Misercordia est cor miseriae Animo levi complectitur Translation: Pity is the heart of misery Wrapped inside an unburdened mind

Misercordia est cor miseriae Animo levi complectitur Translation: Pity is the heart of misery Wrapped inside an unburdened mind

Misercordia est cor miseriae Animo levi complectitur Translation: Pity is the heart of misery Wrapped inside an unburdened mind

A poet’s petty vanity is easy to forgive: For what else can he call his own but pride? The written word before the image died; It has been so, long since the days when wealthy Byron lived. To sing of frost and boughs is not a luxury today, Nor are words worth the phantoms of delight That once tapped tongues of lovers in the night Who armed their hearts with lovely lies from poetry’s array. These are the days of poets’ whines, but seldom still their roses; And few drink the ambrosia of the gods. More often are they frauds or drunken sods, Who hide the poetry of life in livers with cirrhosis.

To my three year old granddaughter I am a bubble creature Fearless, friendly, loving To my sixteen year old grandson I am ancient, Full of idiosyncrasies, mixed With ridiculous wisdom To my yuppie son and daughter I am not so sharp, an old tight, selfish Hoarder, absent-minded Flying on his last wings But to me A jolly, dreaming, busy body A bit forgetful, I am A cosmopolitan interested in The musicals of Andrew Lloyd Weber, Mahler at the San Francisco Symphony Or Calder’s mobiles defying gravity Professional football, tennis aces, basketball seven footers Shapely ladies, scintillation A

Lights, camera, action. Alone at night. Lights, camera, action. Awake before dawn with fright Lights, camera, action. A scared boys plight.

I lowered a box on the machinery of the city. It chewed its way out. I threw a shawl over a reflection of the sun. It burnt it to a crisp. I placed a frame around the moon and it sailed blithely past its borders. I wound chains round my strangest desire and it wore them like ribbons. I locked dissonance in a cage like a animal and it bent the bars and escaped into the wilds. I shoved Kafka, handcuffed, into a patrol car and he never stopped laughing all through his trial. Appeared in The Freeman

A gap in the woods. See the house through the cordon of trees. Hear the wind chimes. Crows. Black dog scraping at the back door.

Up inside the cells that rattle against vessels that seek out new arteries to invade, the whisper of an anomaly can be found. So infinitesimally small, held inside the pocket of a nucleus. It springs up from that single cell, pushes against its walls and begins to spread. It forms like the mold on basement floorboards with too many floods, like the wax beneath a candlestick only used for special dinners grown scarce with time, with children moving out and parents moving apart.

You may already have lost Aliens trying to communicate rearrange magnetic letters on the fridge stymied: no punctuation in desperation, a riff on the old crop-circle technique of their reckless youth alas, defeated by a coarse medium and running out of shrubs "Honey, what does ‘Lake u5 toy our lead’ mean?" Finally! Mind control one of the humans has become their unwilling servant he will do anything they ask anything in his power to hasten their conquest of the Earth! "Darling, you've thrown your cereal on the floor again— Mommy is not pleased! What's got into you?"