Tag Archives: Cut-Up Writing

fate was fatal

Posted on December 11, 2021 by istsfor manity

Press the play button above to watch my short film: doppelgänger (2:24). Our Minute I am the keeper of the Doomsday Clock. I know what will happen to us. I know how the world ends, but I don’t tell you. … Continue reading →

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can of clouds (haiku)

Posted on December 10, 2021 by istsfor manity

“You write what you write, and then either it holds up or it doesn’t hold up. There are no rules or particular sensibilities. I don’t believe in that at all anymore.” — Jamaica Kincaid

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nothing in between

Posted on December 8, 2021 by istsfor manity

Once Blue I was once blueIn my black converse IsolateInchoateAnd nothing in between “So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can … Continue reading →

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in my neighborhood

Posted on December 7, 2021 by istsfor manity

You wear your indecision well. Your coterie of suitors vexed— Working out your complex geometry. Your heart a cipher— Hermetic / unbreakable. “I want to be free to try things that don’t make sense yet. I put materials together that … Continue reading →

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in my neighborhood

Posted on December 6, 2021 by istsfor manity

A hiss marked the moment Of the dissolution within Blanched images of featureless heads We breathed / we clawed / we panted From the depths of unsung parametersFrom the blue strictures of freedom As we lost face Mouth / eyes … Continue reading →

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in the haggis

Posted on December 4, 2021 by istsfor manity

Two Views: Temptation Inside I. n + 0 Sister Ray was in the habit of cleaning her habit every Friday after vespers. After a sponge wash she’d iron the habit singing in low sussuration to her favorite Velvet Underground songs … Continue reading →

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toothy bride-to-be

Posted on December 2, 2021 by istsfor manity

coda : ouroboros / n+1 thru n+15 … the dying day teethes on the tin tautology of exiles eight o’ eight rogues away bayside shambles catacomb  the toothy bride-to-be seizes the singed week with violent shanks & ratters the bayside … Continue reading →

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the word piles

Posted on November 30, 2021 by istsfor manity

the heebie jeebies (redux) this is about a poet who writes bird poems —without birds appearing in said poems mouth breathers and thirteen year old prostitutes often appear crying artillery shots echo in the blue distance the poet is a … Continue reading →

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chop my sincerity

Posted on November 29, 2021 by istsfor manity

Google-Sculpting Metalepsis This is not a planet you want to be on, trying to make sequin of the ineffable. Try the bipedalon,cedar straightaways sprinkle my flaymaker. This is not a planet you want to be on, layering the burrs on … Continue reading →

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florins for eyewear

Posted on November 28, 2021 by istsfor manity

The Last Nimbus A nebula forms around my headboard& congeals—a pulsating fathom’s roost. A blinding white flash—great speedwell & arrowhead fall. Encrusted like the lotus-eaters—incubated / intubated / spacesuited /pillows backboned. A pair of florins for eyewear—now set for the … Continue reading →

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