What Suchness? Don't Believe All Bad Composition..

in the still lit candle of the foundation myth

what we find are the intertwingled fins

of corrupt syntaxis

and miraculous contingency

a providence that takes this hull

to the cliff to die

only to encounter a wind

which renders it the ruler

the tyrant of ten-thousand years

whose name is never know

the perfect rhetoric

of error

Romulus and Remus

were really 

Amulius and Numitor

dressed in the skins of drag

coefficients.

what a drag

if this soft and chestnut brown leather skull is a word

then I am its spotted black nose

our feet connected

to a rule board bearing

no game

lithe tyrant

is quiet envelope

prickly puntiss

lips mobius

If your skin shrinks any smaller

I will no longer be able to wear you

my keen thin smoking monkey

these vegetables remain

to the will of debate

fencing appear frozen

in the coronal thiara

No one foundation myths

the chair of every fence

it is seemingly true

when wire thin monkeys word

the transparent force of quiet

we are gathered

and our weapons make only small changes

in small times

the perfect eye

will rise like a balloon

over the blue beaches

of GUDD

contingency

like the invisible twin of love

the uncle Amuremulusius

is everywhere

second to infinite draft

or a sea of toxic garbage

know one knows what segment

of the archive

will become magnetized

when the slurry of dancers arrives

blue matter

blue dong or bong

or capelstrophy?

look for organic solutions to geometry

the fayrd to sloup

the roach loping with the berry

as an Ouspenskian

the great and inner tree was eros

while the outer

was a hot rod pink interior

a random hearst shifter 

I'm not Donald Pleasance,

and you're not a lion.

This lion revealed to me

the fact that I am Donald Pleasance.

And this is Ward Montgomery,

or 007.

I don't want any more paintiffs, or posecutors; in philosophy above all, you can only see if you have already decided.

crowns of cacti

luminous in the purple dusk

and swarms of scented birds

print

no more

pun dinners

to Jupiter

Did you sell out of green tables, Miss?

language is not pandoran photography,

but poodle

poodle

pumpkin noodle

how dust

your grrr-din

groan

any sacred tragedy

after the advent of comedy

I just want you to know!

Things are looking up here Plato!

somethings

looking 

up.

I think you've pushed the wrong button.

Oh fuck it, let's dance..

Every sentence

is a lost boot

made into camera.

a foot whose toes

are sponges

of error

Women!

Only those who have made their dialectical peace with the world

can grasp the concrete.

All you dead images get up!

The poem is the morning of the world!

and crime its analog!

oh fuck it,

let's sing..

Oh Mr. Putin!

How could you have known?

I've always wanted a little Walter Benjamin in a box.

The fate of beauty

is that its wan ironic expression

reveals complexity

as mindless wit

of which I cannot feel

or talk about with sense

and yet it has brought us together

the black nose 

to recline

in a nut brown leather chair

the first wife

crab-woman beautiful

cripple

Toby Olson

canonical magic

and primitive sharpness

they leak out through the headwound

of my second death

it is too noisy

for me here

the table growing with food

If only the Ukraine

could be more like Clarice Lispector..

but once it stops blaring at you

the fly in the ice cube

I had thought it was a mermaid

until its enormous tale

appeared above the surface

composition

is legal

addition

and no waves to be made

in the still lit candle of the foundation myth

what we find are the intertwingled fins

of corrupt syntaxis

and miraculous contingency

why did the graffito

wish to capture

Rhodes..

this colossal blindness

is white as milk?

at our every meeting

the breath of the ornamental dragon

would obscure my head

and your face its lantern thread

Alexander Diogenes

is gothic foolosophy

The sign of crisis

is always pleasure..

We're extruding brain columns

for the Hegelian Triads, Robin...

These busts will also serve as shoes, or tips

for the legs of robotic spiders

a single unbroken cotton thread

will wrap around the earth

enigma is only 

the substance of the possible

once you've already decided

your capricious eyes

will still be 

the nipples of a coal black tyrant

let it remain

the urn of generations

the unspeakable

voice of the non-all

Harry, this monkey just accused me of being

anti-semiotic

Waiting for Godot

with the Rolling Stones

It's yantra time..

Did you hear that?

I saw a thread running all the way down the beach..

Clarice, Is hope made of letters?

I'm just waiting on a friend..

Would you care for a faun?

or a pan-orientational noise?

Today.