scorn? One of the
three True Nails of the True
Cross, with James Bond Han Solo's
dad hot on the case? Perhaps a
carpet nail, or a suitable
spike to whap halfway into
a wall (having found the stud,
or whatever it's called) - drape
a framed picture over it! How
am I to live when I don't know
the specifics of my own
metaphor? It's no wonder
really, I'm a bit sick
of being noticed.
Monday, December 09, 2019
the terrible flirt and her rescuer
She said "Did you note
this sweet-ass cheek,
half-assedly bared
and smackable? Or,"
(she straightened
up, turned 'round)
"What about this tit
- hey! hey!" I backed
away, not scandalized
a bit, exactly, but
a little concerned.
"It's okay! I'm just
- sorry, a little too
forward, I guess. I don't
mean to disturb, or test
your boundaries, or
anything." Her face
pled a case of some
kind. "I'm a terrible
flirt," she concluded,
lamely. "I reassure you,"
I reassured. She brightened
and eased, and smiling,
began to hitch up her skirt
in front. "Hey! Hey!" I said,
"You don't have to do that."
Neither solemn nor preachy,
but with tidings of joy,
I reported: "The patriarchy
was defeated forever this
morning. Women" (such as you,
I thought) (case in point!)
"no longer have to obsessively
offer themselves objectively
in subjection to the approving
gaze of males (hetero, not
gays) grazing contentedly
through pastures of willing
women flaunting their sexuality
like so many pieces of meat
do." "Oh, thank God!" she relaxed,
exclaiming and smiling, and
giving me a look
that was hard to decipher,
took off.
this sweet-ass cheek,
half-assedly bared
and smackable? Or,"
(she straightened
up, turned 'round)
"What about this tit
- hey! hey!" I backed
away, not scandalized
a bit, exactly, but
a little concerned.
"It's okay! I'm just
- sorry, a little too
forward, I guess. I don't
mean to disturb, or test
your boundaries, or
anything." Her face
pled a case of some
kind. "I'm a terrible
flirt," she concluded,
lamely. "I reassure you,"
I reassured. She brightened
and eased, and smiling,
began to hitch up her skirt
in front. "Hey! Hey!" I said,
"You don't have to do that."
Neither solemn nor preachy,
but with tidings of joy,
I reported: "The patriarchy
was defeated forever this
morning. Women" (such as you,
I thought) (case in point!)
"no longer have to obsessively
offer themselves objectively
in subjection to the approving
gaze of males (hetero, not
gays) grazing contentedly
through pastures of willing
women flaunting their sexuality
like so many pieces of meat
do." "Oh, thank God!" she relaxed,
exclaiming and smiling, and
giving me a look
that was hard to decipher,
took off.
non-synonymous
I'm always confusing impassive
and implacable, but you know
I think it works for me? "Impassive"
meaning not so much emotionless
as showing no emotion, "implacable"
meaning either "unable to be placated"
i.e. made less angry or hostile, or
"relentless, unstoppable." Now,
speaking impassively, I relent
all the time. I relent
at anything, over nothing
- I relent on a whim!
Sometimes I'm not even doing
anything, and bang!
I relent
anyway.
But it's true I cannot be stopped.
So, considering I could not possibly
be made less angry or hostile than
I already am,
I got distracted, and
forgot my point.
I'm impassive as hell over it
and implacable, but you know
I think it works for me? "Impassive"
meaning not so much emotionless
as showing no emotion, "implacable"
meaning either "unable to be placated"
i.e. made less angry or hostile, or
"relentless, unstoppable." Now,
speaking impassively, I relent
all the time. I relent
at anything, over nothing
- I relent on a whim!
Sometimes I'm not even doing
anything, and bang!
I relent
anyway.
But it's true I cannot be stopped.
So, considering I could not possibly
be made less angry or hostile than
I already am,
I got distracted, and
forgot my point.
I'm impassive as hell over it
it's about.
It's about restoring the dignity of
the middle, lower-middle,
upper-poor and poor
and lower,
lower your eyes, look your kids
in the eye, tell them
this mess
is going to be okay. Because
you believe they can
pull it off! You have
faith in them. You have to
take a stand and cry "change!"
- even if in your own personal life
you can't stand change, don't do well
with change - this is more far-off change
that affects us all, that
none of us has to do with.
So it's primal
and has to do with
saving the planet
peace on earth
punishing rogue nations
- ourselves, primarily
destroying and eliminating
the human race, because
we fuck up everything
fix the sun
(or it explodes!)
put our humble face on
and make it fit
in case there's aliens,
and
more money for schools,
because
that affects prisons
in a convoluted way. We need
to hail the flag, glory up
the troops and such symbols
even though you gotta
anyway, we still want to. It's
sincere outpouring
It's about
how half the people are evil
- either actually, utterly evil
or abjectly deceived, stupid ass
dumb-ass dupes
who are the problem
- and so say all of they,
vis-a-vis us, which just goes
to show they're wrong
and we're not. It's about
finding solutions. Together,
compromise with evil and stupidity
because hey, even though we gotta,
we still want to. It's the right
thing, shows human decency,
human reason - shit like that
prevails if you make it. And
you have to, because
that's what it's about.
the middle, lower-middle,
upper-poor and poor
and lower,
lower your eyes, look your kids
in the eye, tell them
this mess
is going to be okay. Because
you believe they can
pull it off! You have
faith in them. You have to
take a stand and cry "change!"
