Saturday, November 21, 2009

Cognitive Dissent

The great skill lies deeper
in every fiber and strenue
stressed across every
bone—leg upon leg,
white upon black.

Smacked in air
yet carved precision
about every toe and hint
of opposition gives out
there—whim upon whim,
with a can of soup
on the ocean’s

Still sat’s a movement
of silence protest,
a brief conjugation
of appendage expression
bodily—my upon my,
muscles chameleon wishes
what my eyes ‘ave seen.

Stlick. Stilck. Stilck.
Brain fights body.
Cognitive dissent.

Saturday, November 14, 2009


a big green bean bag
is perched in my basement,
as perched as a big green bean bag
has the ability to perch
which is none

i once slept on the big green bean bag
for three nights,
was cold once and hot the others twice
depending on the condition of pants
which is none

my big green bean bag
is wanting attention
so flopped belly up, exposed
for all the world to see what’s there
which is none

my biggest begs before you:
no liberation for a big green bean bag,
which is liberation for a sick slave,
and your life, which if liberated,
will be none.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Wicked Winter

When frozen is morning, and same is the night-
the wicked winter endures.
When butter-cheeks redden and nose all-a-sniff,
the wicked winter endures.
When icy are toes, and numb fingers plenty,
the wicked winter endures.
When sudden surprise comes from under cold feet,
the wicked winter endures.
But when white-flakes float ‘round and caress my sweet thoughts,
I sure will endure through this winter.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Accosted Extension

As I reached back
with my toes individually
I was accosted
of my toes individually
for all of my toes
every one individually
for I got pimento on my toe”

Wednesday, November 4, 2009


When I laid upon my bed,
When I closed my eyes, wondered,
and let thought flow,
When I slipped past mind, slipped past reality,
When I resting heard calls of the other-place and into darkness of anti-conscious
I seemed to follow.

How soon fascinated I became with my own imaginations,
‘Till exploring, skipping,
and leaving wake in dreamscapes bored,
And in that mystical, black-scape from time to time,
at those whisping truths in chaotic waves.

Pleasant Surprise

I found on the floor my old shoe,
With a bite for my young dog to chew,
My eyes how they pried,
The flies held inside,
And up to the light bulb they flew.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

The Morning Routine

Shrumple my hair.
Sqeegjul my eyes.
Whispsniff up the nose.
Corckle the back, and creek my fingers, snapping.
Oohrging down my throat.

Flip off those covers, like a whip, I do.
Shimmy in the shower quick for a fast hair skorsh and lather.
Stare into the mirror, whiffcrunching my teeth.
Clomp, clangle, truttings, unlock that door,
reverse. drive. gas. speeding five over. parking opening.

Slauncing in towards the doors, yet again I,
Corckle and creek,
And suck in a big Oohrging down my throat.