actually it was more than two – more like four

I refuse to believe the words are dead.
Mind, an able propagandist
may proffer the… proffer the…
here it happens, public and colorless;
two were auditioning and were asked to
hang on a second but even the truth
of if they did or didn’t hang
on a second vanished as the two
auditioning words did – they did not flee
nor wander to the lounge. They were erased.

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Exposure (or dreaming of a personal space)

learning eyes are key
in the access to all the rooms
and the library
shall not in this class
be treated as more special
than say the cubbyhole for laundry.
But the opening line
did not intend to come
this far on a boring tour
but to strip and bathe with Knowledge

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accidental ghost girl

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really, whenever I sit to try and write…

I’m either gravitating back to messing with this stuff or thinking about gravitating back to this stuff, and more and more wonder about investing in a beginner level graphics tablet as the mousing arm has grown pretty goddamn sore by now.

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not so hot

but oh so much fun to mess around with

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another go at… uh…. you know what

There was a beginning
oblivious to its true nature.
Sources bearing far fewer
official credentials
arose in later years claiming the truth
was not at all as the conventional
accounts record, insisting that this
particularly wily and frankly
unwieldy beginning knew

very well about its nature
but encountered difficulty
in the acceptance and so sought
to flee from what was impossible
to be separate from;
tried to live anonymous
in the middle of nowhere,
not expecting that shortly after
arrival, an interminable

dispute would arise as it did
amongst the natives, first about
the meaning of nowhere,
or if it was possible
for any entity to be nowhere;
second, what exactly could
adequately define the middle
of a nowhere so-called. The dispute
could itself pile plenty pages

for its own tale as though the beginning
seeking escape from itself never
existed; while it was one of the few
beginnings to try and be
an anonymous concept,
forever avoiding exposure
that is generally required
when placed in an examination
position; while this remains

a fact that no side can quibble
or bicker about, the truest
steel-tough truth was that this was but one
beginning of over
a billion beginnings.
And while the natives slugged it out
about their existential location,
all were able to agree
that they could spot a beginning

a mile away (that it was possible
to measure distances or that elders
gifted with bountiful smarts
had devised not only methods
but the concept of measurement
itself provided a perspective
for the side that could not accept
the belief in the existence
of nowhere; perspective

quickly evolving into firm
conviction); not that beginnings
were barred from seeking residence
in this middle of nowhere,
because housing in the form
of a modest apartment
was easy to come by; but few
could promise to supply
a healthy social world for the

beginning seeking to run
from itself, and besides,
once finding out they had a beginning
taking up residential space
in their community, the bolder
beings were not bashful with questions
about why the beginning had fled
or tried to escape its nature.
Part of the disconnect

or brow-crinkling power
had to do with why would
a beginning have such a hard time
accepting what it was; how many
middles would love to make a brief
appearance and then bow out and head to
the bistros. And what about the Isles
of Unknown Endings? Or the Forgotten
Endings Archipelago?

Imagine the perpetual
tension of being pretty sure
an eternity in limbo
was the best many of them could hope
for; imagine having a silvery
silky sea a mere several steps
from a residence, yet unable
to enjoy it as it ought to be,
as in total, immersive, bliss,

all because of never being sure
a future in a tale even half
coherent could be certain.
The beginning who’d tried to find a home
in a city of endings ought to
appreciate that; cities of endings
were notorious for the highest
unemployment rate in all of known
conceptual existence.

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Seems like it never fails: start to get ticked off to the verge of explosion because of the internet, when sure enough that’s about the time I make the odd sale or learn something new.

The existence of sapiosexuality, say. Now I would not myself lay claim to being such a sapiosexual. More like a super bashful poet-type, always lost in thought and wondering what the universe is all about and what the hell I’m doing here; will I ever compose a work of fiction I like or will I ever find that poetic voice I once knew so well and then use it free and joyous; or should I further explore image/photo manipulation? Or… ?

Then again, who am I to say that there might not be a few sapiosexuals cruising around who’d enjoy curling up with some of my humble works – nice soft bossa nova in the background, glass of dark wine…

They talk about marketing your work to the most appropriate audience….


Well I better get back to work. Sit here by the stream, contemplate the universe and wrangle with an enjambment or two; maybe try to figure out how to make a few scenes feel like they are alive and real while teetering on the brink of a surreal cliff. Yep, just sitting here unaware, stripping a paragraph to its bare bones, maybe rebuild the silly thing. Sure hope there’s no rabid sapiosexuals on the prowl. Don’t want to imagine what could happen, being a defenseless, bashful, poet and all….


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