- even if in your own personal life
you can't stand change, don't do well
with change - this is more far-off change
that affects us all, that
none of us has to do with.
So it's primal
and has to do with
saving the planet
peace on earth
punishing rogue nations
- ourselves, primarily
destroying and eliminating
the human race, because
we fuck up everything
fix the sun
(or it explodes!)
put our humble face on
and make it fit
in case there's aliens,
and
more money for schools,
because
that affects prisons
in a convoluted way. We need
to hail the flag, glory up
the troops and such symbols
even though you gotta
anyway, we still want to. It's
sincere outpouring
It's about
how half the people are evil
- either actually, utterly evil
or abjectly deceived, stupid ass
dumb-ass dupes
who are the problem
- and so say all of they,
vis-a-vis us, which just goes
to show they're wrong
and we're not. It's about
finding solutions. Together,
compromise with evil and stupidity
because hey, even though we gotta,
we still want to. It's the right
thing, shows human decency,
human reason - shit like that
prevails if you make it. And
you have to, because
that's what it's about.
Friday, December 06, 2019
some swoon of yours
Yours is the swoon that woos
me, makes me swoon
myself,
and bless my monstrous
disastrous, lucky stars,
that somehow someone like me
caught your eye so,
and drew you
towards me. Blew me up
towards the sky
and so now.
We're left
with our way in a dance,
in each other's sway
and no pretense left. We've been
needless of more
and more pretense
each step.
Your eyes,
voice, spark
and slaying blade
arched arrows hit marks
not apparently
even aimed at, played
all the way straight through
and won. That's final enough,
for this one, who you
will love
and my response
to you
feels done, plus
not even slightly begun.
Proved best yet already, and
you move me more.
You move me beyond. I don't
know what why or how we'll find,
but I know much this: whatever
it is, if it's you, if it's yours,
then that's my biz.
me, makes me swoon
myself,
and bless my monstrous
disastrous, lucky stars,
that somehow someone like me
caught your eye so,
and drew you
towards me. Blew me up
towards the sky
and so now.
We're left
with our way in a dance,
in each other's sway
and no pretense left. We've been
needless of more
and more pretense
each step.
Your eyes,
voice, spark
and slaying blade
arched arrows hit marks
not apparently
even aimed at, played
all the way straight through
and won. That's final enough,
for this one, who you
will love
and my response
to you
feels done, plus
not even slightly begun.
Proved best yet already, and
you move me more.
You move me beyond. I don't
know what why or how we'll find,
but I know much this: whatever
it is, if it's you, if it's yours,
then that's my biz.
Murder is worse
Murder is worse
than other crimes.
A detective rears up,
indignant, appalled,
tightly-controlled furious
to decry
and harangue and
belittle us all, all we
who'd condone or consent
to murder. Who'd allow
ourselves
to be killed, by some
scum. We deserve
it! Their laser-like
focus on
cold, ruthless justice
and crime, like the one
we let come on. We rest
quiet easy, with such
pure cause. The forces
of hard intellect, pissed
off and deducing all manner
of leads and clues. As
our corpse
is no longer able
to cool,
we lie deep and easy
knowing, some murderer
soon will be found
a fool.
than other crimes.
A detective rears up,
indignant, appalled,
tightly-controlled furious
to decry
and harangue and
belittle us all, all we
who'd condone or consent
to murder. Who'd allow
ourselves
to be killed, by some
scum. We deserve
it! Their laser-like
focus on
cold, ruthless justice
and crime, like the one
we let come on. We rest
quiet easy, with such
pure cause. The forces
of hard intellect, pissed
off and deducing all manner
of leads and clues. As
our corpse
is no longer able
to cool,
we lie deep and easy
knowing, some murderer
soon will be found
a fool.
Thursday, December 05, 2019
There was a tree in the back of memory
When I was a child
I thought I was not a wolf
and I wasn't.
Things just were. And
I was just
a kid, and I would
grow up. There was magic,
in that we could choose
to be fools who believe
in magic, as we all do
There was a tree
in the back
but not of a house
that I used to climb
when I needed to think
very intensely,
for a short huff and scrape
about climbing.
I can still recall
I am still there now
half-way through a fall
with my back
about to get slammed
and the breath
knocked out of my body
for a while, turning over
with my arms drawn in
and looking up
into black branching webs
film negative lightning
frozen onto white sky
gazing up at the limb
where I'd sometimes sit,
but not this time
I thought I was not a wolf
and I wasn't.
Things just were. And
I was just
a kid, and I would
grow up. There was magic,
in that we could choose
to be fools who believe
in magic, as we all do
There was a tree
in the back
but not of a house
that I used to climb
when I needed to think
very intensely,
for a short huff and scrape
about climbing.
