Posts for June 7, 2022

Many things
in the world
takes to the air.
We pack them up
in bags, then
drop off
at a store. They
do the rest, they
fill the air
with things that
whirl, that jet.
The wrong things
make their way
back to the store. 
New right things,
packed in bags,
spin their way
right to our door. 
If wrong again,
those things
will rise again
in bags with wings. 
So some folks spend
their time, they
spend and make
some funds.  What
fun. We laugh,
alas, at least
we save the world
some gas. 

What’s winnowed from warbling waters wearing
                                    skin and splintered stubble—

an eolian harp or a scrambling tardis,
a tarsus teasing a maundering measure
of molten jazz or disfigured, 
leathery hymnals packed
in a crackling shaft of dis-
sembling fireflies, dandling
dollops of dirging
                                    dust?

I was a monk some years fordone and dammed
and a doctor, too—was 
                                           a grumbling plumber, 
a wastrel strewn about
                                           toping leaves who’d loved

Li Bo
as much as the moon or the Ganges swoln
           by a secretly stumbling star

                                                                                and here I’m

winnowing sigils from sliced tomatoes,

groping a buoyant breast reborn in dough,

dissevering shells of the wine-blushed whelks
that reek of the seizing seas and repugnant onions,
                                               floundering root bulbs,
                                                                    parroting—

Águas de março
              Cad Goddeu
                             some birdsong stuttering coarse as a hailstorm,
                             thrum of a cringing crick deformed from the
                             soughing of sewing the skin of a parasol

s
 t
  a
    y
pleading with the broken door
you won’t find on the other side
blanketed dog in a torn up bed
shiver skate around stained floor
forget those tears you’ll shed and cry
my ego in your fragile state’s tomb
beating heart making you linger
come on, hang out with me tonight

No more chess,
Now her root files clog the flower box.
Algorithm ads always aim for alliteration.
Control, alt, delete, ones, zeroes, shift repeat in sestinas.
She learns antisocial media from Ginzburg.
Mac’s ’55 Solaris all Chrome and wings,
Processors detailed in pink and plaid,
Parked in the cloud nearby,
While he stares through the Windows,
Fedora tilted rakishly.
“Dos, moss, hoss,” she intones to him—
And from the speakers wails the bluetooth blues.
Spreadsheets on her lover’s bed.
And Word—her words—Word not
Perfect in revisions roll across the screen in stanzas.  

You, poet in the Dell: “Reboot!”

White bags, blue writing, 
cardboard boxes with a smile, 
lured in with the ease. 

Long ago memories of 
catalogs, order forms
4-6 weeks

Now it gnaws, bilious
reflexive, involuntary 

We are robots. 

One day
turns to two
turns to three
then a week.
And one day I awake,
realizing I’ve lost count
of the last day we spoke.

I wave when I see you,
You smile when you see me,
Our hearts greet each other.
No words necessary.

Hierophant Haunts Me
Am I the Deceptive One
Or is someone deceiving me

Hard to tell in my line
Of work

Every One has an ulterior motive
Why are we all here ?
Other than selfish motivation

Every One
Wants their dream to win first and
fore most
Their dreams are
Eaten by the Big Snake

John said they were all snakes

4 years ago no. 5

Old Man Wisdom had to pass
His knowledge to
The Young Lions

Houston and I standing in a field
John Voight behind us squeezed our shoulders tight
Pulled us in
And spit

They’re all snakes Boyz
Don’t get eaten

Eat 1st
Slither past
And Savor
The Apple…

Shopping
Hear Now
I bow to this line of work
Money’s good
Enough
but who is
The
Hierophant?

Get outside
Examine flower pods
break them apart gently 
See what’s inside
Sprinkle the remains
Find ants
Lay down nearby 
observe up close
watch what they do
and where they go
Seek out water
Find living things in it
Put those things in jars
Examine the actions of 
said things
Release them for home
Repeat all instructions until full grown
(Except perhaps the breaking of flower pods 
when caught by Mother)

I lay
In the
Sweet
Aftermath
Of us

Longing 
For more
Ready 
For you
To be gone 

In the dark
You worship
Me
In the light
You forget
Me

I know
Our story
I know 
Our ending

But
I sure
Crave
That 
Climax