6272. AUDIO HIGH FEVER

AUDIO HIGH FEVER

So they tell me in the paper now that

Sniper took the show and YAMS is

dead. And that's only today, for tomorrow

will be something else. This is a closet

geometry  -  do you see  -  where the 

angles must come to their own fruitions 

and the volumes either fit or don't.

If I'm supposed to care, I won't.

-

I love it when the streets come home to

roost; when all those hip-hop shitboys

come a'knockin.' You're supposed to

have a past to learn before you get

a new beginning, and noise is what

you learn when the other side

is rocking.

6271. THESSALONIA

THESSALONIA

Here you have the breadbox, there 

you have the milk. What a fantastic 

layout you've made. This could be 

the foster-home for my heart and soul. 

Thessalonia, you've outdone yourself again.

-

I've broad-jumped with legless men 

before; somehow I always win.

6270. IF I COULD CHANGE MY MIND

IF I COULD CHANGE MY MIND

If I could change my mind about this place I'm

in, I'd make it a little bigger  -  a more broad

universe of the wishes and dreams that come 

true with only a thought. All that peace, love and

happiness stuff, yeah, that would be Ok too.

But I'm not talking about that.

-

What I'm getting at is Truth and Being  -  the

way a city street feels when it stares you in the

face, the look in the eyes of a stranger when he's

asking for help. I understand those feelings, but

I want the barriers lifted. I want, when I reach

out a hand, for the fabric of the world to change.

-

I want goodness and mercy and mirth at the hospital

bedside while we all go down with the ship. I want

Peace in the eyes of the foolish clown who calls

himself a 'warrior'. That's 'killer for pay' all the

same, that's just the unthinking prattle of 

a man with no brain.

-

I want doors to open upon command, and stretch out

to the road of universal Man and universal Being,

of the silent love in every heart for each day's

sunrise and setting. For each flower and bloom,

each nettle and thorn. Every moment that exists

and ever moment that is born. New is

the world once more.

-

If I could change my mind, like this, as I

said  -  I would do something about it,

and more.

6269. I NEVER KNEW THAT EXISTED

I NEVER KNEW 

THAT EXISTED

The roaming in the gloaming and the intimations

of immortality and the bell that tolls for thee and 

the pilgrim's progress and the paradise lost it was

all a graffiti of mind a parking lot of place and

roaming in the gloaming an intimation of immortality

a bell that tolled for me a pilgrim's progress and

a paradise lost as well. Oh gee. And how was I to

know these things, a simple village boy like me?

6268. ONCE WHEN WIRED

ONCE WHEN WIRED

I knew Mike Bartholomew back when

he was alive, and he always drank black

coffee. At six feet plus, then, he was already

tall, and beckoned to me to reach his land of

heights and achievement. He'd walk around

talking, while Sonny Rollins or John Coltrane

played on the studio phonograph. 'Casual cool',

it later came to be called. He'd up-tempo theme-songs

and advertising jingles on his electric guitar, turning

them all, somehow, into a three-chord rock pattern.

It all sounded so funny, so natural, so right. 

-

Me, a gutter-rat to his aplomb, I'd just be around to

watch   -   big mug in his hand, some self-made

pottery thing, with black coffee always in it.

He knew all sorts of plays and writing, and

he'd just talk it through  -  out of nowhere, I

never knew such suspense. He painted

big, broad canvases, with a rag.

-

Mike is dead now  -  for all practical purposes,

so am I. But I remember. I recall. You'll never

put this life over on me again  -  I remember

every little detail of it all.

6267. I FOUND SOMETHING

I FOUND SOMETHING

I found something I'm going to call 

'Nine From Forever.' It shall fall.

-

Words at a penny each  -  like some

old rolled newspaper from 1904;

-

where the Italian ghetto folks yelped.

Where the Germans all left en masse.

-

There was a time everyone wanted music;

their own old home-country sounds.

-

Every dance hall and beer hall and music

palace was trying to be 'somewhere' else.

6266. GRAVEL

GRAVEL

Sticks and stones, or however that goes : I

take it to the Tenderloin. Every girl in the 

world is haunting a doorway as I pass.  Just 

like a Nickelodeon of the mind  -  images 

soundlessly flashing by. every instant, 

a short 'stop' between.

-

I just wish, I just wish. Then the sky comes 

down, then the sky comes down. (Here I

go again. Here I go again).