I can still recall
I am still there now
half-way through a fall
with my back
about to get slammed
and the breath
knocked out of my body
for a while, turning over
with my arms drawn in
and looking up
into black branching webs
film negative lightning
frozen onto white sky
gazing up at the limb
where I'd sometimes sit,
but not this time
defense of innocent tools
Rhetoric has a bad name
propaganda and demagoguery
as well. Might as well
demonize public service
announcements! I say
all these things have good use
in good cause, and whatever
truth claims
they make - these can be examined
for correspondence with reality.
Sometimes it turns out
they're pen pals! The problem
isn't rhetoric,
isn't propaganda
isn't demagoguery,
or any other announcement pitched
as a service to the public, but
an insufficient emphasis
on teaching critical thinking.
Pound the tools into us
as kids, and we'd be more apt
to lance and dismantle the bullshit!
- yet this can never be. For
the facile egomaniacs, sitting high
in the power drive
would much rather have
everyone complaisant
and none-too-incredulous.
Let the best-designed
ad campaign win. Disgusting
motherfuckers
propaganda and demagoguery
as well. Might as well
demonize public service
announcements! I say
all these things have good use
in good cause, and whatever
truth claims
they make - these can be examined
for correspondence with reality.
Sometimes it turns out
they're pen pals! The problem
isn't rhetoric,
isn't propaganda
isn't demagoguery,
or any other announcement pitched
as a service to the public, but
an insufficient emphasis
on teaching critical thinking.
Pound the tools into us
as kids, and we'd be more apt
to lance and dismantle the bullshit!
- yet this can never be. For
the facile egomaniacs, sitting high
in the power drive
would much rather have
everyone complaisant
and none-too-incredulous.
Let the best-designed
ad campaign win. Disgusting
motherfuckers
Wednesday, December 04, 2019
Cat morality
Cats know what claws are for. Playing.
Which they take seriously.
A cat would love to play with you
from now until you die
Which
They'd draw out as long as they could,
if they could. Naturally,
If they could.
Cat morality
is simple: if it can take being played with,
it is sentient life.
If it can't, finish play, then proceed
to the tasting stage.
If it tastes bad, at least
it can still be good
to play with.
Let's find more of these
Which they take seriously.
A cat would love to play with you
from now until you die
Which
They'd draw out as long as they could,
if they could. Naturally,
If they could.
Cat morality
is simple: if it can take being played with,
it is sentient life.
If it can't, finish play, then proceed
to the tasting stage.
If it tastes bad, at least
it can still be good
to play with.
Let's find more of these
incarnation
I constantly feed and water
this thing. Relieving its
waste, and scratching its
itch. It wakes up all needy
and bushy each day, and
somebody's got to take care
of it.
I guess it's me.
Everyone seems to think
that I am this collection
of urges and wants. Which
I really quite am, in fact!
It's a sacrifice I have quite
willingly made,
but once.
this thing. Relieving its
waste, and scratching its
itch. It wakes up all needy
and bushy each day, and
somebody's got to take care
of it.
I guess it's me.
Everyone seems to think
that I am this collection
of urges and wants. Which
I really quite am, in fact!
It's a sacrifice I have quite
willingly made,
but once.
the common depression
The girl across the way
likes to walk her dog down
into the common depression
that lies
between all of us.
Where floodwaters collect, so
they do not flood. And nobody
dies - ahead of their usual
course, at least. Exceptions
for crime and for accident.
It's safe down in there,
for walking a dog. No one goes down
in there with bad intent - it's too open
to view. Some kids cut across,
but no one's supposed to. Except
for the sandhill cranes,
who fly in
announcing approach
in staccato honks, just after
the rains have come and gone. So
they come and they go. The waters recede.
The cranes glide down
and with murderous beaks,
make feast of who knows
what burrowing creeps.
It's a quiet town.
likes to walk her dog down
into the common depression
that lies
between all of us.
Where floodwaters collect, so
they do not flood. And nobody
dies - ahead of their usual
course, at least. Exceptions
for crime and for accident.
It's safe down in there,
for walking a dog. No one goes down
in there with bad intent - it's too open
to view. Some kids cut across,
but no one's supposed to. Except
for the sandhill cranes,
who fly in
announcing approach
in staccato honks, just after
the rains have come and gone. So
they come and they go. The waters recede.
The cranes glide down
and with murderous beaks,
make feast of who knows
what burrowing creeps.
It's a quiet town.
Tuesday, December 03, 2019
sustenance
I am made of meat
and the bone grown hard
protecting my meaty brain
and heart is of deepest
kind. Except sometimes
the bone nearly surfaces
man that hurts.
But it's fine. It's
just okay, I don't mind
too much. It just seems
such a human condition
to flinch from too thorough
a touch of reality. We are
made of meat, and hence:
we look mealy to eyes
that have felt
the pinch.
We are sustenance. Why, I
myself have made many meals.
