Regular Movement

Where are you at? It is probably somewhere you are very familiar with, but somewhere that you haven’t spent quite so much time in of late. I wrote this line back when we were about to go back to work after COVID.…

Chowing down on a novel. There were words all over his lips. which he wiped with the back of his hand, and saw some Joycean gobbledegook there. Last week it had been Basho haikus and he had almost starved. He survived the…

drawing faces on my fingers for a puppet show holding the strings pulling unaware what topples but knowing the you know the dominant know the domino the rallying collapsing concatenation hold a pencil think of a drawing the art in the heart…

eat an apple noodle moment which part of the tongue? you’re singing what is it you’re bringing? being throwing stones wrapped in leaves the road grit snowballs the salty and the sweet feeling incomplete there is a circuit board printed here in…

we shot the people burning books we identified their nazi symbols and their voices the borderline politicians gave us dirty looks and we warned them about their choices they wanted to circumvent the ballot, gerrymander us in the cornhole we lived in…

do you have enough postage stamps? do you have a beer? he was hardly clear about what you have to do and its something new isn’t it? does he really give a shit? or is he trying to be a wit? maybe…

trying to nail down your taste but not to do it in haste all the effort a waste we are stood by the edge of the water we are stood at the reach of the tide all of the things that oughtta…

we wrote no evergreen words we dismantled the trees broke the birds bagged the breeze split the godhead in thirds for the sneeze offered blessings for the spirit you can keep it, but do nothing with it we are writing deciduous trees…

parade the broken poet for the vultures an acceptable sacrifice in many cultures you may not know it in your time but the crime of rhyme has woken in you a desire to bring down babel and it has made you unstable…

there is a light on me there is a lie on me the stain of night on me a dead goodbye on me butterfly in the drink moth by the nightstand some sinister think about red right hand wake into truth waking…