a
different trajectory--
a
diversionary turn
at
the speed of dark
going
sideways
in
a
one way street
at
the speed of sound
breaking
deaf barriers
on
Burial Mounds
rock
scissors paper
which
road to choose
to
properly careen
oval
squared slideshows
diversionary
dictionaries
--
daylong midnights
gung-ho
galaxies
up
front backseat drivers
upright
pianos, standup bass
scattering
rim shots using a brush
cattle
ranch cat calls
hay
seed horse haws
owls
hoot while coots holler
once
a diversion
twice
a perversion
knitting
knots for hottentots
winning
ways for tottenham
all
that glitters isn't glam
different
tragic trajectories
tractors
that travel diverse ways
You
cannot run forever
no matter
your trajectory of choice.
A
selection of numerous personas,
but will
you go back to yourself?
The one
before the one from yesterday?
The best
way to get out is to lose
riots,
strike police
in hair
knots
notes on
cotton paper (burgeoned).
With frame
freeze
the sound
of raw umber
was
deafening.
throw it away
it doesn’t suit you.
Do you think it would be alright to stay here
today?
He had not noticed
the glitch
the data anomaly
the constant rewind
what happened in prison
while she punched in useless I-TUNES
lets hope they’re still watching.
a drone site
their resources
no matter how you play this
we risk losing everyone inside
it you take this back
it’s a one way ticket
no sentimental feelings allowed
regardless of cost
do you think he got the message?
Establish a permanent link
because -
then it disappeared
someone was watching
this is not real
it WAS the same one
she of course was meditating
some sort of existential exercise
but her
methods
they were faulty
and he thought it stupid.
trajectories to climbing injuries
tunnels, elevators and windmills -
can you see me down here?
sitting
at the broken table
eating
garlic and horse meat
hot
with fragrant horse blood
making
fast bets on slow horses
stumbling
out of stables
never
run the table
below
broken windows
the
old soldiers home
Rimbaud
wrote of
in a
Parisian poem
through
broken doors
the
distant whores
are
swelling the airs
singing
their wares
ringing
their change
in
the traffic roar
watching
US moon landings
filmed
in Nam' s bomb craters
3
stacked TVs showing scenes
2
moon walkers growing obscene
turning
into obsessed stalkers
chasing
the Stars
of
the moonbeam Screen
meanwhile
back in the States
a
lot of loud haters
big
bunches of Red baiters
in
dead earnest are debaters
standing
up on cloven hooves
screaming
to the voting booths
KILL
EVERYTHING THAT MOVES
finishing
our horse meat meal
getting
back to work at hand
plastique
explosives to shape and feel
their
Beings imagined are growing real
not
much time to seal the deal
at
last to launch and watch them land
while
we blow this soda stand
blowing
holes in history
blowing
holes in time
blowing
holes in space
blowing
holes in rhyme
the
latest asemic writing
on
the old anemic wall
an
amnesiac phrasing
in
an enigmatic scrawl
NOTA
BENE
these
here fragments that are calling out to reach their run and then return to the
different trajectory (already right away in my head the nutty rhyming i've
never done sounds like a tiny school child who thinks poetry means making
things rhyme in time etc etcetera-"it's not a crime/ to rhyme ' There it
is!--a demented deejay rapper who dreams in an almost if not quite amazing
corniness (??)--i have no idea where any of it came out of it except that
inside there is a core that are real events persons the recipe the room the 3
stacked tvs making bombs during dinner or as dessert so to speak," a
recipe for disaster"--has been published in one version as prose poem in a
chapbook online called After Rimbaud's Illuminations--"after" so and
so of one's choice was the writing concept the editor of journal had originally
asked for hence the title--and of course the joke that ios is also literally
written AFTER Rimbauds wrote his Illuminations ,
anarchic
and artistic
antique
and avant-garde"
a
different trajectory
a
different kind of battle
a
different kind of war
from
walls eyes are watching
from
puddles skies reflecting.
A large V surrendered
to the credits [and previous, pervious Mays,
Junes and Julys]
one man is not super-human after all
the tripping through rows of comics
with bandaged arms fighting in designer
outfits collapsing
while kicking
then
slow motion speeded things past the speed of bright.
Come here and see the end of a man,
the trap in torchlights
but they would not surrender their stars.