Others have devoured me, parts
and whole - and left me quite
raw, and so overdone. Yet my meat
is still here, looking robust
enough to outlive
my soul.
and the bone grown hard
protecting my meaty brain
and heart is of deepest
kind. Except sometimes
the bone nearly surfaces
man that hurts.
But it's fine. It's
just okay, I don't mind
too much. It just seems
such a human condition
to flinch from too thorough
a touch of reality. We are
made of meat, and hence:
we look mealy to eyes
that have felt
the pinch.
We are sustenance. Why, I
myself have made many meals.
Others have devoured me, parts
and whole - and left me quite
raw, and so overdone. Yet my meat
is still here, looking robust
enough to outlive
my soul.
shoes you slip
The shoes you slip on everyday, what if
all the hard and sharp parts, the points
to bite and pinch and sometimes punch
blood with each pressing step, could be
made slick, firm inside, and even
and smooth? As hard slick and smooth
as the soles have become.
The shoes you slip in
everyday, what if
you did not have to constantly
catch yourself? On some upstanding
surface, or object
or person
where sometimes none was, so
you slipped and you fell?
What if you'd step sound
as the grounds themselves
that supported and gave
indications of ways, of paths
to trod sure as hardwood floors? Oh,
I cannot judge you. I could not walk
a mile,
I would not last a day
in those shoes of yours.
all the hard and sharp parts, the points
to bite and pinch and sometimes punch
blood with each pressing step, could be
made slick, firm inside, and even
and smooth? As hard slick and smooth
as the soles have become.
The shoes you slip in
everyday, what if
you did not have to constantly
catch yourself? On some upstanding
surface, or object
or person
where sometimes none was, so
you slipped and you fell?
What if you'd step sound
as the grounds themselves
that supported and gave
indications of ways, of paths
to trod sure as hardwood floors? Oh,
I cannot judge you. I could not walk
a mile,
I would not last a day
in those shoes of yours.
no really
Do you really think I love you? Do you
really think I want you? That I'd be
with you, stay with you? Do you really
think I care about you? 'Cause I do,
do, would, would, do.
But
human beings being
what they are, having done
what they do, how they treat
us all, I thought I'd ask.
And answer as well, leaving doubt
no chance to break the spell. And
there is one, you know.
I believe
there's a rabbit in
every worn hat made of faith.
We so bravely go without hats
in these faithless days, but you
my fellow magician's assistant,
keep me amazed, and teach me
to know.
really think I want you? That I'd be
with you, stay with you? Do you really
think I care about you? 'Cause I do,
do, would, would, do.
But
human beings being
what they are, having done
what they do, how they treat
us all, I thought I'd ask.
And answer as well, leaving doubt
no chance to break the spell. And
there is one, you know.
I believe
there's a rabbit in
every worn hat made of faith.
We so bravely go without hats
in these faithless days, but you
my fellow magician's assistant,
keep me amazed, and teach me
to know.
Monday, December 02, 2019
untrustworthy type
Unable to control myself
in my presence as usual, I paid
no attention to the curtain I passed
out behind. It was just a feint
stage left, one
I've gone through
many times. As I exited,
I put an extra strut
in my step,
signifying nothing.
That sound you hear
- so loud! is - don't fret!
Only my heart, a red herring
or macguffin I stuffed into
the plot for suspense,
the heedless and carefree way
I make sense. I conduct my affairs,
and don't ever expect to mount
a defense. Present tense I roll bold,
warm, fond, meaningfully and hard
to miss, approximately precisely
correct. With a taciturn edge to
my musically deadpan drawl, I walk
into a bar, screw in a lightbulb (it
only takes one), complete a bystander's
sentence as a backflip limerick, then
take a fall for a stunt. But no one
can believe I meant to do it, because
I said I did not. Because I didn't.
Ahh, people are so easy to fool
with the truth. I have truly missed
my calling I guess and suspect.
One shot, and I have to say,
that's cool.
I was going to anyway.
Your ex-
Your ex-
and I
have been hanging out. It started
by chance, it's been some
months now.
He's been telling me things
that ring scarily true
from the bits I've glimpsed
between lines of you.
And there's something else
you will be surprised
but I really think you
must know, bright eyes. It shocked
me as well, when I found out
myself. I couldn't believe it
I said go to hell, but your ex-
showed the proof.
And away I ran. Your ex-
and I
are the very same man.
and I
have been hanging out. It started
by chance, it's been some
months now.
He's been telling me things
that ring scarily true
from the bits I've glimpsed
between lines of you.
And there's something else
you will be surprised
but I really think you
must know, bright eyes. It shocked
me as well, when I found out
myself. I couldn't believe it
I said go to hell, but your ex-
showed the proof.
And away I ran. Your ex-
and I
are the very same man.
What if the devil, you know, showed up?
What if the devil, you know, showed up?
Well hold it is it the devil I know,
or the devil I don't? Either way, though
if I spot who it is at least, I'd ask him
to take a running fuck off a dumptruck
and land in a pile of butterfly shit, please.
