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Monday, October 7, 2013

Mandrake


the clock o’ one in
the beginning stung
every little son
on red flannel fields

the fabled wayward
mind gone craquelure
unsteadied the view
of flowers sprawling

on the starry mask―
if the inhuman
fabric falls away
this late in a life

shows blackly the back
of the remotest
odorless lurking
not this no not this

is a pretty truth
in the ancient sense
vicarious not
hard to disbelieve

‘til the tentacles
of it clutch the breast
and seethe there   pulsing
   inoculating

cool poison   wherefore
should they not so do
now little mandrake
at the clock o’ two?

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

IT'S A COCK AND BULL STORY 
THE TALLEST TALE EVER TOLD 
AN OVER BAKED T; H ; E ; O ; R ;Y
A NEW ART MADE OF THE OLD