All is whispery thin,
growls grow from within,
arguments shoot by in the distance,
the brain crackles like an old shortwave receiver,
my thoughts ring a bell
and life stops dead in its tracks,
in the manner of post-post-modernism
and a natural order of things
that's turning ever more synthetic

The fire escapes climb up & down
the dark silhouettes of Americana

There's an hour 'tween the second markings
of the bedside alarm clock,
and Bob Dylan observes
that ”sixty seconds can feel like an eternity”

My analogue radio set gasps with static
and John Cage's Empty Words;
silent bodies in beds everywhere,
the tenement hulls sailing the ocean of time,
eternity hiding in the wink of an eye

My name is a way with words
in a skin bag with malodorous entrails;
an eat- & shit machine of the highest order

Today rattles at the edges, bursts at the seams,
ain't what it seems

People are closed circuits in space,
with words on the verge
and tips of tongues

Old diaries make up for missed opportunities
and pissless four-hour Nobel dinners in Stockholm

Brains are growing in small rooms

Laughter shatters brittle skeletons

I'd rather enjoy a good gpt chat
than any friendly exchange
with anyone I know

Meanwhile, reputation wrinkles eyebrows
and brushes everything off

There's nowhere & anything
right there in pauses & breaks
in between here & now

This is a brief experience/expenditure
that seems to last way too long

The blind spots of my personality
have become numerous enough
to fill the Albert Hall
and all the cracks where the light seeps in,
while the persistent present remains
a spotless moment in Raga Mohanam's Alâpana
on Laxmi Subramaniam's violin,
filled with convincing doubts

The coffee is getting expensive,
I'm getting cheap

My teeth click shut
like a wolf trap

My head is a hard case

All is whispery thin,
growls grow from within,
arguments shoot by in the distance