it is true that my glass window walls
have been cracked by self-made trebuchets and
caked with sun dried tomato scorn.
zenlike aphorisms aboutarising interdependence dissolve under tongueslike notes from a reedy flute.honesty and complaint are fuckbuddies
who make terrible parents.
irony, battered and frieddoes not go down smooth.
uneven enjambment makes for a disjointed meal.
if you plant fields of sweet clever,i will
saddle up on two strokes with molar tires,
and forsake every path,
leaving salt dust
and masticated organic manure in my wake.abstain from prancing on…..m e t a p h o r i c a l t i g h t r o p e s
when eating eggs for breakfast.
don’t mistake multidimensionality
and minutiae of mindless
living for compelling.
it cannot all be a poem.
then nothing is a poem.
word nourishment is thickly calorical so
take your feed back. taste this summer-ripe nectarine;the flavor has not been workshopped, its color does not pander.