CONJUNCTION

CONJUNCTION

I am writing
              a poem

and the world is fucked.

I am writing a poem
but
the world

     is fucked

I am
writing a poem

however, although,
the world
                              is
                      fucked

am writing
notwithstanding, despite,
in outright opposition to

the
   world

being fucked.

I am writing a poem,

have written a poem,

just trying to establish
the precise conjunction.

HEIRLOOM

HEIRLOOM

there will come a time
when you step
out of your front door

only to
find

the clock in the house
old family clock,
heirloom
    that both of them
for all their
differences obvious
and concealed, real
and imagined
     will both swear and
schedule their lives by

only
   to find

heirloom, heirdoom,
        doomloom

time inside and outside
could not
        be more relative

and there it is
         out of nowhere
a growing pains singulaity
                          suddenly
extreme gravity
cosmic, yes, but
              when you speak
them in the boat
whirling around the vortes
just
   outside
  the event horizon

you will learn the apt term,
which may, in this case,
well be
psychosexual

and there they are dictating,
prescribing
       these great theraputic
gentlemen

who never in the world did
you expect
to see
    in real life

persuading you, pleading with
you
    imploring you

to find your negation of
this house of fiction, parental
palace
    of delusion

and until such time
        use the back door to
leave

quietly
     and at peace