being an ex-poet
my line's free
going nowhere
empty shoe
footless home
inner wildness
outwardly secure
thoughtless binders
without resonance
*
ign'ant stone
stupid intelligence
only you, your broken
heart, isolate.
oneness of solidity,
inverted meltdown,
standing waves.
*
everyday I have the blues,
reds, greens, turquoises, oranges
pinks, crimson-purples
white hots -- only for you --
speed-freak medallion queen
ripper of the roads
who are never here
in order to show
the on/off switch
& how it doesn't work
*
rushing up to the note-book,
scrambling for a pencil, pause.
nothing to say. again.
evaporating breath of urgency.
no cop, no donut.
*
no matter when a sentence
falls out of place.
there are the Pleiades,
fish-bones adrift.
red, auriferrous, Mars
& no mood for fighting,
no mood for peace.
*
for ages the white gauze
enwrapped the yoni-lingham
statuette in travel packages
until one day becoming a bandage
for a deep cut that healed
it was bound again
with a rusty red-stained gauze
& we headed
toward the hills
*
when the furthest
& highest mountain
is the crest of one's own bed
there is anything but property
practice is the best
medicine
don't sing, dear bird,
just to be heard
unless you know
who truly loves you
*
gone, for only a moment.
days go by.
time always ahead.
steel scaffold.
or behind.
adaptive consciousness
billows on electrostatic
leylines, we laugh.
mapping the relatable
to the hazardous,
whatever this sandy texture
sounds like, exactly
what you hear.
dearest bird, since I have no wings,
teach me how not to fly.
*
when the demon is dissolved
hell's canti
turn thirstily
in search of new subjects,
for material burn.
*
how often
does continuity
occur?
*
to be continued
t
b
c
?
fourteen november
2020
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