Moth

Post or die fluff the muff try again so strangulation

Pop goes the wiser aluminum sunglasses church on Tuesday promise?

Canticle no man’s land space and time wrapped in a bundle

Neither she nor he is transformed or a pedigree

The rest stand the test of petulance and geography

Womb south worms inside the other station can you piece together an authority?

Ample normal not a jungle no slaves no lies just nonsense and greed in your face

Envelope blues tried containment closer to the concubine cucumber slash moves

Animal doggerel smooth latte charge tweed moth

Too

Ralph was running suddenly a space ship descended and he vomited then fell down.

Alice was keeping warm in a hot tub until a tarantula crawled onto her hand and she got

Scared that another person might be around or maybe not maybe just the spider and her were

There. Awesome words come from flaky people when there is a point to be made and everyone

Knows it. Even they can come up with a good one. I like cabbage fried with bacon and hoppin John

and pork loin marinated in tasty stuff what do you think about it? I like food but sometimes

my stomach revolts and says no and that is when it hurts. Gluten is an enemy and dairy milk too.

Paratactic Verse and the Poem as Object

Here is an excerpt from Disjunctive Poetics, by Peter Quartermain:

“…Williams and Zukofsky both write paratactic verse — in their syntax there is no subordination, there is rather a stringing out of beads on a string, as Aristotle complained, where everything is of equal importance…

“…the poem is an object…in her 1909 essay on Picasso, Gertrude Stein distinguished between things, things seen, and things known, a distinction that reminds us of the ineluctable and intransigent quality of things: unknown, probably unknowable. The poem as a thing is resistant, and must baffle us, leave us shall we say at a loss?”

Smoke!

Smoke

Slowly

Fills the room,

Then the house.

The fire is not

Extraordinarily high,

And the chimney flue

Is open.

So, why, the smoke?

After a few hours,

The smoke alarm

In the hallway

Comes on.

I turn on the exhaust fan,

Above the stove.

I open the front door,

With the window up

On the screen door.

I open the door to the garage.

I turn on the ceiling fan,

Sucking air up.

Finally,

The blasted smoke alarm

Turns off.

Now,

We’re not toasty

Anymore.

Time to put more wood

On the fire.