the poster world
prior to inscription
the stone and with it
heftthe pliant taste
of morning
the bother with words
what's needed is notand seeps away
came upon her unexpected crouching
alert
adrift in a world
of false gods inceived
an apocalypse
an apocalypse
slow motion
fragmenting
in the throes of recalibration
the image in the snap
synaptic
house of cards de
(con)stracted
fragile
flight is the signature
feat of the wing
the incident on chain mountain
in the early hours
the incident on chain mountain
in the early hours
an enigma
the bite of talons
terse and brittle
over barley fields
temple bells
atone
a chill wind
sweeps the lurks
a tapestry a touchstone
a dream of sleet
and streeling light
of empty eyes and wooden tongues
of roles without joy
each day's a case
of bamboo jitters
dancing
in the wind
ascending the road
to the old powerhouse atop chain mountain
i replay in my mind each move
in that final round
of trudgepig
recall writing ice
at the heart of the sun
concerning alice
concerning alice
for all the world
the fool's in his cradle
under citrus skies
the jester dreams
of lemon blossoms
and tangerinesit's a surrogate
sort of world
the play complete
the players gonethe play complete
we hear only echoes
from the empty stage
there's a blatant bestiality
to the terms of exchange
and every conceit's
subject to the cudgel
what informs the past
tone
texture
shadow
the sting of passion tart
on the tongue
but
concerning alice
the senses are slippery bells
on a marbled morning coaxing
sonatas from sand
smiles
from stone
episodes in the sordid
evolution of the tongue
singly
the penitents arrive
rapt in the ozmostic
this old tired orb ingloaming
on the dark accretion
on streets of deadwood down
puttering along
like an aardvark in heat
on the frontier of words
pushing west
odor of sage
floxmartin
the queasel of cut grass
in the wind
of the intuitive ape
out of step
with the pace of precision
rushing heedless
down aisles of morning
i dwell within
this convoluted architecture
where all the rooms
recoil
but at times
the fox of foolishness
is loath to be limber
all the memes
burn like stigmata
ribald amid the ruins
of the psychosophistic roller coaster
what was it mama said
about days like this
masquerade
whelped portly proud deaf to the din
in the malign contraption
complacent
we worked the lines
making play
lopsided games
gruesome frivolity
took comfort in it
wooden legs
hats too large
sombreros
brute berets
charades
constant holidays
as the tattered jester hawks his wares
we wait
to be taken in
by the silken tongue of some rough beast
come slouching
in the news
tighter control for euro banks
wsj 7-9-12
must be ernie's younger brother
didn't know he pitched
note on my process:
gut the goat gods grumble nothing gained