Fateless Rhymes
of a Lugubrious Singsong Hysteric

Sweetness bottled up

Shocked when sweetness intercedes
since so many died
as treason to believe.

Sweetness bottled up 
by tightness in the jar.
Nectar closes in.

But hearts have cards 
piled and wild,
never empty of the need.

Wishes can come true
even when it's blue -
Unspell unsmell unfell the heart?

Let nuance be its feud.
Be its blissom
be its nude -

Churched on the absurd

A bird 
a bird

on the Absurd

hacking rhymes 
like a sea wave of ants 

crossing a hunger 
tender redoubtable 

belly insatiable 
for plunder & bait.

Thunder swoons
along a listening arc

to its lift

to the grammar grimoire 
to the belle-lettristic.

These irreconcilable

annex the wing -
over and over

as love and death 
does its thing.

Jar and Feather


Badland thumps through brain
born of Spain

a strange
and loony lonely conviction

screamers tell me to disappear
into the fear
into the flame.

Neruda runs finger down
the saw of fire
as slices up my anterior brain

everyone thinks
you're acting insane.

White goddess
arises from wan host
thats the rhythm method
used for toast.

Float up
float up
hooves float up

and yellow makes
the dashes glow

and all that love
all that surplus coney
roiled and riled coyote lonely.

Violence digs in
at bitter shoots

and Poe mysteriously
lowers a boot

violent rhythms
take me down, to and fro.

Badlands couldn’t normalize
a kitchen sink
you are you are
what you drink.

Girl on floor 
with mess in lap
cries more more more
beating spoon

stop I scream
its making me dream

stand up  
pull down that shirt!
don't be a liar
don't be desire
don't be anything

be still as nil
that's a skill.

Love as truce,
stirs the hive
till hell breaks loose.

Outside the gate
of any town
love rises bleeding.

There is a fondness
that is not cruel!

Both Genet and Byron say:
forget the baby talk
that hardness is a tool

the double agent is a nut
who beads of string
to siren things -

There is nothing
cooked to spill,
its void 
is all floroon and swill

VGs orange colored hay
at end of another
red letter day.

Don Quixote's latest bill
for energy from the wind

the beauty myth
devout as sin.
Torches turn
slow - slow - slow

deaden that anger
to a twilit glow.

Tip toe cross
the magic to a sloom 

count to ten
and then bloody exhume.