The Right Column

?

headline?

we don't need one

 yo mama Nuked the Constitution!
Fills his days with retribution . . .
what'd he say
     about nuclear polution?
 speak of hope for the health of the institution.

Institutional dementia
  in the Rodium age.
 They all stand their breathless
 dreaming of a handsome sage.
They look for an expert 
 knowing that they are not
   and they want to have it all
 and say they don't have a lot.

It's the Rodium age
 and it's quarter to ten
   has it ever been better?
 I don't know when.

what is littl' baby gonna do ?

Please visit my DEMOS

I've got many other demos that I don't link.

Once
when the lonliness stood before him
 like a wall
 straight up
to infinity
 he thought
if I climb it
I'll get there
some how
down will be sideways,
up will be across
through will be a given
and a million save levels and
infinite time.
When I was lost
spending his day trying to
beat the game.

inline svg sample 1,inline svg sample 2,inline svg sample 3

visit my DEMOS

How can it be Saturday again
    working so hard all week long
 thinking of you
       and you are gone?

Without telling me anything
     up before the wind
 I realize I was crazy
    but everybody sinned.

 All that I knew
    were gone fly away.
 Now that it is over
     we have nothing to say.

 If Winter
      were less sudden
 would we care more
        when it is frigid
           all at once?

  The chill came down.
     It became a glacier.
         it kind of looks pretty now
  way off in the distance.
  
  People know where to not build a home:
          way up on a mountain mile thick ice dome.


🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 
🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 
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🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 

July 2, 2014

8:08 A.M.


At the bottom of the trail
there were unexpected roses
unexpected thorns
blood on his arm
and a view
of distant mountains
far below
like looking out
the window of a jet-liner








Robert's Painting
Every so often the guy in the golf clothes whacks one of the balls
  in the painting and it goes flying off into the exhibition area
    maybe colliding with one of the other artworks, a statue of
                         a godess by Dali with drawers,
            knocking some of it off
   or hitting museum goers on the head. 

  And down there, added in, in miniature
     is the painting itself
         being ferried into the very hell of the painting itself
          added in by Bill
      and only right here, in the poem readers' minds
            as they read this.
   The painting, itself, is secreted within the roof of a . . . 

     [here the poem is frayed in half
          the secret place? another staff?
             another song
                 having been ripped away
                    poet has 
                      nothing left of that today]

            . . . an antique outbuilding.

  Somewhere outside of time, beside
       the poem quote commentaries
     in the 'click-here' sections of people's minds
  lies the concept of the thought of the hope
       that there might be adventure
    buried down in the poem
         so someone could find it and actually
     go outside and do something
 like reading some weird-head poem
      on a sad-soap wash day
   near the city-bridge
         in the rain
     walking around on the ledges
           down below
       talking about Kerouac

The golfer
    in the painting
         whacks another ball
            and it smacks
                the poem-reader
                  upside the head.
             it's just a thought-ball
                                           is all.

Robert painted this painting
while he was . . . in high school back
in Mashpee. I had it for years, even
brought it to college which made Robert 
very angry.
It was in my house for years.
the actual painting was burned
in my fireplace at Robert's request and with Robert present.


  Who 
  is 
Robert
??????
?Quien es Roberto?

All Year

and till the end of time

Celebrate Christ!

Celebrate 
Christ!


🌛 




🌛

Please visit my DEMOS

    Praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord!

😇 😈


 We have things.
They are strewn in our yards, 
across our lawns,
through our forest side lands,
beside our logging roads
the easement cut through
The old tractor
a power meter
a broken heart
the memory of her (him)
running back through the trees in the fog
to her (his) yard.

                
😇 😈

I got nothing more