Eexperiment 338: parade

Opportunity
and then the season is gone—
to see is this way

experiment 226: i am the voice of sarah strickland’s rage

 a flower

                   it doesn’t matter

     which 

     species

          is

                fed

Microplastics

high Ph

               and blooms

               just

               because

               of you,

experiment 3?? - the only thing

 puffy lil teddybear     cactus spine—

     but dehydrated.

Dusted fingertips, pulls-apart notes

Run hot water

Do not touch your eyes

Don’t touch yr—

Fallen dustyspine panels;

water, all;

let, to find release

     despite

thought about rousing
this body with a footstomp
with closing eyes
floating; jolt them awake

bleed october sun
downfinger petals
mold-erupted// 

white-centric

scattered-about 

hue beyond color

Experiment 339 - dtmf

papery skinfeel ah 

you’re concerned

to touch, unfamiliar w/age?

Her arm hangs a broken elbow

diablo,

yo quiero cojer <3

entonces, yes I’d like to, I’d

like to happily stare up

at the stars with 

your smile

to direct. <3

Pit

 

PHOTO SHOOT

Baby plopped arms

just trying to be a person;

puffy eyelids

barely moving

intolerant

powerless

inevitable. 

txt to matt

An octopus clumsily striding 
across a shallow rocky seabed 
while ‘bolero’ plays in the background. 

Bubble sounds and someone in the audience 
thinking about how they forgot to return a phone call.

experiment 338: if i was a cowboy

Home an ever-changing, unfixéd mark,
gathering dust, hack-cut flowers in greening water
folding back, browning, white mold on stem,
cracked leather//always something to buff,
dust, fix—
and in all this decadence of decay
we hire staff to manage, maid/gardener—
begrudging, spray the leaves of the dead.

experiment 337: besalo

incredible, lacking empathy
i made sure you know
how much money
is in my bank account.

uff

una vida sin cojone
es nada sin poder.

giving cash, hand over fist
we have nothing but that.

falsehood of our livelihood;
run a tongue
down the barrel of a gun.

Non-sardonism

     She will die of this;
we will give her
the best life 
we can provide. 

experiment 336

 

You didn’t dumb it down. 
You pulled the hair out of that abscess so long it came out coiled, too. 
a garbage feeling yet gone over;
tangential conversation. Yet,
gone over—ludo changing, obviously. 

experiment 334: suddenly everything has changed

Grown, man--gloved, masked.
NP endorse no need! Not dying
so many of us, no more.

Cough't a bit,
didn't get sick.

Finally, he,
we

can go home,

help, help,
let's go,
please, please--

a fall to the knees
two ambulances;
now he knows
he's different
now.

49 lines on cognition

Even we, who seek tracks of elephants 
better than our elephants; we, who fight 
for things and always find our things aren’t things; 
we, who so often bark as we do, paused, 
could not have been there enough when he died. 
We recognized it and that was enough. 
 
Black blood settled stagnant in his body 
like the molasses we dabbed with sponge sticks 
on tongue, now aspirated, coating lungs. 
 
– EMAHO, how you could perhaps describe 
a popped corn in reverse, a self, dissolved! – 
 
Now he knows. Thumb for the right passages 
decide otherwise, hold a dead man’s hand. 
Ten thousand recitations, what, for this? 
Hear it just once, see it, you’ll be okay 
in momentless dis – Pay attention! – tract- 
ion? One final cloud eviscerated  
by empty nucleus of unseen sun? 
 
– Did you miss it? In this chilicosm! – 
 
[om] 
 
And now, upriver, streams a new now. – Rise, 
a drop! – From this weaving runnel I want 
to pull all the filthy water with me, 
microbes and plastics alike, all this crap  
in me, is me, in a mirror. And so 
fade these thoughts I find myself forgiving. 
 
Fading, I forgot my resting tremor, 
forgot I’d forgotten how to swallow 
pureed duck liver, honey-thick water- 
gummed lungs, cruelly hyoscyamine-dried. 
I conjure a dissolving deity: 
something to do with the telling of time, 
Something To Do with Paying Attention. 
 
[ah]
 
My limping, hunched and aging illusion, 
inspecting tracks, shivering in redwood 
shadow nothing but mind, and not even that. 
I, a leg with a brain, strive to recognize, 
long for nothing, to liberate others. 
 
[hum] 
 
– A drop now crested! – when you feel no pain 
that just may be it – Yes, at any time! –  
futzing, this may just be it. Who are we?  
 
a cold ugly dawn; we stayed up so late. 
Coming home, returning to your mother 
who is not – A drop settles! – your mother. 

--

[2:30pm 4/22/25 - The Good Doctor is finally at peace]

I contemplate my own miniscule death 
compared to his; his family gifted whiskey 
yesterday–they did not know my practice. 
I held his hand, one-eye contact, recited 
the immeasurable aspirations, 
saw his minute flicker of clarity.

David Lynch is dead
and there is nothing
we can do about it.

not to dis
count millions suffering; absolute non
sense

experiment 333: maybe

south of, ventura—

benefit—time

loudlyspent

cloudless//cunning

knifeslit street below a hill

tired//expensive.

share yr ideas,

what we've got;

shovel to dig out road,

chainsaw to down trees

& you on yr