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Bad taste

Bad taste is everywhere. It oozes from everything we touch and breathe. It must be integral part of all foundation, of any great thing that transcends the mediocre. All great works grow from the ground up like saplings in the new sunlight beside a fallen tree. 

In the spectacle of our existence, we cannot avoid the museum we are born into. Rare are the wonders that can come of age in-vitro. 

I spit on the sidewalk when my lungs put up a fight. I also put my money on the mundane, where my mouth is. 

[apgrdn-blog]

Self-critique or the metronome

Binary rhythm is too much for this weight the pendulum swings

the pendulum wins 

each time it swings it covers its losses and wings the void

it spans the whole world

in a constant unfurling of movement deterred by nothing, see?

the inside of a box

an infinite sky made of rolling waves of light in a diffraction grating 

monochrome

waiting on the bottom of the surrounding sea for the mood to thicken

and fade to black

the outside of the box is alight with the fires of everything else that escaped

and left

the outside of the box is a shell that on good days you trace with a finger or

a swollen lip

the taste of the salt is just in your mind and the splintering flesh is the work 

of the sun

waiting to taste what you make and make sense of wanting to taste the sun

for yourself

to break the circle and swallow the light back the salt the lip the shell the box

tumble

into the surf and its latent spectrum the soul of your worth in the sole earth

you’ve got here

wading your way through the ridges and twisting the world back through finely

drawn curtains

the program shows daydreaming spinning coronas which dance the dance now

as we call time

/

it listens

and leaves, loosening the metronome

[apgrdn-blog]

One more way of looking at a black bird

The unfortunate one, this. Working backwards,

Something about the glare perhaps, a blue sky

Where the window was, but solid upon impact. A starling

It was, and black only between the leaves, perched and ready 

To leave the pear tree and return to native grey.