a thing then

A thing then, said Jill passing it alog along to the suite of textand poems._______________________Is that it to know longing for what you can't haveknowing it's far further thestory of the strong one long awayhungering for her lipsthe shadow of the sidenarrows its breadthHow you yearn long shored to negative selfno one therethe space betweenwhere nowhere walks between?Sometime I longedpassionate prayerdom to failure and treacheryfrozen aphoneconnection click-click-clickaround the bodies trapped behind spaceO yes, some say take a train, a planecause 'my baby longed for me without saying'and I was hungrier, colder lousier than the nightor 'my baby she wrote me a letter' your letters stripped across spacesure tricked me, deceived like any mother wouldthe inevitable table of evilcountries,borders , geographies of medial pausesmy dazzled modem a display of heap and junkword glittering between andwinter a cold density come down like the fogkill and hurtingharming and hurt haring the night's harried wonderits wound of sediment rock pulling my teeth outbeside thealliterations of nayAh! Mister Betty Boop I've no bodybetween the contractions the sheets of wrap around spacemy lovers tarnished by night, their absence distancenot identical to some 'traditional' harbingerofdoubt and its folly______________


__Jill had the EmberS

....Mona was a dancing ___
her name was hound dog
she took a breath of the kiss foul taste of
cyber shite and its malarky malaka
took the wasted lies/halfbaked truths
her soul was ruth
fate of hamstrung thigh
death of honesty
courage of bent
in the perverse
territoires des mondes

f[f]ictions of poesy

A FLiCTions PerSonFiCtations
where has it gone,the poem next to the story. Wondered MonaJill in her jacket, making, remaking totalizing, concertina cash, re-in-venting, , caulking cash, spending, money and money. Howare America poets different from us Canadada poets. Are we not the poets of Immanence and they the poets of Transcendence? Imagine a republic of poetry.

ANd the question of the secularization of the unconscious mind. Protestant backgrounded poets become the centre of 'oral' and spoken word poesy, others becoming the ritualist of language and parole,

becomings of Catholic backdrops.

Drop drop of the back

back back falling away

She was very tired



fine fit

fool fiacre she said it spits from her mouth
spouts the rounding day.


the world's made of fine little hypocrite's and yer one of them
with your wasted eyes and lies, little jezebel of cropped
life and crippled body__ a vengeful gnome sitting
splattering your falseness at my expense

but Mona slashed you in two
cutting you to pieces
cutting you to death pieces


Slow as the pace of time, molasses , grudges trudges through the space time. Oona, the night knock its campbell soup tin cans 'fallen' 'down' via space that awkward metaphor we can __ that machine of ___ that __ labeless thing label-less thing escaping the mouth. what is this she she knocks
against shivering the hung down down hearted worlds of apocalypse and triune satisfaction, a book that is a book in name only __ on the lip of anew medium, a spook to ghost other times, ravage place you've not been. her body is alert as a ___ not so the westryn wind that blows your love back to you to you to someone speaking in the culvert of the archive. Some ditch in the main the mania of the moment.

Oona not Mona a ragged strong held doll
of the letter S bolded capped and larged to the
deceive without knowing yer body eases off pinching prick without knowing knowing without knowing

hearing hering the herb herring of the old time on the couch laying with her of then the then some. Oops what was that bold of her cause?