"I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe" ~ Sir Philip Sidney

Listen! The narwhal bacons at midnight A majestic unicorn with two horns maybe it is a double-tusked narwhal a corpse whale with two narrow projections jester, the executioner's block scorns even King Harald does not mind the smell still, the head of a narwhal is not small tic-tac-toe, noughts and crosses, cross sections inedible as Hákarl with a shot considered considerate, the death knell understood by the Church for the dead king no one knows why the jester speaks of fish invest in the business of Feste and sing carols to King Harald, do as you wish or follow Kempe and Armin on the dot remember, remember, right at midnight nobody meets to eat bacon, to snack withholding evidence at Brandywine if Conway, Gates, and Arnold were bound tight thoughts of revolution, mere anarchy honors the dead king with a clear attack two-handed swordplay, your pearls before swine words of wisdom at the end of his rope old files on an old fart, patriarchy holds a dilemma, the...

All Creation in the Blink of an Eye for Ian and Katie and Miles As if everything were made up, I wake left to fall asleep in a dry bathtub left in case, ready to lose my cookies Creation in the blink of an eye, rake red leaves in October, wake up in bed each moment somewhere else, under a shrub as time becomes unfixed, sit in Nookies to eat breakfast before work on Sunday in the blink of an eye, I feel well fed on my plate, an empty skillet, I ate nothing but The Mediterranean in the blink of an eye, I wake up late nothing but scat at Subterranean the eye no one can see, sees all decay heaven help me, I wake up, what is real everyone appears strange, The Twilight Zone Blink twice if you know the truth in a lie lift me up and put me to bed, I steal intelligence, walk a mile in my shoes nothing but Hanging on the Telephone kindness is the hardest life for a spy organized crime in Chicago, the files fill one exabyte storage drive, the Blues answer the Blackhawks o...

If I lived this life all over again for the eternal return of the same I would write this poem on the toilet like I am doing now, I would do, then if now is then, again, and then is now versions of the same story, without blame every day, exactly the same, I bet dice rolled differently, I may not look twice this life of suffering, full of sorrow his mind was the same, just slightly different in this life, or the next, would I notice still, allegedly, I would know, I sent life a letter asking for happiness if I ask for love, a little more spice for me, too much of a good thing is fun except the pendulum swings with my mood again and again, this same life, say no life is variety, burnt by the sun life is unexpected, otherwise dull over and over, learn never to brood versions of the same tale, as I now know endlessly the same thing, nothing changes return of the same, to watch a seagull again and again, must I say, yes, yes give an affirmation, not once but twice ...

Why is six scared? Because seven ate nine. Why are things this way, what if they were otherwise, I asked my brother how he would just sigh, wishful thinking on his part, things were otherwise yes, he found me dull and dimwitted as a child, a boy with no sense is this all there is, is there not an escape hatch, go ask your mother so much like his dad, my dad, too, as I was told, question everything suck up to no one, take a beating like a man, love wears a disguise insecurities, two boys from foreign countries, it makes a difference xenophobia in the land of slavery, the former slave trade suck it up, beat boys, ripe mangoes in the jet age, the zebra crossing care for some answers, ask not my older brother, he could not care less as for the distress, as to the pink elephant, walking on eggshells rest assured, no one talked about their trust issues, their feelings, I guess everyone forgives the alcoholic at home, in meetings, hell's bells denial, a force magnetic in its...

Bodie State Historic Park, 1962 d'après Ezra Pound, l'imagiste This vision of spirit, mourners in a ghost town a wreathed hearse in rain

My three-headed dog : me, myself and I Maybe Alice is right, I try too hard yet, she did not say as much to my face three-headed hound of Hades guards the gates hrabalismus-rabelaisian bard remember your place, boy, you know-nothing every word slaps me in the face, disgrace empties the church of my family, debates heated over a pretentious poet even though Alice did not say, the sting as language enters a hall of mirrors despite the double entendre of mind each person wields a sword, errors dependent on what interpreters find diminished by my pretentions, Moët obey the Orange Order, Hennessy given your cognac, Jacobite exile maybe, the Glorious Revolution extended to The Troubles, so messy messy, messy, our ideology yes, xenophobia, a xenophile sycophant in search of absolution express your love for Jesus Christ, what lies life as contradiction, apology fully accepted by the hound of hell apology accepted, by Hades no one less, the Underworld, time to kill ...