it by wasn't the told of so, par Herman Shorts

it by wasn't the told of so

life and even one good thing–

anything, a course in wonders

becomes? no school, thanks not

for me. no lesson one so likes

declaring to find itself legs. no

more ideas please, there is

a great work to be undone.

maybe after

we can tell

stories again.

(2013)

we were all talking, things taking shape as they do, when someone said, be desireless, like that is at all a thing people

if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but

leaning into, not against it. no, decidedly for, yes, always that, no matter

I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.

my spirit sings to you, clears and quickens. losing you is impossible

why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything

drry awfl drd sys thngs tk t lng & y bttr hrry lst y

does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you

i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing

bring me things to break myself upon till

webwomb’s not the maker of me. came into it as falling is done. down, only always

god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.

here’s a story. it may even be true. where i come from nothing ever sucks, so i

people, mostly all barely beyond apes, cannot be trusted. they are incapable of caring

love me past the edges, stances and masks, deeper than i know things.