Politician’s Lament

I got something the other day. After a glass of x knows what and four men had to haul the logs out of the corner, we all might say we got something— But really, it was I, I got it. It started when the king fell over. "No way to play chess" I said, referring mostly to myself. But I hadn't pushed him and indeed not a single other game had finished, so they said. I saw a few pretty close to tha ... continue reading

Meditation, Passage Climbing a Good Hour

On the night before, I slept very little to ensure I’d sleep the next night. That next night held a flight–an entire night mixed up with invisible hands batting our poor vessel about the sky. Piano sound carries itself winking uponaround three flights of interwoven logs: Trees petrified in preservation of paint and stoic service. It floats into round-edged crevices, fitting log upon, ... continue reading

Reading Jules et Jim on My Balcony

Neither young nor old, as Hispanic melodies reverberate from a temporary sunday's Colombie in the park, A man and woman South heading a little way. arms Full of boxes (two each) filled with thick glass Clicks, in lock step with their side-by-side gait. (Black pansies and rose begonias rustle near my toes, using their surrounding breath fronds to intermittantly tick ... continue reading

Falling Honey-sun-day’s Perspective

Between bold last leaves seeps the play of sun. {-} Afternoon autumn, still supporting leaves: their greatest glory d'composition I cast myself without self between, on and through and so all around. Rhythmically, slowly (in innocence of every good word beginning with "b") Riding up--through, the bicyclist: "le merveilleux peuple..." Rhythmically repeating on the rotation of a wheel. So many people ... continue reading

Listening to Grappelli

Grappelli is in a corner of the apartment his sound pervades the place, though He evades it completely. like he slipped in when the curtains wavered forward like his notes slip past their green cloth corners. --he's in the room I'm watching the curtain swing some more. Grapelli smiles a little with fingerish ease. the curtains role-- manifesting rainslick surprise, Grappelli ... continue reading

Not Nausea

One day we walked from our homes and in our Terror the Raw world disjointed our knees. Hands slipped from our wrists attracted to radiance, which is; and blood, the faucet of is, stopped Itself, an evaporous ink, dried, of the funny valour it once bestowed on avarice. Some plucked it from veins like so many ripe cherries-- little deep rose deities. The ... continue reading


Through its fibrous October the sun commits last night's tides' gifts leftnot, for anyone. but take them as gifts you have yourself, ego--permanent self that cannot fade against a beach's unruliness. reflecting and haling ex and in the breadth and beginning of spoils, ego ticking off. --notice that when you handle a stone from the beach it loses its brightnes ... continue reading

A Crate of Telegraph Legacy

from an old creaking store-front in a row of many others each stocked with man, woman, candy, and woven or wooden crafts. (of their own hands, probably) with faces, eager but friendly for seasonal sales and lugubrious lingerers. Back of each front, store doors swing in for haste. barterers' shelves, sturdily-built so that stores and supplies bemoan their differences, a cleaning bottle, damp ... continue reading