6265. SCRAPE TIME

SCRAPE TIME

Zero is the man : 'you just tell me what

kind of a cut you want and it's yours.'

I'm standing like a pole, and silent, on

Bleecker Street, outside Puerto Rico

Coffee Importing Co. Tom and Bobbie

told me about it. I'm not sure this fellow

here used the right word. Cut? for

coffee? Doesn't he mean 'blend'.

-

People always think I do drugs. Never have.

People always think I drink. Don't drink a

thing, except some red wine at home  -  

Mouton Cadet, that's good, dark  and red.

Otherwise, fuck, I hate most everything.

-

He gave me his business card  -  not that I

asked or wanted it. Resources Management

and Corporate Dispersal. NYSE listed.

As Teddy Roosevelt would have put it : 'Well

bully for you, you skank alley lame pole cat

chiseler.' Well, maybe; what the heck.

-

Just for kicks, I wanted to ask him if he had a

wife I could use. That would've served him right.

But, I didn't; just said thanks, and walked away.

6264. WELL, MAYBE

WELL, MAYBE

Everything has been degraded, diminished,

made small. My love for you  -  like some

slick Cialis ad  -  has four hours on its plan

all the time. Call some mad doctor, quick!

-

In the half dark, my heart is holding your

hand, my mind is wrapped around this blanket,

and I am somehow locked between your knees.

How could this be? What happens? Is

Love like this an Earthly thing?

-

Let me know the message; has it gotten

through? What shall I do in the 

dusky light without you?

6263. PROTECT YOURSELF MR. MARS

PROTECT YOURSELF 

MR. MARS

And even as the God of War, make sure

you check behind yourself. There are 

stars aligned against you everywhere.

-

I've read those many magazines that pout 

and yell about everything. Landings at

Roswell? A crash with things in it? 

-

Mr. Mars, it's now  -  step yourself up

up this marshmallow plate and leave no

matter untended.  Boom! Gnash! Bang!

6262. WHEN KING ARTHUR WAS THE EDITOR

WHEN KING ARTHUR 

WAS THE EDITOR

When King Arthur was the Editor, no one

ever wrote about Allah or any of that stuff :

Sir Lancelot was always around, and everything 

written was 'Guinivere this' or 'Maid Marian 

that.' It got pretty tired, pretty quickly. We

all used to sit around at staff meetings

and pretend she'd just gotten pregnant

by someone else  - and found out.

How would the paper handle that?

-

No bother. There was enough bloodshed to

go around and keep all us writers busy  -  a

scribbled note about a fight on a bridge, a big,

fat Squire somewhere, another guy we'd never

met  -  some Robin Hood fellow stealing. We'd

jumble up the timings to mess with people's

heads, and no one in charge knew any better

anyway  -  print the wrong date, by hundreds 

years even; no comment ever came back.

-

Ah, those good old days  -  when swans were

all the King owned and the regal deer were still

off-limits for poaching. Even though the damn

peasants always killed them anyway. When

King Arthur was the Editor, no one 

ever said a word.

6261. MARVELOUS, POLITE, WINNING WAYS

MARVELOUS, POLITE, 

AND WINNING WAYS

Ice was running off the railings, and a pale, weak

sun was running around : a monument here, to

WWI Soldiers, and there, to some old General

Swank or someone. Two old government Chevies

limped by, on their way to something. I'd have to

guess the name of this was 'Memorial Field'.

-

You know how that is  -  all that stuff about regrets

and returns and valor and 'never-again.' The kind of

things adults do when they're just not very sure of

just what they should do : bury the dead with markings,

or just forget all about them. 'Sorry' is always off-key.

-

It's like the first time you have to dress up or something:

all of a sudden, for school or church or whatever, they

change the rules and start telling you 'this' or 'that'

to do, and all the stuff that has to be done to make

it right and proper. I always wanted to bash them

back for that  -  when they did it to me.

-

There's always  -  after that  -  someone adult at

the head of the line or the top of the stairs, with a

bell or a clicker, going on about something to no

one in particular's ears. Just rote stuff, the manners

and the learning this person's got to use to get his pay.

-

 And then : you do nothing in particular, nothing at

all about it, or because of it, and  -  no matter  -  

they come around anyway, patting you on the 

head or back to start on about your
'marvelous, polite, and winning ways.'

6260. CADENCE

CADENCE

Here come the numbers. On again, off again.

Like well-poised basketball dancers, men are

aligned under nets, and counting off.

