RHYTHM IS THE INSTRUMENT
Ministry without religion, since 2013.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
PLAN COMMISSION
It's not enough
to just
believe it—brick
by
brick by
brick—you have
to
have—an argument
built
and bought ahead
of time,
in order
to get it eventually
sold, and then
maybe—finally
paid-for.
LAST WORDS OF APOLLO
But!—It just couldn't be
science
that's hauling
this ponderous,
chary and
frosty octagonal thing
gradually—above
the whole grateful
sighing ménage
of orange trees and old castles
that happened to spring
from the chunky autumnal
region of rock
that you survey below—come
on!—think
hard!—everybody
at some point
or other—has felt that there's
something
that's far, far too heavy
for physics
to lift—let alone carry!
Monday, November 4, 2013
HAS HORSE'S EARS
Careful!—there,
reticent
Monday complexion—look-
out for loose heavenly
reams of leaves
falling—not exactly
your way, but slightly
right
at you—
at ten
o'clock, or maybe
then—sharp
in the morning—up
ahead in the cheek-
stinging wistful
sweet wind of November—with all
its
might whisper-
ing—
What the hell?
what
the hell?
what the
hell
what?
the hell
are
you?, sighing
down
there—still
doing?
not-
laughing—
OPERA PLOT
A soprano
and chorus's back-
and-forth chattering—implicitly
concerns the stately
young
breadwinner tenor—as he hammers
such rich!
and rhythmically-complex strains
of butter—onto
scores of morning
toast with his radio going.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
BOREAL
Salient variety
of whetted
tangy leaves—
originality! forever
is your
noiseless
falling—
fate.
Friday, November 1, 2013
THE POINT IS THAT YOU PROBABLY DON'T
ever notice?—
how
repeatedly
we cope
with all these
illimitable
and pains-
takingly beautiful
solid closed doors—
simply
by
mindlessly
lifting their latches?
Thursday, October 31, 2013
LOGISTICAL NIGHTMARE
Oh my
heaven, never! was there
such—an awfully
adroit bunch
of brainless mumbling
zombies trolling-
deftly down our
duskbrown avenues!—unhobbled
and numb
to inefficient
gobs of
cataclysmic weather—and so-
forever!-
damned-
determined
to fill—their gaping bottomless
quotas
prior to curfew—
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