No stalgia Three

“We don’t even have the land   
 live off?     we’re cut off
So go back home @ night ends and eat a slice of pizza pie
On the couch in the t.v. blue down low
Volume don’t wake parents what is to be done
With the bundle accrued through the day
no system can unify
a mess towards purpose
Layers and contradictions, because
We wouldn’t even want to
We want to be painted
board in a hall wood and dust, maybe
And time
feeling lost time passing with no
Transcendence through art o god juts so bad
Speak to wish clearly, to hew accurate a picture that
Feels it is so there

No stalgia pt. 2

Leave    it is imperative   but
and for what and
 also just plain how-- 
  impossible, the questions left behind

the name in a dream and his story
that windy back
porch the semi-shut-in sells dope off
with a just-so laconic pose
Suddenly stands     for everything
Ever  tried  to be said  to be raised
just as quickly
discarded once perspective
shifts even a little
car or a train
window I’m always looking out of
a back mountain
road getting high

No stalgia #1

 Driving down the high spine of the little world,
world that curves still the focus
made body in the proximity of
possible doings never come to pass
an ache that race
that race to where

s lost so palpable lush vegetation
attitude that serves that severs
unity to a value reduction a
value to be extracted, only value

in the use, the passing the taking of
the motion like
not important the quiet town
carpel tunnel stance and quiet rendering thereof leaves
 manifestly apparent
not going to happen not ever
never happen leaves a spacethe leaving
only bare/vision
the weight of town little and dirty
wintered and bare lots of
mega stores have cropped all other commerce
Can’t / doesn’t anyone see the ring of over
Walking through streets
in the night trying
to conjure or find
fading unanswered
asking of our question are we 


          catalogues record the days

Half discarded way full of blank

     unnamed arise and fall away

They wait are they called on

Space in private intrude not better

Walk this we as if full with arms

We drop socks pick to stoop

And grab ourselves in fits

Comedy sheds

Blunders all the evidence

So sad yes lies in thought

The flood of feel you coming

From the catalogues: a

Spontaneous chaos advocate the of

Improvisational legends made

These thoughts that arise in arbitrary grid

Are pulled away

The color is red, the image: a