I hear her sounds
like an anchor
rattling the ground,
laudable desire for force.
If we weren't human, we would be
Human.
The cinema-of-terminal-decline
puts us squarely
in the mind
of [edit] drowsy repetition [edit]
or heavenly lobotomies,
aye, let me eat your thoughts
like a Greek-E
-nglish dictionary. And like Stein:
“You will find that all this is true
when I get through.”
What an ending to denial, I thought,
staticky stasis of throwing a fit
in lieu of emptying
bucketful after bucketful of leaking
water-heater water, quick as quick
-silver.
I sliver out of the door
like a thunderclap, the words
ongoingly-savage,
essential to not being able to
remember the cup of
chocolate truffle coffee
that I had late tonight.
Some days, you can call me
The Absent Man.
Hear ye!
“Hallelujah” is used to score
moments of unstandard validity,
big squalls for being happy.
Every day, I feel alive
to-the-inner-teeth, soft as
cherry blossom trees in a
blurred photograph,
or intermingled within a
Brice Marden painting.
What of this indecipherable sensation,
as puzzling as the language of the
ancient Cretans.
What of these oral-formulaic
unprepared scribbles
that I jot, or jet, down
to feel knotted, my jawstructure
like a nutcracker
after writing with my mouth
opened, Time lecturing me
with unforgettable detail.
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