The problem with the phrase “my soul,” to me, is that the very essence of “soul” is interpersonal, if success is to be defined by the rate at which we help and give aid to others, so any mention of a purported personal entity the “soul” is actually an evasion of the moment — it […]

Attempting to read the passage on funk in silence, in a closet by candlelight, so it would be quieter, I kept incurring damage, damage to my psyche in the form of cars, passers by, missiles like jet engines with makeshift songs, all that nothing that I’d otherwise wish I’d learned, the cadence, the rhythm of […]

That man, There, You can look at him, Because he’s engrossed in impossibility – The great possibility, Which so many now alive will correctly, So correctly, Dialect as wedged within A cacophony of capitalism.

Now I see that my anxiety was warranted, With little burrowed creatures adorned by shark’s teeth Coming out and manning platoon positions, Wanting only for that shrapneled edge To bring a hark to the Night where they stand alone Feeding the words Of the days and numbers with horsepower.

If not for music, It would break my heart when you stared off into the distance, As if nothing’s going on. . Such would be the case of my Baby mind Existing within names of streets We all left them though off the quarry At sand hill’s median Fleeing from truth.

Whitman was a lover of the planet. The zeal, the fervor, and the vividness take shape even more preternaturally than does his human sympathy, in poems like “IN CABIN’D SHIPS AT SEA”: “The boundless blue on every side expanding, / With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious waves, / Or some […]

Where reason ends, Worship begins.

So in dripping caramel on the Canvas mirage, Red hair breaching silver To bulwark her feet Which sit in slippers Miming the clock’s pace, . She is too ready to give, And who Would look at her hands there, Her hips so ready to Imbue another, Her breasts so ready to feed. . In starred […]

And so filled with images, We feel our bloods race To crawl unbeknownst Along floorboards of The well lit movie theaters, The dark ones brushed out of cerebrum For occlusion by sun. . Trust in this frenzy And choose between good and evil, But my friend, Choose early.

Who of course populated This world a harlot stream Imbibing sun rays And playing with your toy trucks Out on the street With the big trucks, Trusting them not to hit you, Your mother’s yelling, You hear it, She was a brat kid, So futile then and so futile now, Thinking, Those other parents, They […]