From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
#rope #slang
I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…
I once found in what appeared to be cistern carved within a boulder, an owl’s wing,
Needless of a judge, a contrite heart is a bird suspended on a current, shifting myriad planes without asking or telling.
There is a stream of what could have been which flows on with the same rate and newness of what is.
Are we in the field or on the field? When I soar for the disc I wonder how that cloud got its shape.
Curling black from crematorium sta… tell me again the hoax of the soul… The cowl paces, pretends to be faceless, swinging silver and wafting saccha…
In Thirty-Four years I can count on two hands how many times I’ve been in my right mind. It is a small percentage.
Mowing with the sickle I stop abruptly and remember crawling out the window to smoke on the roof
Formulate an agenda Make friends. Label enemies. Identify beliefs. Re-examine.
Nine times out of ten, it’s a demon you’re seeing, not an angel. They have all kinds of disguises, I know-I know,
Every once in a while, when my bunkmates are asleep (or at least I hope they are), and the jingle of the keys fades to the end of the hall,
I gave way to Love and felt some marked change in psyche something difficult to speak about
This day, there is no ONE to beat your fist… No party, no tyrant, not even a faction—
Think you’re doing something? Thing you’ve got some power? You can walk on coals, swallow poison and live, but who is at the helm
The only thing you can prove is how crazy you are. It’s the best defense. Where was I going with this? I don’t know.