my head a cumulonimbus
and reminded of just how broken the leg was
June 30, 2010
on the corner
on the corner
across the street
sun beating down on my face
and I do not torture myself
over shortcomings
– Hoc Scripsi
June 27, 2010
to kill poets
the poet’s word albatrossed
to the secret villain,
hanging on like stink
from decadent fish.
this is our RSVP, their
invitation to KILL POETS.
not with censorship,
with bullets.
– Hoc Scripsi
I have a minor obsession with being assassinated, I think I’ve mentioned this before but sometimes we all repeat ourselves don’t we. Maybe in a past life, somewhere in Argentina or El Salvador I was disappeared permanently. The victim of some nations dictator extreme rendition.
Or maybe I was a cuddly bunny rabbit in hunting season. If so I hope that my name was Theodore and the family that ate me enjoyed the meal.
whatever I was, now I am a poet and consider it a poets duty to be a threat to both the vox popoli and the powers that be.
this is how I get after storing things in the attic, small confined space and all.
June 25, 2010
again
I like to throw this poem out there every now and then – not only because this blog is named because of it.
the platitudes of willful resemblances
some things have a harder time changing than others.
sleep comes hard,
now we recognize,
meds and allergy pills, a
little beer and hopefully soon to sleep
and dream along the platitudes
of willful resemblances.
– Hoc Scripsi
juggling plastic butter knives and listening to Philip Glass – I’m sure neither is allowed on an airplane if only for their murderous properties. Now as I sit and read at night I will have to worry about extreme rendition performed at the hands of the CIA or the Homeland Security administration all for giving the idea that plastic knives and Philip Glass can be used for such devious things as brutality and terror.
Lately I’ve remembered a poem by Emily D. that I once memorized and can recall still. ‘”He scanned it” – one of the 1700 or so poems she had written and not thrown away. This must be in the top of my all time favorite poems and not just for its lyrical beauty or simplicity.
the mind often amazes me with what it chooses to recall at any given time and thrust forth into the openings of self for realization.
I switch to Beethoven as I do not want to injure myself.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 