-

I can't remember where or when, but when I

was a kid I saw the Harlem Globe Trotters,

somewhere, and their court routine was nice.

-

I tried remembering what they did, but only

remember spinning balls and dancing guys.

It activated something, long ago.

-

And only now, I realize, all the rest

of the culture has taken them up.

6259. WHEN SWINBURNE WAS THE GOALIE

WHEN SWINBURNE 

WAS THE GOALIE

Algernon, please! Oh kick the pleasure and block

the kick  -  all and everything together. Go on.

Pick the litter from up the field, fine ladled

of fire, and carry the poor lad's stretcher

afar. he shan't but bleed another moment.

Neath the trees, these spreading trees.

-

Resentment has both prayers and players in these

stands  -  far-off another Birmingham manager comes.

For naught, he is driving his silly Humber whilst

he used to drive a Snipe and a'fore that his Anglia.

My patterns now could stand his pittance.

-

Oh then, Algernon more ; cradle my broken head

in your not so lethal arms and let us strive instead

of fight to be wordsmiths alike together. I know

your mother would understand, and both my parents'

last dying wish was that I be taken in by someone.

-

And oh boy, have I been.

Oh boy, have I been.

6258. THIS AWFUL GOD

THIS AWFUL GOD

This awful God has blacked me out and left

no marker on my head. I am supposed to be 

feeling lost without, but this not yet happening

to me. All I have to go by is what I see, and those

who act in His name are not quite that convincing.

I cannot believe in manufactured fantasies  -  or will

not anyway. Let us bury the children and bury the

dead  -  please  -  without Him nosing around.

-

Clarity is twofold when you listen : the world is all

illusion, a passing fracture in a stream of light. The

words you hear have all been made by men. 

I say ALL have been made by men.

6257. THAT DAYS OF THE HERMIT'S SHACK...

THAT DAYS OF THE

HERMIT'S SHACK....

That days of the hermit's shack have left me

speechless should come as no surprise  -  

for I live in dIstant days now long away. The

old man is gone now, yet I still can smell his 

pipe and air. We had to bury him in a gunny 

sack, like a bag of dirt in our secret Pennsylvania

hillside : where we brought him in secrecy.

I love the living but not the day : all of now

just reeks in insincerity. If I were to awake,

one day, and see the smoke again arising

from his chimney, I'd be alive, again,

I swear, in Heaven.

6256. IN THE THEFT OF A WALLET

IN THE THEFT 

OF A WALLET

You have stolen my heart, much greater

than a wallet. I am voracious in your lust.

I am crazed for dreaming, lost for space.

All that I can highlight are words of passion.

-

A detective's angle for questioning would be

about the 'where's' and the how's'. I could

only shrug, my alibi being your pillow, the

caress of your heart, the stolen image of

a stolen wallet  -  burning, on fire, a'blaze.

6255. RETRENCHMENT

RETRENCHMENT

Having gone so far into things that I've

come out the other way, I welcome you

all to this abode : my own black hole of

both time and space  -   Time escaping and

Space filling up. I write tragedies that

only comedians can understand. Now

do you think you've 'got' me?

6254. MOVING DAY

MOVING DAY

My life has come out of this box, so 

careful with it, there, fellas. I still 

have to figure out what went into 

it too. Hold onto to the straps.

tightly, and don't let it go

whatever you do.

6253. I'D RATHER THE A COAT

I'D RATHER BE THE COAT

My means are so mixed up and bundled, 

they wear me like a dead-weight. I can 

hardly move. Once upon a time, everything 

was going my way. Now, I walk in wayward 

steps, tripping over myself and squinting hard

to see. I'd rather be the coat I'm wearing then

coat the being that's me. My caper is of

legend, yet I cannot skip this town : I 

have friends on the ramparts 

and friends underground.

6252. HENRIETTA MCALLISTER

HENRIETTA MCALLISTER

Sitting back, there's no hunch to the chair.

The old clock still ticks on the wall. How's 

that, and who takes care? If this was a

still-life painting, I'd be the orange bowl.

-

Outside the ever-present doorway, things

are still made of wood. Alike to the skeleton

and skull  -  upon some mad doctor's table in

a mysterious light  -  the bones of illogic are

talking to me. I came here for love, I 

get dishonor for free.

-

(My father was no Robin Hood, yet I

still have feel and love and goodness

for all my fellow men. Now what can

I steal that can be given away? How I

better someone's life today?)...

