the sense of running away from

i
To
breathe this rancid musk
Halting the mediterranean dew

Chisel of that rapid dark remembers
Why who where the river sank

Leaf gathers leaf gathers tangential
Moment – the why who where of rank

ii
It is a sense of running away from

Running away from befriending the

Voice that palls your favor into
Ice   We can manage the past well

Into the cluttered sense of now, and
We run   away   from; there is a

Sense that speech is imperative as
Play and the sense too that if you run

Away from the burn-questions, what
Is speech but impediment; you task

The boar, its tusk is the viewpoint
That senses boredom and titillates as

You run away from; not all nods can
Be a yes; none can be the rod that

Settles down; plentitude of runnings
Away from, the statistical convergent

Hub of sense; not all gods can be a
Yes, none can be the lord that nestles

Into the bosom of catch and hearse, re
Hearing the steps that watch you run.

iii
will we endear
the endeavor should
the cast

off be least expected when will the
unction be

bold whose preempted night shall
bleed and

why

An unrehearsed speculation

An unrehearsed speculation can rely on authority for legitimacy for fear of being dismissed as nonsense. Or it can appeal to what is common to people, invites prose, idea of skin and sun. But doing so is difficult. Authority is easier to don for privilege and aspirants to privilege. An unrehearsed speculation can be a poem, or it can be a podium. It can even stand as prose. Is this an unrehearsed speculation? Is this prose or is this an idea of skin or sun?

I’ve held on to rasped herrings
cooled down

with summershadedspecatacles we
reviled the

sundown held with tender thrall
we callused

a slim victory over temporality
and dallied

The many streams of joy
– The many streams of joy, in their overflow, have been historically checked by the oppressive clasp of conformity: only the prescribed streams will do.
– While the prescribed streams are restricted to the privileged few, the common ways of the folk continue to desist, dissent, procreate in a million ways.
– Established art suffers from being disconnected from these myriad ways.
– In the twenty first century, established art suffers all the more simply because of the enormity of the chasm between the high and the low, between the hallowed and the myriad.
– Round about 600 BC, Lao Tsu advised, “know the high, but stick to the low.” Today, it seems only proper to ask, “why the fuck bother with the high at all?”

poet as response

as a point of solemn untaint    the repose    response of the valid call    intrinsic to the have-to   an urgent malediction    candor    clip of will    wit     assumptions of untaint

So you see the plastic dripping
in all crevices,

You see the hinges tweaking a
Sorry bent, you

Hear the laments and hurrahs, the
Pew-hymns and

Haw-hums grappling with an easy
Morning, and

You want to play, but the rules
Are rigged, yet

You want to play, and change the
Jagged strokes

Of verseforms that are immense
Yet sad, exact

Yet wrong, very wrong, and
You want to

Change the jagged strokes; set
It right now.

core meanders about the peripheral
happenness

where door meets plaster and the
rim of new

lets the spark of its steel mend
the ripped

On the caress of form – the
thatched

agreement to proact – on the
cadence

of form – the typology of
arbitrary

gavels hit on the noose of
lawfulness

the danger in play

The danger in play is
sound

and humor and touch
it goes

unannounced within an
arch, un

arched without totems
abysmals

tyranny comes after
answers

that pretend to agree
vowels

distorting the annals
of blood

letting tooth dissolve
into tooth

the fear of the sow speaks
umpteen dialects; where one word was     trained, another
   raw     turn of phrase, and
   you

remember to count your decibels
making, marking sense; where one was     trained, another
   unwrought is unwringed, and
   you

discount mind, freight of mind,
calm of the hind-mind as humor was un    trained, another
   hinges on its meaning,  and
   you

the harmonium sings black currant soliloquies   better not to hum along   the parchment of trade is rife with mist and palacial tremble   better not to hum along   the sum and difference cancel veracity   they mumble a few anchors   past what is dead   past what is not accounted for   better not to hum along

an ancient space

ا
an ancient space opens up the
gist of now

welded paint on the sluiced
gap – an

ancient bill of mossiness –
ended guile

ب
what is it about impossibility that
reeks of an infinite

solidarity what chime does the tooth
hold in isolation that

binds it to ignoble infinitesimals
a laudable truce a figurine

that burns violet sometimes all it
takes is a gritty simile

ت
No I have not stalked the palm of the river
reed, not bade

a fervent bye nor sought addition, glut of
magnitude, sum

of remnants; no; I calculate the plum
depths and sew

tattered fragrances, mix enumerated
wholes as mist

ث
we begin with the dream of night the
caress of avid

streams postulates intimacies all strumming
through frozen

antiquaries the beginning of time meshed
with terminal

detriti the bulbs of galvanizations arm
in bloody arm

green metaphors

Dear night, void of would
can’t

Heave mother of heaven, a
cant

Slow river of heathen, an
egret

Dons color of night, dear
void

walls have had a meal of
pall – green metaphors have

established their parroted
hall – violet begets violet