Diary Entry — 20 April 2008

       I’ve drafted my eyesore lariat:
proctor-band, wise-lad cover-all demerit,
with a sink-hole, middle-laden, lasso on a pulse-beam
pulling Santa with a satellite;
a satyr-lot of trickle-matter, stick to bladder
problem, robbings of a fickle fist-to-grandeur man…
       I’ve noted matchsticks on little land propellant
planted contraband inspections,
spraying victims of a body-fire, border crossing sun.
Running awful lot of passion, passing proper pilot
pocket-hole constructions to an
El Camino penchant’s throttle (tangent)…
       Emptied bottles in a basement-
hole; a canvas full of petal fragrance maybe
laced with ladies spit, I’ve ripped enough equations-
now I’m patiently effacing effeminate elation,
paced, but pleasant, razing laudanum dictation — spacing,
close enough to feel a bump,
but Bunbury I’m not, so sally will not have a bird to fry,
the verb delight, a traffic light, a lack tonight,
a cat-in-heat the censor can’t be hacked to feature-
less erasing phone-calls in a rush,
I’ve spinned-the-crush and found a place where I could sleep tonight.
And spick-an-span I’ve lived somehow,
I’m happy now,
I’m happy now…
       Though caramels are raging into clavicle encasing,
my mandible has made the pace unpleasantly distasteful..
       And though I enervate my life, I’m seeing Calamus elixirs,
necessary to the feedback capture system,
seed the picture, read the scripture, standing square
like honey pots without the bears insisting on the mixture,
fairest glop or fetid tincture,
sifter solids holding strong I lift a
universal empty sign –
I’m empty, can’t you even hook a line of oil to lube
the hollow space inside,
so when a lotus plant is found, it’ll slide like angels
melding Milton’s view of litany awash on my creations?
My memories will serve the children’s screams
like little invocations, given to the rosary
I’ve overlooked quotations. So…
       I plan to bicycle ahead, and visit every stopping point I see,
and then I’ll join the space between the clicks of shutters in photography –
I fear that they might part again, but only death will seperate our optics
from a closet deep inside that’s dropping clues by sending up its rockets,
popping fireworks when something broadens, floating on imagined wires,
note to self: Please do not stop until you feel inspired.

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3 Responses to Diary Entry — 20 April 2008

  1. Hillary says:

    Truly an eyesore. But wondrous on the ear. Gymnastics for the tongue. A bumpy ride with potholes for the brain.

    Lovely. Inspiring, obviously.

  2. GA says:

    Please send me some of whatever inspired that recent post.

  3. Pingback: Note to Self « life in oleg

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