Do you not agree with that
which I have said to you now

or have the fantods
run out of veins

in the history of infinity
High winds may exist

like a scratchy crystal set
and I know what’s a yacht

Anticipation of outcome
guarantees the absence of grace

Brightness has fallen from my interior air
with false starts galore and imitation empathy

for the ethereal hacker
syncing feeling to digital hugeness

angry and owl shaped
in the diaphanous mirror

that undiscovers solitude
in a crowd of countryside

an emotional Chihuahua
mincing perfectly toward

nothing in particular
Old men in old hats

I used to be contemplative
but now just complain

and can’t help pointing out
what is hidden beneath things