The Master of the Ghent Altarpiece.
bardic grimoary & notions
"in mask-Axum"
pale spider/ asperities
passing the museum
known turn of the maze
Fillmore phantoms enter
a cold draft
fabricating crab cakes
drizzle-won vigils
of the maze a known turn
leywalker's lookout
allotrope & rope trick
pale spider
pile of white ash
three-hundred-year-old light
maybe Betelgeuse
the birth of a new count
horseshoe-shaped kismet
shared at mome gloaming
gone now with the gurney
rolled me there
gangplank named Plimsoll
counting the days
empty glass of gospel
derivative note-glut
pallid legs
&nbsdp; upon umber
noise barrage waged on
ev'rything long-borne
spider pale
to watch waves smacking
the worn old pier, sworn to
follow a line
in the feral maze
Hormuz where we spiral
sputtering witness
spinning yarns
into yawning void
can't go there anymore
Yeats & his cobweb script
winning despite spindrift
spider creep
across umber
fathoms & war game pixels
vigilance, as if viral
verities, with timeshare
defunctive
puncture relics
kangaroo court gingham
for paper
kylix swarming with milestones
knowing only
vestiges of justice
jars of preserved organs
names of constellations
star-fulsome
desert frolic
count defeats by sixes
portrait of a sweven
a long swelter-courtship
auroras
somehow stuck there
golden the chase gaslit
with ingot cloud powders
drew logics
out of their lair
some open mike marplots
murky with last lurking
the chapbooks
cast upon stone
forever return chevron
gliding shape of escapement
under clocks
bristling with clues
occult wander kindred
survival
into carved granite larvae
bearing dad jokes
what of the pale spider
eclipse of spire hirelings
what of the wharf witness
& whelp learning turnkey
in silt trek
To set a term for sleep... Sleep should be a wild thing.
🚀‼️ Russian Roscosmos began placing advertisements on rockets due to financial problems.
"It maddened them that despite their having got acquainted with him, a man should remain as inaccessible as before . . . It is not enough that he moves and breathes differently from other people; the trouble is that we just cannot put our finger on the difference, cannot catch the tip of the ear by which to pull out the rabbit. Hateful is everything that cannot be palpated, measured, counted." —Nabokov via
"...a magical quality when taken out of context"
sleep like an island
the map indicates
but does not contain
sleep within each word
folded
like a fortune cookie
the rush to name sleep
in the shadow of the white nights
each fork's end fetching
unfastened from brass shroud
in truth tragical
a blindnress for the ages
old TV shows shambles
shipwreck drivethrough
nothing can be saved
of the great thefts
peering anxious whiplash
orgulous realm boygfare
still scribbling
in my doomsday scrapbook
through killhornet-hailstorms
& the hurt sky curdling
blind led by blitzkrieg
led from swamp into deserts
🧊.
" They have chosen pride over country. And they will carry that choice for the rest of their lives. And the rest of us are left to document what is happening and how they stood back and allowed it." —Heather Delaney Reese via
"Si le ciel et la mer sont noirs comme de l'encre,
Nos coeurs que tu connais sont remplis de rayons!"
—Baudelaire
(The sky is black; black is the curling crest, the trough
Of the deep wave; yet crowd the sail on, even so!"
—Millay & Dillon
"Though black as pitch the sea and sky, we hanker
For space; you know our hearts are full of rays."
—Roy Campbell via
"if now the sky and sea are black as ink
our hearts, as you must know, are filled with light."
—Robert Lowell)
"two moods of the firmament"
Sands run in the rizz flask
Rickety bridge fidgets
Grim façade of granite
Grows sky-wide war zone
Wake to thunder working
Lie there a long time thinking
Of loops I’ve traced wasteful
And intent, trash not taken out
And tales left off failing
Not connecting, nocturne
In the nether sands
"...more girls in Japan are starting to use traditionally masculine first-person pronouns."
"slackening Qeb"
the third quarter drags
drogulus our frogpith
internecine arsenic
aimlessly game wielding
Airstream rental floatpig
red Nonnos fleer storage
"The collapse of the simulation is not the end of the story."
