Questioning’s run its
course, all interviews done and
now we are a-stage;
Cursors blink, think, plink!
Pink, and a ghostly remaint.
Contemplative, ‘course
riverine, sinuously
parallel, they seek seven
restarting (though alas
that still cursor yet remains)
Seven point gap—a synapse!
Running down rags, snag
Some bend, some end, a comma
Lick clean bones, stones, still waste not—
but break and boil, spice to taste
the lag, that snap, synapse: that’s
it, this character
istic habit: what it is
is tic. 1-2-3-
rattatat metal rap
It sticks, tick sieve, if
still it sits interstitial
spits tips split wit sick
strains the letters leaves the words
insignificant symbols
soup null and hearty
of legumes, of glyph, dash dash
sybil syllabic;
punctuation can have it.
Implied in spacious scores more
. . .
hesitation frames the lore
eN and eM dashing
Pointillism broadly points
to choreographic leaps
a ballet
en pointespins in pause’s darkest deeps
The first scratchings
of graphical zero
was a single .
How invented, this presence
of the not, nay, null, in sense—
absence allowing essence
and ambiguity
Count, er, form, though page-bound
from a chaos pulp:
cut pages, knife the bindings
free words from post-roll
prison, rectangling
page physics, where left-
hand gravity clings
Return / return / mechanical?
less so than metallic dings
metronomically
lining time four/4 A-four
until four followed zero
But from zero’s nose
to spite its face there leapt first
our ratty One.
this one winning wasn’t done:
proclaimed all was 0 and 1.
iambic, i am
a pressure released, inhale
pressing pull, not null
‘stead of scratching, write with light,
leave hang-slights, just quite
what inhabits this
but imaginations invert,
something orthogonal
writing’s but something closer
to topiary pruning
irreversible
but always just removing
concealment so as to
better hide the truth
iambic I am
a blue Bic pressed to measure
Leakings
with Kathy
Anarchism meant that to me, and I would live it in spite of the whole world--prisons, persecution, everything.
