OUR INSOLVENCY
Quote, useful things are
literally disappearing
from the landscape, un-
quote, hothead typos
bent creditwise into
interminable comp-
rehension, having some
very adult feelings
journeyworking this
textural enterprise of
a personal viscosity
too pure to format,
gaderene on breaded
legs, skull postponed
by cute aggression
stamp, naive phoenix
tethered to objectivist
diagram hazards
a theory of time
management as medium-
large or extra-medium
mopey topos for pre-
ferential tourists; well,
what could it mean
to aspire to move from
one thing to the next
as a feltly truthful
series of considerately
dimorphous mumbles?
You don’t need Evernote
or Franco Berardi
to have yourself
a real poem party:
a certain clarity of use
or place, windowed
presence as in ‘an’
eligible surplus of craft
slashing lines all across
the automatic earth,
credible bunting,
something insincere
OUR INSOLVENCY
Born over it or zoned part
mostly stolen, to wit: to wink
back a collective nod’s off-
peak t-shirt meditation on
impersonal speech, inter-
dithering heights, creeping
head/room, shapely bathos
of the day is done. Much
thanks in theory for under-
lived facts’ undimming theme
scans. Being structured as
we are to be here, to do, to
get, no fine, no sorry – tacky
delusion’s on the idiopathic
sprawl as of or ugh and filed
under the forking material
world’s questioning of it’s
coffee cups. O axioms
of care, life is mostly space
and it’s out to live us, mere
scribbles in the impure draft
copy/pasting the human spill-
age. If branched, occupize it.
Whether to beware or behold
these lurking oceanisms, these
derivations of deep breath in,
of, and for themselves, proximal
blockages speculating anon,
un or anti-remembrance dis-
possessing any continuous
reality’s desedimentation. Alack.
What if I die here? I’d prefer not
to wind up a wind-noise
in an apotropaic graveyard
OUR INSOLVENCY
Hope’s a phrase-state
repeated to confirm
a bias. Always already
called wherever you’re
propped down, a land-
scape blanked for taking
notes, yawning a bent
yawp on a tonal stroll
through thought as end-
less transitional wipe
or droopy categorical
sub-determinant twitch
underworn over an in-
herent lag-up in the local
math. But local’s a global
disorder. Gonna spend,
flaunt a chewed bonus,
vent a diggable hodge-
podge, vitiate with
extreme immiseration
and mostly wholly mean it—
meaning being mostly made
of holes— so us as in
problematic we can hang
together, harp or lamp
a hefty nibble of routine
future’s sculpable foment.
Normal is as normal frags
an interloper, sailing away
on a strain of lineation,
public or private
farting or dicking
around in the space
between two distinct
eras of toxic knack,
crushing the wait
for a new kind of slack