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The Nacreous Oughts
29 July 2005
School of Quietude for Dummies
They mount, have reached the threshold, dash the veil
Unfeeling and yet feeling, strongest thence?
The hesitating sunset floated back,
Sublimed their faint applause. In short, he found
In the past life, what might be singing's use?
Destroy: as hard, then, to obtain a Muse
A sort of human life: at least, was turned
A sudden barrier ('was a cloud passed o'er)
K. S.
They mount, have reached the threshold, dash the veil
Unfeeling and yet feeling, strongest thence?
The hesitating sunset floated back,
Sublimed their faint applause. In short, he found
In the past life, what might be singing's use?
Destroy: as hard, then, to obtain a Muse
A sort of human life: at least, was turned
A sudden barrier ('was a cloud passed o'er)
K. S.
19 July 2005
16 July 2005
What if murder wasn't news but writing a terrific poem was?
K. S.
K. S.
12 July 2005
I used to think getting published in hardback was the logical culmination of writing: but now I know that's like expecting them to erect a bronze statue of you in the town square.
K. S.
K. S.
11 July 2005
Warfare is a dream, but slaughter is an avocation.
K. S.
K. S.
08 July 2005
If humans were rational creatures we'd all be driving Bicycles and speaking Esperanto.
K. S.
K. S.
07 July 2005
"No Mistakes Allowed" is the sign at the Empty Motel.
K. S.
K. S.
06 July 2005
A poet without folly is like a race car without sponsor stickers.
K. S.
K. S.
05 July 2005
The only one who understands Umbrism is Yasusada: and he doesn't understand it.
K. S.
K. S.
03 July 2005
The Devouring are now the Prolific.
K. S.
K. S.
01 July 2005
The Thetan Frontier
This woven raiment of nights and days
greenhorn contingent of cargo hustlers
I heard R’llyeth talking
full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
in the darkness of time, in the deeps
of little guilt worms crawling
a desert of electronic dust
and the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing
there is none of them clear to us now, not one
howling whiteness under blackness
cat footed between the lumpy bunks
and the high gods took in hand
green satin and spine-bones
an armed angel whose hands rause up
fissures in the untooled rock
K. S.
This woven raiment of nights and days
greenhorn contingent of cargo hustlers
I heard R’llyeth talking
full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
in the darkness of time, in the deeps
of little guilt worms crawling
a desert of electronic dust
and the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing
there is none of them clear to us now, not one
howling whiteness under blackness
cat footed between the lumpy bunks
and the high gods took in hand
green satin and spine-bones
an armed angel whose hands rause up
fissures in the untooled rock
K. S.
