she wears salt stained calf-hugging boots, a lived-in maroon false-fleece, dark grey denim pants; a black purse’s strap cuts a diagonal across her back as she sits and reads from frayed books of an unknown subject—brown hair lank and shoulder-long. merely a record and nothing more.
Intones the Sage: The demagogue’s puissance appeals to those ossified, baleful, libertine urges; those desires which popular society has so long held as immoral. But any wayside-found raconteur will relate the licentious attitudes in all, no matter their touted probity. No demon lurks, coercing one to act selfishly and stew in an iniquitous swamp of nascent, stygian desires. Impugn not the avaricious nor lustful — to live is to crave the satiation only annihilation may deliver. The dark undergirding text to every life’s coda is: Swallow All.
light-haloed footbridge pylons white-dusky shown: evacuated clouds tasting of soil’s dearth, kissing daughters, sons, upon hair, face, wetly
satan gowned in goosedown loading mallard shot for wildly musing swamp translight—roasted fat later crackling by the jack pines, succulent
The long jamboree runs from dawn ‘till dusk,
Going fraywise and seamwise with the village’s
History, of ore and yew, slate and lime.
Songs unfolding in an unconscious pilot’s hands, asking:
Who begot these mountains, whose children are we?
Why will I never be as old as yonder elm,
Why will we never be as asly as yonder stone?
Kinetic kismet surrendered: no fortuitous floors slept
In the memories of this town nor theirs have shown
Any fate to decide anything as good, anything as evil,
Leaving morality to the loving ground that accepts all.
begacoin in old pair ee fer a triperflip round the rhinde of rhone danube blue & riviera darlins wreckin dare plasterhairy not told guessguys they luvers & kindness the absent symptom of a kinda prewaltz memoryskin flakepeel till naught but ends left to remind the travelin bands of a rich multiplecentury history of suaveness and posturing poshness foppishness randy under the bridge to the heights of antarcticas darlin muffled beaty queen though turned out under all them skins she was juz another hairy bear and oh well thro in for a pretty copper coin ya never had ta toss off with a prayer for a runaway tossa ya once knew in the continent called foolishness rant gee ta leeward side mountain village imbued with a color of a botanists heavenshadedreams hungry hungry for err name of err holyman and dreamer for onemillion onecount years yurs mine an errones these words are afire and drop the ham and pick up the hammer forge a castle within yerself and storm dem around ya and then rebuild them stronger too
een day chillingly inuverses softest wrists gallivating wid dem sirentoughs willin ta gaurd grabbing laughs and cabin pasts na na swim off to memory only lit enough to see the fire of your once heat
pomegranate nectar tongue
white folks on the coast
Know this: It hurts not!
To sleep beneath star, cloud, nakedly alove—
Late at night, tree dance—
Cannot rest knowing
You stay awake unoccupied:
Whose life are you living?
And do not say “Mine”;
The hazy distance and liquid eyes
Both testify otherwise.
Come to this nameless beach
With the gulls and I,
We shall light a Fire
And become higher than It—
And the windcaught smoke
Will reflect our unsculpted Selves.
No hidden beasts offer
To map the remaining lands—
Only to husband unnamed creatures
That eat Grapes and piss Wine.
Seamless Year in a patchwork existence—
Fighting and musicmaking in a wooded dell,
Sharing one eye and ear:
Dynamic souldrum—ecstasy witness—
Call Consciousness an unbidden Raving
And to live as to explore without end.
Dream typewriter: Olympia SF
Oh, Miser, might you stay
To watch our play,
Hear our merry songs.
Sit chairly as we hold
A public feast in the Square;
The bearded men,
Thickly clad thick women —
All assemble laughingly
To sup upon our stew.
Do not harbor home
As a place to await death,
For the city is aflame
With the passion of sincerity.
Too long away from the Sun,
And the ticklish touch of Woman,
The draughts of mead and ale,
The running children’s hollering,
The stories the singers sing.
Too short and beautiful to deny —
Too long to hide from in of doors —
Come stage a Spectacle Grand
And debauch the days away!
rows long shore, man, guileless steward of birthed land — cliffs overshadowing watercraft longing guiltless to watch forever — voyeuristic island — perimeter circles the placidminded goer
unpainted colored cloud showing in lake trough — animistic in toughening belief in thoughts never changing, everly — shall remain egalitarian trees, agrarian treedreams
spake an elm: evenseen seeds flown to sown rounder coast beams beemed passing past to tamarack tomorrow gorged in fealty sounding vacuumreality really harehop round scatdropping
managed the rower: nettlesfor the lovinglee simple quietness of a complexity so unknowable — intoxicating refrain of cyclical cycling days unending generational in us prolonged one in it — feebly nock in powered sleep — dreams showing the depthless inside reflecting outside
so cold so warm landscaped forehead watching territory never torn, untowned, regarded little and alive in buzzness — unnamed unstudied no desperation pain and ecstasy — the world abound in love that knows no longing
delirious strand dancer / thou flake of shivered landtops peaked, skywrung / nary haunt nor goddess / burning for the artful flung in innumerable shards: remote snowed peaks of Hokkaido / frigid skating off shore of Reykjavik / red woods calling in silent tallness / the many rainy steeples of Prague / and too, close: in flesh to homespun, flesh to flesh, glass to wood, sound to blindness, taste to remonstrance / underneath all accoutrements of culture’s divide, each dervish-soul feels this pulse