The Trophy Goes To

The one half-brick for the load-bearing column;

the trash-can lid for the perilous slalom;

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The Sheltering Chthonic

Tickle the trickling, pickling rot

mindlessly; or else solder –with fodder– that clot

— or let bleed, and proceed to relieve the disease

by attention, so end the well-pensioned distention

you’ve cuddled with smuggled-in mud.

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Memory in the Wake of the World’s Fracturing

Fault not Mnemosyne for being unreliable;

since the fissure opened she has been wandering on the outside Continue reading

Satisfaction Murders The Motility of Anger

Here in my chair, after a full night’s sleep,

eyes ranging ‘cross shelves of my library Continue reading

Order and Caprice

“The birds of the air,

and the fishes of the sea

are beneath the Lord’s care”

but I kill the ants

because it pleases me; Continue reading