Closed ledgers.
Undipped quills.
Typing writers,
stones we’re still.
Dropped from high
we may not notice.
Dropped with aim
we run with focus.
Getting going, d’etre
raisons, open ledgers
walls by masons,
built to raze them,
followed paths of
breadcrumb bedlam
Single voice in the void.
Let’s avoid it.
Let’s embrace it!
It tastes of promise
and or’s. Then voices.
Room enough, sure.
Now 10 tongues of brass.
Exponential and walls
buckle. When did the
screaming start?
It’s your technique.
Effective, cacophony
incubated.
Lost the password to
my crypto poetics in
here (points). Fictions
of flowery futz-arounds
plus make rounds and
rounds inside, and no
how brown cow to let
them out now. What a
great idea, decentralized
me. One more try remains.
Judge with words.
Budge with words.
Cudgel with words.
Ain’t magical words.
Quite tragical, unused.
I’m not amused
when there’s
rules fused with
bosons of lexicon
and they can’t in their
elemental matter,
matter so much, that
it’s quite a drudge
to use them.
My I’mthusiasm for the
chasm of me and twain
comes betwixt me and
the part that got the legs.
So here we are, two halves
of a hole. If nothing is
infinite by knight, let’s
paint fences to the
dearth. Can’t
exsanguinate a void.
Dig deeper,
longer strokes
It all disappeared and we
got to start from scratch.
We itched to do, anew. Eat
was first. Eat’s always first.
Prime the engine without
purpose. Me and her and
they and us, rode the rage
to this new age. Pretty much
started as découpage, pieced
really-nilly, discouraged it was
nothing into something that
was nothing, again.
Things aren’t most
important, until they
are important test.
Picture the velveteen
rabbit, on acid, or
maybe it wears a pair
of white kid gloves
and trips impaling
on a fan. Wondrous
land of ponderous
things besting us.
Twas fucking brillig
just yesterday.
We started out sharing
a heart. Adaptor kits
were scarce. A trip to the
plumbing aisle solved
that. Then hands, legs,
a kidney. It was easier.
Our minds required a
third party adaptor.
Can’t recall when we
weren’t me’s. Two
bellybuttons the
only vestige
you’ll see
Reassembling the world.
Yikes, someone left
it a mess. Grains of
sand, I know they all
fit together, somehow.
Sorting colors. It’s
easier that way. Trays
scattered on the floor.
Wow, the Grand
Canyon, must’ve
been some party.
Checking glue,
inventorying atoms.
"Walking through an Emerald Forest,
I found Him there.
His body resting among the dancing trees,
the sweet sweat of His flower crown
blossoming, with an orgiastic scent of Lust
Seducing nature around.
The laughing King of High Heavens,
with golden curls, gently and softly
Touches the open petals with Lips..."
Pack a dermis
when you’re out
and about. Don’t
fear demise. In
disguise most
eyes avert. So
wear the lipid
layers, taking
care. A tin of
sunscreen is
routine if you
dare dear. Skin
separates you
from the world
which gently
draws its finger
across you,
soliciting
a shudder.
The cabinet is open
one-quarter. The
drinking cups will
escape. I’ve received
ongoing complaints
about the disorder.
Mugs with hot-colds,
dinner glass with
shaker flasks. The
disorder is
disheartening.
And the plates
look away, their
own issues with
chipping.