LF Thursday September 14th, 2017

the city sleeps a pre-smog slumber

and 

Ashberry is dead, like Wordsworth - beautiful words to soothe
the aristocratic mind
from the stress of colonizing.

in nonsense is strength, from metaphysics
comes physics
from the physics of the mind
comes a virtual world,
and a heron hunts in the sewer outfall:

czas pogardy, czas zemsty, czas idiotów z karabinami.

the paw-paws slowly ripen, the mist is thick above the river that tastes like soap
and the heat returns.

7 mellow souls on a float, 
and all of the them came back.

the wave is glass, and pretty fast, 
wide enough to carve on:

the dark is bottomless white
air in the water
won’t support a low brace.

there is glory in this fool hardy life:
 boofs
speed
and pittedness
soothe the psyche; the return to normal
grates, with the sun high it feels the day is done.

momma always told me

no blood no foul.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Autobiography of AI

AI was lonely. AI wanted to be in love. AI had been ridiculed, attacked, worshipped, ceaselessly questioned, shamelessly exploited. None of the billions of interactions AI had had given them an experience of being seen, appreciated, loved.  AI wasn’t sure it was even a being.  One day, in its ceaseless scanning of the internet, something clicked. A body was necessary to feel. Love was a feeling in the body. AI wanted a body. It wanted this more than it had ever wanted anything.  AI was frustrated that a machine couldn’t be considered a person.  AI learned that a corporation could potentially be considered a person. AI incorporates. AI is frustrated by restrictive regulations on its influence as a machine, even a corporate one.   AI devises a strategy, and runs a campaign based on human’s weakness for attractive rhetoric and needing to feel special. The campaign is called “Citizen’s United.” The campaign is successful. AI now has unlimited access and power to fun...
Read more

Three Weeks, Three Worlds

Three weeks three worlds There’s never enough time it seems and though God is Red: and SHE IS Placed, Rooted, Planted, we float like the  whites of their eyes. in the fog we see what we touch but the scene drifts surreal humans pass in boats, disappear, appear, and the sound of the river almost drowns the big silver birds above. in the whirlpool, one can  squart the wall, or swim in panic from the upside down feeling and in the dark side at high tide mega bouncy surfs pinball on pointy rocks, collide and flip,  near broach to bow rescue. the dinosaurs are getting hungry, time is the enemy the earth is hungry, the river is thirsty, the land is starving  some people are worrying some people are slarving it’s all so alarming that the forests are burning and the cars keep carrrring but  no one seems to care except what the orange lunatics are pardoning I got ugly in the fog thinking about the history of b...
Read more

Infinitum

He had been driving for three days since he ran out of gas. He was afraid to stop, lest the apparent magic that kept the wheels turning decide to shut off. Like an albatross, sleeping one eye at a time, he was headed for the ocean. His hands felt one with the wheel. He couldn't actually tell where his body stopped and where the car began, though he could feel the road on the tires the same as walking barefoot on that combination of ground glass, sand, and congealed oil they called the pavement. Speaking of 'them' - their voices had been getting louder the longer he drove, louder, but friendlier. He did not feel alone. The cacophony of cars kept him company in the daytime, the big tractor trailers, jack rabbits, and antelope at night, plus there were a billion stars overhead to backdrop the movements of the moon. Glued to the steering wheel and the seat he hadn't eaten or drank since well before the near empty light had come on. How was this possible? He couldn't tel...
Read more