Poetry

Not devourer, but consequences last
needing machinery to connect
Things, flung into pulp cavity of a tusk
sensitive stuff in the hollow.

I touched his hat and it did stick, to test us both.    His
cigar-brown robes
weirder dusts he incubates empowder me.      Brittle, like chalk.     
In turns I hang or decorate      anti-inflammisorries 

In his lost volume on Latin grammar, De analogia, Julius Caesar advised, “Avoid strange and unfamiliar words as a sailor avoids rocks at sea.”

When you smell a hint of desire,
Tread closer, old boy,
Despite the unfamiliar air,
Challenging your every step.

How long shall I seek freedom in the myths we unmake
licking hairy darkness or feeling sweetness of hips
through untamable wildness of the heart chase images
that abide circles of paroxysm ascending from
the mist and raw voices staring spume in the faces

No danger to Simone. She already
knows the place of incomprehension,
began with that as first principle.
Enter the void of your own abjection, she’d say.
Seek truth, but first face
the void, cold and dark but safe

miracle of birth...
by the thousand
harvest mites

two thousand
words for rain
none for tears

La Llorona, the vengeful ghost, now haunts the waters of drip-brewed beverages, furious that her loyal patrons were unfaithful. And for what? The best hot chocolate in Philly?