Infinite Abyss

Being A Girl

I can't tell
Which came first.
Or Cher Horowitz saying,
"Should I leave a note?"


Global Warming 1

I thought I was hallucinating but it turned out it was just crickets
Which turned out to be neighbors
Which it turns out are a TV.

Hotline bling
Hotline bling
Hotline bling
(I knew you were my)

It's not summer
But the temperature colludes with the light and strikes a new temporal theme
A new season of transparent love
The anthropocene draws on gray paper with a dipped brush in swishes that dissolve
As they dry
The dinosaurs make their way to pre-fall
But their bones-
just got so hot they faded out
before they made it
All before four chairs turning
Wax on top of bones, got so hot, dripping off
There is a human myth about it

The window was open to account for the heat
that was on for the cold, which is gone.

Poetry In Motion

Accidental intimacy
Natural and honest moments
As described by an art director in a past life
Something, about the to and fro
And somebody you wish would just shut up
Everything, down to the sheen and smell
Privilege is part of the commute


You must be a bot
The way you regard me
Ever so clearly

The pin sins
In search of body

Info Session

Nodes in a tower
Far from the glittering city
Wrapped in a blanket of warm, new wood
Cohorts clothed in abundant
pattern like picnic cloths
Or a top a toy farmer would wear

far from the earth far
Far from the dirt and mud
Far the sky
The grass and bugs
The flowers far, and berries far, and cows
Far and roads crumbling
'neath the barrel of tires roaring, rumbling
Far the tower, close together
clothed in smooth tones, warm
A hand lain gently to face the other
no face and no hand at all

Fashion 1

More eyes pull more out
Dazzling at the surface
Attracting strings
Methodically fastened
Pushed like knife through butcher butter
Bleeding, blood is a color
Emergent constellation
Leaking, controlled like a decision
Meeting mid-platform

Push pieces in
Scan with hands for fleas through fur, beating
Set upon a beacon balanced
As an abacus
Counting, hail

Dental Insurance

Disc ridges blinking on a glass blank wall
Blurry window fake
Lashes melting next to an iron
Hunter-gatherer mistake
Scattering baskets on frozen ground
Sealing plastic apples with a clear wet brush
Bits of hay blown by stick in the finish
Making bubbles that are impossible to get out

Thanksgiving Poem

I wonder when the rush is killed
The rush of the whim
In the brush by the river, cold
In the fall
When the leaders leaving
Up to the bread'ns
Crushed with crumbs
and smashed with pudding

Treatise On Style

Dearest friend,

I'm working out an approach to style which is the opposite of design-

Raf pinned a mood board to his coat
Toss the mood board out the window with the
Old range rover
I'll pin the mood in the middle of my chest
Let it cost fifteen dollars
Let it glisten there, the t-shirt can follow
The form is ok to flop, even, to forget about

An approach to style that is punk, the essence of punk, in that it is productive based on negation-

Allow it to be a brat, angsty, a PMS bitch, even

Based only, and only, on "that feels non-"

That looks odd, that catches my eye
Nothing more complicated than a crow, attracted and building a bower, attracting in the same act

Ok, so also jazz, and also punk.

Punk-jazz selecting, post-gen-x...

I'm also calling out a generation which is cusp or trade, and only visble now, maybe, in the way time has newly hardened into mud-dessert surface and cracked apart now,
showing something only in its sychronicity with the way we think about picking out our outfits, glistening only in the way we discuss it, and pass it in the same act

And something can be invented in this approach to style, based solely on that-doesn't-go-yet

It seems negatatory



But it is hope actualized matter-energy, and Oops... It Always Was