Bone Moats

her hand in front of the mower
mosquito fleet
broke witching stick
fish eyed philosophers

in the little time left we’ll try to ford finnegans wake
amidst the uncanny fragility of consciousness

logwood litmus
human cannonball
saddled with this body
roots pulled out from under
from horn to stirrup
isolated in iceland
baby in a car
facebook hung like an albatross
a google reasons to abandon ship

Choke Cherry


Everything I got is done in hock. When I’m dead and gone, that’s when I’ll take my stand. Can you hear the ocean down the well?

The candle’s burning for an old flame. Don’t turn away. Hard times come again no more. From the land of sky blue waters, where the rockets red glare. I fall to pieces.

Tonight i’m going to see my machera mio. Son of a gun, its jimini hendrick’s.

I know a man three feet tall. It was junebug versus hurricane.

exile_of-timeEft wildre mealwan seawes þry lytle bollan fullan.
Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England

Hyoscyamus, when taken by a person in health, produces disorder of the nervous system
Penny cyclopædia of the Society for the diffusion of useful knowledge

The gods were sitting at the board
In their great house at Slievenamon.
They sang a drowsy song, or snored,
For all were full of wine and meat.
The smoky torches made a glare
On metal Goban’d hammered at,
On old deep silver rolling there
Or on some still unemptied cup
That he, when frenzy stirred his thews,
Had hammered out on mountain top
To hold the sacred stuff he brews
That only gods may buy of him.