Armature Andy made my day
with honest stories
of his fake-believe things
There’s so much pressure
peals of Piccadilly

Drastic idiosyncratic
impish, ugly one-offs
spritely mortise worlds undone
rested, fortold
word paste moorings

working on slow fortitude
atop my forlorn internal cairns
I haven’t spent too many nights
with my back against terror
but to some
not being available is abhorrent
it’s worse in a way 

Practice misspellings.
Place your... talking to myself...
thoughts well, Trace your actions
to Folly Cove where the bluefish
and the horseshoe crabs commingle. 

The mola mola
flipped its pectoral fin into the air
giant, pale body visible from a hundred yards
belying 700 pounds of lazy awkward fish
off Andrew’s point
oh, and a harbor seal cruising by

no fish here 

a notable exception to words losing their way
it is 

deep nothing forgetinados. That’s
not a word, but I don’t care anymore
the Salvages of my heart have
tendrils seeking a deeper connection
to this place
I’m alive with the chances
A fish in a book. A tired friend giving me a glimpse into it
Impracticable, but happy. 

A dream, a deep recess
more than I can take
please release me 

nothing dark
we’re writing the palace tasks together
make short & main salads abide
by the thing we call home
a portmanteau of place 

tease me
I’ll give you tender responses.