the complete stories of kafka

elevated, choking looking out through painted terracotta roofs
i am not comforted by the spier
by the rusted houses melting into the ground
by the scratched and pecked gardens
and into the tunnel i wonder who turned my eyes
to blank blur

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Filed under nostalgia

escalator’s going down,have a good day now.

how to capture the sound of voice lulls and lips smacking chicken bones,
the creeping creaking wheelchair,legs pajamas.

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Filed under gypsy

reel

been living in the world,things coming in,things going out – all concrete
and all I have not is turned over dropping my top to the bottom:swinging my head close to the ground and turning my feets in the sky.how simple this is to turn the insides around.

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Filed under systematized

BJB

metastatic.
i was eating breakfast this morning
and felt a watching
soft tingle along my arms
created in my neurons as a watching
so i guess i believe in the somewhere else

rest well BJB. thank you for your teaching heart

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Filed under aha

detrivorous

there are no seats ever just standing and watching wayfare
listful eye darting in a one page turned commuter novel
dog eared no retention.
there are no dustbins ever just plastic flowers wisping in gusts
of delivery truck wake dust past macdonald water cup begging bowls
no gypsy jazz no travel light just wheelchair
some sandwich, some sustenance.

say lunch.
stop.
say the word lunch.
stop.
say the word lunch three times.
change?

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Filed under gypsy

train track cherry blossom

there is no smell different
but the air is thick and loud
thicker and louder
holding inside of it, bumping,
the droplets of spring.

and the creatures change burrow left
not in stores but in gathering again from the days less brittle

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Filed under element

neighbour hood

the birth brings them out – locked children with piñatas and songs shelved for this bracket of season.
the spanish is beautiful rolling melodic in the shivering streets gearing for another unwinter in pretend coats.
the rain has held leaving the ghetto exposed to shattering fire of those un-familiar,hungry,
starved into carnal fever.
even we have found kin where there was none: in music,dance,livelihood slicing slivers of self offering for courtship.

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Filed under wonderland

mattering matters

homeless man with legs of stumps
is the work of fastidious us.
homeless man with legs of stumps
on a highway ramp with a weeping sign

outta luck

anything helps.not his umbrella
crooked stabbing, he is soaked
steaming in khaki in downpour
coins floating in acid rain.

teacher teacher

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Filed under aha, parnasa

ash bury gweg

the duct tape window was rodent-rattled by a sensor light storm that puddled the dawn.
in the haze of inter rest was where dreams were remembered:
rolling om devotees urging a following on a hardwood-floor asan
rolling tidal wave undercutting the hardwood-floor of the rounded dykes
running from something some sort creature, of course.
all this in a collapsed sober printing of the day.

a day of covering and turning, gallactical axle coingliding –
the gnomes throwing knights and pawns into plays.
there was work in this: what is work in this?
a telling doing, a seeing doing? let us fall into a seeing doing for eternity ever.
and at the close: the jester man rolled his hard worked floor through a mind of audience
to gasp and grab at popcorn and beer and remember a whole life waiting to be made.

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Filed under chev

tick tock tip tap

‡ had taken myself out of the world to watch what it was without me.the smells,echoes – removed from my wake to test a lens.there is not much in this martyrdom other than a few unopened cans and a broth let to boil to the lees. a typewriter’s snapping libido chatters at nothing in deep sedatephobia.blue masking tape seals no wall or stage and batteries eat themselves a putrid bile.
there is a house in the woods,near a crag and sinking disappearing into the cortex.a man that built the house used wood that he stole from the state and saw the bedrooms to be filled with his seed,seeds that were eaten by crows.the house collapses into itself covered in moss freshened by the bursting sky of time.spores leaf into speckled devils and fawn nibble on fiddleheads reaching through the parlor.these echoes are deaf stirring no intruder into the fray.
writhing maggots fled months before done in their carrion and still spastic life unfurls.

these are the echoes.

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Filed under element