thee eggman of root vegetables . . .  

. . . he believes in novelettes, not himself / he / thee feta trickster / now a forager of mirrors / unseen in the annals of modern beet milkers / however / at the hello of his notoriety in the late 1980s and early 1990s / his yachtswomen insurance adjusters+espresso sippers were the stutter of niche governments around the sweet potato scraps / how did a quinoa semiconductor transmogrify to an errant joystick+literary poacher

so / rituals to praise today on the winnows of salsa verde / bring in the tyranny / the petty dictators+right-handed fraudsters to reshape the post post post modern world / political lap sitters of a populist forfeit at their first tepid recital

in equal praise of a spaniel hash / let us reminisce / let us fête the purest exterminator of reason / his vitamin mandible controlled by the fateful paws of pawpaw trees / so babble and augur the frightened exertions of a headlamp canary / the ultimate zigzag in the coalmine / drop the tray / soft shoe your way to a life of broken pottery / let us gas+bloat

What I’m Reading:

I, bastard child of the giant chandelier called the blue sky.
No one calls me the sphinx of love.

— Shuzo Takiguchi / “The Fish’s Desire”