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

If forgotten, out of sight, out of mind forget to care, get drunk, hard day at work rotten little children, two boys to beat older, firstborn, leave this son well alone temple of the drunken father, tin box ten, twenty, thirty years away, the ark enter a covenant inside a boat no one but Jesus Christ asleep, no faith then history, a fox, a wraith, to tax haunted houses in October, hollow empty except for perceptions, to sense nothingness in motion, noises, shallow to speculate, exploit others by chance observe the unspoken, events as truth say an alcoholic cleans up his act asinine lies, behaviors continue yes, the drunk is sober, so to speak, no spare tire rod, just in case, to concoct pare down the skin from an apple, the flesh as Apollo skins Marsyas, a nude received, the curator shown to obey examples of the past, learned behavior the rules observed as catholic, to smash his face with a backhand, old enough now enter college a wreck, what therapy rod in han...

The crow flies too low, bounces off the hood heard with a thud, immobile beyond hope empty-headed bird brain, why die for fun clear across the other side of the road roundabout to inspect the kill, a deer observes a truck too late, a mangled corpse worthless alive, but for meat off the land fly higher, little friends, why die for kicks life becomes simply a portal, this door inside, the opportunity to test existence, the ability to thrive survive, move on, suffer, skies overcast tumultuous memories set, they crave obsessive compulsive actions, the cracks old people observe on concrete pavements lessons to learn, but how to care, show love only respect for the slow and the dead wakes us from our slumber, with certain hints break for the possibility of death only to stop and wait, to show respect under the guise of a mourner, or laugh notice nothing on the way to the beach cause ripples in the flow as an expert examiner observes the stream in rough scans, the weig...

The ghost of Albert walks from the wreckage he feels fine, lighter than ever, aghast envisions the moment before, a flash ghastly, before his eyes, his life, an ache his head, his whole body, but now, no pain oddly, he sees the passenger, a toast still and silent, his body, its burnt flesh transforms into blackened enormous wings ostensibly, still on fire, a coin for the ferryman, placed inside his mouth Albert, of two minds, the salt and the sand left behind, an angel formed by an oath blackened, orange roughy, thus to descend emerge out of brimstone, the girl with bangs reads his novels, his plays, his short stories troubled by the angel with its arguments words of literary criticism absent of polemics, as she tarries literally waiting for an angel kings and queens matter nought to her dead prince silently, she listens for the chasm frosted over with charm, what to believe religion and the Church, with its angle original gangsters hustle and scheme money in th...

That had the queer smell. That a word, over centuries, changes help me to understand happy and gay and now what is queer is no longer strange that what may be queer may be oranges had I said your daughter or son, the case as it may be, respectively, reversed différance, Jacques, boys are girls, girls are boys theater of disguise, your children raise hope to generations sadly effaced enervated as history decays quaint, provincial ideas with each sphere unconcerned, yet unhappy, got a guy eagle scout amongst booksellers, unhinge every door, each portal to a new space room after room, where to end up, aspire smell the oilsheet, queer Freudian mother maybe, objet petit a de Lacan empty, unattainable, to gather leaves in autumn, craving, never again language speaks volumes on the trade in spice

At this point in my life, what do I want to eat a slice of German chocolate cake this is no big deal for others, a taste hits me with dairy and sugar, I vent in this safe space because you understand suffering from allergies, if I puke puke, puke on cold gray stones, you see, the twist only makes no difference, my teeth erode in the case of bulimia, I spend needless time worrying about the time time as a commodity to enjoy in this world, to reflect upon the chrome nothing too distorted, happy and gay my how things change, as language takes a ride yes, I want to have my cake and eat it life is simple but not so easy, choose if it makes you sick, then it is poison for you, but for others, they take a shot every time, they pull the trigger, they live what do I want, to let go on a chaise hat in hand, pen in hand, snug as a gun at this point, to be like others, no joke the joke is otherwise, for without love D'oh! says Homer Simpson, everyone loves old cartoon...

A knock on the door, then the doorbell rang knell not on Saturday, Mumma called out nocturnal not diurnal, he wakes up only the whole cross-country team, so wrong calling on a suitor, Vruvvi got dressed killing time, asleep in bed, without fault on his shoulders, weight of the world, a slap now and then, to wake up children from dreams the whole team loved to give him grief, they sassed him when he forgot to wake for practice everyone in the atrium, waiting doors open, opportunity, backspace on the keyboard, one step forward, guiding only no one sees, two steps back, sea foams remember the beauty, childhood long gone the knock on the door, Mumma calls, times past he remembers, running behind for work enter the field of memory, glass pane never to touch again, palpable thoughts then, Vruvvi rode the train, thinks on times lost he lacked the discipline, speed of a quark even meditation, no help, no use doors close, decades catch up, turn off the lights only Vruvvi,...