6251. BEAST OF BURDEN

BEAST OF BURDEN

'I have all the beastly luggage of this

miserable world strapped to my back.'

How's that and what are you saying?

A butterfly heart and gadfly limbs you

should have instead. Go, go, enjoy.

-

I suppose, if I were Jesus, I'd be obligated

to take your burden, unstrap the bags from

your bag and carry them myself. But I'm

not. I am, instead, something quite plain

and unspectacular here : a nigger from the

ghetto, a cripple with no legs, a guy who's

dying of some plague disease, a bent-back

millionaire who's had a stroke.

-

See where that leaves me? And I have to

listen to you? 'I've got all the burdens of

this miserable world strapped to my back,

I can't walk, I can hardly crawl; it's such a

burden I can't do anything at all.' Yes, yes,

again, I thought that's what you said.

6250. THE NICK OF TIME

THE NICK OF TIME

Romulus and Remus together, they both

enter this space. I'm studying a new History,

one in which whatever I visualize comes to life.

Genghis Khan, meet Cassius Clay and Madame

Curie. Yes, I had some problems in Nagasaki.

-

My cards are on the table  -  I don't know what

they mean, the knave and the king, a joker and

a queen. Every level of humankind, I'm told,

is supposed to be represented. Then the cards,

they turn to ashes and I'm left holding nothing

at all. Another deck is brought out by the housegirl :

quite different, this deck  -  hangman and death,

hangman and death, all I ever get.

-

She mutters about her father being an alchemist

of some renown. I ask for tea, she gives me mercury.

6249. GOLDEN THREAD

GOLDEN THREAD

Like the loom, like the thread, 

all  the things of riches and gold. 

In the middle of riches, each man's 

pride. Here we go, running out the clock.

6248. PEDESTAL AND FOOTING

PEDESTAL AND FOOTING

(Mussorgsky)

I'm in Nutley, I'm in Essex Fells.

What's the difference anyway?

-

I stand by the Paterson Falls.

Who's to say I was ever there?

-

I'm having a cold-day picnic atop

Bear Mountain. I listen to music.

-

'Night On Bald Mountain'.

I'm there but not quite.

6247. I LOVE POETRY TO DEATH, SO KILL ME

I LOVE POETRY TO 

DEATH, SO KILL ME

I'm walking my dog through a nothing of snow,

the river alongside us is frozen. It's nothing at

all, though everyone's yelling 'Apocalypse' again.

Things that freeze are unchanging.

-

In every private moment of this life I am talking

with myself  -  to reflect and to write. A very

uninhibited infinitive. Things that freeze,

I have learned, are unchanging.

6246. ALL THESE LAMENTATIONS

ALL THESE LAMENTATIONS

The wind itself has regrets  - it's hiding out

in the willows and singing a Kaddish all of

its own. I won't know anything about that

until another day. Right now  -  for me  -  

the walls are freshly white-washed and

the big room has new lighting. Every

gallery goes through this. Each show

had to be cleaned out anew before

they can hang the next.

-

If that was like Life, I'd be always

on the move. I love too many things

while loving really nothing and none.

It's all a passing glimmer to me. Be not

set-up yourself  -  please  -  for anything

long-lasting at all. Pippa passes, as 

Robert Browning would say.

-

And now, and now, and now...

6245. TRUMPET

TRUMPET

Shoulder all these burdens, under the

  spreading tree. Park these tanks where

we all can see  -  if the crowd isn't aware

of your presence, what's the use to you?

Let the trumpet blast and then run them 

down. There's too many people anyway.

-

I've tried with my patience to write a new

song; something the masses can sing. Let

them stand at attention and stand up

straight too  -  this is a tune for the ages.

-

When they come to write history, it's always

a farce. The winners get the names and narration.

Owning the territory then gives you the right.

Meet Lieutenant Lies and Colonel Fabrication.

6244. THROW FIRE AT THE WALL

THROW FIRE AT THE WALL

There's no living left : the calendar is out

of pages, already in a shiny new year. The place

where I've parked the dog and cat is out of

time, yet I enter the dream.

-

It's an illusion too rich for the taking. Walk me

home, I'll talk. I have five hundred stories yet

to cover before tomorrow's end, and this newspaper

itself isn't paying. I need a patron, quick.

-

Polish the apple, give the teacher a bone, send the

lawyer his gift card, call the priest on the phone.

-

It was a long time ago that I landed here fresh  -  

I had new skin, and no understanding of the manner

nor the ways. How do things here work? What is the

meaning of what you're doing. Does this pile-up

amount eventually to anything at all?

