not for pleasure
- unprompted, i read.
not for trivia.
not for civility
- not for change.
i read- unbiased- i read.
i shave my head, i grow my beard- the sphere goes on
returning. i read
names, numbers, artefacts.
cold facts about forgotten stories. i read.
i give my blood, i kick disease- the spread continues
to infirm. i read
with the lights turned outside.
i read the two-fold abandon of war-
the imminent children and
massacre- the cache of lies i read, i far out believe- the sphere goes on
returning. i read.
no entry, one way.
i read, signal
failure, muffled silence.
this way out.
where two syllables will do.
i read murder,
catastrophic, condemned, convicted- unavoidable,
“quantum debt- and the economic particle”
“evaporated elder thresh-holdings
- and commiserations!”
-as waylaid in the hallway-
i read BIG RED LETTERS
full of polite verbal fetters, left flat
by this hot korean salt’n’peppered
pamphlet from next-door.
i read in motion.
i read parallels, and twists- with neck
tie pressure that
i read lines, lines, lines, lines
lines, lines and lines-
and the immutable silences between.
i read instructive packets on rotten threads
that thrill the night; that stone the blind - the sphere goes on
returning. i read under damp,
gruff bridges, of pulsating,
rhythmically divergent rebirths-
and tongue the wounded flesh.
i read jail-hounds, alcoholic prophets, and heroin demi-godettes.
i read the shock, fame and shame with explicit scrutiny.
i read barbed wrinkles in long, wall mirrors over a piss-pot party poll fallout.
i read ecstasy
was a naturally occurring state of euphoria – the sphere goes on
released April 9, 2015
all rights reserved