I would actually phrase it “Would you please…?”
so there's clarity. So it's clear he understands
that it is a question. He is not being compelled,
but asked, to fuck off. Please note, side note
- and I hope I’m not misaware, here! I do see
the specific profane words scattered through
in life. Not commonly but rarely, judiciously,
and - apparently! - acceptable, or considered
so. Since they're there. Unless I'm always
one step ahead of discretion and gone
before some flying rebuke comes in,
it seems acceptable, because
accepted. That would be odd. However,
I wish to emphasize and underscore
I'm not some Bonolord trying to push the Edge
using oh!-My-honest-goodness! “Bad Words.”
Who Cares? Just syllables, friends
- and there are no unjust syllables,
but be fair in how you use them. Me,
I just wanted a little strong color
in my picturesque. 'Cause it is the devil,
correct? Correct.
In theological terms,
all I've done here is quite liberally
“curse the devil” - something
that used to be done all the time,
and is still considered licit.
Or is it?
Well hold it is it the devil I know,
or the devil I don't? Either way, though
if I spot who it is at least, I'd ask him
to take a running fuck off a dumptruck
and land in a pile of butterfly shit, please.
I would actually phrase it “Would you please…?”
so there's clarity. So it's clear he understands
that it is a question. He is not being compelled,
but asked, to fuck off. Please note, side note
- and I hope I’m not misaware, here! I do see
the specific profane words scattered through
in life. Not commonly but rarely, judiciously,
and - apparently! - acceptable, or considered
so. Since they're there. Unless I'm always
one step ahead of discretion and gone
before some flying rebuke comes in,
it seems acceptable, because
accepted. That would be odd. However,
I wish to emphasize and underscore
I'm not some Bonolord trying to push the Edge
using oh!-My-honest-goodness! “Bad Words.”
Who Cares? Just syllables, friends
- and there are no unjust syllables,
but be fair in how you use them. Me,
I just wanted a little strong color
in my picturesque. 'Cause it is the devil,
correct? Correct.
In theological terms,
all I've done here is quite liberally
“curse the devil” - something
that used to be done all the time,
and is still considered licit.
Or is it?
messy breakfast aftermath
Her white, angelic hands stroked sleek
and clean through rough and coarse beard hair
bedewed by crusted yolk of egg,
and found redemption lying there
her sudden angel wings came over
both of them in down newborn
and comforting, she swore at once,
she'd never trade halo for horn.
But as she swore, there peeped two points
from her angelic brow, and apprehensively,
she mused "Ah, fuck!
I guess there's just
one sin for me."
and clean through rough and coarse beard hair
bedewed by crusted yolk of egg,
and found redemption lying there
her sudden angel wings came over
both of them in down newborn
and comforting, she swore at once,
she'd never trade halo for horn.
But as she swore, there peeped two points
from her angelic brow, and apprehensively,
she mused "Ah, fuck!
I guess there's just
one sin for me."
credo in glass
I want to get a set
of drinking glasses
that are sort of a pale
transparent cadet blue
color,
the fancy kind
with tiny air bubbles in - tall
drinking glasses, suitable for water
or whatever! - but inside the glass,
it is half full of completely colorless
transparent glass,
made to look like water.
In this way, these glasses
will always be "half full."
Things
when they don't exist
should be made beautiful.
of drinking glasses
that are sort of a pale
transparent cadet blue
color,
the fancy kind
with tiny air bubbles in - tall
drinking glasses, suitable for water
or whatever! - but inside the glass,
it is half full of completely colorless
transparent glass,
made to look like water.
In this way, these glasses
will always be "half full."
Things
when they don't exist
should be made beautiful.
"mah man"
The reason I put "mah man"
in scare quotes up there
in the title is as funny
and as sweet as you are,
you're kind of a scary dude
I think. I mean,
everybody trusts you, even people
you don't know if they know
what's good for them, but
I think they can kind of tell, too.
In case you're not aware of it,
there's kind of a secret conspiracy
of fan-based suspicion over your fearsome
black ops combat capabilities
- which we don't know about, but
suspect you've never even used these,
owing to your essential sweetness plus,
no need.
But it don't mean our danger antenna
aren't twanging a little, "mah man!"
Even though the effect is pure reassurance
knowing you're around, knowing you're
on our side.
That doesn't mean
we're dumb and blind
to the fact you're a FELL BEAST
of Tolkienesque dimensions (albeit
more a little on the Elven-side
of things of course - none of this
Mordor bull shit, sworn to fell powers
shaking your fist at wandering angels,
shitting on midgets down the little holes
they try to live their quaint bucolic
lives in - try all you like to skew "bad boy"
as a fashion statement baby, you can pull off
the clothes just fine but underneath,
you're a pretty, good guy
and we know it) you have to admit
if you're honest with yourself, most people
can see that given necessity
you're probably some kind of John
Wick Jason Bourne Mary Sue clone
as if wandering as if by mistake
into the wrong kind of Dan Brown
storybook, and they had to protagonize you.
