Author Archives: istsfor manity

Perfect Disasters The devil is making appearances on a daily basis.  I’m making something of a Herculean effort to quash this Sisyphean impulse.  My parents come home early and discover me playing with large cockroaches while the guitar in the … Continue reading →

Fall Fall.  Fall, I say.  She doesn’t.  She stays perched on her branch.  Fall, I say.  She does not.  This ritual —  the repetition is liturgical.  A call and response in absentia.  There is no rejoinder.  There is no: and also with … Continue reading →

trash dash:  manhattan iii.   behind me a college student tried to convince a young girl to elope the ritual of the second drink —    demulcent for a moment —    the argument lost it’s tune like a good … Continue reading →

Manos: A Slice of My Memories (a blackout poem)   Christmas was sheer terror. Every year as dark descended, my mother appeared — ghastly hands perched at the end of the table ancient twins:   A slice of fixed mistrust. … Continue reading →

film drama is the opium of the masses dziga vertov’s  camera eye has detached its retina –   click, whir –   a reddish yellow mass of seething altered state   kino-kism: glowing white-hot to-blue eye,   the whirring swallows … Continue reading →

trash dash: manhattan ii.   polyphonic dream vision sonorous in plastic tubing limned transducers and sound scriptures in a garden of minimal fences   sonic spaces expand from properties shaped of bird-like sounds   the genesis of silver clouds and … Continue reading →

at the catholic hospice my atheist father is tracing lines in the air they’re shooting at us from the barricades, he says it’s a half mile away and i felt the bullet fly by my head the bastards are down … Continue reading →

Trash Dash: Manhattan Trash dash on a two hour meter A ham and cheese croissant and pilfer Your heart which has grown fibrous — Dry and cleansed of particulate love — Full of granular lunacy and roiling Pathic are your … Continue reading →

A Case of Writer’s Block Clodomira couldn’t work on her novel anymore. Her amygdala, congenitally small, blew a couple of nuclei.  That caused a fiber in her subiculum, long frayed, to brown-out.  And down the line, in quick succession, the … Continue reading →

The Texture of His Body His fragrance remained in the room when he left, and she picked up notes of Ambien and gin. He turned into a dragon and blew smoke up his own ass: in this manner he floated … Continue reading →