Margret’s long dead. This is what’s wrong with the world. I demand but know no heaven here can fix; that an ideal ultimately falls also. Who restores her to me? 14/04/20
Month: May 2020
trump 20/20
as president, trump can do what he likes. he can do nothing; incite violence. deflect blame. murder truth. liberate michigan, minnesota. one masked protester held a sign that said: covid19 is a lie. (dante is right to suggest that fraud is worse than physical violence. more profound)
Updates
Site update have been run. Deactivated Forum as it was attracting spam.
at the university lakes
i’m also a poet as well as the swine who wrote the shopping list (see above). i like to emulate the simplicity of it (the list). i thought to present ‘milk/bread/sugar/eggs’ as a poem but didn’t have the stomach for it, the confidence that i was saying something worthwhile. i turn my back to…
time around
time around with de Chirico round noon in those suburbs, even the main street you can stop at the curb, just hold yourself from stepping down to the road to cross over. in that split silence hear the clock of days, know yourself under its hands longer than afternoons. in the telltale winds that kick…
desk
i am empty. delicate. some user took a knife to me, in some bored or intolerable moment; the interlude between two zeros, a dense nothingness you can’t see thru or wonder at its obliquity, what it is – before the advent of internet. it’s too late, at any rate, to…
colony
men club together for protection. it’s physical, & also psychological. we’re forced together, caught in the swarm & build to be warm & sheltered. i can’t (example) avoid radio; classic hits, commercials; the flippant tone of djs amused by their own eloquence. i mean: do they breed them? because they come in 2…
Bruising Poundings
from Bruising Poundings 1 she always gets up early Leaving warm, her pillows (she always gets a pearly …) dressed … leaving warmer pillows dressed in feather, yearning more love than a spouse and children consume without a flower back or a foot rub. 2 Night dew crisping on windows the sky-citrus crimsons pink out yellow…
tyger
come for tea. demolish me. stay for breakfast. complain that the toast is burnt. say you love me. rape me again. let me feel your hot effluence over me. do me in a minute. do me quick.
locked out?
seems I cannot log in to post comments but am able to post a poem? anyone having the same difficulty? this posting as a poem might be the only way.
om namah shivaya
(30min. version: Sri Sri Ravi Shankar) The main road was open only during daylight. at night enormous flood-lit work resumed. I drove the Inland route, through beef & dairy 4am beneath the moon to reach the hospital to fix the finger damaged by a diving catch at mid on. a winding hilly road, narrowed— the solitary…
The Poem Veers Off in the Middle but Is Connected
Southern Summer’s ending. afternoon lengths are shortening. climbing down, with the first cold shadowy light, the first heavy rain the night last, to reposition the forks the mud doubles the boot mass and I think always of soldiers in trenches, their minutes or miles left to live, and the mud & puddles to walk and…