Monday, October 23, 2017


Who knows...

Who knows...

And bones and bones and bones
Holding together muscle and skin across the cloudy empty spaces, the tight wound nerves in the sky empty places.
But who knows...
               Bones, not even real, not even tangible, stable little rattling scaffolding, and in places weak and rotten.

Who cares...
             Except the way it gets expansive in the middle, the muddling exhalation of air and the rising inflection at the end.

Who knows...
But it is utterances that hold us up

Wednesday, September 27, 2017


Jesse S. Mitchell

And until it all bleeds out Disney.
Bright four color pomp.
The precious cartography, a light that enters our eyes blurred like paint but still and quiet that leads us through the plot twists and story arcs
And all the things that never pay off
Like mystery and warm water, cultishly warped around the body.
Inbetween the lights.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017


And then it was the ocean
And it surrounded me
All around and every side
And with failing faiding echoes
The waves came round and broke against me
And that was all the world was.

Monday, March 6, 2017


Here comes the grungy sky machine,
The deportation machine.
Here it comes, chugging over the hills, thristy,  the drink up the oceans machine,
The chew up the folks and spit them out machine. Bloody.
Here it is, the powerless to stop it machine, the get behind me, satan machine.
The purple bruise machine, the beaten black and blue machine.
And here we are, the railways, on the railway, strikers with the sabots in our hands.