Oats and Dray

Novella Now Working On. Fluidic remorsers. With lots of attributionals, Beckett the absurdist shows up in accumulato phrasing as a free dusty. Joyce freedoms too, but curving toward shakespear, for that play bird build word take it to the surd family of formations. Particles go lightly mysteriously pursued. Glues against something massive and passive and stinky, awful swirls of love and death that chirp and burp their way into boat races with sweet pushes with oblivion, rugs have no mercy. Thats why they are strange miraculous so terribly interesting… Cage wage rage. Keep me alive. And then it breaks, the line breaks it breaks into skipping rhyme, all the time, I gave up and just let it fall in with verses (music the) bardic as entry into the notorious sublime. Let the language rutt cut fluff itself up, expose the wash and wear, tediously repeatiously, skins for the infinite. As cuts a hole in my throat to speak out of. Garble besides your yelly mm belly twingers. Let the for-enders out. Crisp at cross purposes… Skitters by catcher and rhy m, narrative narrative, like Rimbauds gushy flow blow, though not as loose or as pretty. Sheers for ears veer off into starkness of neg and fog pining like spells through Dante’s hells, tethered to its beams, wandering in the seams, and wring the clots out. Let it go and get a little lost there. As anywhere. Shelling horse for the love of oats. Precious oats. With this here benediction.


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