POUNDS

to shed a few pounds        to weigh down
    my geometric vernacular
        in this coy Or
-wellian age                       well   
             of art
-ificial minds  & art
-ificial joints

you                          can take the evil
                                                      out of keywords
but keyboards
                       are what humanity has become


every ounce of lassies handclapping 
                                                                               softly
a girl whispering to me
                                                           as if I can hear her              
as a helicopter flies overhead

                                                                                 the wind blowing
bodies 
                                                                  jiggling

              from                      the                                  completeness

of flamboyant adrenaline
                                                               pupils
                                                                     rolled
                                                                             out
                                                                of our heads

                                                           the stopping place              opposite
of
the realm
of animals
 


all I heard was
  

you can play the melody plus tax

                                                                                   Overhearing speech 
                                                                                   in exoteric language
                                                                     The world

is an enigma of angry silicon

PDFs                                           black mouths                           full of dark words


In other news  DEATH IS IN THE AIR
                                                                God forbid!

                                                                  Television                               a death-box


Pandora has spit out a dozen babies

                          for Lamia to devour


Sugar ain’t cheap


I come upon a book on the Art of Breastfeeding

Someone show me the Good Life!

                                                                                               Gung-ho
                                                                                      I have become



                                                                                                 becoming


                                                                   The American Dream


                                            as an expletive

I am the American Spleen 
                                                                                                   rupturing
where the nervous system is opened
                                                                                           beyond
                                                                                      the
                                                                    continuum

                                                              A man
                                                              from Wichita, Kansas

asks me how fast                                 I can text someone

He says that he used to go to the movies for a dime

People 
          are 
              so distanced 
                              from kindness  
                                              saying Thank You 
                                                                   has become
                                                                               the Underground thing to do


                                                             Medieval melancholy chants
                                                        associated with

                                                Certainties 
                                           are 
                            considered 
                
                                                  a psychiatric illness
 
I’d rather chat                   with 
                                                   a Suburban Mystic
                                                             than have my spirit vegetated 
                                                             fidgetedly

                                                  which could lead to physical illness

                                                                                          What is the source 
                                                                                                      of daily despondences

                                                                                                                 perhaps I live 
                                                                                                                           in a fantasy world
                                                                                                                                but at least 
                                                                                                                      it’s my own 
                                                                                  baffled by conjurers
                                                              Dante & Aristotle must disagree

they flame in their resting-places



Behind my eyelids 
              a flight of madness

                                 quivering 
                                                  as if the soul had vanished