Even if the mountain I climbed Proved to be merely a duncecap It was only on gaining its peak That that knowledge reached me. *

The taller the monument, the more… Look, look, a graveyard has fancy… Historians agree: this is the pebb… Every billboard is theoretically a… Mouth: the word’s exit-wound.

As much as someone could plow in o… They called an acre; As much as a person could die in o… A lifetime—

The way the world is not Astonished at you It doesn’t blink a leaf When we step from the house Leads me to think

Like all children, you were a de f… Member of the Flat Earth Society… Believing nothing but what you cou… Or touch or whatever sense led act… Fruition: mudpies made summer bene…

'My age, my beast!' - Osip Man… On the lips a taste of tolling we… The light drifts like dust over fa… We wear masks on our genitals You’ve heard of lighting cigarette…

But if they’d give us toys and twi… parents splurge on the average kid… in fact, stacks wrapped with our n… the tree: these sparkling allotmen… guaranteed a lack of—what?—family?…

Finally the day dawned when a mono… world So it went looking for its stockho… But they were all owned by it they… someplace

Tying the pimp in dreams to a lamp… His tuxedo wet with wheedled kisse… I wake up sucking the footprints o… In jails that glitter like crash-d… A dog appears in call letters on m…

at the edge of the city in the garbagedump where the trucks never stop unloading a crazy congregation stumbles from trashmound to trashheap

Note: For 'or’ to free itself from ‘word,’ it must strain ('heave’) against the 'w’ and the 'd’ that enclose it. If, via this strenuous (perhaps squeamish) process, the meaning of 'or’...

Speak like a singularity, a lack residing deep inside every lock, j… past the point keys can jab: again… make safe-ensure your door’s core… for reckless access to that pure c…

If a path to the Gingerbread Hous… could be established by breaking c… off its edifice and sprinkling the… so as to find what lies behind us across the featureless fairytale

Note: Tomlinson is not only a distinctive poet, but a visual artist of repute. His graphics grace the covers of many of his books. This Homage attempts to imitate his verse style, or ...

If you are still alive when you re… close your eyes. I am under their lids, growing black.