little seeds gum

Just a moment to bemoan feeling alone.

Sirens swarm.

Rain patters like swiftly boiling water, in spite of the shining sun. The Morning Star beating his wife again.

As quick as it comes, it will go.

Either the sun.

Or the rain.

But, the mathematical solution to 0! equals one. Seemingly impossible. Impossibly erudite. Contemplative pornography.

Like eating a raspberry just to feel its little seeds gum up the curvature of molars.

so, I took a wrong turn

She has nothing to say during the day time.

Saving it for night time’s shade.

Knowing next time, she’ll sow these seeds into the desperate nightmares that will become your dreams.

Cowards in the cul de sacs of tax payer paved streets.

I wilt tread over these as much as I please. Let your puppy bark, your motion sensor lights trip. I am a stroller not a prowler.

And, as much as I am uninvited, you are not entitled.

You are a dead end at which I make my u-turn.

the Fool forever falls

I remember you. Yeah, you. You stood next to the burning acacia bush. Hard to forget.

Whilst the girl stood before the podium, clutching her tome, a man held her tresses with scissors poised. A confusing ancient image.

Nowhere else is where she’d rather be. Snip the dead ends and make the sheep shorn.

Ewe.

Ewer.

Hopelessly old to be so young.

And, in dreams did I endlessly empty the carafe into the stone basin. Naked and milky white liquid ever-flowing. My eyes trained upon a single stone upon the ground. A star, a wizard wearing a vizard.

Two pillars of sycamores framing me.

I heard your caw.

I answered with mine own trill. Basil tinted and chai scented.

The folk of Zakopane take for granted the mountain air surrounding. Snug in chalets insulated against the Kasprowy Wierch. While opening the parcel, I confuse feeling wretched with the sensation of a heart being wratched. And, all at the sight of the Slovak postmark.

Because it makes me recall the not exactly cream cheese they call qvark. White cheese paired with fruit and a terrace. A simple ripe raspberry atop to boot.

Prattle and pitter patter.

Refreshed at being carefree sans carelessness.

You are comfortable, he says.

No. You just find me cozy.

And, they threw out all the words I firmly etched with his letterpress.

Into the depths, off cliffs of Tatras,

The Fool forever falls.

Subterranean seattle alien nonsense blues

Looking like an ever-loving swine in sunglasses. Peacocking. Tail feathers all a’fan. Such a pretty fellow, just ask him.

I over hear a man dropping something in the parking lot. Cursing loudly.

Ten minutes later, he yells out at a neighbor’s squawking parrot, “shut up, you fucking freak.” Pandemic conditions do not become him.

~

“I’m just saying,” she not only, but also, says, “I’ve watched a criminal amount of cute animal videos this week. Like, if I was on the stand and used it as an alibi, it would go like this:

“Like, see your honor, my tablet history clearly shows I was four hours into binging six hours of watching cute cat videos when this crime was perpetrated.”

“Let the record reflect the witness is not guilty of this crime, but will be charged with something because of the egregious waste of time and countless brain cells. While I cannot formally find her in contempt, let the record show, this court sure holds her in contempt.”

“Like, I would not get a new job if these records of time spent watching were included in background checks.”

~

I hear the old man in the overhead apartment, creaking support beams in his pacing above me, while aggressively complaining at his phone. “Who wants to play a game,” I think. “What’s the creepiest pet name you can imagine?”

There is a cat named Mister Daddy. I know because I was in the house when it was naughty as I heard its owner crying, “No, Mister Daddy! No. That’s a bad Mister Daddy.” And, you know what? Mister Daddy, being a cat and all, just looked at this sweet girl like, “Ahh. I don’t care. Get outta my face.”

“Sounds like a real soul-shattering experience.”

“I lost sleep for a week.”

the confidence of

“It’s returning to the stranger of your previous self passing you by on roller skates.”

“Everyone commits unconscious fraud, but crimes against your own humanity remain largely unenforceable.”

“Don’t be silly, I just wanted to hear you say you think I’m pretty.”

