Two pasts is a giggle, two hearts is hell.
…a nebula of cosmic dust one grain shall remain…inscribed as a memento one pair less chromosomes…
dead tongues of casual malice the drive-by word assassins hiss…no man’s property no leg spread just giving headless head
death will come as bullets…for revolutionaries on the run
I WRITE ON ETHER ( woke sweating and scribbled like she wrote through me nonstop; just a few days after)
It is blissful, this life, stolen!
Why did they not expect that this we would?
I chose Eden agai…
life can’t come from quiet
life can come from what is
certainly not from what
was dead then
our lives then always are
of life link
always seeming dead to
Sexy socks? Shocking socks?
into the pulse of terror knowing with familiarity…the anatomist’s fingerling…probes stealthy…touch touching the scars scarred over time
…genesis timed in the mist of myths of myths…the reality of the reality that there is nothing…add one more false memory of…evolution…
Dad still says it’s comin,
Says it’s no good runnin’,
Just an error in the date.
By God, we went to all this trouble
Now we’re gonna damn well wait!
…the trickster’s thumb drive…sleight of hand slides the lid of reality ajar…of each eulogy the take away is always…no redo…
on paper strips your epitaph disintegrates…right before your eyes a covered spit wad…the sentence of uncertainties accelerated
Take your chances with Rumi and Austen as the books jumble in the pattern of some higher plan.
He’s worked in the bookshop all his long & happy life. He knows every book but not he opens a new one. Light & music fill the shop; he dies as he’s lived.
every second of the day time stamped…captured capturing the captured
a masterpiece of sublime anxiety…submission a knot of psyches bound
grind their bones for bread…their guts for sausage casings