forced homogeneity would seem self evident evil the natural existence of these being caste; but emulsion birthed margarine distilled the photograph hinting necessity of not sameness but effort (adj): not capable of being dissolved within another substance
forests of Iroquois
afterwards there was a cast of sawdust the earth trembling quiet, and spirits of the forest winnow while the daguerreotype blackened— a voice of maudlin nostalgia rasps unintelligible; but still i listen. resting upon the tree stump (its name 'sui generis' was) i'm conscious that weeks gone by what i heard were likely Silverstein's homilies …
riposte
our time is on the clock room cast in dramatic shadow like pieces of renaissance oil and canvas we wattled ideas from unread books; through gluttonous rage— we burned the dustjacket of history and knowledge to examine the brittle research of the Orwellian dilettante . presupposed, of course, being within Overton's Window and once necessary …
doldrums (n.)
a strained melisma teetering within the mind the overture of a waking dream that arouses nothing. it's rhythmic, faint less than static a tumbleweed which strikes cliches and old whispers into numbing thought twf.
the road
In days of despair I remember the promise of rest on an eternal shore; so I put on my shoes and pluck dust from my tattered cloak. I go forward one last time once more, and again. twf.
Mother Goose
A neat, quadratic canvas of emerald turf a littler off center, at autumn's eve lies no garden of silver bells gentle English sensibility; rather ancient oak trees, Spanish moss sagging all engineered into perfect, Machiavellian rows. Mary, Mary, quite contrary. written in Forsyth Park, 11 Sep, ~5:37pm.
pool side
There was once a time that I wanted an inground pool. Not the silly floating abomination which was a large plastic tub and the epitome of disguised poverty in the 90s, rather a lunchables and snack packs kind of pool made for kings (and queens) who sat poolside in floaties because we could hardly swim; …
Robert Frost
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. The Road Less Traveled
Hesed
when I lay down to sleep how should I know that I will wake? and yet, I believe so never have I feared that strange darkness the circus of arcane dreams; how jealous I am of my sleeping self, that I should trust the world to be as it was when I left it I …
prognosis
i stand alone under the fig tree bathed in patchwork shadow, the mosaic of flies humming in my ears a libation; for miles there was but the sands and this refuge, a lonely fig tree an iambic confection at times an oracle yet others, quietly eroded by time; i contemplate its parables. firstly, the barren …
The-Bleu-Bivouac 