Poet X : a treatise re: verse(d)

essay 348

(to be played on a fipple flute)

pleat folded down the middle of
clashed fabric at the far edge, or, open and shut
case,  locked up where odd motion
rip roaring tale a singer slurred
tabled possibility a splotch
veering off on the gravelly road with a gravelly voice
balance between polywater & scrunch
a protovision at the sound of things happening
recover those words
got used & forgot, forwent
foreshadowed, fobeled & juggled;
affix to the silence a clasped shirking,
ask each second in the morning for a first
an alphabet as a sequence
cold fusion jazz
in a jerk lurch jar ...
focus:  you aren’t in canned laughter any longer
pay no attention
to the man behind the certain

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