Fast and ever,
speedy the bright
till soil weals and field’s light
a beckon, a call, never
about all patterns, ne’er
near the edge of a cactus sit
men with teeth and trousers
near cat’s gesture with pale flowers
the men gaze, a counterfeit
form and function, the sun blooms
a beckon, a call never
till soil weals and field’s light
speedy the bright,
fast and ever
The Goodnight Pig
When the pig is born in the foam of beer,
it runs though the valleys of the city, chewing on laundry
In the night of the pig sleeping, the beer foam flows endlessly
More than can ever meet the eye. Make the eye meet itself, and maybe the fertile soil will finally become green with envy or classics. That in itself might make all of us more and more interwoven, but some of us (like me) reject the interwoven bits because we are too ugly or oversensitive or maybe it is the same thing. Continue reading
muted soaring moments when the ceaseless
thought line does cease and our nerves
turn white green possibility of transcending,
filaments right in our grasp
Drip the oil
The heavy grease of too-well reamed machinery slides across fingers
rolar green cogs grind gears.
Gyrate
riverkin 