"When the supply of tombstones ran out and new upstart families had set up a rival cemetery on the other side of town, a cemetery whose polished and tinted marbles sparkled like wedding cakes in the sunshine, the First Families of New Hoosic (for such was the town’s inaccurate name), most of them, like mine, played-out, down-at-the-heel, the heel bruised by stones not left unturned in the bumsteered search for Grace, scurried around until they found, living in a tar-paper shack near Arbor Lodge at Nebraska City, an old-timer, a stone cutter who delighted in the prospect of scaring the daylights out of quick and dead alike." —Margaret Boylen via
" 'In that strange yesterday from which I have come,' I replied, 'here prevailed the superstition that between one evening and the next morning, events occur that it would be shameful to have no knowledge of. The planet was peopled by spectral collectives — Canada, Brazil, the Swiss Congo, the Common Market. Almost no one knew the prior history of those Platonic entities, yet everyone was informed of the most trivial details of the latest conference of pedagogues or the imminent breaking off of relations between one of these entities and another and the messages that their presidents sent back and forth — composed by a secretary to the secretary, and in the prudent vagueness that the form requires. All this was no sooner read than forgotten, for within a few hours it would be blotted out by new trivialities.' " —Borges via @merothwell
"moth wrangler"
duck lisp · rodeo book
nebbish tome · rife cark
cis gaze · dispel hsigo
yak ska · yogi shlep
side zag · sick race
fire moth · sib enko
oboe dorp · silk cud
Mary Shelley Outlives her Husband and Friends.
"mere wisps to tally"
glimmer-rue doula
Glaugnea leaves scattered
wall of bars gliding
barrage igneous rooks
translucent days
double rainbow ribbon
through ruinous calm Fillmore
A boat on the river, time unknown.
"Our age has no impress of its own. We have impressed the seal of our time neither on our houses nor our gardens, nor on anything that is ours. On the street may be seen men who have their beards trimmed as in the time of Henry III, others who are clean-shaven, others who have their hair arranged as in the time of Raphael, others as in the time of Christ. So the homes of the rich are cabinets of curiosities: the antique, the gothic, the style of the Renaissance, that of Louis XIII, all pell-mell. In short, we have every century except our own--a thing which has never been seen at any other epoch: eclecticism is our taste; we take everything we find, this for beauty, that for utility, another for antiquity, still another for its ugliness even, so that we live surrounded by débris, as if the end of the world were at hand." --Alfred de Musset, Confessions of a Child of the Century (1896, tr unknown)
"Everything in Virgil's poetry reveals that he was Gallic." —Curzio Malaparte via
"Trakl: De Profundis
There is a stubble field on which a black rain falls.
There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here.
There is a hissing wind which haunts deserted huts---
How sad this evening.
Past the village pond
The gentle orphan still gathers scanty ears of corn.
Golden and round her eyes are gazing in the dusk
And her lap awaits the heavenly bridegroom.
Returning home
Shepherds found the sweet body
Decayed in the bramble bush.
A shade I am remote from sombre hamlets.
The silence of God
I drank from the woodland well.
On my forehead cold metal forms.
Spiders look for my heart.
There is a light that fails in my mouth.
At night I found myself upon a heath,
Thick with garbage and the dust of stars.
In the hazel copse
Crystal angels have sounded once more."
Translated by Jurek Kirakowski
"Some decades earlier, François-René de Chateaubriand had expressed his own generation’s malaise, warning of the ‘unsettled state of the passions’, the ‘tedium of the heart’ and the ‘secret inquietude’ of young people whose environment offered no outlet for their intense feelings. ‘With a full heart,’ he sighed, ‘we dwell in an empty world.’ " —Emily Herring via
"yahoodini"
bent heads scrolling · as the scrambled light
finds this windswept bridge
peripheral stulm laughter
lattices the business
tapeshadow · shuddery ribs
faded-name van
double arrow abscess
& airt taken starewise
so early trek · true north gnat-skewed
circular church twice
speedrun through the thrum dark
thrash amidst ash-missives
storylost stagger · destiny erstwhile
all the glittering shards
"be brave"
glimmer-rue
other people be brave
security clowns
lost in the esters
thick trees look down
orange bowl fiestaware
glimmer-rue
other people be brave
"Maybe now is one of those times."
"At the time he was writing his Dissertatio, Leibniz was immersed in Polygraphia Nova (1663), a treatise on cryptology by none other than Athanasius Kircher, who proposed polygraphy as ‘all languages reduced to one’ and who, at that very moment, was likely in possession of the Bacon Cipher. If Marci’s letter is to be believed, Kircher was the last known owner of the manuscript before it vanished for centuries, until it was discovered again by Voynich." —Jared Marcel Pollen via
"Because we members of Western society are not socially permitted to express despair in everyday life, we are more often than not forced into a kind of cruel and unsustainable quiescence." —Kate Wagner via
"my garden
is wizened now
but soon
it will be plump
and ripe with snow"
—Debbie Strange via
"...the only surviving word of Khazar..."
"Cinnamemnon"
It's not yet apogee of the utmost furnace
& anxious waiting bides
the landing of the carnal birds.
Nothing in the stars dropped this deep minus
save blind unreasoning greed & hate in harness.
Fresh parables encroach.