It's just how you come off. Don't
fight it. Looks good on you.
in scare quotes up there
in the title is as funny
and as sweet as you are,
you're kind of a scary dude
I think. I mean,
everybody trusts you, even people
you don't know if they know
what's good for them, but
I think they can kind of tell, too.
In case you're not aware of it,
there's kind of a secret conspiracy
of fan-based suspicion over your fearsome
black ops combat capabilities
- which we don't know about, but
suspect you've never even used these,
owing to your essential sweetness plus,
no need.
But it don't mean our danger antenna
aren't twanging a little, "mah man!"
Even though the effect is pure reassurance
knowing you're around, knowing you're
on our side.
That doesn't mean
we're dumb and blind
to the fact you're a FELL BEAST
of Tolkienesque dimensions (albeit
more a little on the Elven-side
of things of course - none of this
Mordor bull shit, sworn to fell powers
shaking your fist at wandering angels,
shitting on midgets down the little holes
they try to live their quaint bucolic
lives in - try all you like to skew "bad boy"
as a fashion statement baby, you can pull off
the clothes just fine but underneath,
you're a pretty, good guy
and we know it) you have to admit
if you're honest with yourself, most people
can see that given necessity
you're probably some kind of John
Wick Jason Bourne Mary Sue clone
as if wandering as if by mistake
into the wrong kind of Dan Brown
storybook, and they had to protagonize you.
It's just how you come off. Don't
fight it. Looks good on you.
No clown(s)
Clown
is not even in your repertoire
of pantomime roles. A goof,
a sprite, a mischief-minx,
a trickstress who only ever treats,
perhaps even a scrappy and indomitable
unbeatable superspy masquerading as
comedy-relief sidekick/love interest
for the purpose of the mission and with
an eye towards retirement, but no clown. A fool,
perhaps, as I am a fool
- for we both know what
has been going down, and
have gone on anyway.
Oh, we go on. But not
in greasepaint, fright wigs
doing huge, soft-shoe routines
to a comical song
is not even in your repertoire
of pantomime roles. A goof,
a sprite, a mischief-minx,
a trickstress who only ever treats,
perhaps even a scrappy and indomitable
unbeatable superspy masquerading as
comedy-relief sidekick/love interest
for the purpose of the mission and with
an eye towards retirement, but no clown. A fool,
perhaps, as I am a fool
- for we both know what
has been going down, and
have gone on anyway.
Oh, we go on. But not
in greasepaint, fright wigs
doing huge, soft-shoe routines
to a comical song
more us
I'm not a big fan
of my misspent youth
or my misspent days
ever since, but I have to conclude
I can't argue with the end outcome,
whenever it comes the time. If I must
dismiss mostly all of misspent mine,
I must also admit, I have treasured
every one of the misspent hours
that were well-spent ours.
I look forward to more
us, wasting however much
of such time.
of my misspent youth
or my misspent days
ever since, but I have to conclude
I can't argue with the end outcome,
whenever it comes the time. If I must
dismiss mostly all of misspent mine,
I must also admit, I have treasured
every one of the misspent hours
that were well-spent ours.
I look forward to more
us, wasting however much
of such time.
The problem with nudity is
The problem with nudity is
an actual human being
has taken their clothes off
now
do we know why? Upbringing? Partly,
at least to be sure, but - perhaps
the clothes are stolen? Or
to titillate? Some woo
move? A gambit
to exchange nudity for sex
we don't know. And so
we feel conflicted.
Not cool.
But remember
as a boy, I was
only a child, it was so
differently innocent.
Nudity was like a special effect
I didn't know how it was done
- how did they pull it off? On tv
very rare. It must have taken
something unusual. Because
I got a sense it was not allowed. So
funny. Naughty. Dirty!
Which is SICK, and
our minds process nudity
in such ways today. We see
floppy tits and flappy
cocks and stuff, cooches
and behinds every day, all around us
in our sick minds and now and then
whoa! The real thing. We can't imagine
how that happened - oh. It's my own.
Waking up in the shower again,
rude. Coffee
getting soap in it
disgusting
nudity
has become for us
some nasty grail
to hunt up online, or
some favor we do each other
by accident, on purpose
- whoops! wide eyes
taking notes!
It's not a problem
maybe. In the final analysis
because there's no solution
(other than clothes, which
is a temporary fix at best!)
but if one day we grow more sane,
I hope we'll see nudity for what it is.
Whatever that may be
an actual human being
has taken their clothes off
now
do we know why? Upbringing? Partly,
at least to be sure, but - perhaps
the clothes are stolen? Or
to titillate? Some woo
move? A gambit
to exchange nudity for sex
we don't know. And so
we feel conflicted.
Not cool.
But remember
as a boy, I was
only a child, it was so
differently innocent.
Nudity was like a special effect
I didn't know how it was done
- how did they pull it off? On tv
very rare. It must have taken
something unusual. Because
I got a sense it was not allowed. So
funny. Naughty. Dirty!
