Because Advertising is the Only Gospel to Give Credence To

free to weigh ourselves each morning

and again at night

free to document change

allow ups to be downs

to care more for those numbers

than the alphabets

built into bookshelves

and cave walls

Another’s Lines

Some days reading is more a task of imagination – staring – off the page

instead of following scripts

Sometimes early on,

moving late into night


are more shards

than window or mirror

Each page alternates between

one last chance and one time

The blazed path is somehow rocky

and switchbacks

switch no more

the slope is angled

almost 90 degrees

and the road cut

right up the median

The blanket a half inch of wool, cotton or snow

all seen a good chance against this

City and country both real

but the words so strewn

make no stops

at either station

Then this pen has to equip itself for travel

to the end

not being reached


in another’s lines

Both These

take ownership of space

it’s all that can be had.

own place and position

take it

and tell time

the ride was worth every dime.


is lowered sip by sip

till the white bottom shows



refills itself

and destiny

is the table

supporting both these cups.

Relying On

Relying on no entrance

thought becomes


and therefore

thinks for itself


Processing an exit

as continuity


Fearing its own disjoint

as the essence

of death


Which also has no reliance.

Common Era

Trees held without

a sigh

since the beginning

what the columns

of Heracles

have only begun

to do

but ask to become legend

And furthermore to take

from Atlas

his strain.

* * *

Perseus, Jason and Argonauts

were the first guerillas

put to labor

for wanting what was

justly due.

* * *

Gods no longer

mingle with humanity

fear of losing thrones

splitting inheritance

was too much

and even Jehovah

is a floating


since the start

of this common era.

New Work at Queen Mob’s Teahouse

New Work is up at Queen Mob’s Teahouse


. . .

how did we grow up into this place?
what trades landed us here?

I was busy being a bookmark earlier, stuck in the middle of the story. I was a paperweight trying to keep the plot pinned down. I was not made for conversation. or I was but I lost my destiny getting here.

. . .