Few of the righteous peal much starch.
I & other hobbits dread the onus.
Pale cerulean party clothes,
concrete ribbons' jagged path
jingle both
in Ozymandias jazz.
It's not yet apogee of the utmost furnace.
"Still I trip up, in this poem, over foil, and the oozing oil."
"Accountability is not optional. Accountability is the only vaccine." —I Fucking Love Australia via
"Someone recently asked me about why I call my Substack the Duck-Billed Reader."
". . . How short it takes to go, dear, but afterward to come so many weary years - and yet 'tis done as cool as a general trife. Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat. We turn not older with years, but newer every day." —Emily Dickinson via
"GLACIER (Consonant Palindrome)
Our loose, cut ice retains its longing
Lit in a parade, it drowns unaware —
a dot, a drop, until gone, gone...
lost as Antarctica’s lore."
—@anthonyetherin.bsky.social
"Inwood/ Hampton"
elderberry lemon balm & kaputnik
frenzied witness
badminton gone wrong
paper cup drawback
dramamine whiplash
elderberry lemon balm
& kaputnik frenzied witness
“Regarding the ‘creative writing’ courses in our colleges, one must add that they tend to destroy the audience of literature. They do so by promoting into writers, and often opinionated writers, the susceptible but uncreative persons who might otherwise be the best readers.”
—Van Wyck Brooks via @robertminto
"A Damascus blade gleaming and glancing in the sun was her wit. Her swift poetic rapture was like the long glistening note of a bird one hears in the June woods at high noon, but can never see. Like a magician she caught the shadowy apparitions of her brain and tossed them in startling picturesqueness to her friends, who, charmed with their simplicity and homeliness as well as profundity, fretted that she had so easily made palpable the tantalizing fancies forever eluding their bungling, fettered grasp." —from Emily Dickinson's obituary written by her sister-in-law, Susan via
"one of the things"
familiar pills in
unfamiliar bottles
grid of iconic fruit
gateswept blurs of scurry
unfamiliar bottles
array dim & fatal
of the few shreds of meaning
merles taking from the still one
last of my pills in a paper cup
fusillade ferrying
familiar pills in
reach desired zilchbrim
zeroing out blinkroster
“Fata Morgana
A blue-eyed phantom far before
Is laughing, leaping toward the sun:
Like lead I chase it evermore,
I pant and run.
It breaks the sunlight bound on bound:
Goes singing as it leaps along
To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound
A dreamy song.
I laugh, it is so brisk and gay;
It is so far before, I weep:
I hope I shall lie down some day,
Lie down and sleep.”
—Christina Rossetti
Unpublished Didion, on the early Grateful Dead.
“Our students come to us from secondary school having read no works of literature in foreign languages and scarcely any works of literature in their own language. The very years, between twelve and eighteen, when they might be reading rapidly, uncritically, rangingly, happily, thoughtlessly, are somehow dissipated without cumulative force. Those who end their education with secondary school have been cheated altogether of their literary inheritance, from the Bible to Robert Lowell. It is no wonder that they do not love what we love; we as a culture have not taught them to. With a reformed curriculum beginning in preschool, all children would know about the Prodigal Son and the Minotaur; they would know the stories presumed by our literature, as children reading Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare or Hawthorne’s Tanglewood Tales once knew them. We can surely tell them the tales before they can read Shakespeare or Ovid; there are literary forms appropriate to every age, even the youngest. Nothing is more lonely than to go through life uncompanioned by a sense that others have also gone through it, and have left a record of their experience. Every adult needs to be able to think of Job, or Orpheus, or Circe, or Ruth, or Lear, or Jesus, or the Golden Calf, or the Holy Grail, or Antigone in order to refer private experience to some identifying frame or solacing reflection.”
—Helen Vendler, “Presidential Address 1980 [MLA]” via @themeanderingmiltonist
Take away the whirlwind of hours.
“Yet for all of us there were moments when the game we were all agreeing to play simply could not stand up to events: we would be gripped by feelings of unreality, like nausea. Perhaps this feeling that the ground was dissolving under our feet, was the real enemy…” —Doris Lessing, The Memoirs of a Survivor (1975)
“The Closer”
the mists of Acheron intrude
amidst this sunned charivari
and those of us who still have jobs
cling tighter to the pyramid
deraignment from my druidhood
has not released me from the pain
of watching something vaster than
this game of synonyms go crunch
i carve the mists of Acheron
and lurch through squawking pyramids
and darkest in the sunlight solve
enigmas no one else can see
(2009)
"The Promise"
These make the last few embers of dinosaur sunlight.
This will be a legendary day: we were so free,
so bold, so murderous. Our mayfly-brief
glory will be unsurpassed & the talon
of our joy has marked the spot indelibly.
