Auditions For Hamlet

I have an itch to travel I study the zipper on my pants it gives me something to do most of my emotions are incongruous they lead me to an intriguing seclusion and I slip into another dimension

I don’t like getting old I like to sweep the ceiling with my eyes looking for other worlds other things that I can say about this one the fabric of this sense requires a structure like a tent set up in a park it needs poles and a framework it needs prisms and goulash it needs Hound Dog Taylor there’s a light shining all around me this is the rascal called poetry it causes my balls to rattle I exhort one and all to visit a junkyard it’s our new sideshow built entirely out of sugar

Right now I’m busy doing push-ups I need to get my shoulder in order it hurts all the time I don’t want to see an orthopedist but I will if I deem it necessary at some point

I might do some things here that I haven’t done before I might produce energy using words I’ve got a little device here it’s made out of calliope hearts ascension is aided by an oboe I purify it with the seamlessness of a fetus

Hanging in the closet

Don’t be seduced by so many worries some of them are abstractions bubbling with minds I twinkle like a thyroid gland among the magisterial camels of a caravan headed to Djibouti

Rip the stiches apart and you’ll find a heart beating beneath the stars are made mostly of hydrogen anything technicolor is proof that a drink is aggressively red if it’s a bloody Mary and the day is grand and large as Nevada the emotive pulse of a noble resistance visits me at night what is a mind I’m only sleeping but one day I shall awaken and rise and assume the form of Euclid’s ghost

My ancestry is bacteria microbes of the Archean era stromatolites and grandmother thrombolites microbial mats formed in shallow water please recall that mass equals energy and by doing so win a sound in China imparting words to no one in particular as a boy I was put in the outfield where I could daydream and pretend to catch the ball when on rare occasions someone hit it into my air space I stood there luminous and trembling until one fine day I sat watching the Beatles in Hamburg John Lennon goofing wearing a toilet seat around his head newly minted coins of air opposed to empire

I like pebbles and planets because I’m a little clumsy and amber is the umber of lumber experiments in knife throwing tonic cement supersonic coffee empire is no umpire the pain in my heart won’t let me speak where can my baby be

I step into the garments of magic I have a new ingredient for happiness it’s awkward to say such things I feel like a caboose on a Cubist train I hold a world teeming with grouse and shine like a sinus I’m focused on a poem by Max Jacob the window sighs

Look here at these rocks collected by Apollo astronauts you’ll never break this heart of stone darlin’ you won’t break this heart of stone you’d better go home I dream of Ireland I like to dig the earth I like to drop anchor and study the beach alpha particles flying through tinfoil crows on a wire

Texture is the literature of touch the eyes throw themselves at paintings the jellyfish are hungry for personalities I do what I can and boil I like to stretch out on the bed having taken time to cool from a molten ball this is my only Cézanne before we split into groups and look I can see the rain underwater this is my chemical identity gushing with elbows that were once adrift in space Heidegger’s hammer emitting photons before the rumor found its milieu and I drive a Subaru thus proving the old adage that a novel must be made of durable twilled cotton cloth and have words in it and exciting ideas thrown with a light quick action into writing where it all happens sand dunes and fragments of shells depressive realism and auditions for Hamlet