Alphabet Soup

I’m sick of stock photos – of feeling my skin crawl with caricature

standing there, under an awning, eyes glued zoomed in the snowy peaks

distant West, looking there into the future, into where the sun goes when we die

I could assess the wooden angles of the library

I want to ruin the high stained glass peace with an amplified guitar

I would turn the distortion over peak and scream into the pickup

scream about my own studies, my self derision, what is it that matters what I do?

Do you know who you are? Do you know who you are?

Until someone pulls the plug – I’m banished from the quiet study center

the high arched ceilings of a cathedral with disorganized books to freely browse

feel free to browse

“it feels like forever”

these people accomplished something.

they saidI’m going to write a fucking book about marine population, ignored peace treaties, a single mother and two step-daughters, a cave diver with a sex obsession

and then they did. I’m surrounded by the dusty evidence of creative, purposeful thought

Never knew how to write a story – a novel seems impossible, improbable

all the work and focus.

I would kill off all of my characters before chapter three.

My deficient attention is worse and worse

there is a door slamming in the distance

coffee maiden with long eyelashes

wonderful keyboard tone and falsetto voice over organ

I want to record the ocean waves and release an album

there is an idea

meditative sleep music

all I need is to create long intricate loops and let it swell

let the wave crest and land and murder my darlings

in the heat of passionate insanity

take photos and sell them to the ceiling

float bridges of birch with bright birds



(alphabet soup)

assure an associative artist

to believe his blog beats bold blood

then claw through his crazed unconscious clauses

double doubt his dredged up death

every eternity eventually ends

in fumes of fire, funneling flames

gorgeous grief guzzling greek gin

how have houses held this hell?

in this invitation is incipient intensity

just joking, jesus, just jealous jabs

killing kids with kindness

little loves letting life leave

maybe monday maybe month of may

no, nothing, nevermind, Nate the narcissist

oh, okay, offer others outs or else

pleased to pick pure powdered power

quick, question inquiry to quiver

real rave reviews rating riots

so as snow some subtle sound succeeds

touching tough tundra, taking terrible time

underground, unearth uncle universe until

violent variable votives evoke voluntary

waste while waiting while whistling whiskey

xenophobe, xylophone, excellent

your youth, your yonder, you, and you, yearly yearn (for)


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