A verbless kind of life
“Within any given system, there are claims which are true but which cannot be proven to be true.”
Months could go by,
A-marinating and stewing
that vat and this brain
with an attendant who might enter
with shaving bowl and straight blade
The nearest approximation to
A minor key friendship
a witches brew, my mind
Shallow itinerant who punches
only at the liver of each moment’s opponent
a knockout a distant dream
Monday is a castaway and Tuesday sees Pip take one last swim, Wednesday -
That kind of annalis mirabilis, it has been
each moment being an opponent but
four on the floor the beat goes on
clinging on for lack of will at being found and being dressed and eulogized
Nihilism an overreach, beyond the nib of the inner pamphleteer, too much bile to accustomize, and the stink of clammy pedantry besides
this sour digestion this itchy verve to dip a mind in the stale scrim scraped from communion wine and soak a wafer in
Bobbing like an apple or a boxer or a buoy at the entrance point of the riptide, way out but with a just-so way of ending, scattering forces and conjuring banalities.
