Monthly Archives: April 2022

move my pen

Loudmouth What can I offer? A warring world where life is bereft of meaning. Father on an amphetamine-fueled jag. Mother, a dark figure, a smoke-like wraith moving through the house. I stare and move my pen to the din of … Continue reading

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this isn’t paradise

Phantom The amplitude of echoesFunction like a phantom limb Glucose seeps into the cellsSmell of white gas and charcoal A swale once full of shoulder depth snowDid you know Frazil are ice crystalsFormed in turbulent water, as in swiftStreams or … Continue reading

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the upper bout

Finale of Seem (redux) It’s all about noise. About the back and forth of improvisational counterpoint — an F flat ostinato call here, an arpeggio of the B scale in response there… like the scale of wildfires and flash flood … Continue reading

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sharp even here

Rasped Haiku Her sickness resolved—Distilled, rasped clean by feverDreams, sharp even here. What I’m Reading: “No star burns forever . . . the world will eventually literally end.” — Emily St. John Mandel / Sea of Tranquility

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your local listings

Time is a distillation Coincidence is a construct Check your local listings What I’m Reading: “Too late now to keep the polar cap from melting. Venice subsides; South America explodes.” — John Barth / “Two Meditations”

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see for yourself

Cloud Enjambments I’m the worst when it comes to fixingLeaks, see for yourself.I’ve seen maps with circularWalls. I love color jet packs. But you’ll need paperFor a lively discussion with a white stripeDown the middle of perception. PointillistDots and washes … Continue reading

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how to proceed

Algorithmically Filtered Prose Poem Farrago or: How ‘da Machine Reads My Handwriting HAD I BECALE DE FANTASTICALLY LOSTMANCULE AVE BEEN LOST TOR SOME TIME – DECADE,• ACTUALLY – IN A LARAAINTA. MY OWN MAKING I DIDNT DEVE THIS MINATION IN … Continue reading

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echo of echoes

Hear (haiku) Ears color speckle Parabolic sound resoundsEcho of echoes What I’m Reading: “Always, I hear a little oratorioinside my head. Mothshave carried away my carpets,like invisible pallbearers.” — Henri Cole / “Free Dirt”

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of the shadow

The Death of Tane Then there was the sickness—So hot.The vault of heaven darker,Then darker still,A black sunAt end.It was succeeded by the shadowOf the shadow—SpreadingNearer and nearer to the pin prickOf lightDestroyed.Distant,To the west,A white effluent—Soft and yielding—Fades. What … Continue reading

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you look better

A Conversation in the Time of Galamatias Our salad days are filled with bitter herbs and intractable roots—Not so much a salad, but a melangeOf weeds and thistles—Indelicate things in our mouths.Every bite a mouthful of rot and offal—Awful offal.The … Continue reading

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