A new poem, which I have a few others of which the like (sort of), and thus to be treated, there and then and thence, as it were as if were a work of the beginnings of a new manuscript. But how to recollect and recoil them all together? How to keep ever writing in these voices of solitude and insanity with their oddities of loquaciousness and neurology and neuroticism? Or perhaps the sanest of the bunch? Perhaps when, but oh the woe, oh the woe when the sanest of the bunch disintegrates first? But then there are other ways in which they recoil and untangle and cohere the superharmonics of the crystalline entities together all at once at the end after their fall completes. And yet. Here it is (oh you thought THAT was it did you? You were of course most sorely mistaken, as is your wont, as is the wont of most of the people most of the time. But i digress. And diverge. And recounting and repiling your sanity hiding in the closet I recover your pieces, and also, as it were, recommend this):
AS YOU DISINTEGRATE
At all times remain alert The driftwood of the days is piled by the carpenters shed Although the disclaimers were valid, None were said to apply in the case of killer bees With the artistry of the spinflips The masques of the Piskies went unnoticed At all times remain alert Do not allow either Piskies or killer bees to sneak up on you Alert The fire ants in their castle demonized the ranging of beings And being all aflutter, Took to infesting the Internets CONCENTRATE, CONCENTRATE, The Nightmares take hold of your skull Under the covers the fleas wait Crack an egg on your head Feel it running down your back Concentrate As the night fades in, So does the trauma ALERT At all times remain alert As the fighter-bombers fly over your head, So the barrels explode by your house CONCENTRATE As the trauma sharpens, So the pain in your stomach CONCENTRATE As the concertina wire, So the widening gap between young and old CONCENTRATE, CONCENTRATE As the tentacled horror, So the pain of the sex crime victims CONCENTRATE, ALERT, ALERT As the colonizers and imprisoners in Israel proceed like an anaconda So the genocidal fascists in Syria As the war crimes all over the world, So the decline of the semi-free states, No human living truly free As the rise of the demagogues So the gridlocks of parliaments CONCENTRATE The wildebeests flee from the onrushing storm All the amphibians die off The tornado rips the trailer park as much as downtown CONCENTRATE As the animals struggle up mountain peaks, So the trees and grasses all do drown ALARM CONCENTRATE As the money is flushed at the casino, So your insurance denies payment FOCUS CONCENTRATE As the shadows infest your mind, So the rot creeps up from your toes, As unemployability rears its ugly head So come the tragedies and regrets of earlier lives, As the moon-mice set the people-traps, So Demonoid waxes and wanes, As the comet approaches, So the sun expands to red giant, As your reason defines and decompiles, So your reason refines and defiles, As your reason rises, So your reason unravels and untangles, As your reason untangles, so the superstrings decohere As you disintegrate, you think: ALARM not as of which but of who, to meet your maker or not to be, the handgun in your hand, the handgun in my hand... all the sexual frustrations -- but see disclaimer... the totalled amount of ways and means amounts to not even a pile of dust, but as if the other, when your time arises, such as is the like of the creepy guy, or the rabidity of the christ-figure, much like when your mother told you but also not, in the demonization of the innocents, Demonoid wrought eternal... but as if the dreams of the Chaosticon; eternal; but fragmentary; piecemeal; but anatomical and atomical and axiomatical... and as of which but not of who; burn disclaimers; but otherwise and thus and so, all your axiomaticals and theorems are lost; but not of woe; oh of splendor, paranoid schizophrenia of course, and oh of splendor CONCENTRATE DISINTEGRATE in the annals of the moon time, oh of the dance, of the tidals of the moon-ants, of the orgies of the moon-mice, oh of the solars of the storm, oh of the darkness of space, oh of the gibbering of the azathoth. in the brief silence of time, delete; in the brief silence of time, stir; in the brief silence of time, do not declare, but fall; the pages, the horror, the fallen the fallen. in it not as of Which but of Who, Not as if Other but of That, demonstrably deficient, but otherwise unwise and in time you all shall know, or perhaps shall know nothing, but as of which of the times did you know of your guilt, or did you ever? Were you ever of the uncaringness of children, or were you merely of a sniping mind? if ever of them there was a demon, it was you, and in the brief quiet of the minutiae of the interstellar spaces, you implode ALERT CONCENTRATE in the edges of the alleyways, or not of other but of thus, or although of thus only of some, but iniquity, inequity, unquietude, and excruciatingness, ever though of which the birds, but unqualified remands of the yeses, all under the grass of the park you defile, all under the burbling of the fountains you impair, all under the comparative quiet of the riot you exult; with the riot you exult; with the stream of the window smashing of the glasses of the alienation of the oligarchs, of the hangings of the communist party, of the firing squads of the west, of the kathryns and angies and maggies and angels; anjelica, the science of the times, the deletions of the elusions, of the elopements, of the quietude of the sage, of the building up of the moments, and of the -- STOP CONCENTRATE Demonoid spake thus: echo, echo, echo, but do not demand, do not defile, speak never for others, only to yourselves, do not dream but be, do not do but do not, do not marry but fuck, do not say the words, oh but if you know of which ones, is she going to say the words, not as if which but if who, do not go gently, determine and refine, revolt and rejoice, recover and remain poor, ever into the night we dream, ever into the day we act, till the stones and till the soil, ever into magic we recount, ever into victory we turn, ever our buds turn into flowers and into petals on the ground, but ever uncertain, be no wise certain, but be quite sure, do not recant but ever uncoil; unfold and be god The splitcase boy understood perfectly Scattered to the winds were the wings of the multifaceted words 10-14-2015
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