What happened here-- this word spit painted on photonic page, light

graffitied into being. Language stretches an ontic yawn from its armchair, flexes

for philosophers busy with pronunciations,their semicolons, predictions and prepositions,

“etaphoical”s displaced and stumbling around the ever-confessional.Remember:mouths expresse slowly. The purple mass bloomed from the tongue becomes a tourniquet, becomes

asharp-hearted osteotome. Tell this to your children: Post-modernism will always bewhat we call every bridge once burned.The digital silence we’ve made is a finger sliced, is the lambs I saw in pieces once at a

Theses for Wikipoeses:

  1. Don’t use oil based paint
  2. Take the backspace key off your keyboard and put it in a sandwich
  3. Prepare for the second-coming
  4. Try not to define anything
  5. No wingdings (emoji’s are fine)


You ain’t my thesis. Every morning

I get up, I never feel

        Compelled toward



Is there somewhere nowhere goes just to get away from it all?  And if we can’t stop it can we at least slow down the world . . . you move too fast, I’d like to make this fucking last . . . maybe we’re all just a quick wank that like mandrake grows in soil soiled.  What does God fantasize about . . . ?  Whose picture does God have tacked to the wall?   A lily or a larry---is God straight, or a fairy?  My time is short, my passion long, my boaty’s ding, my double, Dong.

Eclipse in Zeeland

She stopped for gas,

But I didn’t mind waiting—

I was drowsy on

Berry White,

Watching gusts of rain

Belling the


Here we are: the rubbish.

The dead.

The un-memorial.

Facing gluttony

It is not something I plan so much as something

I try not to avoid; if bets could be placed

on the odds of trouble, I would make

quite a profit. of course,

it is not so much a thing to be proud of,

this trouble. though I cannot help whispering

of adventures and mishaps, I am careful

to end my stories with a certain sense of chagrin.

but chagrin is never as well received

as trouble.

Purple clouds amassing west

Femme exasperated

I would not see her I’ve come to realize

Metaphor was old weather

I open rigorously

Plainer disrobed

Brimming fancifuls with so many likes

Exigesis and haven, butter

A tangle of letters

Soaked, sank, bear with me

Call the hospital,

Pay swollen liver fees

They said don’t dare

keep your eyes bare and

your heart resigned and

you’ll be fine, they said.

Liver rank and bulging

out of skin out of touch

out of time, but you’ll be fine,

they said, no dread

You took the short road and

I the rough one

I never had your stamina

But you’ll be fine, they said

Dread for the dead is a wasted


Unfist the line, O, charming boy-girl,

the trick is to watch without staring.


We took to each other. Took time,

took what offered itself, I recall.

You, deep-veined. Me, unlettered.

& the storm came in quickly.

O, TFW you unlike the brimming fanciful.  

Like, once our bodies knew what we’d become--

tangles of smoked-glass skin, stretched desire,

& weary, we slept the fever back & dreamt.

You didn’t what you couldn’t & I hated you for it.

Love the harmonious, the well-tuned?

Of orchards, of longing  and of other poetic spaces.

I suppose chivalry’s dead. Knock knock.

Who’s there. Neologist. Neologist who?

Um… Unvoiced

 -nesses, -ides, and -ties. //

What’s a-positional, before and after?

It’s putting the income in nincompoop!

It’s answer the door well before

You understand the things we tell

Each other in passages between.

Has not that I’ve bestowed.

Call unto me a song. Such sweetness

She said, I don’t do “unto.”

Neither tide nor tidal bore.

Call back what’s been undone.

Call back what’s unpresented.

So stay distance. Stay becoming.  

Dare you to leave it the strength to improve.

A change, a final change includes no authority.

Oh the unnecessaries of a generation—

to harm or compare or associate.

Act so that there is no use

in a center. Wide action is not

a width.” An answer yields up.

the body’s politic’s more than souls --

I was not awake & I,

I was not unsurprised.

I’d heard the words darked-up

and, like I, exasperated.  

As if you’d been enough.

Fanfic’s always the best fic.

She called me the calm before the awesomeness.  

So I call her, in principle.

It was never my thing — change.

So I dare not, so I’d feign Black Betty,

that pretty poisson, those golden tassels--

O, those pumps and whispers.  Longing, as they say,

& when we we draft compromise, we invite excess.


Longing for eats

They do not eat

Still on diet.

clinking of a knife

on a dish

better to use a fork

fry oil

paper towel ripping

clopping drawers

not in bare feet

she stalks

what the clocks

Cannot do

Mice, nibbling

Wink at your neutrality

Shadow of a cat defies

A cold burger

Styrofoam boxes in the yard waste

I”m for veggies

Month’s second new moon

One cricket winding down

Close the window

Noonday fog

Whom does an addict quit for?

Hoped for bright noon
Tongue thickly searching
Teeth and gums for anything
Where’s the f----- cavity

tongues rushing upwards

searching for cooler water

Antigravity machines


Wrote a name like a byline

On the side of his newsboy hand

and scrawled fake lorems up the wrists

leaving chestnut column arms empty

of old opinion.

No one edits nonsense.

No time for nonsense

with so much light dimming

and a sky like that.

We have work to do

not 9 - 5 but every

number. Hard

work: hands to hold

hearts to feel stop beating.


