April 9, 2014





“The sight of home gave little comfort, save to remind me that it offered a cave in which I could hide from my failures. A drink,a chair by the fire, a pile of miseries yet to be exploited–these were the crude tools I would use to put the events of the day behind me. Then, I would go back to work.”           –from “The Visionist”, Rachel Urquhart




s t  I N K


of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truly unaware of

(is  ’truly’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine (lie)

Golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,


from nothing.





.Shiny gold pen 

As a shade-less light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best  Klieg-lights this  crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.


On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation;.

Take this shiny gold pen…!


It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&   Go over…

&   I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’s  mammoth  cemetery!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on  as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry



When poetry’s  god  the old notions

When poetry goes poetry in motion

All of a sudden certain

Privileged glimpses are blurting out


All of a sudden

Uncertain unseen forces

Focus for for instances,

What wording output

(shushshush  on  sources)

It’s a code I can tap







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