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The indefinable imagery is compelling, maddening, frightening. So too with words which do not connect in the traditional ways. One creates a world of one's own, and as quantum physics tries to prove, this world multiplies, replaces itself every second with a new set of perceptions.

NATCH

hey what clock can't stop
sand hick substance foamer

useless fathom and departing frame
sport his stupid tie

and concert to the grim fund

never dread a peaking strum
my pond dips to long island

rubble tips apart the ethos
got too far along the edge

shouts if they ripen
forgone glassy voice tag

one set of high heels
knocks hard on the upstairs floor--

our version of heartache taped together

****





TRANSLATION?  I have made a painting of this poem, pencil on canvas, letting the imagery disperse as a tablet. This poem is about language, but also about how to describe the abstract miseries of childhood, the insanity or incomprehensibility of certain people, certain events. What sensory reactions you may have would explain the underlying rhythms of our shared emotions. Memory cannot be erased at the cellular level, try tho' we may.

sg sf ca 9 17 19