“You walk with the confidence of a much taller woman.”

Because she hadn’t had a moment to breathe. No bit of space to call her own, even if she did have the back of a Camel pack, a portal of the porthole in the plaster, and sometimes a view.

Sometimes a forest, sometimes a cave; sometimes a sound.

A fault line. A tyranny of averages.

And, what I thought was an ever accumulating posse of ghosts was just me coming to notice them. For, they had been there the whole time. Like when I came to understand when someone begins a sentence with “I hate to mention it”, most of the time, they mean to say “I love having a chance to bring this up.”

When I do come back it will surely be as a book, or a bit of English in a pool game, or the illegible scrawlings penned by someone in ecstasy. And, I know God and I are playing in this moment.

“I shudder everytime I hear the record’s scratch.”

“I like it.”

“It sounds like breaking. Rumination.”

“Sounds like creation.”

“Oh, shut up, Shiva. Shakti the eff up.”

Falling into a swoon of kisses before saying Dummy,” and slapping him from his reverie.

By the mouths of old crows.

Lucid dreaming comes easy. Lucid living becomes tougher. I see fantastic stories through windows. I only watch real briefings to enjoy the silent signers providing translations for the deaf. I like the chorus more than the talking bobbleheads.

I recall the slight mass of you. The feel of thin, increasingly inelastic, skin covering the meat of your body. Neckline, nape, and collarbone. Connect the dots; then, come and paint me by numbers. Sign your name with a dripping brush’s tip.

These past days, I have been thumping animal hide stretched over wood. Striking a drum head, softly. Purchased in a foreign market of an alien continent where cattle roam the markets. Haggled over; Hand made; Had at a bargain. Despite being single, that day, I wore a fake wedding ring to increase the currency of my social capital. It’s all in the details innit?

And, the majority of talismans donned subliminally indicate”don’t tread on me.” A woman stranger in a man’s strange land. When in Rome, signal in Roman with protective signs.

I carried the drum on my back for weeks before sailing with it across the ocean. Talking drums teach the impact of saying things by leaving them unsaid. Cowardly lions, heartless tin men, and straw fellows appearing solid until picked apart as disappointing carrion by the mouths of old crows, before finally being blown away and scattered into bits by the slightest breeze.

Dorothy was just trying to find her way home. Wherever that place is. On her way, she sees Shiva stars exploding and feral Nataraja dancing.

“You’ve been needle-pointing with your yarn, Ariadne. You must keep moving.”

“No. I must first knit some socks for your cold feet, dummy. Otherwise, you will certainly slow me down.”

The Goddess and Godhead grew weary of playing the same, old god games together.

So, they exploded. Blew themselves apart into a billion scattered jigsaw puzzle pieces. Awaiting once promised reassembly. Now, we all seek out one another in our presently incarnated iterations. Looking for another missing piece with whom I may hold hands. Spending a spell of time choosing to walk each other home to ourselves, until each of us arrives before a door we remember forgetting.

Disorienteering

And, by the time she finds a page and a pen with which to record her whereabouts, she realizes, she has lost the thread.

Having pulled it taught over countless right angles and teasing curves to have only misplaced it.

It sprung back, in release, undoing god knows how many yards of work, in her negligence.

Disorienteering with Ariadne.

Tagged like feral game; categorized as uncategorized.

simple lip service

Rules are simple lip service if unenforcæble.

The fleshy mask worn was the kind of face you put on money.

And, blind hogs suffer no disadvantage in finding acorns.

Snouts sniffing and hairs on chinny, chin, chins bristling.

The caller received a courtesy disconnect.

Provided when the wait is too long and no-one is giving up.

A psst becomes easily confused for a hiss.

And, she finds it a bit too easy to be silent until she thinks of exactly what she would like to say.

