was first called

A peculiar pretense.

Silence accelerates cell senescence.

The Oracle at Delphi did not say as much.

But, your neckline and forehead say volumes.

Draw a bath and unfurrow yourself.

Read between lines and parted thighs.

Phædo was first called Swan Song.

Fecundity and cycles of the sickle.

Bathed in adrenal springs.

Limbic projection of intimacy.

A cat purrs before a blazing furnace.

Static shocks spasming muscles from time to time.

She admits

He rolled over, having fallen fully asleep.

My cape slipping away.

I roll over and drape myself across his back.

The refrigerator starts humming.

I tap out a rhythm with my right foot’s big toe.

The tap comes easily so I’m not dreaming.

Hyper lucidity,

yet, the bed remains empty.

~

She smiles. She shakes her head.

She admits. She misses him.

that with which you speak

The knob’s lock unsnaps. The deadbolt sounding in turn.

A door creaks open and closes quietly.
It is the day after the rite of the last night.
“I want. I want to,” she says, quietly.
“I want, too,” he whispers.
They are two.
“Kiss my lips,” she says.
“Which pair?”
“I don’t care. Just put that with which you speak to the pink of that with which I feel.”
“I feel too big,” he says.
“Then your heart is full and hollow like a cactus tree.”
“I wish I felt emptier,” he says.
“Why?”
“So that I could dissolve back into the ether for a respite,” he replies.
“Like, die?”
“No. Like, dream.”
~
“Exorcise me.”
“Tears aren’t cutting it?” she asks.
“No. Fall apart with me.”
“Why don’t I just pet your head when you feel worthless or uninspired?” she coos.

not yet off-leash

The feral dog needed to be muzzled before he learned to accept a nuzzle.

Unfixed.

His owner’s stride was clearly too wide for her legs.

But, she strode thusly, somehow appearing unhurried.

“How long should our walk run?” she asks him, cracking herself up.

The dog looks up, tongue hanging from mouth, happily.

“And, so it shall be, sweet pup,” she whispers.

An elderly couple stops her.

“Cute dog. May we pet him?”

“Of course. Scratch between his shoulders. Steer clear of his face and haunches,” she replies.

“Not used to strangers yet, huh?” says the old woman.

“You’ll be just fine,” her husband tells the anxious canine.

Automatic Diatribe (II)

Here.

Heel.

We are running in circles.

Cyclical spires of turrets leading to screaming minarets.

All is as it has been before.

And, I hear your silent complaint that I never wear my hair naturally curly anymore.

Give me a reason.

Who summoned whom from the pneumatic ether and how many times?

Who and Whom are a real, diabolical pair.

Alain de Botton hissing out a status of anxiety.

Dialogueing with the ecological shaman of

David Abram casting natural spells of the sensuous.

Put your faith in me.

I will make you watch me return it and put it back into yourself while I ask you to consider the chartreuse evening.

Prowling the catacombs of the catatonic.

Buffering neophytic initiants while irritants and retinal scratches

itch;

because sometimes I say silly things when I’m embarrassed.

Hand sigils and face touching.

The difference between indoctrinated and initiated? I call to Æ like a game show host.

The difference between you getting it and blowing it versus you getting it and not blowing it: he grins, blowing it for both of us.

And what if what I call discipline is just self-indulgence?

You bitch.

Don’t fret. I love you madly, too.

It is true. I don’t know you, yet Æ thinks I do.

You’re interesting: he says.

I reply: you listen or hear better than most.

Ammend-able.

Amen-able.

Ami-able.

Ambivalent.

What’s the difference between the interval and the rest.

Your silence.

Duress and stress?

They were meant to know of how I see your eyes, dear.

Depleted and explicative.

is followed by

A truck drives by us, at well over the speed limit. Zebras in its trailer. It made you remember that limerick.

The only one, you. Know.

I say, “I don’t call ghosts ‘sir’.”

Precisely proud.

Let it roll while I make strange sigils with my fingers:

The pyramidic containment of an ‘A’, for you;

The flipped up middle finger over my left shoulder, back facing you;

The inversion with a middle finger flipped down;

Hang ten;

Metal horns.

(Another haul of the mother lode laid at the

grounded, pegged point of the Caduceus Staff.)

Shiva and Shakti as agronomists¿

And, my fingers move as if by some outsider’s volition.

The movement is an apple cart over-turning,

upsetting some.

Why wouldn’t we want to bring it all down?

Dictionary divination of a dervish

And, ca is followed by

cabal is followed by

cabala is followed by

cabalero is followed by

cabaline is followed by

cabanis is followed by

Cabaret.