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Literature Text
Socks, powerlines, scrubby bushes in my line of view
Metal buildings, metal skies, metal plates in my head
Incandescant tubelights shifting shadowhand animals
Smiling blacklight strobedance in my psychedelic robe
I beam dollfaces onto porcelain, I am a foot
The doll army is crossing the hallow in fancy fabric dress
No ocean can keep them from lifting my bones up
Socket puppets, beware, this is the real thing, this is now
Yesterday dropped off of the edge of the flatroof, gone
Tomorrow is an egg, waiting to be broken, I am a foot
Laundryday breakaway, glean, gleam, moonbeam
Reams of dreams rolled out in the desert with pot pie
Pins and needles knit nothing but blocks of more socks
Crumbly bye-byes and dwarf shadows singing for supper
I know nothing of any of these things, I am a foot
Metal buildings, metal skies, metal plates in my head
Incandescant tubelights shifting shadowhand animals
Smiling blacklight strobedance in my psychedelic robe
I beam dollfaces onto porcelain, I am a foot
The doll army is crossing the hallow in fancy fabric dress
No ocean can keep them from lifting my bones up
Socket puppets, beware, this is the real thing, this is now
Yesterday dropped off of the edge of the flatroof, gone
Tomorrow is an egg, waiting to be broken, I am a foot
Laundryday breakaway, glean, gleam, moonbeam
Reams of dreams rolled out in the desert with pot pie
Pins and needles knit nothing but blocks of more socks
Crumbly bye-byes and dwarf shadows singing for supper
I know nothing of any of these things, I am a foot
Literature
I Am Eyes
I am eyes, that unholy duality.
Six deer browse in the dead field;
they have survived late fall
with its plague of men and guns.
I am eyes, turned to the pregnant sky.
Pockets for hands, thick wool for feet,
but eyes take the cold head-on.
There is clamor far away. There is cackle and bray.
There is grumble and wine, there is raw meet.
Handed over like suspicion, taken like greed,
like gold from the cocoa-skinned hide-hidden
lesser gods, there disappears my world.
But I know nothing of this. I am sleepy.
I am eyes.
Literature
Two Left Feet
Danced with Death - stepped on toes.
Literature
Cadenza
Suppose each one of us older than the stars,
suppose that we are other than the ragged beggars we seem,
suppose that our engulfing slumber, our inner darkness,
is constantly erupting with the vanity of dreams.
Consider those uncounted aeons swallowed in the oceans
of that virtuality, where we, the ever drowning mariners,
must cling to the absurd shapes we call reality.
Will we, unknowing captives, ever be free?
Has liberty become our cage of captivity?
Oh yes, we writhe, our nakedness become despair.
as our frenzied touching reveals that nothing's there.
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It's a kaleidoscope of images, most of which I can't piece together, but I find it moving nonetheless. I can't decide whether it's hopeful, worried, or a bit of both.
My favorite part; "Tomorrow is an egg, waiting to be broken, I am a foot"
My favorite part; "Tomorrow is an egg, waiting to be broken, I am a foot"