i am a head on a stick

Wikipedia Poem, No. 868

headonastick-sm

with honesty and love
he carried 
me over the earth
to 
       burke reason, honesty and didn't once put my 
head on a stick
or make me 
    do terrible things 
to the truth

now i am a head on 
      a stick
made to 
do terrible things 
and love
       trauma 

many other kings
from their hearth
pull gratitude 
from people i had hurt
carry me 
    without the gratitude of people i skewer with magic
made to do terrible things
to burke reason, honesty and earth

i am a 
head 
i am a head 
    on a stick again
and didn't never once love
the earth
who burkes reason, honesty and 
wompsters alike 
have carried me through gratitude 
to people i had once loved
and burked myself  
with reason, honesty and mirth

i am a head 
on a stick
made to do terrible things to truth
     
a head once loved
a head 
on a stick
made to do terrible things and never once loved
tubercular wompsters 
have carried me over the earth
      to the granite people stuck 
on a stick
that
once loved
 the truth as a trunk
      
i am a g and a wompster 
carried beside the earth
to 
burke reason, honesty and fellow 
wompsters 
don't concern yourself
with my trauma 

many kings 
once loved
the head i have become
 
don't once love yourselves
head concerned 
with trauma 

many kings
many truths

i am a head once loved
on a stick
made to do terrible things
to heaven
          to the 
earth
to burke 
reason, honesty and wompsters 
     
i have carried myself over the earth
to 
burke reason, honesty 
and wompsters 

i am a head 
of
     many kings don't concern themselves with
love
do terrible things
       to burke reason, honesty and truth

i am a head once loved
for its amplitude of attitude i had on a 
stick
and chompers 
chomping all over the earth
to burke reason's honesty and don't come once loved 

and many kings  
and many traumas 
and many earths 

burke reason
honesty and don't 
and don't and don't

Instructions for a Narrative

Wikipedia Poem, No. 855

hamsam-sm2

Mislead darkness into spaces surrounded by the unknowable void. Definitive articles, please. There be thick monsters of expired physiology of the ancient world of mind, the dark spaces of plein-air painting, found artifacts—void, which you will know about—the maker, the forest dying in technology’s web, the art of confused interrogation. For the second act, return to the suspended forest. Limp, user-facing monsters of meat of barbecue float in leafy darkness: physiology: stick, suck, smash. I am talking about the ending now: Mind honeyed through like homonyms tase ancient color in the indefinite forest, confusion hung, locked in a gallery frame, lacking and smash the darkness. Sea and joy separated forever. By what you’ve yet to think, that’s the ending, I mean.