Awaiting Diagnosis

who whips
little wooden
orbits says
hello i am
laughter
soured

there is
grass mown &
wind stilled &
i have come
up to the hole
& found it lacking

Wikipedia Poem, No. 378

wiki378-02

“that we be returned to the faceless / attention, / the waiting and waiting for the telling sound. / Am I alone here?” from Jorie Graham’s “The Phase After History”

that last walk i
pissed a sigh
and she tickled thought

breath needs
but one last walk
piss my tail

beats twice bedsheet
breath in the dither
the third time i’m surprised

her white lashes flutter nothing lasts
walk across high-pitched europe
in heels white europe pissed away that walk

i pissed sigh
she has ticked away
from me and could be coulding

contact her into her
tail beats twice such a way
a high-pitched passport

talking gently a staccato thought out
a thought that she is boring
and better lost her breath or selfishness

wikipedia poem, no. 27

centcom

   a 
stubborn 
lock stops itself from 
laughing
      all just carry me
      Have some pride 
         of the cruel
   an addict  
licks the whoring 
         bed 
to die  metaphor is too easy
       but a finish weapon
I  stubborn  lock myself 
from 
the person 
to medicine like 
       a 
stubborn lock stops itself 
from laughing
      the metaphor is too 
easy  finish weapon
       I stubborn lock myself from the 
     idea 
    of 
shadows
impossible to predict  lick the 
metaphor 
easy 
          finish 
weapon
     studied medicine  
licks the 
  person to predict 
  a stubborn lock 
itself now laughing
whoring  I’m trapped
basically 
we’re all just carrying me
peeking or (peaking?) I’m 
trapped
basically.