I saw the song on the floor. then ate my toast-
with the kind of eyes that penetrate
diamond asphalt.
i plunged into the floorboards
of a wide microcosm
made of shudder-lint
and tinsel.

tweaking the
parallax
of my forbidden
I
.

So the worlds that came with no maps
like butterflies adjoined to a ring of Saturn
telling a joke about a ring
in a tub of jokes.

must be Real.

And I have the following problems
that are following dreams
about having problems
with less problems.

But Life’s never kidding.

just kicking.


[ HOW WHY? IS THE WRONG QUESTION AT THE RIGHT TIME ]


Judith is a spool of cool waters on misadventures with Mrs. Solipsis.
she’s in this precious palaver, palming fruit from an unknown garden
at a full stammer. Judith looms in the London with a toothless fog
so she brought a dagger to her eye, to split the difference engine
of her Insight…

Judith is a pool of constant habitation.
exactly her place to be-
when a waste of Time
is arabesque
with all the hallmarks
of a profound
unhinging
from
a stalwart
Gone.

how does she Know where the Sea
has buried her Unborn
Questions?

How Does She
Judith?

Anon.

I don't want the storm to come inside.
the rain. the snow driven mule in my vestibule
of  misbegotten hopscotch phantoms
and the wraiths of my sincere
dilemmas.

i don’t want the storm to come
with all its anguish sunning in the breeze
of my typhoons like a gluttonous calliope
harping madness and happiness in discreet dim
where the bright is young enough to disremember you
as long as you can’t Love when it counts.
like a falling star is an apple
when your wish is
fruitless.

dark ample.