What is there more to say? We touched the stars
but our hearts were not touched. Our first resort
was annihilation. Waking now, we still won’t label
this fury of a pastime anything but innocence.
What wonder if our trinkets, that litter the earth,
when they work no more, become bleak plethora
of talismans? Holding them now, our karma upon us,
we still want to click on a window & do it over.
(2013)
"And You....?"
" '木漏れ日 komorebi' is a Japanese word for sunlight filtering through the trees, and people often say it is hard to translate. Honestly, I think it is fine as long as the rough feeling gets across. You can see komorebi in any season, but to me it belongs to May. The light gets stronger, pouring down onto the ground through the fresh green leaves." —Real Japanese Aesthetics via ( I know i found a word for this but it'll take some digging to find it--.)
"i have yet to see a single cis person say something about the fact that the government just designated trans people a terrorist group and threatened to kill all of us." —Evelynn via
" Each year is more burdensome than its fellow."
"artisanal drizzle"
when a lowly canal gets
Main Character Energy
the hard parade rustles
with rued fender swelling
i would own that garden
Illig's reft lifetimes
tokonoma Badtz mug
tiny raised train loop
A Description of a Legislative Day.
"thirst for the fight"
lookin' like a made man · Rachmaninov portrait
Topsy's eyes
culdesac shine
rogue crescent respite
rawn Amontillado
"I wish I didn’t know as much about the end of Reconstruction as I do.
If you understood what is being unleashed now, how it will touch every aspect of our civic life, and how difficult it will be to undo it, you wouldn’t be able to think about anything else."
—@trevondlogan.bsky.social
"One man, seeking to develop steel of a high enough quality to make razor blades that could compete with foreign offerings, sought out an aged former swordsmith in the mountains and became his apprentice. They attempted to mechanise the ancient tatara process of smelting iron ore into tamahagane, jewel-steel. Trial was met with much error, to the point that the old smith swore to the gods that he would disembowel himself if this one final attempt did not work. Thankfully, they got the air blast setting right and produced some very excellent steel, which became the foundation for the company’s razor blade business." —Jonathon via
Whatever happens to musicians will happen to everybody.
"tracking deaths of despair at the jukebox"
the toast stirs · El Niño creeps
a deep dive
in dark waters
& nature's nard filches
Nemesis & hymnbook
foreign postage · Pitcairn Island
this spice wind
wandered wayward
the fridge nags chiming
frabjous not quite abseil
entity lost · with the leafturn
Some reviews i wrote about Dallas art.
"The Advertisement
In the Manner of the Earlier English
Whether to wend through straight streets strictly,
Trimly by towns perfectly paved;
Or after office, as fitteth thy fancy,
Faring with friends far among fields;
There is none other equal in action,
Sith she is silent, nimble, unnoisome,
Lordly of leather, gaudily gilded,
Burgeoning brightly in a brass bonnet,
Certain to steer well between wains."
—Rudyard Kipling via FGR
"In East Germany, the Berlin Wall stood for nearly thirty years. The regime called it the Anti-Fascist Protection Wall. The barrier that locked East Germans inside their own country was officially described as protecting them from the West. The state media and textbooks said it. Children learned it in school. Their parents knew what it really was. But both versions existed at the same time, and the citizen’s job was to choose the official one." —Heather Delaney Reese via
"Can you explain this gap in your resume?"
"Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can’st not go mad?" —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social
"Allah is great"
matutinal dove; crescent
songs beyond our cinders
scansion; dord's hardball
& the whole thing screaming
Allah is great; grackles
follow me past grieving
i run with the pack, rickshaw
i am five wide extinctions
24 Hours. With reference to my essay, Live at Brighton Polytechnic.
"It’s like cool nihilism, to put it facetiously."
"anthrax island"
Parnassian leeway · lightless knowledge
golden chewtoy flung
kill cascade · at the scenic outlook
they'll name new eras for this
bend to pick · the quid shuffled
without leaving my seat
things i have had my · fill of, marching
to the spry horizon
Louis Armstrong performing for his wife at the Great Sphinx of Giza.
"The Maroon, our school newspaper, had published two articles completely written by AI. This had gone unnoticed for a few months before the only UChicago student with free time on his hands decided to see what sort of groundbreaking coverage of Chicago-area sports The Maroon might have and was certainly dejected to realize that instead of being furnished insider scoops on the Bulls’ roster moves, he was stuck reading sentences like: 'Chicago’s perfect start isn’t a fluke; it’s the product of cohesion,' and 'And through it all, there’s Giddey — the calm in the chaos, dictating the tempo and keeping the team grounded in the momentum.' " —Owen Yingling via