"iterative" poems
Seeing such said-to-be veracity
made spurious by truer voracity
left me in a downward maudlin spiral
caught in the gravity of pejorative thoughts.
(They were right about you)
Shown to be mendacious and meretricious
with such audacious and ignominious cupidity
that is, apparently, insatiable
by external stimulation.
These words are for thee.
(They were right about you)
A
Mistress of Verisimilitude
Sorceress of Perdition
Goddess of Rapacity
Nugatory Luddite
Fatuous Epigone
Specious and unctuous Girl
of gratuitous turpitude
These puerile and rather flavorful words
fueled by seemingly insuperable motifs
arranged in a terse, inimical verse
for a rather insipid person
who will likely never even know of them,
and yet;
such sweet felicity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Silhouettes in moonlit mazes
your tears are complex superstructures.
Superclusters wrinkle I, negative energy,
tunneling through chasms forbidden;
you and I float.
Comes a sound, depth charged sleeper cell,
a bloop, a mystery, an unsweep,
a whistle, a Julia, a train, a slow down.
Heard by 350,000 zombies.
You and I sleep.
A child derails a train, safe to say,
that the world has its trapdoors.
Its a mystery, they say, but what do they know?
About us and our death.
You and I disorient.
Your two ******* hide a heart,
A mother board center of circulation.
Your body’s iterative delusion
Graces mine. And dissolves me.
You and I disintegrate.
We need to hack the heart,
With absurdity and farce and slipstream:
Into subspecies, we, simians,
We are grateful, gratified.
You and I evaporate
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
The wind
Cold and sweet
Rushes at me
Stinging my face
With its sly attitude.
My mind is overflowing
With its iterative whispers,
Asking me to fall asleep.
It fills my lungs
And they tingle
From excitement.
It swirls
Through my hair
Until it tangles.
It grabs my heart
And gives me chills.
You are my wind.
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
When Bach and Amadeus
Died in their sleep and agony
I wonder if they knew
What they had achieved
Was it worth the cost?
When the Alps were 145 centimeters
distant from today
and the earth still folds your music
In between its subducting page
I want your great stratovolcanical violins
To extrude pumice and grindstone
to crush sweet music in between
Mt. Rainier and an unknown garden
made somewhere deep
in my quantum dream
The sky takes your notes
It is a great teacher as well
and swell, it does
It tells
me a quadrillion dreams
in every iterative puff of smoke
In every collapse of possibility
of every cat ground to paste upon the street
and all the ones that purr locally
In the arms of some caring soul
A lesser spirit dreaming
In the arms of their god
You play with a broken leg
or an unattached eye
or shaved cilia
And yet still
Your skill
Outmatched
none but ourselves
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
And of course,
As is that it is a continuous, connected course;
The rivers know.
Poseidon as the past,
Zeus as the present,
Hades as the future.
Poseidon; waves & droplets
Which add to an ocean,
Building upon itself.
Whose ripples are still felt
Long after they have dispelled.
Zeus; points & variables
Which alter in expression,
Evolving aspects of itself.
Instances which fluctuate by iteration,
Iterative flux influenced by environment.
Hades; potentiality & movement
Which allows growth & crystallization,
Like sap turning to amber.
As gaseous vents from which our planet's core nurtures;
Plates shifting establishing new lands & new oceans.
All of the same family;
Kronos & Gaia
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 3:18 PM UTC