Poet Outspoken

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Nothing New

The sound of a conversation
is no simple matter.
Words are never words;
In a good conversation
Even meaning
Begins to lack meaning.

An aural phenomenon
Never complete
Without the entire sensorial showcase

But, visually, just the eyes are sufficient
The mouth is lovely
So lovely,
but,
Not so bombastically,
The eyes too reveal
The sex, the lust,
If one’s
paying attention

It’s about connection
It’s trust
It’s edification

Laughter,
Laughter,
living,
darling,

unintelligible, in the end,
a secretion,
sweat,
silence,
“So, what’s new?”
and an awful lot more:

Some Sort of Line in an Abstract Painting

Some Kind of You


How different,
You and I,
I hardly know
Who I speak with;

I see the molds,
I see the modes,
I see the total
lack of rebellion;

It’s me though,
It’s me,
I’m the one
That doesn’t know better.

Don’t doubt
I heard you tweet.
Don’t think you
didn’t blink.

It feels as though
We didn’t grasp
the moment, botched
Carpe Diem!

But I remember
And I forget
And you are
Not Quite
A Blank Canvas,
but a reworking
Of another
Go.

y'alls crazy

Volkswagen


I love Foucalt
Right now,
Only for having
Brought Baudelaire
To my modernity
One Spring Eve
A couple years ago.

I could not possibly
Or rather hardly could
Bring forth to mind
Anything that didn’t strike me.

Elation,
well, hardly ever that,
and much more like
whatever seems to work.

Emotion, in general,
generally, maybe.

It takes a lot just to keep up.

Youth
has something to do with it.

frequency
striking a frequency in a note
or two, or three, or four,
perhaps a harmonic,
but certainly some sort
of permutation the peeps
can relate to.

Vielleicht sind das Volk
the antipode.