-

Polish the apple, give the teacher a bone, send the

lawyer his gift card, call the priest on the phone.

6243 HAMMENSTEIN THE MARKER

HAMMENSTEIN 

THE MARKER

A late-afternoon light tries coming through

the window : some solarium brightness which

never belonged. Outside the glass, an old Fulton

Street sign glowed. Where have all those guys I

remembered from long ago disappeared to?

Bartender, bring me two more. 

-

A skid-boat platform was sliding along the glassy

water  :  East River attention to this or that. I hear

the sound of something, singing, but cannot place

the tune. Barkeep, bring me two more.

-

I'm so lazy I could sleep right here. But damn, I

love Lethargy, and her sister Laze. I could hold

them both, and kiss them too. A guy walks by

the doorway, looking in, he spies my eye and

waves. I wave right back  -  not wishing to miss

a thing, not one single item. Bartender,

bring me another.

6242. WORKING MAN HANDS

WORKING MAN HANDS

The application of force to stationary things

can cause a disruption to stasis. A'kilter we

go, all things amiss.  Like a thought out

of line, what we say is declared invalid.

-

Along the local turnpike road I am watching

a thug with a turnstile hat get out of his Lexus. 

I already do not like the guy  -  I'll admit  -  

just by what I see. His swagger is cheap.

-

Why do I have to speak, or even co-exist

with applications quite like this? Ghetto

swank is a glitz I don't read. Nothing

there for me. The only things instead

I hold are things I hold myself.

-

I'm sick of all this veteran's crap,

I'm tired of talk of war. I didn't

tell anyone to get themselves

involved. They did it, they 

got what they get.

-

Try some working man's hands.

6241. TO LEGALIZE THE PROPOSITION

TO LEGALIZE 

THE PROPOSITION

Half-measures, like a cannon, cannot shoot

quietly; there are always repercussions as the

squirrels and birds dash off. The man in the

French hat drinks a black coffee.

-

Two girls enter, in thick heavy coats. In a Winter

of any depth, you get used to seeing people like

this  -  big, hulking figures of wrap, with very

little underneath. Only in Spring do you notice

the difference. Well then, Life goes on.

-

I can clearly state  -  'I get tired of hearing things'.

6240. AND THEN THE MIDWIFE

AND THEN THE MIDWIFE

Smacked me awake! And what was

I to make of that  -  no one had said;

it had never been mentioned. Adrift

on a field of hot coals and paid cheaters.

Someone I never knew had just turned

on the lights. The room seemed so large.

-

Human central, here I was! Brought out 

again for the lions to tame. A roaring crowd,

I knew already, that quickly, was waiting...

for me, for something, to act. A brand-new

rainbow awaited my eyes, before the next

dawn even broke. Rain and sunlight, the

pillage and the wealth, together again.

6239. OLD MAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

OLD MAN, WHAT 

OF THE NIGHT?

Every different thing : Raritan Bay and

Suzanne Signorelli  -  every name I ever 

knew. Together, there are birds flying 

from the harbor. A few boats, and that

fireboat squadron from across the bay,

just seem to all sit in place.

-

Nothing at all like real life : no virgin suicides

to be found; there aren't any here, and they're

all too happy. Just being. just to live. I want

whatever they wish having. Together, again.

-

And then the Douglas girls, walking down

the New Brunswick hill, manage to look as

young as ten. How's that again? At 199 New

Street, a long, long time ago, I spent many

a night just watching the trains, when the 

dairy was across the street. Little trucks,

loading all night. Out at 5am.

-

Then, at the dead-end of the lane, the

railroad's very solid stone wall. Old man,

old man, tell me, please, what of all this?

6238. STUYVESANT'S PEAR TREE

STUYVESANT'S PEAR TREE

I'm standing as if lame at 13th and 3rd.

My lungs are here frozen and I can't breath

a lick. Right here was once Manhattan's oldest

living tree. 1664. Petrus Stuyvesant's pear tree.

-

If I ever live that long, please let me know.

Knock on my head, or gather my drool and

throw it back in my face  -  something to know

by that I've weathered this storm in the 

8 degree cold. Holy Hell, am I freezing.

-

Why did I ever come here and live as a kid?

As a kid might, anyway  -  scraping the

sidewalk for nickels and dimes. Finding

whatever I could and stealing the rest.

