12/1/97 to 1/1/98, a Drunken Transit in 5 Parts

Testament
to usual affairs
attempts to
circumnavigate
old issues
but...
No actualization
brings
loquation

Here is '97
The year we found
the US without U!
the we tried to fend off
blank pages.
the year we learned about we meaning
"what every tick of fame (fome? come?) is.
the year I knew that Street legends
died with my
wages.
Not to lose heart...

I
(editor's note: a sun was drawn around this letter.)
am now reaching
for an empty
grail...
nothing new
but visions
persist
of an orderly
thought
that
THAT
can keep
me from
doing this.
So code
or cold.
this is
how I
leave (da B.A.Z.)
No.
(redacted) who?
No.The pasture
of the future
manure
to say
balance is naught
between us
darling
and I see
a red
hat that
says:

no matter how I wrinkle
tinkle (with thoughts)
((again?))
there's still a
loping behemoth
that smiles benignily
and gauges my
approach to image...
unemployment is
nothing compared
to life without
our good fans (?).

'98
Stolen deaths
and
crayon attempts
do not fill
the ledger.
elimination of the
two wing (hemispheres
for those of you
who didn't take
sole for breakfast)
of a scared
originality,
flying
to escape
this ink
magnet.

(2005 appended snark: uh, happy new year to you too, buddy)

untitled demi-epic: december '97

I clung in a desultory
manner to a certain
piece of remembrance
a sea of wine
red as the host denied
remembrance of times
people tell are in front
in sight.
do I taste as a Farouk
beheading the tea-peddler
for a stink too bitter?
or are we meant to serve
ourselves to the unseen currents
payment for our empty luck
I loll, roll
the tongue of a misty sweat spitting
toothy hand delivers me to the
first oasis.

You are faceless but for the
sound of your nose
You smell of tang
coconuts plunging willfully
onto my chest, knowing they're
already dead.
I was taught to hold a taste,
but fingers can only float
on flesh
Many times did I long for
some strange antenna to
whirl an obvious deception
long did I bake
until the card flipped
surprising the normally cautious
water bearers
Did I hallucinate your twist
as another archon
poured a distant fire
like a beaten throat?
Did I bore?
Will I saunter over to the
flower maker to rhyme
and (hopefully) snore?
nor shall you.
A thousand feet twisted
right and parallel
keep me watching
I carry my fourth eye
in my song, hoping to
convey a spy into the
nonexistent territory
we prepare for.
We dine
I sniff at the prepoderance
of deliberately found emotes
gloating in the red.

This stop is meant
to straighten those unruly
slow dances across my lips.
Lakes of human ichor
puddle up in testament
to thrusts of uncertainty
I recall many hidden rocks
shining in a forgotten present.
How many do you jangle?
If we could but exchange
a tooth with an emerald
for each reluctant conquest,
I'd know the score with a tickle
So we wave and run backward
A trick of time
Since brevity is the soul
of the bed shackles
I'll pause and cast my third
eye into the sea.