pyramid

Brief note: Working out the last bits on two projects for possible release in the coming months. More on that as the time approaches. Here's the weekly work in the meantime:

This is a grift for the ages

linked to disturbing trends

from the deep past,

packaged with 30 percent

less plastic and a pastel

theme. Made exciting by

influencers with pretty-shaped

noses and an hourglass figure

gripped by the hands of Chronos

himself. Thy memory does not fail

you, even in your hour of vulnerability

to a product you do not need

or have the space for in your already full

basement or that you might have denied

three times before the first crack of

rooster refrain. Even then. You are still

a victim to an angry consumer god who 

comes down from his solar paneled heaven

in a Cyber Truck playing Fleetwood Mac out of its speakers and calls everybody “babe” or “stud” and gives one of those winks and snaps

his fingers into pantomime guns. We are all victims

to his glorious awareness of the elasticity of demand and the sustainability of selling old ideas to us after we forget about them. We will one day

worship better false gods. They’ll fix everything when we get there. Just you wait.

set it and forget it

give me/a new lease on my leash/my liege/contain me in a non-liminal space/free range and farting out my lineage/all in the movements/tear it down/burn an establishment/fear, now/I’ll let you know when the time is right/how much of time is even a factor/so much/borrowing from the language of the proles/like I am some sort of nobleman/like I have that kind of juice/fresh squeezed/unhappy accidents piling up in the shoulder lane/golden, like the past/unlimited salad and breadsticks with a pasta option/we’re all family now/send it up, an offering, in delicate flames/watch the way they saunter in their effective destruction/here is an eclipse, an appropriate darkness, lit only by the fire of our own making/haunting the skyline/another set of ghosts for the future to speculate about, find the finer points of existence/a feverish pace as the last ember turns to ash and falls back to my feet/I am once again thinking of newness-my relative purity in this filthy time/ash footprints all around us/who knew how well our tributes would take to the hunger of the flame/each of my ancestors will brush it from themselves, set up shop, and make their way in this iteration of a universe/salespeople, all of us/always selling and there’s never a shortage of customers/save your place in line now and act surprised when this one takes a direct hit from the mouth of the flame/there’s still so much to burn/

Sepia

 A

i am already missing these moments already

mourning the arrival of the future broken glass

birds sharp little edges to grip with care

with ease of motion their song bleeds out from

the point of impact majesty in eighth notes and

jilted harmonics my grief in shorthand copied 

onto the pad near the old rotary phone sad stop r

called for lw @ 4 re: old news

grief in the well long gone and dried up

i will fill my cup with the dirt left behind

guzzle what remains choke on this vintage grit

it was a great year that year

the tears start falling now still 

my throat and lungs scream for relief

another swig of the dirt another reminder

the memories will just keep on coming so will

the wracking coughs the fine particulate coating 

my convulsing stomach

i am frothing at the mouth wild eyed beast

the laughter has joined the party

i have never felt more connected to what i’ve lost

i have never known it until now

Groaning (A Celebration)

 

Nothing serious happens/not here/even without the soundtrack to inspire reflection/dumb silence/sounds of a sniff/another cough/shuffled papers/

Why/why is there another explosion of noise in the quiet spaces/why can’t it occur within an appropriate space/

Nothing serious/another minor discharging of sonic exultation/another motion denied/motion suspended/superseded by previous motions/nothing/

Serious/a sense like urgent/a sense like panic/met with the reverence of a seance/ghost stories/memory/urban legend/tall tales/mythos/coming of age/

Why/why/why/when it all shakes out/why/am I the one tasked with the burden of remembering/another time/another place/why/again, with feeling//

Sunday Funday

little birds on my lawn/nests in the bushes next to my house/nests 

that start families/a neighborhood fox/homewrecker/engages in dastardly

plots for sunny side up bird eggs/unlimited mimosas and avocado toast/this

fox in its ostentatious hat, it knows how to brunch/does it for instagram/stupid hat

selfies in front of the nests, ruined by hunger/by natural impulse and an algorithm

feeding the fox a buffet of brunch picture comparisons/

bird corpses litter my front yard/nests ripped apart, left dangling in the bushes/disrupted 

and shredded/errant sticks on my front steps/no sign of the errant hurricane of influence, just the good bones of a nest made with something like love, snapping under my feet as i leave to find a meal for myself/we are out of avocados again