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The mood is on me
Nothing moves me This irremovable mood which occludes, Like a bright moon does the owl’s beloved gloom, All the world’s joy. The noise of guards rifling through Rooms made of tinfoil and dead leaves Loud as toasterpops seem In a house full of people sleeping dreamily.
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Encountering another place
Lifelike shapes rose on mauve tails Light and freightless as a barren babyless Or a carriage to which Dick Turpin offered bag emptying terms Smooth surfaces, no nails Without rivet, marks of making, maker’s marks These arks, with ne’ry a buffering moment Start out across promiscuous stars Through mysterious bores open like a starving’s mouth…
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With the plus
Lottos a lot like duels According to my useless jotter’s blot-polluted musings I hate having recorded these discordant delusions But the allusion no water throughs; Me against you. One from two, for all the jewels. Rules, few as you would consent to The people one runs into, in such places one would never expect We…
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Applefar
Talk about planned obsolescence Mad all, road-pulled by pheasant instincts. A clan of manful men hide-clad: me, my brother, and dad Whose breezy freeness easies people, even the creed-y; Strove the greedy to inhabit those golder frames made By his gilding assess; or gelding; or dismaying alternately. Bladelike wielded phrase What he proclaimed became best.…
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Unsleep’s worst mysteries
Six figure sheep count at pealess duckdown bedtime Fewer Zs than the Bible translated into Irish Passion-occupied Byron sister admiring My silver-stealing magpie woes This stilting evening grow Cathedral sized Toothed finely, on stilts. My nine size G.P. Martens fused new carpet With her love’s black widow spider.
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Alchemisland 