Thursday, January 15, 2004

quagmire function, the factory remix 

well it is indeed
the war of the
tho all nyms flicker
at the jetty
with swamping
tho bejesus
the taste of cold and
the burning
ache of salt
bejesus the night
is full of poets
even stark naked
wind chill out
there bejesus
the aliens are an
effort even now
but what is
your voting record
and the floating zero
near your heart
what is colder
than perspective
while peanut butter
wallows in
mid slur
bejesus it is colder
than two colder even
than one it is
night in the world
and hollow
and conditioned
and to tell you the
truth and
what's in this glass
and is buddhism
complete and
treatise upon poetry
and who the fuck
is that one
and what sour smell
calls community
out and numerous
made into statements
to indicate
leftist and rightist
same day service
this poem smells of
or a position
amidst stars
and show biz elves
and aliens as
winsome as crayons...
the seasonal rebuke
remains in position
but position itself
sways and covets

are you
then the
Jim or Jane of
all seasons
or am I?

Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?