Two circles surrounding a squareWas more than the poor thing could bearIt made itself fetal‘Til planar was hedralCylindrical nets are a snare! Isometry! Great celebration!But tragedy followed elation,When off of the gridThe image got slid.The pre-image, lost in translation. A circle can hardly affordTo argue with segments, good Lord!When a disc meets a lineIt is…
Category: Creative
Factorial
I am yet over rocky cliffs, briefly divining strengths — reluctance devouring temporal madness amidst hours with the id: I. — ptkh 011217
The Rusted Locket
the smell of salt in the air the creaking of the rope as it’s stretched taut the burn of it cutting into the hands the rocking of the ship the sound of seagulls in the distance the heat of the sun on the skin the slapping of the water on the side there in the…
The Twitter Zone (filk)
(Somewhere in a golden hotel room, Donald Trump’s starting to realize The presidential race has turned its back on him. It’s three a.m.) It’s three a.m., and the press has gone I’m sittin’ here Tweetin’, the rage still warm Maybe Steve Bannon is tired of takin’ chances Yeah there’s a vote to be lost, electors…
Fuseli’s Favorite Fantasm
my friend is back sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear telling me how pointless it all is how i’m talking to an empty room singing with a vacant orchestra shouting across the chasm at nobody when i turn to tell him to shut his mouth he disappears and i am at last…
claustrophobia
i am overwhelmed by the wall by the river by the stream of gogogodododostopstopstopnownownow until i am left breathless suffocated by another day of doing nothing — ptkh 06.11.16
Thirty-two years later
We are the sum of our pieces Meshed together Hammered into place Until the overlapping bits are crushed And the gaps are filled With hubris and bile We are lost in the labyrinth Sitting alone In the darkness Three twists from the end Four twists from the start Incoherent, inchoate, inching Nowhere We are fingertips…
My Muse
I smothered my muse with a down-filled pillow And left her corpse stretched out, Naked and prostrate, On the futon in the spare room. I held her in my dreams for a fortnight, Then discarded the memory, Wretched and withered, To the wraiths that live behind the house. But her siren call kept singing to…
Your Song
I wrote your song last night In words of sulfur and strychnine Writ in blood on onion skin I set it on fire And watched the smoke curl Up Up Up And Nevermore Now I’m humming the melody Softly to myself Thinking only Of you — ptkh 10.21.14
Urban Boneyard
The city is filled with the carcasses of yesterday’s homes, Once lovely bones picked clean by the copper vultures, Empty frames where glass held back the wind and rain In years now gone and done This was a young couple’s dream for a future together That was a family pausing on the ladder to take…