Hoping for more yet never not dreaming.

Finding our feet and stepping through rough.

We do what we must and we must never sleep.

Breaking new barriers and searching new grounds.

Exploring ourselves and the unknowns of life,

Growing and changing as the world chooses.

Out on our own in the unexplored world;

Making so plain just how well we cope.

A newborn created, all concerned relieved;

More reasons to live now than just to breathe.

As we always said it would

Enjoying the love and giving life freely

Battling hard to be happy ideally.

The end is approaching, my time has gone;

All I have lived and all I have is done.

Gone too soon family and too soon my wife,

Seems to me that there should be more to life.

echo chamber

        meet me underground

        meet me where the nowhere

becomes a place we understand to be our new home.

my new phone

blocks out the sound. blocks calls from your mother and mine

mine heart mine letter mine own

tongue rendered rent

due north, due aparted

apartment in a house with inglenooks with olive light fixtures

you and I staring into it

Is there still a god to claim home


Half-cut, drinking milk under your arm,

counting my sins,

Pleading. And all the while the womb of eternity swells

Waiting to birth a bright-star world

Where I becomes the We and eyes begin to see

Beyond this tiny now that aches with the beatings of time

Against the timelessness of all Creation

Like a butterfly being born

Again. . .and again. . .and again. . .


I wish for once, the tap
on my shoulder would be enough
to set off the firework under my bed.  

I erased you before you could invade my dreams again.

Don’t say you wouldn’t do it too

If you had the chance to trace your lips in gold

Skimpy silk baths and rose candles casting light onto your skin

You’re not human anymore

I know you would

I reach deep into the heart of painting,

pull out its guts

ripping canvas and flesh,

always darkness

past whiteness

When they came i sat naked in the leather sofa with a tall glass of vodka. The children were in the bathroom or the kitchen. Afterwards i smoked a cigarette on the balcony. i was free.

Though even there everything around me had vanished;

a cement floor, paint-flecked walls and ceiling,

tiny scraps of paper

where I scribbled days into mindless dreams

of the woman who married another man,

of rumors in the night and this stale, tiredness

gathered at my eyes.  Mary gives me hope.

Fractured Visions

Imprinted on my computer

During my last trip-up

Liked their fur and their weird vertex assholes

I liked nature as a kid

This was of course in the 80’s

Anyways, every day you learn something new

If only this could not have been cuz

of spite if only for winnows. A threat

Spite for spurt’s sake — raucus…

Untouched leaves of spiteful flail.  

Saxon-like, there’s hope yet.

Concessession concede. How’s that for concise.

I am, but nevermine. Mine, awry mine, mine dream-boat  

another time, so can you not, Nah.

Whatever this is has not been

Avowed drosser. What’s this’ what is this is not. This Blunder

Dross the drossiest   a river dream thirl trill

underside of dross unceaseingly. Senselessly.

Dross the drossiest underside of dross.

Dross as  what was this before and how  befits this, your ass-face.

Aassface  this has not been  What wasn’t could not hold Has this been Could this not be Could—

Will, like whiteboy metaphorical fires, will.

Ruing the drossy underside of this commitment.

Unpaced & dross it up good. Unceasingly sully

I will dross by doing, dross whatever the drossed like what undivented

were’d it were’t as gesture false

‘cuz you are with me here

even the undeniable even blundering

grapes lees dregs

droozy blunderings drossy is gummy

as only fires will do kept close

wept metaphizzicle drossy orical fires and etaphoical tears.

But eschatological Blunder. No’s a full stop.

Clarity and certainty inapt.

Certain of a turn.

Suplant Suffice supplicant mine eyes

I’ll have this go awry or would I. Would

this go awry. And how would I know. I’d have the indign.

I’d indign. Unknow hazard an evening out.

I’d even. I’d preclude.  Can. You. Those final what’s final

& otherwise & what’s ugly speaks. Young-ly youth

un-be undoes is this the place to get I’m askin’  

What’s inappropriate. Reader, do I indign?  Do I intone

Take what’s set before us. Falsity. Continuance.

Sundry’s finality tis sundry an’s sundry.

We take what set before us. So what’s now. In reverse. Refocus

Topsy-turvy. What now what’s all flat particulars.

Could you rehash does and re-does.

All-flattening nothing in particular.

A taking-stock, if you will.

A brightening thing at the edge of our vision.

Myopic generalizable. Whether a held bright thing.

We’re uncertain and disputed.

I hope hope evens out.

However the examples cited are interpreted.

Uncertain and disputed.

Worm Friend

I saved a worm today.

He didn’t try to get away.

He didn’t know who I was.

He writhed in a ball of fear because -

He felt my finger touching him.

His worm brain sensed medieval sin:

Dry skin upon his wet skin.

Both only dead and grey in the end.

Today is the day - I declare him to be my friend.



from sleep and warm

water and no glasses

i spot an uncertain comma


he drags

his tail up my

shower wall cumbersome

and not unmaggotesque and i

can see

his guts

or maybe it’s

his dinner i lean in

and squint for a better view of

his face

the boy

is spotty and

bean-legged like a young

caterpillar but uglier

i don’t

know how

he got in here

i can’t feed him this boy

will just have to fend for himself


and damp

i slither out

a pupa but with lots

more limbs and leave my companion

to wash

so dumb