bumbleweed mist, puritanical
liturgies gurgling
atop the riverbed; average
tulipped rosaries
wishing the cant possible; a
mouthpiece avariced
from the throat of abandon;
this whistle caws
tumbleweed strays from the
green rosebed
wintering the bushes, posing
as wordbubbles
do; the resin is perturbed
by treble & whirr
as each petal remembers, the
bramble caws
footsteps of the sun seek to
light up the way out of the
thick; each remembrance is
the echo of a million stars
coalesced; the stars are not
the footsteps that carve a
lighted niche: they are lit
up by the smile of child who
runs ahead of others; where
is the shroud of harm to contain
such joy? the sun has returned.
a steady incipience, margins populating enamored of itself, crowd, since, bun of light, verisimilitude, a synchrony- a steady indulgence of cross capsulator y emancipations, widgets of tinynesses
to admit the river being spent its mind full of pebbles its art condensed into butterflies we care to admit the river its place long and full of antonyms we stand to admit the river its art condensed
i.
I ferret out the difference that one
night will bring to a bald molecule;
a bright sunlit droop of the atom’s
mother and its barricades of solemn
attendants jumping up and down levels
of undisputed energy; I ferret out the
mourning parachute, the catapult that
hymns and toots; the ferry of fate and
the roast of lacquer and drool; I ferret
out the boast of my cancer and multiply.
ii.
Most of my luck is in service of
dirt; its what to do is
axiomatic; its have and
have is torn; but you
Can ask me for the time of your
day, and I will respond; you
can tell me if it needs me
to feel, and I will respond.
the truesomeness of the abstract
form
forms an inadequate tryst with
moan
& grasps the root the supple dint
hope
of root & miss – the grappled un
true
what is manged by the volume of verity it is dust’s own what is sung by tremor by noon’s surrender by the tap of a hungry chord it is dust’s own we cannot arrange this word as it falls off the tapestry it is done it is the opposite of word the scene is rife with other words it is dust’s own
The arbitrary plonk is
this river’s demure
upbringing; it will swim
when it can, and when
its wrists slacken, you
don the filament of ash
Perhaps you
tuned your
mouth as the wash of ancient
Mouths would
have you do;
perhaps your art of deliverance
Is shoulder
and head,
and perhaps this too is oblique
1
An astute asphaltic
child; “you are born with
out a star on your back, you
Care with the bee’s
whistle, don’t you?” the
reindeer will not begin to
Cry now, it is not the
hour nor the wish of
day to mourn; such is such.
2
when becoming streams past
as the firemaiden sneaks
you in custody
of her lair, the most, the
womb, the ire of birth
when becoming screams
past as the firechalice casts
hubris as option, praxis
as molecular dystopy
3
this triple adversary: i) bang
of night’s reluctance
ii) salutary premonitions that
breach every uttering
that maws the goo, floors pits
iii) our ague, valour
4
o votary of speech/mang led vituperated railing o vesper lying thrashed threshold of residuals- o vine of mangle vitupe ration railing ghast vo id thrust into volition
5
the dagger bites your heart in
tiny decibels
come listen to this hoot this un
lie true to
nothing but the sound of scratch
and urn &
hiss turn blather…
(i)
In the repose dances distance
wary of the
flick of the pencilburn, wary
too of armor
the blade and the stencil patched
with arbor and
the smell of corporeality – burnt
avidness about
(ii)
the small bit, the heavy bold auxiliary, the riot that spells rain – we call the blades by their name we slip on the timetables of a timeless parrot we give a little twist to the auxiliaries of emancipation and the rain spells riot, the names call out their blades, the bit is small in a parroted way: actual about auxiliary
(iii)
when the etch of a glass eye torments
shade when
the bulge of the rootness in your binge
supplements
you tear the pulmonary rasp you sting
as if your
ear your inner ear hurts by the sound
of reason &
you wait delicately carrying the burden
of treason
(iv)
This rut through which the green
passes, this
ponderance, often, etched, extempore –
we tend to
break often in estimation, the kinds
of wordplay
rendered are probabilistic, multi-
renditional
(v)
The large exuberance has tooth
In its stead; for ever the
Blade stunned with smear, with
Blade stunned with smear, the
Reason why everyone turns red
The large exuberance has brought
Sun, dew, twine, and the blood
Of christ where it was needed
Most, where it was needed most,
In the tunnel, in the window of
This harsh wool; the large exuberance
has blue in its eye; for ever the
Mother will stoke lucid care, stoke
Lucid care, stumble where it may, in
Void, rubble, the blare of heaven.
pillage
the momentous
pillage
raven calls and you slip out into another
rote music momentous
pillage
craven your soup of missed remembrances
momentous oft
pillage
heaven is your mouth’s orangeness vivid
as in momentous
pillage
raven calls and you slip out into another
consolation in the chemical
there is consolation in the chemical in the institution as potency as latent wishes crawl and store stones where crumbled hashtags whisper anew entitlement is a chemical dependency on soulless repetition - wow the axe tow the wonder - self be-hoved with in with/out wondering chemistry
the aspiration is tangential
the aspiration is tangential to plane of solicitude manged heart tumorous
bulb of an unspoken want -
the aspiration is tangent
it is too bold to respire
too clouded in sweat bile
fear to breathe too dross
the aspiration is tanned to a hue that soots the sun manged heart tumultuous
bulb of a spoken haunt -
the aspiration is tyranny
it is too caught in fires
too meshed in sweet brine
fear to breathe too dross
Here
Here there is a simpler explanation
Wrought
By a fire entombed in a nether tepidity
Brought
Sooner than we could wish it born; here
Is that
Ancillary hope which precedes the beginning
Of time
the poem poses
the poem poses for a while midstream is where nuance bodes a fire a river stone bulge of neolithic shadows carve itches of rumination lax halfhearts cusp of me you and the terrific other show us this leewayed path out of a nuanced ruminary
Now
Now when it’s season, now when
The dime of willing
Has settled to bore, it runs –
Now when the bone
Runs dry, the season will turn
And say, “son of a
An unwilling god, why is there
Need to wish now?”
ounce of a pitter
The deepened stare
gaze ounce of a pitter
patter
whiles us to remove the lens
wishes us to prove the lemma
the flip
the absolute opposite of the
atomic grip
sieving its potent portent
and you rip
the sleeve that arms the mince
that bears
no brunt no grief no filament
that brews
& hahs
smitten
smitten by road its voice of
love endured/brief ly smitten by
trope its loss of move eyed/easy
ly smitten by the new its wish
of dove pieced/low ly smitten
i) flecks of the improbable, seen
in the nonsense
light of expectation ii) tripping
solemn, light,
as if crusted day is slave to the
roving eye
iii) so many statuettes of hope,
so little time
iv) we shall agree to meet half
way and then let
time absolve us from ever having to
remember v) the
having of the needless eye needled
into extravagance
vi) spools of nervous laughter asking
more from less
vii, viii, ix) the cathedraled temple,
spectacled toyness,
dry embrace of the relicced other.
You sidestep tradition, its mope,
Gather, drool,
Drop and muster. You prolong its
Swipe by terror
Izing each syntactical misappro
Priation & why.
You sidestep the wish of
Reason, its
Meandering in cesspoolish
Wonder and
Love-denied-nothingnesses.
What is ought
But the thought out rut?
Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 