Return to the Ash Gate

I once lived in the polar outback.

My finds were gold, and fulfilled

I was the king of laxness,  the brain behind living squids & porcupines.

All at once,  a slingshot held me breathless.

The tide was time with salt in the ice.

You can’t pass through a time machine with your clothes on.

It’s necessary to write everything down on little yellow “stickies....”

Then maybe being and breathing will stick

to you, and you won’t fade.

Imaging Margins : an introduction

We had a civil war marriage.

Now here they all talk as if they wanted to cry...

That’s the great idea about colonialism:

When you have to breathe,  a lamp descends from the ceiling,

(Just before the show.)

This is your map for being exposed and trapped

however trite and unusable it may be.

This is a script for the lists of music.

This is a design for camping before the snow.

Now if you held me

memories would be (just) yellow crumbling tape...