Friday, September 19, 2014

Ziggurat







10/16/07

If I were to tell you
what you’d have to do to
commute your life sentence to bliss,
it would more or less add up to this. Give it a kiss.













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Schizophrenia’s Love Call




9.19.08

How I’d cultivate the Grand Spectacular for you! –
spend a half-a-billion, maybe two, on digitally
mastered three-dimensional depictions
of innumerable legions of conscripted Roman army –

disciplined and glistening in glorious expensive
onslaught on the few resisting creatures who
refused its Pax Romana – blood would spill,
as in DeMille – picturesquely gorgeous violet

and crimson violence would justify the human spirit’s
craving for the carving up of bodies in the name
of status quo and honorable peace: muscular
behemoths would be gleaming in their cinematic

grease: I'd bequeath you all the requisite
exquisite horror I could find – expunge the damned
and damaging ambiguously human grunge that
generates equivocal reflection in your fragile mind:

before we’re done you would accept the ultimate
unquestionable One of Me; inexorable Love
would be your school, and you would know an end
to every anarchy. Let me rule, my little jewel.






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Thursday, September 18, 2014

Poetic Explanation




Morphological amorphousness
accounts for our discernible beginnings –
as if the innings of the misbegotten
psychic baseball game that functions

as a trope illuminating what we hope
might open up the crux of all that hooks us
into being had occurred on some
forgotten diamond watched by no one.

(Got that?
Whoa.
I must be
the slow one.)









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