Thursday, January 24, 2013



A cabbage is a wet beginning to knowing exactly someone else.  But here we may; green means go.

A wet beginning is like a cop attempting origami in the cats & dogs of the pouring rain.  Nevertheless, folding can be done, poker-faced, and lose little of worth to none.

Paludal, what it all comes down to is silting a swamp.  In the beginning a dysphonic voice, ravaged by speaking sense, came like a fuckdove across the roiling waters, and across the dark waters bespat dirt in shapes according pure to whim and thereby made solid the solid land to lub and build exclusive clubs upon.

Green as a laryngitical dove
Ravaged by voweled names
You must rain origami
Into the cabbage of love
And accordingly silt the cards.


In the clear carafe of red dirt stamps a cushion colder than a plate carelessly afire.

I blue like an old penny & always turn up a turnip.
Water clears the drawing of glaze.


In the morning long as a dress unhemmed,
I can't remember, Is blue your color?  Is fire your petticoat or its green desire?
Sit and talk with me.
I've got no castles & less
Bottled than air.


Sit.  Sit like malachite.
I won't bite.
Not yr pretty petticoat,
Not yr plate,
No, not nothing,
Not least, not beastly
The rootbeer float


Fire's not much of a moon.
If there's a gate, you should surround it
And exchange it for something extra--
Courage or maybe a clock.


A gate is earnest like a small sac,
But places change and climb clamoring lines.
Flatter the shape of fire
And exaggerate the revolution.


A moon's a big chunk of advice.
If you throw something at it--
Not fire--it'll break you off a piece
Like a kitty-kat.

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