I’ve forgotten how to write.
Perhaps I never knew how.
I’m writing now am I not?
This is not writing. What
is it. The moon is full. THE
MOON IS FULL. I relinquish
all responsibility for every
thing. The moon is my
excuse. I surrender.

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the undergrowth

the keys are fuzzy. as some dense under
growth of language seeks to take over,
mute the lights. overhead an airplane growls
like a wind-up tiger. the cynicism i know is
there pours into the air. is it the weather
the end of the weekend, end of all things
we’ve never known? can’t even make my
self invisible (my greatest super-power
shriveled by [...]

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Rew…Let?

he said. is that
rue as in Blvd.
of bro-
ken dreams? or
that which you
rue, with wrung
hands? was that
Let as in rent?
or short for letter?
or maybe con
permiso. but…
(oh!) spelled as said:
rewlet, not roué,
(some Rimbaud),
but rou as in
roulette — because
such wicked spell-
ings are always
a gamble.

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stuck

very little to say. like grass. a deal lighter.
flocking was once de rigeur. at times. fortune
holds the cards. switch patterns. forbearance.
i said flocking. not f___ing. i said nothing but
that line is a horizon. the sun is uck. glottal
stop. meaning? what gets stuck in censure.

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in words

just to see where it has gone
storm rolling in, as your fingers.
touch the crest of my collar bone.
shoulder, where the scar draws
a line. another scar at the throat.
knee, where beside him i fell, tried
to excise the hurt with a knife
edge. where now
your fingers…
where I
allow you…

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ideology

assumes.
language must
speak for body
as it were
dumb?
but then,
this
gesture

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am i polytextual?

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storytelling

a space of waiting. after a day. confessing to darker
eras. now. we are made characters drawn with lines
pulled from “personal” history. we don’t know why the
scare quotes; just that they pose a doubt and yet fly
tell me whence a pink mermaid, or why a black buckle
gets someone off. or why the dough rises with such
managed [...]

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did i forget how to write?
who is listening?
someone sees
something propels
[...]

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