Being an artist means ceasing to take seriously that very serious person we are when we are not an artist. Jose Ortega y Gasset



16 February 2009

Loosing control 'n' Against medi(c)ation

What did I

get myself into?

. . . Left palm, four left

digits, left

thumb, left me

blunt against banister

I'm absolutely not

Did I really end

up down here

under the Manhattan

just for this?

That's just it;

there is no remainder

enjoined to divert

if a plan takes

grip straight thru

you – as if a person

as if even if a person

merely freight, hedging

me (me) – when

it's cold outside

I never get to see

landmarks cosmo-policed

parody of touch;

no Queen's

every anything

willing to be argued

against, reasoned

with, ill-entangled

or resorted-to for meaning –

But steady. . . frays not,

rusts and crumbles not,

yet: these cables, bilevel decks, bedrock

Too-well ensured

integrity of whole

deny spontaneous

drive to disassemble?

If: not pancaked

nor gang-raped

otherwise intimidated

or ever made-eye-contact-with

then: this shore

bear no semblance to

'York' or we just not

that kind of city anymore

I can

not probably be

– ever have been –

here, now


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How do you know. . .

how may you be

so certain?

entertain bliss

for a moment

or ignore us

imagine for just

imagine: anything

could come to an end

how can I risk, not doubt

that 'nothing' last forever?

that this is all that is

or need be

Pray – hold to

hold back your 'finish'

shiver, or grey

or cast in what is owned

I know, I know

seeming ≈ clutching-to

so moments appear fleeting


too being a loss mourned

You could be, newbie

a lot less apt

to grasp the strangeness

of a sudden

nearing neck

yet instantly you know-

Bitch, it's me!

get over your demand

that what's here bestowed

is so precious as to

summon allegiance

reiteration, or study

defense of

very core is necessary but

we remain aimless, bound

scrawled like a visitor

onto Finity's wake. . .

. . .expectations of invitees

or else!: B.Y.O.

P.S.S. F.B.I.






Homeless soon

Homeless soon

The things I could move myself to

speak about - they were the passion

of a moment, an unforgiven passing

we can't expect to have learned

anything about each other,

if this is the goal of Encounter

with stranger it's double dare-

triple catapult over a handshake,

brush off a bullet

that's why lady bugs crowd 'round my toe

okay okay it's not my toe,

stump growing into the plain

altogether I'm just

a pitiful stab at a tree

shot down in sapling stage

drug down by my weave.

Daylight would enhance those fragments just so.

A book for years