Oh man, tell that old tree I've done my best.

6237. THEN HERMAPHRODITE THIS

THEN 

HERMAPHRODITE 

THIS

The wedge is in the circumferance like

the cut is in the cost  -  both fleeting, and

unfeeling together. Simple ideas for the

terminology of recognition. Something

amiss in the way the sepulchre flies apart.

The gash. The wedge-shaped flat opening.

-

Some lumberjack Charley with his tree-trunk

hands could show you a thing or two, I'd bet.

Sit him down for some tea and apple-cider,

and see how far you get. There's a cold wind 

that's whipping through the marshlands today. 

Since you cannot yet legislate hate, let's treat

him, instead, with kindness indeed.

-

Picture-books and young-boys' dreams.

Girls who dream of the Lancelot to be.

Knights in chining armor and Guiniveres

all over. Oh man, I've had it up to

here with this romance.

6236. SECOND RATE MATISSE

SECOND RATE MATISSE

When the pendulum swings, Goddamn it swings.

This second-rate Matisse is again worth a ton. But

who wants it; I'll set it aflame? Let the fire singe the

fabric and turn that blue to black. Who cares? I've

got a notion to go selling anyway. Buyer beware,

and caveat emptor too. Some dismal-swamp of a

university museum will be the first to bite.

-

Used to be I visited graves at will  -  whoever was buried

most anywhere, I'd stop by and see. Famous or not was

enough for me. Some people live on, in infamy.

-

Let's tape up this painting with a score of masking tape

and duct tape as well. That's calling it right  -  we can

say : "this fool was just entering a pop-art stage right 

before he died." For all the rest, I just don't care.

6235. OFF THE DUNBAR

OFF THE DUNBAR

Swipe down the heavily-varnished wood,

make it shine -  I guess like it should. I'm too

far-off to know. Like living in Belmar or

something. Over the river and through 

the woods, to what? I want to see this 

horizon thing as it dawns over the

big, swelling ocean.

6234. DASH THE REMAINDER

DASH THE REMAINDER

In high times, way over the town, I managed

just once to look down  -   nothing new to see,

I saw. Two trucks were idling at the light, and

a scrum of people stood idle. It seemed all

covered by smoke. Every storefront showed

something different. I came back and

realized it was all reflection.

-

My fingernails have grown long enough

to scratch the real surface of things, and so

much new information comes through. I

am like the discoverer, Marty Magellan,

not doing much except floating. My mind 

is a sea, and every intention is a sail.

6233. VENOMOUS HAND

VENOMOUS HAND

Some mufti Allah in his papier mache

some twisted Muhammed in his thrall :

both fallen down with swollen knees,

both twisted and stupid in lies and a shawl.

-

We can't make concrete from scum. We

can't follow echoes through canyons of

blood : psycho-mania brings still another

sick God to its floating chamber. J'Accuse.

6232. GENTILITY COMPLEX

GENTILITY COMPLEX

The house I live in is made of wood cubes, broken glass,

and a definite aversion to pride. There are no fires in here,

anywhere  -  just the heat from a seething emotion. 

I heat my fishtank with intentions. My endgame is

and abstract mind, a broken Fauvist canvas,

and a doorway that only opens in.

6231. THIS LITTLE SHOP

THIS LITTLE SHOP

This little shop I sit in : the coffee

steams and people linger, but the

noise is too much and the music's 

too loud. I see now why. No one

enforces anything; no message

of taste or code. The flat stupid

passes who man this place are

allowed to do just as they please.

There's no protection against

anything at all.

6230. NO PROTECTION AGAINST THIS HEARTBREAK

NO PROTECTION AGAINST 

THIS HEARTBREAK

There is a kind of horse that bears 

burdens, and a kind that runs swift.

I am now  -  somehow  -  both. 

My own Russian riddle is enigma, and

an enigma without ending or solace.

My strange filigree is an offshoot  -  

the wayward branch, grown crooked. 

No protection, non, exists as I limp

back into this broken-heart easel.

once more to paint in my place.

6229. MARKSMANSHIP

MARKSMANSHIP

'We've entitled this chapter  as

'Marksmanship', because it's about

the selective placement of which target

to shoot at  -  we are set to debunk ideas.

By the power of the marksman's eye

and the steady skill of his hand.

-

It would at least be hoped that such is 

the reason you selected this miserable

course. For the time being then, just

sit down and listen. Don't take

notes, just listen. It's not

'that' kind of course.