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Showing posts from 2019

"so I wrote this own my phone" just now -- first new work since 4 October -- gotta get back into doing one-a-day

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so I write this on my phone so I wrote this on my phone words with magnets hung on metal in a sequence that changes every instant or in even every fraction of an instant hung on metal that corrodes as quickly as it’s forged or plated and words hung on metal change meaning and their own language in corrosion of the metal or from rust after a rain so I write this on my phone and tap it to highlight it and copy to paste it onto ancient parchment so this is how I limit the longevity of the word before it moves into eyes and into ears and through minds to another meaning

a peddler of fakery -- no explanation required

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a peddler of fakery a peddler of fakery a cockwamble once attempted to govern to goad ideas and policy into the pit of his outhouse felt strong like a bully a foreign boss’s capo and roughhewn wooden puppet then he very quickly consumed himself and he liked the taste of himself licked his dumb lips and was gone nothing left but a foul odor

goodbye dry september - first poem and blog entry since 5 June 2019

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near Villares de Órbigo Castilla y León Spain goodbye dry september dry september heat that strives to wilt man beast and plant into less than they were before under a sun that heats and burns more and more sideways day by day into early October do we dwell here among towering oaks poplars sugar maples and the lumbering magnolia and the deep-rooted pine? do we dwell in a future desert?

"trouble" - I began this poem last month, but just finished it today

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near Villarejo de Órbigo, Castilla y Leon, Spain trouble oh trouble on my mind in this late May of blistering heat and the cycles of the sun and the seasons and the blood roll together in this crowded ocean deep and I swam through this ocean deep and crowded finally to gain dry land somewhere in June where and when   a drought had just begun and our own personal southern humidity ran away escaped into everything turning dry the grass dried and got hard it pricked our feet as we left home without shoes and we wanted to touch the hot arid soil and the hot stones imbedded in the powdery black dirt carried aloft by the dry hot wind but rain is coming even today so as always all things will change and nothing will be like it is now nothing