Finding "Didact" No Option
The sane curve's a wright bro.
Instinct's pointless trajectory liquors it up.
Across brimstone.
A box car of sevens drives vixens to sixty.
In townships
(a town) destined for downfall
whose face is a grid groomed by
an id, by a caul, y'all?
For Sale on the lawn.
Its noun is a sentence.
Not built by a chapel.
Not built on a cliff of Calvinist reticence.
Sutra-dramas wonder/wander
into golden marginalia of space
clicking gunshy on kneecaps
endured
by a seaman. In
the pitch of its hills
lies the crutch of his shadow, prayer brick by
prayer block.
A synod of kills is the charm
of its clock, drowned to brimming off I-75.
& "didact" no option.
Since the past
is the past is the past is the past & no escape
to it. What is felt is
purchased, an edit or c'mon incarnate as--
"My web page or yours? My Apple computer
or hours?"
A dweller in
church is a Dante imposter.
A thunder of cinders!
& yes, defective.
apocryphaltext Vol. 2, Nos. 2 & 3
Raymond Farr lives in Ocala, FL. His most recent work appears both on line & in print at Bird Dog, Otoliths, Anemone Sidecar, Pinstripe Fedora, little red leaves, Schizotype, Dusie, Cab/Net, & Word / for Word.
a poem by raymond farr