di’spell’ing the ego,

August 7, 2008 at 6:57 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 17 Comments
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haha, once said and done again, the right way to spell
he said, now somewhere here is a pointed purple hat,
a silver moon over a lost isle and he is running out of patience.
Is he off chasing some wild tale again,
odd dreams of strange exchanges between various creatures,
transmission by osmosis perhaps Bill? Who knew?
Ari, he shouts into the ebbing light
but too late his son has gone,

The William Tell Game.

June 5, 2008 at 7:15 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 20 Comments
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( note: William Seward Burroughs, author of many fine ripping yarns, used to play the William Tell Game, shooting apples off of his wife Joan’s head until one day, he shot her right between the eyes, and got away with it, this being in Mexico and all.) 
was evicted from a Japanese teagarden
for sake’s sake and armed karaoke
‘the cabin boy’s name was Skipper…’
so sitting and faux sobbing,
“no one understands me
or understands full well”
drip drop tears well.
“there, there” she says, patting
the back of his hand, “let’s go
poke the little pink people.”

shall we describe ourselves again
or more origami cranes confused
invisible to a problem of frogs
rejoicing, perhaps one more
permutation of homonyms
she’s drunk and wants dancing,

where’s Joan, Bill, what happened
to Joan? how did you get away with it,
one tiny slip in the William Tell game,
did your courage fail or your confidence
or for one fraction of a second,
one sudden millimetric did you care?
and the tremor started there,  

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