The factory was full tilt with Ming vases,
boxed,
The passengers from here were cold.
Sound of iron
grating
and even when you called him,
he didn’t answer and her pace was slow,
measured as always
interrupting a rousing symphony
(Handel).
The resistance
(perfected - with every eventuality hardware
in place) but HE didn’t want a proxy, he wanted HIM. Now stop interrupting me while the sound of a
‘40’s bike came up the neighbors driveway.
A lake reflected
the sorrow of the sky
a world so different
I could never have known.
Moments in a book
[of unknowing] and then,
it was the end
walking down dark,
strange passages on the day they arrived.
Everyone went to the window and the class was empty but we got
stared at anyway.
Horse meat
slow heart and liver beat
feel the punch of life
between
a knife slice.
heart pounding
the sun shining
but not on me
course language
children’s laughter
but not for me
that’s all outside
while we sit on the inside
fear filled
- for making a mistake
is very costly
keep your secrets your lies those things you
need to make you whole meanwhile you don’t know YOU’RE the one full of holes.
Shaking hands, tired wrists, I’ve been captive for too long. Strange choices,
secret gardens, beating
irregular and then
OK
help me carry this bag
it has a strangers head
I don’t have a charger
but I’ll charge anyway
and meet you later
over crumbed chicken and
horses meet.
my compass
spinning--
no
direction known
scattering
leaves
sun's
shadows shifting
Fall
of the year
ice
stirring in veins--
staring
down suicide
seated
across the room
keeping
pace on sidewalks opposite
will
never beat me home
racing
not for the finish
i
eye
finding
a labyrinth's thread
a
different trajectory
for
another day's journey
a
different trajectory
trespassing
boundaries
divagations
other ways
detours
from deadly deadlines
forgoing
fast lanes and
faultlines
finding different
trajectories
thinking
on one's feet
never
brought to heel--
different
trajectories
ongoing
stories
-----there
that sudden outburst says it better than paragraph on paragraph from the
dictagraphs--
telephones
and telegraphs--
pictographs
and diagrams
cartographies--chirographies--
there
the distant moon
appears
in one's hand
real
voice reveals
hidden
mind--
spontaneous
combustion
eruption
as
compostion--
yes
that says it much better what dimimages are haunting behind my eyes
so
gives me an idea of why the last days so overshadowed
months
of thinking talking death
when
life is going on living
seems
an obscenity
a
different trajectory
a
star swerves in space
shifting
shadows' seasonal shades
scattering
ripples' shining paths
--a
brook murmuring in a different tone--
plunges
into perilous patterns
concentric
circular wave lengths
that
in a mud red pond converge
pooling
orbits' pulls counterwise
swift
towards the vortex--
towards
a black hole--
into
which a different trajectory
deposits
a swerving star--
a
different trajectory
footsteps
walking quietly
touch
gently fallen leaves
among
sidewalk cracks
dark
abysses emerge
overhead
tree limbs moving
create
shadow cinemas
flickering
among ants
footsteps
changing paths
disturb
galaxies' light
on
gently fallen leaves
anthills
in confusion
footsteps
quietly leaving
a
different trajectory
memories
knifing one--
long
haunted nights
a
ravenous thirst
crying
out for light
among
dim shadows
spiders
spin a nest
--not
a web--a nest--
wherein
lies an egg
eye-shaped
and seeing
awake
aware observing
light
starved eyes cry
--eye
shaped egg reflecting
rays
of rising sun
a
different trajectory
driving
mud rutted roads
way
too fast and laughing
sun
splashing gold leaf
moment
patinaed in time
steering
wheel and hubcaps
radio
and clock faces
Mandalas
all of them
Sacred
Circle Spirit Wheel
chrome
glorious chrome
A
sun-pulling Chariot
A
sun-glinting Chevrolet
Space
Time Traveling
old
country roads
A
mountain walk
took me
through
eucalyptus
forests
damp
with mist
mushrooms
and
alien fern frosts
red
with death
I
thought
if I
placed a crimson filter
over
this trajectory
I would
be on Mars.
can you
rewind a rogue war
even if the
partakers are ugly
find your
positions
light the
place up
ask the pilot
do you know
your way out of here?
They tried to
make the other world pretty
but only one
imagination is so limited
it takes a
full cast
like a choir
rather than a
piping solo.
