New Primary Blog

My primary blog is moving from Verses of my Destruction to Spindle, Thread, Loom, Stitch, Trim ( until further notice). On this blog I will be doing at least one re-write (2 paper writings) plus editing as I type for each post instead of throwing the first pass up. I hope the results are appreciated. I will most likely be renovating some posts from my other blogs (also temerityofoptimism and firsttopicsindrugs.wordpress etc) to go up there as well. I hope the results are appreciated. I will be casting an eye more towards commercial publishing so things may not remain on the blogs for long. Some posts may continue to accrue at Verses of my Destruction, or may not. I don’t know. I guess any first passes that I wish to publish as is might. Verses of my Destruction will not disappear, although things may eventually begin to disappear from it.┬áThere is one teaser post up so far.

Mage’s Orders of a Night

One full moon unheralded
A crow arrived carrying
The malicious royal mage’s
Unpublicized views
In one claw
A cease and desist order
In the other
An extensive purge list
But was the recipient
The intended persona?

Mage’s Orders of a Knight

One full moon unheralded
A crow arrived carrying
The malicious royal mage’s
Unpublicized views
In one claw
A cease and desist order
In the other
An extensive purge list
But was the recipient
The intended persona?

Microphone – Recorder

Itching to stick a microphone into those neighboring tables

Pick up their interesting conversation

Not participate

Just listen

Sneak peek nosey prying eyes

Will I fall into a k-hole in public?


But how often must I ask myself this?

You may remain

A lonely man desitres connection

Craves being able to hear the next table

Break it anywhere

The poem, I mean, not the table

The shape of things is uncomfortable

Shaping into schizophrenia

Come to the other side

The mythos of a living ayahuasca tradition

Come to a side where monotheism and war are dispensed with

Done, over

Not gonna happen

Straighten your vowles, uproot your sin

Come with us, the light and the voice are bright

Triple Sevens

Triple sevens three times one morning
Lasiks correction, paranoid schizophreia
Oft times we see phantoms
Serial hexes of the unquiet mind
Messages from God made material, reading
Seeing too much in things, symbolic consciousness
Symbolic, apropos of nothing
Ringing ears suggesting eternal life

Brushes and Book

Maybe if you want to make a book
Based around those drawings
You should be looking at them every day
Instead of every few months
As you cart them foolishly around
Imagining your ex roommate will turn up
And steal/destroy them out of spite
Though all my paint brushes are still gone


Waiting, neurological flames

And we dance around the rosy

Pitch darkness, epics in mythic time

Illegal state of mind

From the outside, sad but charming

From the inside, scaling many walls

Wait for what comes up

Drawing a blank

Climbing, neurological flames

Overcoming, still, I rise

I rise with the dawn to a new world, my child’s eyes

Dopamine fire hose, urge to dance {Not here!}

But if I were alone, it wouldn’t be interesting

Half a page for your $4 and 1 hour, an expensive writing proposition

You’ll need to reach happiness in your sobriety one day

The sustainable is what you can do

Growing increasingly faint

The thread to my ego longer and longer

Breath goes silent, the room impinges

Voices, many voices, echoing around me

Serotonin escape & what was her number?

Lack of the Earth shattering quality

I rise, and its like we are states away when its only 4 miles

Onrushing symptom, separating prediction from reality

Separating prediction from reality

Bringing on stream a generator of lovely, an engine of empty

Wisdom in our rumpled sheets, behind high eyelids

As if getting high really handled your questions

(It can handle some, if it itself is handled with an eye to it)

Holding my head up as if no one had ever judged me, instinctually

No weapons and no forcing, just a change in chemistry & bearing

Wait and Let the Words Arise

Register your typewriters, carriage return, no character

Engines running, I, split in two, diverge down forked paths

Pistosn pound my corneal lens, heart beats, the exhiliration of risk

Type the transgressive words, mouth tight, drawn, high

Breath of intoxicating vapor, draw the lines out like glass threads

Beading crystals hiving off like sweat, scattering on the desk

The desk, the landscape of my life, forming beady landmarks, roadmaps of shards

fast, the suffering, tearing with the effort, pushing the mind into the page

Threads of agony, like bliss, like molten glass, like jagged edges

I move the pen across the page, resistance melts away, bird-like, flick out the words

Derivatives, the slant and slope of mind, waves and floats, glides

Derivatives, refinements, like butane derives from oil or gas, purified, crystallized, and concentrated

Rocks, blackened, cinders of wizened old cedar stumps, charcoal like artist’s vine

Vines, like veins, wrapping the arms of the new tower

Projections of steel without purpose, except of which to be said, “She’s a looker”

Rikers Island bars cannot hold the written, spoken word

Of which let it be said, there can be too much, but also too little

Let not the quest for zen sting us into silence, but rejoice, behold, The Word!

Most magnificent of all creations, surpassing smartphones and surgery

The sustaining word on which our world depends, by which we share our visions, by which our minds are intimately linked

Divergence, convergence, metastasis, stillness; our mediating medium would like, has spoke

As our minds be one this night, let none sunder our hearts

Murderous Pill, selected at random from ‘script

soundless drifting through columbus
silting the intakes and violence
ripping tides into silence
collapsing the core
slide into my portal
ask for Hugo
some time passes you meet the man on a beach
it is the wrong man
some thing you were never expecting comes to pass
the climate freezes
superstition rears its ugly head
some magic and some poison
i leave it to you to untangle
stretch your mind a little around this irritating bit of sand
corruption seizes you by the throat
the hex is lost
erased and gone
a little breathing space and more organization
a little drive and a little money
not much i do not need much
these dreams are small
and i can build them
where did the throttling force come from
and where did the other
trying to force the pill back out