Poet X : a treatise re: verse(d)

       essay 360 : gossypol

when you enable editing, it foists down into the molecular structure of things
such things are searching for virtue: are being sent to you,
pleased, as if the information were verbal & also technical;
yet again      when poetry burns it generates air ....
in that a link is trashed over to sunrise thrust yessing

a now gives panic grass, growing thru caesurae
like nobody’s bizness;  & in fact it is nobody’s bizness
just fumbling loan word sequence renewal;
the large plastic container is always half-full
and punctuation’s only necessary as a form of puncturing
leaving ways of feeling & believing & meaning
where i waited in the cool mountain shadow
for that urgency-jumble muttering to find form;   

poetry is always written in error  whiplashing across
presynaptic immobilism: an integrative imp;
the longer you wait the more the tonic accent
tugs over like steeplechase, or leaning tower
broken w refractions like a speedway
& unduly eventful

writing is gossypol: a toxic phenolic pigment found in cottonseed:
found in moments paring down to the new last line:
a double-widowed & moonless corruptionist
carelessly flipping ripping thru pages damaged by
tears tears glad-handing roster calling

OK   straight flush, & disinhibition?  i’d say
ya gotta lurch into grappling w a glyph show: 
unrooted musics, right?
eye, E: 
poetry is its own fucking solvent

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