The Ghost in the Machine

the terminal anode connection, red for negative,
green for go, forest, cypress, scented letters
drifting through the postal systems

rough edges exposed, rust, tetanus, I’ll need a
booster shot, a panacea for
the R-complex innuendos

I describe Arabic script and you are confused
my fingers make arabesques in the air
I’ve no idea what I might be writing

Nonsense, or, more specifically, meandering
French curves, signifying nothing,
tales told by a proverbial Chaucerian idiot

[RK, 6/3/21]


357 Days

After hundreds of attachment
s
there is this single unopened file
a record of slipped away decades

scraps of paper fall out randomly
lined note paper, weathered envelopes,
eight-cent stamps, lazy intentionally cursive,
song quotes, sloopy printing

green and white Newport cigarette packs
used cars, the overweening sense of
camaraderie and the
sense of foreboding

synchronized with limitless expression
I’ll skip parenthood, mortgages, and divorces,
focus on the blank pages at the end of clever journals
more than we, what we called it

[RK, 6/3/21]