12 April 2025
20 April 2025
apostate equations aside
how hard can it be for lady luck
tipped over the niagara in a barrel of laughs
to not seek perfection but find it
in the darkness of her underbelly buzz…
butterflies beat hard in a jar
and in another jar a squall of midges
resonates at any distance
the webbery between dark particled
flowering, the ejecta from the muzzle
of the sun i could have written that
sixty years ago, i haven’t changed i
still can’t grasp the difference
between mood and anti mood
so to a habit of the sixties:
i tune through static looking
for the stations of the lost
with spastic words i try to swim
the cold dumb ocean in my head