They never
saw it coming but that’s the point in being clever
decoy I
believe its called.
The palms
were computer
generated and the soldiers were hidden
under carpets
and when he said YOU’RE clear
there were no
more noir depictions of helicopters.
He fell down
a mountain
well that’s
what THEY wanted
everyone to
believe,
but no one
saw
the wallet
slip away
into a pocket
not
belonging.
She gasped
she knew him
but not this
way,
not dead
inside.
pause - can
you rewind, can you make him live again?
She of course
could not
understand - she KNEW him her head held the knowledge of something greater.
the slate was
grey, rain grey
and wet,
their jackets
were yellow-lime-green-
bobbies-new
ones, innocent and unsure.
look, just
leave it
talking into
walkie-talkies while the killer -
he just
looked on.
she saw
severe injuries - on the inside - do you think ANYTHING is accidental?
It’s the
trajectories
a life of
their own
nothing we
can do or say
they weave
their own
rock faces
broad places
brother mine,
is time to
let go.
the sea hawk
- it called -
darkness
outside - and
within
and the
switch?
If I could
only turn it on.
Everything-
EVERYTHING
was
you
and me
about this
business
but
we never get
the details, it’s the way.
The Way.
The way of
different trajectories.
And she? She
set a cordon
it was her
way.
Grey skies,
asking -
should I pull an all-night-er?
I thought I
saw a heart - a real one. Why would you do that?
set the bones
to lie?
Red trellis,
sulky
daughters,
what can one
say?
Did you
wise-up?
Always look
at the eyes -
they tell the
tale
on free-ways
not free
but we -
we’re not free.
Say what you
want -
words,
they never
lie
their users
do.
a
different trajectory
trains
of association
rattling
in the suboxosphere
chains
of disassociations
chattering
in the stratosphere
why
go anywhere
go
anymanywhere
when
you can't get there
from
here
saw
several shadows stumbling
crawling
across crumbling wall
the
larger they grow
the
closer they are--
bearing
down behind me
spray
painting scrawls
set
to spring and strike me--
whirling
wickedly writing
graffiti
in their eyes
stunned
shocked shreiking
blinded
beaten bawling
their
shadows now Pygmy sized
my
shadow silently slipping away--
a
different trajectory--
spilling
the beans at soda machines
junkies
fingers grasping gashing
metal
knobs, plastic windows
ravenous
for sugar, blood sugar
chanting
and crooning their looney tunes
in
plastic receptacles reside
wonders
of the mighty world
junkies
on junk food feasting
grim
grey ghastly gnashing
tearing
apart layered chremicals
non-nutrition
entering veins
bio-chemical
disasters
hitting
too close to home--
walking
human junkyards
junk
to junk--shot and eaten--
in
the veins stomach lungs brains
walking
human junkyards
keeling
over among ragged weeds--
a
different trajectory
take
a jolly journey.
the
grass waved,
seaweed
mapped.
a
ripple across the curtain of different trajectories
you
need me he said she said I don’t need anybody
and the
body
rose to
the surface
its
heart was missing.
lonely
boat
wands
in the water
medieval
cuffs a cloudy sky
and
still he keeps running and the boy
catatonic
she bed
baths him except his brother noticed
his
feet were dirty.
holding
a cup of tea
I
didn’t trust his eyes or the questions he was asking
don’t
hate me
yesterday
I
thought I was going to die
and
still he kept running.
The
look on his face when he closed the door
how far
from the shore was he?
How
close to the truth was she?
we need
to stick together through thick and thin and blackmail why were you whispering?
the
hydro electric dam, was it still a suspect?
a
person of interest?
a
connection?
take
another look at the contact and do not be fooled by my radiant smile
that
dumped heart
forensics
will look today, but until the tests come back, I’m going to make the call.
What
was the madness in his eyes?
Pounding
heart
before
a funeral
call me
please
the man
that keeps on running
he
knows more than he’s saying.
Book
made for An Encyclopedia of Everything.
Edition
of 15 Chapbooks and 1 artists book.
Artists
book and one copy for David include the email David sent to begin this
collaboration. There are still left over
words, which will be carried through to another collaboration. Words began on 17th October 2017
and are currently hovering in the wings of life to be worked on again.
Many
thanks David - good to see you on another trajectory.
Images
by David Chirot and Cheryl Penn
