29 March 2015


malodor of foul potato
resurrects the scent
of fortunes and fables
in an awakening dawn

bait the hook alarm the
only saints walk at this
only the glassy eyes of the
walleye carp
crappie or

muskellunge {ojibwe's
ugly pike} bellows
cast past the vast orifice of the bass
mouth or the sawed
snout of the northern
exhausted in solitude on
an eerie lake

5 hundred million years of life fated
says destiny
today captured
tomorrow sibilated

purify the teleost

cooked in lard and fried for dinner


monks relax
clap debate
i talked to a monk
for forty-five minutes
he never asked my name
he never asked my age
he didn't wonder why
i was there
he asked where i came from
i asked him why
he was there
he talked about food
and living
and meditating
by himself alone
without drink women sport tv
stress in smoggy streets
up above
lofty mount climbs w/
pale conefirs
sleepy luring bird songs
his answers he gives me
paint only impressionist
smiles, he's all smiles
at 20 he's all


all the edges looked burned
decidedly insightful
standing there on the cliffs
overlooking the pale blue sky
filling the sad sea
ocean-caressed shore dotted with craggy charcoal
rocks & jet coral
{pilfered for medallions and statues
illegally harvested} branches
on underwater trees
reaching thru family trees
two stared into silence

she wondered (as was her
methods) why he didn't
her the way she was used to [used to do
when they fell] asleep close
d on each other 's warmth of under
drapes / she wondered why - with the power
of her mind - (shadowy imprecise
bundle that, love)
why she didn't roll over and rest
her head on his
pale bony shoulder 

it's she said like burnt toast
           so                      crunchy     so delicious  
        ly salty

craggy in her mind
he stared
sticky hands cheeks

06 March 2015


i’ve left you these are the words
as much as i wished as much
for you or me
gazing out holding your shoulder
upon the ojingeo bae
lights glowing pinpoints in blackness
sneaking through the barriers
buoyed by trained
scrutiny or an overdeveloped awareness with marching
orders. clear enough as

you might expect {only as real as mind’s connections}
calculating furlongs in fortnights
your face as near to mine
you were my all
and my everything except these
that i leave with wishes
tethered in time

there’s nothing else for it
except to leave you this
my only belongings.

01 March 2015


i've been redacted.

i've bee n e ra sed a     ure        al


first there was one
afraid but undaunted     willingly
subject to disgrace, symptomatic
affliction made prey
upon within isolated cooperatives {coops} co-opted
beleaguered conglomerates
to live to survive to imagine
ultimately alone.

after the jibes & jaunts of the explicable, then
    inexplicable (surprising, it may seem)
      we thrust upon us, arrives the birth
of a second - the a priori twin - such a sweet
ghostly visage
who shouts *yelps* "i am!"
  who sees what physically
limited cannot; who resides in
   the aethereal ephemera of forms
     far to near too distant from here
      also here where there is no here here
       (or there there for that matter)
   in effect, pure grandeur:eternity

, immortality, the pristine fundamental idee
elusive in it's humanity - interacting
     mingling, engaging   in    phatic
       small-talk discussing amongst
others [how well are you doing?] the nature of
consciousness. the gist of whom relates to whom
                  or womb to womb
         as non-physical instantaneously
      becomes physical
{{as she wonders} i wander
too distantly..}

contemporaneously one has become many, contemplated
that of those master of mind, a collective as
 {plaster of paris coats}
 microbial bacteria, trillions to be
    sure, amount to the illusion
     we are one or i am one to your beauty
  to hold constructs surrounding
the complex biomes at work
below the surface within the surface
          the fractal patterned
source of simple [simply complicated]
single cells.

remember about judging books or false-claiming
indivisibility - reserved for one, which you are not
nor am i nor are we, despairingly,
as elusive as manageable [-ness of creative
thought worth your open eyes drawn toward
the light of the ceiling in
the fan
feels] like chaos but is really probability+
statistical maneuvering, hoovering
as full of soul to empty the tank
      -ards after desultory celebration, 
yet, it could be as simple as me holding you
or you holding your hand-in-hand
mine. and in the end it's just the end.
and that's wonderful if you ask me.

{but no one is}