Thursday, January 3, 2008

Brown Paper Dactyl

A jingle of words true
A jangal of words false
A catching word array

Finger bones

Yearning waste
Old brown bag -
Alone Glides
Old blank floor
Of the bus

Pushed by momentum
Everything turns on the moment
The most ordinary of things


Tuesday, January 1, 2008

The Apex

I am at the apex
And the road curves away from me
To the left and to the right.
The road is eternal elemental
Elegant I am now by the creek
I can not remember how I got here
I have in my hand a broken...
I am sure...
Rather I am not

The road is above me
Phil My Crack In
He excited shouted
Recount the tyres
Ejaculated Father

Weir of filth and decay
Weir of fear and thunder
The Tiber Way Bridgecakes
Trembles overbearing trucks

And off in the proscenium
Dissonance layer atop
Layer upon layer translucent

Bosom of Artemis
The bottom of the missed
Dresses orange angry pinkly
Din eased echonings
Reeling ordinary grasslands
What was that you are trying
To say to me?

The black and brown sat down
Only the birds dared to reply

In the middling this dance your
Turbid misty floor bursts forth
A shroud of rain - an arc
Of new and everlasting consonant

Your youthful skein
Still unadjusted inelastic thyme

And the middle distance
Dusting formal the archway
Of ye new and everlasting
And the horizon holds all things in
Hiding maintains made inconstant
By the heated hays of steaming
Euclid oiled gum levees

Overflowing and here safe on a
Branch in this little corpse melange
Of forest it is cooler
Nautically cooler at least 5
Degrees metric ways and the
Ground is still damp (to sole touch)
From last Thor Day's reign

The wolf wall is all man are strange
A play the thing an omen of illusion
And free tense a vat fame work
Oh social work built nightmarish
Histrionics half understood
Underground - spoken over above
The sea behind pebbles.