In the face of all they have done.

dummies mis-take/fools smirk

My double assemblage point is sensitive enough to recognize when you run at a different wattage than me. And, tonight, you receive no friendly, instructive spacing or paragraph breaks because I am hotly impatient with the amount of patience you require from me. And, dummies will mistake the body of this page as scrawlings of anger. But, fools will smirk in empathy. Yelling into the Void at your shadow is not always prætty. Sometimes, it gets dark.

The saturation point.

ill-suited.

He looked terrifically out of place, dressed like that, here on the trail.

She was a bit irritated at the utter distraction of him.

Yet, he was fascinating.

But, she was trying to take a walk through the woods down to the fish ladder of the old mill creek; and, here was a man in a three piece suit, postured in repose on the sopping bank, as though prostrating before some ancient pagan god.

And, from across the salmon’s spawning pond, she espied that while his necktie was perfectly knotted, the color and pattern of it did not suit his suit.

Not in the slightest.

Off-rack; Tailor made. Beholden; Bespoke

He just sat there. Brutally still, Unnaturally, there in the tall grass.

Loafers in the mud. Simply wearing all the wrong clothes.

She imagines he must be a terrible dancer.

And, she suddenly wants to interrupt him and ask for a dance.

Talk of weather

“Sunlight yesterday; dreary today,” he says.

I tease, “Oh, stop with the dismal diablerie, cad. It’s not gloomy. It’s simply a winter gloaming.”

“That’s not what I meant”, he says.

“Oh, I just thought you were awful fond of talking about the weather,” I panto, innocently.

” ‘Awfully’,” he mumbles.

“You are awfully fond of talking about weather?” I giggle, in mock with brown eyebrows arched.

“No. You meant to say ‘awfully fond’. Adverb not the adjective,” he says.

I howl in laughter, “Be careful telling me what I ‘meant to say’; because, you have no idea what I intend.”

~

There once was a boy.

And, there he was until he became.

He held himself still. Held fast and listened.

There did he discover he was himself

all over again.

She smiles, unobserved, from the corner.

struck by sunlight.

The backside of the house was struck by sunlight following a cloud burst’s clearing.

Casted like spells looming, the pair of old trees guarding the home’s back door entryway, conjure a pair of ancient shadows, saying:

“We were planted nearly a hundred years ago. We saw it all. The doctor and his wife, first. They planted us as they built their shelter above the groping outpouring of our subterranean root structure,” says tree i.

“We saw him deliver the daughter right out of his own wife’s belly. Right next to the butler’s pantry. Midwife present to mediate the metaphysical nuances of old-timey, natural, live births,” says tree ii.

“He was the only doc in town, see,” ads tree i.

“And, we saw that daughter raise her children here, just as she had been raised above our roots,” says tree ii.

“And, though you bring us nothing but you, a lonely homesteader, we see how you learn to erect the ether of your own root’s structure,” says tree i.

“Yes, discovering the dimensions of your pyramide before constructing,” tree ii.

Build your radix for me, priapus.

Show us the wasted seed of what could have been the next generation.

imagine I feel

A story is a story is a narrative is a story is an experience is

A lifetime.

“I don’t know.”

That’s what he said

, when I asked in a low, hushed, tone,

“How do you feel right now?”

The lovely pitch and tremolo of that voice.

As delicate as sinew finely strung and harshly wrought.

Utter “freedom,”;

requiring me to keep one foot in the wage economy of the mundane.

Like how your guru turned out to have a cigarette and woman habit.

Something must keep a mystæ mind from leaving here and now.

What better than an active hand in one’s own mortality?

Morbidity versus gestational rates.

Malthusian growth.

I heard your response before you said it.

And the forgotten

essence of Hesse’s

Glass Bead Game slips through as an ethos that the spiritual ideal, once obtained, is to then be put back into

the service of life and the living.

Doting and clinging like

a jaguar killing a caiman.

Death rolling.

Binding in the collective noun enumerating

A rare of knots.

Throwing seed and sowing semen.

Tilling the earth, post slash and burn agriculture.

Fallow lands left to lie and respawning

New growth.

Imagine I feel exactly as I appear.