Which is SICK, and
our minds process nudity
in such ways today. We see
floppy tits and flappy
cocks and stuff, cooches
and behinds every day, all around us
in our sick minds and now and then
whoa! The real thing. We can't imagine
how that happened - oh. It's my own.
Waking up in the shower again,
rude. Coffee
getting soap in it
disgusting
nudity
has become for us
some nasty grail
to hunt up online, or
some favor we do each other
by accident, on purpose
- whoops! wide eyes
taking notes!
It's not a problem
maybe. In the final analysis
because there's no solution
(other than clothes, which
is a temporary fix at best!)
but if one day we grow more sane,
I hope we'll see nudity for what it is.
Whatever that may be
thrilling sick cliffs
Terrible and thrilling
like a sick fascination
with cliffs. And the part
where you count off
your disappearance
is sadder than
the world ever was.
Terrific, in a sense
almost gone from the word.
I want to leave a hole the size
of the future I saw coming
into view and reach, by the time
I was ready to slip over it. The abyss
you look so carefully into and over,
looks also absurd. A steep
and overreaching slip and fall,
a moment of reeling vertigo
blur, a hesitation just enough
to recall, and deter.
like a sick fascination
with cliffs. And the part
where you count off
your disappearance
is sadder than
the world ever was.
Terrific, in a sense
almost gone from the word.
I want to leave a hole the size
of the future I saw coming
into view and reach, by the time
I was ready to slip over it. The abyss
you look so carefully into and over,
looks also absurd. A steep
and overreaching slip and fall,
a moment of reeling vertigo
blur, a hesitation just enough
to recall, and deter.
nontraditional doggerel
There was a young lady from Fuckett
Who constantly kept saying fuck it.
She puzzled, unpleased
And would beg on her knees
but no one made limericks about her.
Who constantly kept saying fuck it.
She puzzled, unpleased
And would beg on her knees
but no one made limericks about her.
conscience autovigilante
my horrible imagination loves
to bring my conscience in
to show me doing horribly
some act that makes me
wince and cringe
within
in thought,
and rip myself
right out my back to reach
in hands, and snap my neck
impulsively
before I can
because I can.
It's usually
just some damn
thing, I thought of
just so bad, so wrong, so mean
to say - I never would! Well
now I can't.
My life is gone.
At any rate, it's gone
shocked small. I saw your face
so vividly collapse in pain
and disbelief, it wasn't
me. It wasn't me!
It wasn't you. Your face
is fine. You laugh, you're
talking still
and calm - until
"Are you okay?" you ask
"You're awfully quiet."
Yes, it's gone.
I'm fine. Your face
- so unconcerned, so
good, so innocent - is balm.
to bring my conscience in
to show me doing horribly
some act that makes me
wince and cringe
within
in thought,
and rip myself
right out my back to reach
in hands, and snap my neck
impulsively
before I can
because I can.
It's usually
just some damn
thing, I thought of
just so bad, so wrong, so mean
to say - I never would! Well
now I can't.
My life is gone.
At any rate, it's gone
shocked small. I saw your face
so vividly collapse in pain
and disbelief, it wasn't
me. It wasn't me!
It wasn't you. Your face
is fine. You laugh, you're
talking still
and calm - until
"Are you okay?" you ask
"You're awfully quiet."
Yes, it's gone.
I'm fine. Your face
- so unconcerned, so
good, so innocent - is balm.
one stuck wide
there was a creature with tongues
instead of eyes
behind eyelids
it kept both closed,
but now and then
most playfully,
this thing would wink
and then you'd see
and then you'd know
instead of eyes
behind eyelids
it kept both closed,
but now and then
most playfully,
this thing would wink
and then you'd see
and then you'd know
Sunday, December 01, 2019
dragonfly
How different from the butterfly
the dragonfly zips brutally
with sullen and voracious strength,
its stained-glass panels worrying
the air, its legs
like talons clutched
to body
ugly, ramrod worm
in flight
so creepy beautiful
so lazily
it drifts to strike
from shining hazy day,
abrupt
in shift
your turn
goodnight
the dragonfly zips brutally
with sullen and voracious strength,
its stained-glass panels worrying
the air, its legs
like talons clutched
to body
ugly, ramrod worm
in flight
so creepy beautiful
so lazily
it drifts to strike
from shining hazy day,
abrupt
in shift
your turn
goodnight
controlled study
Would you like a coincidence?
Pause a bit, reflect, and then
tell me what you're thinking of.
Ah. Well. That didn't work. We are
not twin flame telepaths, perhaps
I should've held off
the experiment
'til I knew you weren't busy. Then
again
not knowing
was itself a telepathy fail!
Ah, botched it. After I hit send
I concentrated on one image for you,
then changed my mind to another, then
alternated with indecision, then
got distracted
and wasn't sending anything
by the time you saw it,
and replied.
So that must be why
Pause a bit, reflect, and then
tell me what you're thinking of.
Ah. Well. That didn't work. We are
not twin flame telepaths, perhaps
I should've held off
the experiment
'til I knew you weren't busy. Then
again
not knowing
was itself a telepathy fail!
