Abuse is rag daily unkept
blogging is like logging—
crush of waste-implode, a
diva goes warble grate screech
enuf owl to
fetch waking out of insomnia, in-
gratitude, in other blurs,
here’s time incending
into outer spaces at
just the right moment;
Klingons let go & float
laterally into gravity lacunae, so
maybe all words connect after all;
nonstop bright & early
okays being later than
purpose, or sifting motive
quietly before acting.
Raconteurs re-encounter a glyph,
songlike-ish spinning
tremble at lash point,
unless every day’s New Years
veering from falling,
winking (after all, every day’s
yoked to total freedom,
zeroing in

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