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The Rabbi and the Unpublished Poet ~ Sunday, April 26, 2026

Thank you for burning all of the dead wood Thalia flourished at The Dewdrop Bookstore honestly, all was well before the fall all was well but nothing would be the same nothing at all, no one saw it before killing me softly with his song, Old Nick yes, the Devil as director played ball on the graves of the field of dreams, the game understood as non-union severance forgave the Devil for being a dick objectively, he was simply a tool remnants of a corporate takeover bully pulpit in rabbinical school understood, read the Torah, take cover really, he placed booksellers on clearance now, read this text without a pinch of salt institutions discriminate at will nothing but double entendre, a pun given viral politics as default antisemitism to interpret leaves the facts in question, create a bill language used in satire, the house of fun obviously, must be shut down, such words forgiving their context, heads covered, bet thank academia for this gambit how to play che...
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Thank you for burning all of the dead wood ~ Saturday, April 25, 2027

Ilyse works at the bookstore down the road like anyone, full of admiration young, impressionable, birdlike and sweet sugar beet cheeks, oysters beside a toad estuary of brackish rhymes at sea warmed by the blue flames of aspiration old Bunsen burner roars, wide open street recognize a classmate on the cover kindness bites my leg, in a pod, one pea sad and lonely, nobody cares, unread as if...better off dead, wishful thinking that Ilyse knew to fill me full of lead then and there, my ego, without drinking horribly small, as my life is over except, she asks if I write still, I say bother the sun with black storm clouds, I do only it means nothing, nobody cares ordinary people, to hit the hay kiss the air, hello or goodbye, kill time suffering, all the while, without a clue toss me a ball of thread, the Cretan shares ore from a mine, either silver or gold recognize her name, Sophie, what a crime everyone watched me cry before I left despondent clams sleeping with t...
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Abaddon ~ Friday, April 24, 2026

The Clairvoyant Center of Avalon how do they know that I am on my way each time, before my appointment, they know Claire plays her violin, while Abaddon lightly accompanies on piano ask them not how they know, for, as they say if I could see clearly, all time would show reality as connections, as joints visualize the past to observe chrono obstructions for Gaṇeśa to remove yesterday, the future was wide open ant on the bathroom countertop, to prove nothing is arbitrary, as spoken to Theresa, who sits and waits, she points Creatively, with daggers from her eyes empty of disillusion, delusion nervous with energy, ready to spring towards me for no good reason, my lies emerge as from a stream, is this a dream reality bent as an illusion offer my condolences, as to bring forth a sense of kindness, why does she pounce Abaddon laughs as I begin to scream values and virtues remain uncertain abandon all hope to enter the clear lonely and sad, lower the red curtain onl...
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Arpeggios ~ Friday, April 24, 2026

The Clairvoyant Center of Avalon Theresa spoke, sweetly, as in a dream heat, not honey, dripping flames from her lips each time she opened her mouth, her forked tongue Claire, I kid you not, her tongue made me scream like a little girl, you played violin as if in raptures, while swaying your hips impossible, I know, and as I clung reality shifted again, you played very fast like Paganini, begin over again, reset button, press hard yet, you kept playing violin, I cried angry at the world, at myself, a bard no one knows, no one understands, I died trouble is, nobody cared, your hips swayed Centered on the sound, on the groove, Old Scratch entered the room and took me far away nervous because I was with the Devil terror filled my soul, a sparrow to catch erroneously, my espresso left ready-to-hand, my heart began to sway officially, I was dead, how to kill foreigners, like myself, as the Other Available in my torso, bereft virtually, of all virtue, I lose all sense...
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Crimson Silence / Red Gyralight ~ Friday, April 24, 2026

Why is it always something that goes wrong Welcome to this, the shit is always real how did we get to this point, no one cares yes, I include all of us on this bus insanity expects change, to appeal suddenly, to our representatives instantly, as if overnight, she shares the truth about transit, all of this fuss answers to the question, no real demand languish taking daily preventives work too many hours in each short week absentees versus duty-borne, no end yet, we pay the bills, or paddle shit creek salvage the wreckage, no one to defend secrets, maps, buried treasure, sleight of hand offset by the future unseen, unknown monsters of the imagination lurk everywhere something breaks, as the earthquakes thunder and rumble, once this bird has flown helpless on a planet, the afterlife implies the second strike, darkness and murk needless to swim upstream, my body aches given the need to prove our worth, talent that empty vessel, to the brim with strife hats off to t...
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The Clairvoyant Center of Avalon ~ Thursday, April 23, 2026

The Clairvoyant Center of Avalon Theresa knew that I felt kind of blue helpless without insight or perspective exactly how I felt for forty years Clinical depression comes in one hue laissez-faire capitalist gray matter air all my grievances as reflective irregardless that the mirror weeps tears real as the silver dollar in my hand vogue comes in waves, Theresa, to scatter oysters along a reef, to sleep in bed yhwh, the Tetragrammaton, to speak as to pronounce the sacred name, instead non-pronunciation, the rule, to seek terror beyond this world of falling sand Center the weight within the hourglass exactly as expected, eventide nightfall, dusk rolls as fog in the city terror of the unknown, what comes to pass exactly as Theresa spoke the name recall the Oracle, another bride opens her mouth, as Pythia, pity for humankind, the omphalos, she spoke Ava tells me, indirectly, her fame valued as a messenger with foresight along with the god, Apollo, her words ling...
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Gomez Sings the Blues ~ Wednesday, April 22, 2026

My feet are numb, I may be dumb, but, I  still run, for fun. What can I do, I have no clue. The doctor says, guess what Gomez, eat Pez and die. If I should cry, tears from my eyes, taste them for lies, salty or sweet. If in my feet, while on the street, I run for fun and feel quite numb. If I am dumb, forgive my brain, I am insane, just a wee bit, a little shit, trying to make this life less fake, if I could bake and stay at home, under the dome, secure, I roam, still nothing felt, a leather belt, childhood, no fun, why I now run a marathon, I am so gone.
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