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.

embedded trinity of coos.

The boy had tried to stone the crows, but they just caught the rocks with beaks.

“I shall train them to stone the child/wren back,” she thought.

“It would be instructive.”

But, then she remembered she had simply cribbed a line from someone and made a fantasy from it.

Anyways, the kids were in school right now.

Her crows were perched overhead, waiting for peanuts.

⊙⊙

Oh, so you need prompting now?: Æ asks me.

And, promptly: I deadpan.

Someone is playing for Team Sensitive today: Æ smiles.

I grin: Fecking captain. And, the fact that you love me like this pisses me off.

Æ counters: You’re more entertaining than when in your mystæ provocateur state.

Dickhead: I think, stinging from the blow.

Every time with you: Æ thinks, reading my mind, laughing.

You know, I refilled the coffee on Mr. Book of Answers‘ table today. He said, ‘Thank you for your sensitivity.’ I was charmed.

⊙⊙⊙

Hold my hands so they become held(,) dear.

Silversmiths of alchemists gatekeeping access to backrooms of bazaars thick with smoke.

A misty haze formed by fast talk and subtle exchanges.

Quicksilver traded for the mercurial.

Where those who do not wear thier darkness on thier sleeves abscond to let thier absence of light shine.

A speak easy of sly shadow souls and sacred fools that is only found by not looking.

Defy the beast, release.

A4 conversion

The trick is to assume anything could happen.

The task is to make it seem as such.

Suspended by imagination, standing there, snarling,

beast-eyed and in a state.

Clears throat.

Twirls circles with one ankle.

Watching the mountains pitch darkness using shadows from a sinking sun

There a’stood at the Dungeness Spit where it never rains.

Next to the only lighthouse for miles.

The keeper never answers the knocks at his locked door.

And his light comes on later and later,

as the days enlengthen the periodicity of thier effulgence,

Like winter was a thief come to return what was taken.

And the noise of the Sound vibrates at 432 Hz.

A4 conversions and changes in the ferryman’s rates.

Ha-hai-hyena

A bird singing.

“See and know,” I tell you on this lunar new year’s first day.

Obscurely erudite but available for the attentive.

The pulsing of the interior of thighs, trembling like

pleura of laughing hy-hy-hyenas’ howling lungs.

In ampersand out.

Coalesce; converge.

Release,

Stillness of coda.

not only above, but also below.

Rip the mussels from their shells while I husk corn and shell peas.

A garlic clove, crushed with a knife’s handle, teases out its aroma.

The inoculation of a spinning dervish

who seeks the antipodal position of the divine.

Diabolical twirling in this ongoing energetic exchange between universe and organism.

En pointe is En garde.

The evokation of my exhalation diffuses and diffracts into atmosphere.

The invokation of my inhalation converges energy from

not only above, but also below.

The cyclone of the Void rampages through my celiac plexus.

The center of the eye of the storm is so motionless.

It crystallizes, dynamicizes, galvanizes,

before radiating into fibers of the nerves strewn along my

coronal plane;

when, just in the nick of time,

the cordon of my spine sucks

the ambient and I find

a respite in equilibrium.

The word Apologetics springs to mind.

A tangent unfurling

Lo siento

I feel it; but, I am not sorry

Parçigal disabuses Æ

~ When I see you tremble, it makes me shake. I will devour you with eyes.

⊙ Let me shower first?

~ No. I want to taste your day.

⊙ I’d describe it as a long, hard one. Consider yourself warned.

~ Don’t flatter yourself. As far as I can taste, you never even broke a sweat.

⊙ Such a little, smart ass.

~ A’yup, with a tarty mouth.

⊙ I like it when you front like you’re hard.

~ Well, that’s the thing about having lady parts, swollen and pert is as hard as it gets.

⊙ It does it for me.

~ Yeah, well, do it to yourself tonight. I wanna watch.

⊙ You seem tired.

~ A’yup. And, a bit uninspired.

⊙ Lazy.

~ You sure have been. Get to work, please.