where is my deep?

“a tethered bird longs for its forest, a pond fish for its deep waters”
– T’ao Ch’ien

no insight, and science remains a conspiracy
of facts     chuangtzu’s

monkeys scramble with feynman’s possibilities
till the broth rings

true     rumi underwrites his love of love
with a misanthropic

eye     do the monkeys scramble to sing a
better broth or do

they slip into hanumanhood?     this broth is
my deep my voice

from factoids to theory

a new theory
if science, the life of facts, monotony,

dictation & sweet temper are as pale as
the mummified

non-betters, unmistakable spoons in the
cot of life,

where then is the sap but in individual
hells coppered

in observatories, primed pulp for atoms
to gorge out

a new theory.

factotum I
ten follicles
of hate
red with mask; ten
stipends giving
the state of being

hasten hark hem
here with
abandon; ten wishes
of hate
red with mask & being

factoid II

                  an angle in turn
 towards the inch that
burns away eclectic/un


           through the dark that is
           yours only when the ceaseless river

           through the dark that is
           plumbed in channels speaking animal

           through the dark that is
           visible as is the uncanny momentary