February 29, 2016

reading daily report follies of follicly challenged naked apes playing spades and hearts

the skies were suited accordingly 
wise clouds in the morning, me 
and northward geese
had only ever wanted 
to make you laugh 
and smile even if 
for a fleeting moment 

(the, I want to be your dandelion wish, poem)

any contrail ads or thought derivatives 
based on bare armed desperate reach 
and where you go reading this 
will be venture capital-ized

I had to corner peer from the gauzily draped window to see anarchy had spread liver dead to an outside world waiting on crumble brigades...for the television had told us all morning the world would be ending with a doomsday edition of the newspaper full of the shooting executions of the unconscious souls masquerading as people and their scratch and sniff radio wonder children blended in...

('tis no small wonder why I stay inside most times)

I must have shit in the corner when drunk last night 
too lazy to want to make it to the bathroom 
Mondays are when I most often think my life stinks...

and whatever life one will be supposing  
has hoses for the infirmary and fires for when 
the forests and cities yearn 
to be burned down ash again rain...

we could be 
barefoot on the beach
yeah one set of footprints 
you carrying me 
I carrying you
you say to me 
to wet wrap
and document 
the erections...

I'm thinkin' why 
and what's with papier-mâché-ing other erections... 
I got my own thank you...
oh, you said elections...

I ponder and remember 
there are other membrane gathered 
long sea kelp swaying universes where they have 
these shirley jackson-esque lotteries 
these near ancient smooth bore rituals 
they've honed over millennia 
willingly eager participants and all...

here though, said articulate elliptical(s) 
would be reciprocal payment plans 
and probably patented 
for rights management profiteering 
by companies like ma's sandy toes...
in other words we'd need inducements...

meanwhile back inside the data stream 
every living seed is being sent 
to the dark side of the Moon 
one hears it stays cold enough there 
to suspend reason long enough 
to swear by any real estate prospecting 
to know every house has eyes 
a sill to pot and stage...



  1. "wise clouds in the morning, me"
    You sure know how to master a line break.

    "unconscious souls masquerading as people and their scratch and sniff radio wonder children blended in" ... love this :)

    And this:
    "and whatever life one will be supposing
    has hoses for the infirmary and fires for when
    the forests and cities yearn
    to be burned down ash again rain
    we could be" ... I should like to be rain. No words. No thoughts. No identity. Just wetness --- falling, rising, falling again. Without talking or thinking about it.

    "probably patented" Ha.

    "meanwhile back inside the data stream
    every living seed is being sent
    to the dark side of the Moon
    one hears it stays cold enough there
    to suspend reason" ... This is my favorite.

    "a sill to pot and stage" ... I love that you know how to squeeze out every possible meaning in a word. Brilliant. I could write five paragraphs just on this line. But I won't. :)

  2. Of course there are four sections of sky, suited: spades, hearts, clubs, diamonds. Three, plus the ring. But who gets her heart? Whom does she beat? And with whom does she garden?

    Also, she's reading playing cards rather than tarot cards ... along with reading the sky/stars/floating chocolate bars/and planets.

  3. thou art quickly attired in fast metabolism stagecraft

    "...Thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror'd
    The shape, which in this mirror shall be shown.
    Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed
    My sight upon her blissful countenance..."

    from Dante Aligheri's 'Paradise', Canto XXI


  4. Does it hurt much to be made of pastel magic markers and U-turn magnets?
    Sometimes I can't handle the sight of my own face. So borrow someone else's.
    Maybe next, I'll take yours.

    1. I do so appreciate sentient artistry and dragonfly wings...and am very grateful any time I can be imagined as part of anyone's José Guadalupe Posada piece...

    2. So you're all about the bones, eh?

    3. it's almost like shrinky dinks my thought process went quick silvered mercury switch from your commentary of "borrowing" a face I started twitching in exhales and it led me to those steal your face emblems and decals associated with the grateful dead and then posada art and back into when summer time filled the air with scent...I am more into the moments of what happens when a soul enters a life form than into bones...and also what creatures great and small help us all inherit the reins and rains of then said life so to speak...

    4. It's a coping mechanism, obviously --- the face/name swapping. For when I'm feeling ... unsettled. I just grab on to something different and tell myself it's me.

  5. Sew to speak.
    Sow to speak.

    What conversations we miss by not speaking with our hands. What if sign language were a shower of warm forgiveness and blind sans?

    1. Stitches and seeds, I mean. Digging, lining things up, making what-nots mate(a)rialize and black things turn green.