CROONING SOPHIST


Father played point guard for the Washington Generals,
The team that traveled with Apollonius of Aphrodisias,
Reading to the Beatles good mystery novels
Partially out of a fascination for kites in Wonderland.

No, I am not a sophist, Evelyn; anything else than that!
Mark my comment as a response to Philostratus about New York:
It is being colonized by the hand of Christian Garth.
He studied rhetoric under Libanius and philosophy under
The hand of his eldest daughter, Mrs. Grace Elvina (Hadley) Billings.

He will feel quite satisfied if only Protagoras can recreate
Twelve sultry and sexy Spanish recordings originally sung by
Singer, vocalist, warbler, crooner, malingerer, masquerader, mountebank,
Phony, playactor, poser, pretender, quack, smoothie, swindler,
Trickster, two-face, two-timer, inky, pitchy, dusty, swarthy
Mr. Darcy, by the aid of which every species of paradox could be demonstrated.

In return for this service, Bing Crosby will drink more
To treat pain effectively, madness whipping a song that exists
Solely to execute Beowulf, a vile magician whose claim to humanity
Makes misanthropes of us all!

ADVENTURE TRAVEL


Adventure travel is trendy; it is therefore recommended. Feel free to try out something you have never apprehended. With that in mind, size is important. You will experience many new things in college. A perfectly fine way to plan the truth is that we're all often hard to avoid. I do what I want, where I want, when I want. But not everybody likes doing. Off the track a relative term is beaten. I mostly travel alone, but you've read and re-read every magazine article ever written. The wrong one can literally destroy your trip.

INFATUATION SNARL


Excepting the occasional forehand
Into leaf-based histrionics
I daresay I drift normal
For my aggression
A caravanserai of inference
I call my own as much as lunch
And common sentiments allow
Primate enough for prime tingle
Yet angled beyond the dangle
Misused agonies inflict
Stand by for lovin'
This whim is about to sniffle
Further along that synapse
Little outburst antenna

Cop punches protester in the face

WHAT DOES IT COST


It costs you everything a
Whirlwind in the words
Sent to pieces
Picked up as clouds
To flee under for
Your other self hired
As lost you create
A helping hand arrives too
In the streaks of scenery
Made of money only
A belief you should have seen
Before it was cool

Now is a pretend time
Of holes made to close

I finished two books today but I only liked one of them. The one I liked is The Nervous Filaments by David Dodd Lee. It's one of those nights I feel like coming apart for old reasons. Watching TV helps but I am doing this also, writing. I like writing this. I like this book because it stretches things out. It puts one non sequitur after another and leaves out connecting words, but puts in space between most lines to help your brain out a little, like making sure the mashed potatoes don't touch the peas don't touch the whatever. The space makes the lines more solid. Your brain is welcome to try to fill in the gaps but knows it doesn't really have to and laughs. It's not linear stuff here. But it's not random either. At least I say that and it feels possible enough to be possible and is therefore true. The other book I finished today has a lot of non sequiturs that are boring. A lot of muddy nothing in both ideas and language. Much poetry is of that kind. This book, the good one, on the other hand, is not muddy but clear and open. I feel better already, almost put back together. (It won't last, but oh well.) Here is a representative poem from the book:



WORSHIP OF THE ASTONISHED


The menu looks fine

it's just there's a fly in that woman's sangria

a pair of crotchless
panties left under my windshield wiper

a baby differentiating
between self and a lime-green

stinkbug

They put one head right on top of the other

his eyes grew wild as two bird cages

the taste of something awful . . .

I know I woke up
and the sun was staring at me

Orange Juice

it's all about packaging

And the mockingbird knows something at 2 a.m.

The Riddler
Don Adams

Monks chanting in the alley

it wasn't at all like yesterday

she spoke as if from the top of a mountain

pubic hair on my cheek
and the crazy thing

unhooking its nozzle inside her

FOR THE WAITED FOR


Your poem is my mistake
Thank you kindly
To have been peed on on
The starlit grass adjacent to
History lessons of idiots
Is a call for you
I hanged it up so
You are spared
Love me okay
It's a fake day outside
Curled up around us
Legitimate proof of
Shyness in the
Vanished forever ago
Sundials & huge air
Beloved for being all the
Damage couldn't say

OMINOUS FINDING


To better understand Bible prophecy
Look at the beginnings of organized beer pong
Blow a fruit fly off the rim of my glass
And prepare for the imminent
Parting message of disgust you could almost smell
Acclaimed as a modern masterpiece
Use it to reach the top and help those whose service is considered
Outside the scope of our commitment in a responsible way
The conditions of their surrender were clear
Sadly yet not unexpectedly for you
I got up one morning intending to have my hair cut
After producing millions of units
As I rocked in the moonlight you can see
The cryptic clues at the bottom of the story

What are the bases?

Amorously speaking, I mean. I have never known what first, second, and third base are supposed to be. It seems to me there are more than four levels of sexual contact anyway. Thoughts?