Ah, botched it. After I hit send
I concentrated on one image for you,
then changed my mind to another, then
alternated with indecision, then
got distracted
and wasn't sending anything
by the time you saw it,
and replied.
So that must be why
"cold dish connoisseur"
You violate my privacy.
Humiliate me publicly.
The whole world has been made to see
how I humiliated you.
But turnabout's fair play in war,
and love, they've seen it all before.
It's only boring 'cause it's you
who's settled for this score.
As far as I'm concerned, we're square.
I've never had that much to care.
Our contest wasn't ever fair,
I gave up playing long ago.
I'm happy if your grudge is spent.
Or if it isn't, come again!
Living well is best.
I haven't tasted yet
revenge. Do you recommend?
Humiliate me publicly.
The whole world has been made to see
how I humiliated you.
But turnabout's fair play in war,
and love, they've seen it all before.
It's only boring 'cause it's you
who's settled for this score.
As far as I'm concerned, we're square.
I've never had that much to care.
Our contest wasn't ever fair,
I gave up playing long ago.
I'm happy if your grudge is spent.
Or if it isn't, come again!
Living well is best.
I haven't tasted yet
revenge. Do you recommend?
bird lore
In ornithology,
the "lore"
is the region between the eye
and bill
on the side of a bird's head. So yeah
That's that. Now you know
the score.
I'll send you
the bill, if you like
pussycat
the "lore"
is the region between the eye
and bill
on the side of a bird's head. So yeah
That's that. Now you know
the score.
I'll send you
the bill, if you like
pussycat
observation crisis
looking at stars and trying to see
atoms
colliding like metaphor, simile
as vast
as the heart that contains all you are
as tiny
as what it must mean to me
now
as the forces begin, tear apart
expanding lightspeed
towards entropy
if I could
just focus
on both things at once,
I'd put it together eventually
atoms
colliding like metaphor, simile
as vast
as the heart that contains all you are
as tiny
as what it must mean to me
now
as the forces begin, tear apart
expanding lightspeed
towards entropy
if I could
just focus
on both things at once,
I'd put it together eventually
The mother you once
The mother you once knew
- once were, once
wanted to be
has been taken from you
by this awful child
grown awfuller every month
when the birthday party's due
Who made this child so awfully?
So awfully cute,
so spoiled
so fresh
So demanding and taking
most all of you.
The mother you once
were not,
you guess.
- once were, once
wanted to be
has been taken from you
by this awful child
grown awfuller every month
when the birthday party's due
Who made this child so awfully?
So awfully cute,
so spoiled
so fresh
So demanding and taking
most all of you.
The mother you once
were not,
you guess.
Some scumbag
Some scumbag
skulks inwardly
with a shining smile
for all to see,
call him genuine
- and he is
just not
what they think
he is
on the inside
sleeps in a cell
on a cot
eating gruel
and dreams
of forbidden
things,
a monster shot through
with urges and drives
that grope
and
cling.
And he can control
them all, he just doesn't
at all. Which is why
everyone's seen
everything.
Call him genuine
and he is
it's a mystery to him
why everyone sees
and nobody sees
how disgusting
this is.
skulks inwardly
with a shining smile
for all to see,
call him genuine
- and he is
just not
what they think
he is
on the inside
sleeps in a cell
on a cot
eating gruel
and dreams
of forbidden
things,
a monster shot through
with urges and drives
that grope
and
cling.
And he can control
them all, he just doesn't
at all. Which is why
everyone's seen
everything.
Call him genuine
and he is
it's a mystery to him
why everyone sees
and nobody sees
how disgusting
this is.
how it lies
Oh, these uneven lies
make for treacherous drives
Play it how it lies and
hit it true, says I. If you do
they other may say, "Whoooo!
see how it flies," and
duck. A long way away,
by then. You forgot to yell
"fuck!" I mean "fore," but okay,
they heard the crack, saw -
And it dropped their jaw! Sure,
but they moved their head
just
when
or just before the ball went in
and got stuck.
Again.
make for treacherous drives
Play it how it lies and
hit it true, says I. If you do
they other may say, "Whoooo!
see how it flies," and
duck. A long way away,
by then. You forgot to yell
"fuck!" I mean "fore," but okay,
they heard the crack, saw -
And it dropped their jaw! Sure,
but they moved their head
just
when
or just before the ball went in
and got stuck.
Again.
the inquisitives
Supposing the worst
isn't what we want.
Supposing we can't agree
what is. Supposing we decide
to take what comes. Is that
any kind of a way to live?
Supposing it is.
Is it good enough?
Supposing it is.
Will we want more?
Supposing we don't?
Or supposing we do.
I think we can see
enough from right here
to find out some more.
isn't what we want.
Supposing we can't agree
what is. Supposing we decide
to take what comes. Is that
any kind of a way to live?
Supposing it is.
Is it good enough?
Supposing it is.
Will we want more?
Supposing we don't?
Or supposing we do.
I think we can see
enough from right here
to find out some more.
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