R/ckets and S/ntries

yeah, I wrote this Rubyat, but I aint Omar Khayyam. I am the Cheese, if wizard means a spell. or I am wordsmith, if that's ready to rebuff. this Rubiat or Ruby Hat or whatever is a mild case of exactly what? time to assault the people who know. and this doodling on the edge of experience, names in the news, run DNC, is change thwarting with living investment. everyone cheats, writing Rubiatts in many sultry languages, into the morning, and leftover wine. this is a work of art in process, to say that words intend where they mean. another Rubyatt could be spurned for going, some just this settled point. you the reader, well, you've got some work to do.

more tree 

some think 

Simplified Autumn 

summer tree 

initial red streak of poetry. even ties into the last landed thing in mind. lots of words seem distressed but when you quiz them, they're just rocks. you'd fit well too, being friends with poets (a poet yourself, of course). you can go 'this' way (is your father dead?), or trifle that way (mom, I lost my suit). you could extreme, peel, drip, intend. different like someday? often. now is the poem, you are the written. welcome the wash.

every once in a while, a chord. it chooses reading over many other stones. it's a blues number in which Robert Johnson cuts thru passage into whatever doesn't read. it's almost for the sun. it's almost integrated. it almost needs Ron Silliman again. it almost pleases the root. meanwhile has no chance. the trench has been prepared. you'd think the act would be language itself, but it isn't. 'it' doesn't exist.

virtual hearsay busts new angel home in 10 seconds. you're on the sidelines, sticking to the facts. wild navigation of angel determined as 'thoughtful'. angel winging home could be 'news'. shifts of attention, piles of rocks. you're ready to bet the farm on promulgation. it works in the fitness sensation, buffed margin called out of question. you may wish to spin in the hole, ready dug, lapse of character issue. voter probe seems musky smell at beginning, feral component. your attention is world class, might as well give in.

today Bruce Springsteen met the end of the ocean. the headlines settled in nineteen eighty something, at the peak of someone's power. aliens as redeemers put a few jokes in the scripts, and we thought how great the tide of music could be. you know you loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers, because they meant what they said they would sell. Madonna's happy tune drove home a fact, Time Magazine in the yard of our Lord nineteen something something. we were ready for fun, stymied rarely with cases of whichever way to turn. not that music matters, not that our better half doesn't war it in the Arab countires, not that angels need us mainly. it's just so great to have this, and divide, and the container for the day contained. Bruce Springsteen and the career at home, the poetry alone, the sentence brushed, and what's in store...

starting from some claptrap, unable to read more than a few lines: welcome. your job consists of import, over the reach of the children perhaps, tucked into little niches too, but also loud as hell. if you can take more, won't that be great?

so the story far: the King, Richard of Condition, transmits a parity to all clean lanes. this penetrates a possible truncheon, and we've had a purse involved. meanwhile, closed by television, a neat train has been thought. it will lean on used, as much as the people can bear. further in the road, a wild upbringing, tho poetics hardly stains the trench. Queen Will To smokes out possible regimes, yet the colliding inquiry from Desperate Enclave rattles few more bones than indeed there was Vietnam. associated with this action were crowds, people, even you and me leaning. this lent credence but not possible in any long run. all long runs ran contrary to uttering. sound wisdom caused Sophie and Gino to suffice. other people sufficed. the ending proved natural. then Fu Manchu rendered the less fictional aspect of his career into deeds of do not disturb. this fit the pulse already betrayed. we read about it further, fulfilled by semblance. Neal Cassady died deeply in a brief exercise. we caved in. history let us. King Richard and Lady Vending Machine began their beanfield-styled tryst. flowers came and went, then pods arrived. in the seeming sun, we could hear the argument. the beans were as beautiful as work. we distanced ourselves from process, it was on television. we stuck to out guns, which naturally stuck to us. end chapter. so story the far.

a claim alit in the surreptitious woods. tales of brave standards settled by bold aliens, incessant drone and peaceable reaction. the alimentary reasoning itself provoked a greater Dick Cheney, and the firestorm risked nothing that we couldn't pay. drawn to the conclusion, primped to cast no doubt, buying sameness proved easy. easy as lit by this very match.