From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
#comedy #debt #drunk #loser #winner
There is a most worthy woman, the upper steward of the manor, Obermeyer of Holy Terra, house cute, smokestack simmering,
The moment you flit by my ear, my strings are severed, I droop like a marionette— I remember I know nothing.
There is a stream of what could have been which flows on with the same rate and newness of what is.
I once found in what appeared to be cistern carved within a boulder, an owl’s wing,
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
Nothing is all I ever wanted, now I’ve got it all! Careful! Lest I become a braggart… From nowhere it’s a hard fall.
The duration of a miracle is exactly one moment, after that you may as well be talking about what happened in the big game last night.
This day, there is no ONE to beat your fist… No party, no tyrant, not even a faction—
A Sacred Site, to my mind, is the last place you’ll ever stan… Such a place reveals hypocrisy without shaming,
Praise those who sit and wait for nothing. Who sit still and know they are owed nothing. On the mat each inhalation
I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—
Upon that special mound there is a cleanliness, a purity sanctimonious, something so perfect it’s numerological—
One of God’s tricks is, similar to Michael Jordan, It sinks a three-pointer with 1.2 seconds left on the clock,
Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,
A tide of blood, miniature in compare— But an ocean no less, to the virus in there.