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(Crying) Julia Jacklin is here to meet today
Julia Jacklin’s subconscious is trying to fight the greeting from God if only Julia would find a better beat to her song she might hear the tune Ai Weiwei welcomes...
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The silence of capitalist saturation
Waking to a note left to hold your hand having been punished by God for wanting to erase the problem from without and not within I can find no place...
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Businesses of no tact in the protection of feted rituals soon fail
Rolling posters out for passion plays in the center of Manhattan like a turtle eating a snake over the wake of an old feted prince. Times that we do not...
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East Coast whales diving through a traveled currency forgotten
These are the Falstaffian directions for our sidewall fossil heritage decorations untreated and manifest towards delicate, infinite repose sundry existing parable’s early night evacuated from the blanket coasts though tonight’s...
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Do not rechain the standards of market narratives
ailing wounds strung around Earth’s birth given false witness embedded in false narratives claiming Cain and Abel demonstrated inevitable violence the story seeks to answer the problems it presents that...
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beaten by the allegory of saints and streets
here the fish market hides more than men it comes at you with the fist of a blizzard sailing past darkened streets now naked posed with a warrant collected by...
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a salary dictum for removable parts and representational red or white fire
do not cross this fabricated border this elementary fiddle of locust and barflys like triumphant sad seasons of regret and lost showtunes we fill our bags with the returns of...
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There the doorbells never stop teasing
Where once an auction troubled drape goes phasing tulips mark your walk, and slingshot keeps the symmetry like bathing astrophysicists drugged by the cow manure dissolving in-country, out of turnouts,...
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New (long) book of poetry – Without Edits Or Morning Tossing Or Gremial Veil Hoofprints
without edits or morning tossing or gremial veil hoofprints is longer than most of my books, but not as long as Upon the Written Hours. I keep reminding her that...
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The falsehood of paid “artists” and the dim Earth policy
pacific salesmen set to depone their sense of calories and soil here, into the adjacent assailant crossing the muddy street timbre halophilous corn starch from the roots and the fungi...