Then the


the icy sound of
somewhere else

It’s no wonder these things
these leatherhands wrinkled nitrate
when they ring like drums copperopolis

                You’re perpetual
                               a dying breed
                                             they got you
                                on some lists

           Take a drink
from the glass
                            of the exit wound
                   in your back
             carbine           offering

                                                                    We know
                                                                     what you
                                                                    have done

Smell the incense burning spliced from the spiral 

                     When the brass watering can 
            the passiflora incarnata
earthship turbinesoul

                     When the rain
            doesn’t stop for weeks

When they show up
with the tank
in the back
of the truck

                     When the moon

And them chickadee
      laser beams

them white whistlin dreams



14 thoughts on “Perpetual 

  1. boozilla

    We had almost this exact conversation today here, listening to the generator eating money. Still, quite true. And? we STILL don’t have chainsaw back. Your poetry really helps, in any case!

    1. pseudonymous Post author

      “Other people are joyous, like on the feast of the ox, like on the way up to the terrace in the spring. I alone am inert, giving no sign, like a newborn baby who has not learned to smile.” — Lao Tzu


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