From the Archives : Directives for a New Century (2015)

Now that the spells cast are echoed out

                                        just toggle the switch to reset.

Record over the master tapes, enclose yourself in a metrics

of stubble. Now cue

                                         the apocolocyntotic gnomes, wraiths of flame invisibly

                                         blue to colonize the Idea

of Tongue — who’ll ply their little mallets, play a game of boulet

                                         with your words taking place

of marbles spilt — there, there — specifically. To think the mouth the ear

at once fraught with listening though wanting to

                                         talk over what it hears. Now mark

                                         our arrival in a far-off advent — have the heavenly

houselights been left on, curtains vindictively raised on all the rut

                                         of rarefied realms? Who is it

                                         that hates us so?

Does the Sublime look like so much backdrop, its clammy malapropa exposed

to biographical daylight and other postcoital embarrassments

                                         on clay cylinders glumly styled? Jouissance — now that’s a text

                                         glumlier read! Well — best you go toss off

that age-olde curséd backjaw of a penning sentence,

that rape knot of a slaphappy

                                         tongue. As after the delves and dives and wheeze afflatus

we are to punctuation overgiven, so we must

spit out the gumwad and take a meter of popsicle stick — with no more

                                         turns to make recrudesce

our happy office but just go

respire throat-deep in the reeds — saying Ahhh, Ahhh, specifically — there.