MISSING REALITY

Missing Reality


Misanthropic topics of thought
Miscalculated, as most plugged in urban Neanderthals often do
By mischance 99.999 percent of bad logic comes from as much expanse
Misrule is the rule of thumb for miscreants devouring credit over levitation
Miscible and relatable to the shaved headed purists of non-thought
Miscellaneous detachments of the spirit, the overmind
Unmoved by the misfeasance of chemical gods and quick witted R&D departments
A misapprehension of desire, a loss of uniqueness, silence
Misogyny, and missals, over warm wine
Organized chaos, misnomers really, usually mistaken for a mise-en-scene
Missiles of thunderclaps and mission statements spread across the netscape
Good intentions, I’m sure
One must recall, that ego and source are entrenched in a miscegenation of fate
Stirred by the misbegotten issues of separation that escape even the heaviest
Petters of meditation, and petitioners of open sleep
Misgivings are concepts for “heavy water”(of which I refrain)

Even so, some of us miss the false sense of being
And being anchored to the fallacy

Because the truth is
The allure of non-fiction is often both illuminating and intensely lonely.

“all the world is a stage..”

CODES AND CODEX

Codes and Codex


Fluorescent flowers on a broken hill

Acid rain pellets on the corrugation

My shorted simware and shredded flack is dripping velvet on the linoleum

Saidye stitches steel like a Bonavista ironsmith

And smells like silver licorice, and oilsand. God, she’s beautiful

Severed links and several reboots later

I dive into a bowl of spicy Ramen and remember

To check in with Hazel


Regret and guilt-speak are always soon to follow
Embedded in a cacophonous series of clicks
And mice
(moms always know which buttons to press, don’t they?)

Five yards of router cable to fold before
Water touches my skin, and I’m purged again
Saidye amuses me with Catskill humour and Broadway stills
A symbol of her affection

I still see the sun over the Ivory Coast and wonder

How many weeks it’s been since I last saw the stars

Guillaume yelps a sorrowful goodbye

And wags his furry ass as he disappears for the night

One last M.O.S. diagnostic
3 sips of merlot
and 20 kilos for the Zaphrum later

I dream

Of big league hackers and towers of frozen secrets
Black silk on the brain.

TRANSFER

Transfer

The tunnels are loud with
Track rumbling and squeaky
Passengers, quick to fill seats
With tense plaids and warm wallets
We bustle and sway, zeroes and ones
On a centipede highway to Du College St.
And St. Louis Avenue
Frozen in subway time
Oblivious to the backward evolution above
Strangers with a common purpose
Bodies in linear motion, minds
Blistered with high speed thought
A static ad for travel whizzes by
And I wonder what would happen
If the world we remembered grew
Too old to recall our faces
And we disembarked to find
A faded landscape
And a new civilization
At the next stop

SPACE LACE

Space Lace

We watch the televised reconstruction
Of the space shuttle 'Ecstasy'
Streamlined by an all female crew
Revisionized exploration
Tweaked by the hemlines of a Venus persuasion
Working with galvanized gauntlets
Coloured as brilliantly as the Nebula
Stretched across their retro grade hull.

Thirteen long-legged voguettes
Invested, with fluorescent chip sets
And Quick-Time neural degrees in Bio E
Captivating a nation
In HD reality.

They charge strapless ions, these icons
Into a designer configuration that fit
A perfectly fashioned orbit
And defy the gravitational pull of a generation
Of men who thought
They owned space.

These foreign chiquitas, borrowed from galaxian
Seaports, accustomed to consorting alone
Were the new age heroines
Pressed in cashmere outer casings
Spacebots, originally dubbed
The Renaissance Cosmonaughts.

Premiere

Premiere

In the dark
Confines seek viewfinders
Elite in caliber, if not
Centered in self
Gathered in perfect sectionals
To watch
Bespeckled swatches of celluloid
Dance across the screen

We laugh in untimely unison
United by the commonality
Of characters playing
Common caricatures
In front of us

We trust them, some
To deliver the truths we dare
Not share, in daylight
With each other

Restless for an ending
That satisfies each lie
We actors tell ourselves is true
So that our patchwork neurosis
Never has to drink alone

And when the curtain rises
A smattering of cheer ignites
Into a raging applause

All the while
Our eyes beguiling,
Scanning the final edit
For a line of credit
To spend
A despised amount – when
The opportunity presents itself

Hopefully before the next
Hollywood premiere.

frost

Frost

Frost Design Organized
Purposeful Coordinated Perfection
Random Chaotic Massive
Contagious Independence Singularity
Awakening Agreement Validation
Conviction Assemblage Conformity
Monotony Behavioral Outcry
Distinction Rally Truth
Insect-Like Revamped Retold
Rebirth Perfection Coordinated
Purposeful Organized Design

Frost.

no thank you

NO Thank You


No peptides furrowing my brow No caressing a twisted psyche No filters evaporating consciousness No victims needing semen No spandex delusions No cinnamon nightmares
No albums of disdain No stone-age advancements of love No black bean farts No poinsettia diapers with butterfly fasteners that glow in the dark.

I’ll just have the special. Thanks.