Poems on the Nonce


Big pig floats perverse in black space eternally burping

made gassy

by gastronomic cosmogony

of souls


new buddhas break

through rise up


become laser focus of

his crossed eyes meeting point

the prayerful triangle of no-space

universe displaced itself

but the wails of souls

keep the cogs of the wheel churning

so that he is laughing and burning

I feel for Big pig

He is the bubble around which no bubble can be drawn

He is the seed of the apocalypse

And ultimately definitely fiction.


Stage of restless précis in streams Wet paper daisy Draw a discharge On a july night To libations And soft croons Floating through No moon

Getting acquainted Getting to know you Feeling Impulse Tiny imp twitching his sack To catch my eye and draw me back

Again This coiling gobbling orgy Attention Full force outlined Feels good Even unknown Also called the booby Trap

Unwind slowly By dripping drop of red dyed water onto scroll of paper

Getting Stronger But existence a positive feed-back loop of self generated delusion then what does strength matter?

Who wants to read Poetry solely composed of typos

Ashy mouthed gobblers Dusty worms and a house In the rainbow matrix Dark angles Molestation Absolution Press the impulse Like the arrow

Bad shit Illusions Apologies to the third world Apologies to the poor Apologies to the zombies Apologies to the legitimately cool Apologies to the rich ticks

Like an arrow from a bow Space of the hole Illusion of the show goes and goes Beyond control A tangled knot to tie your tongue So the words you end rub against the ones which you begun

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