Jelly Glitch (ekphrastic) “the glitch is the jelly as the jelly is the glitch” Con/Jur/d, 7/21/2026 CRUNCH/SQUISH where did the sand come from? what was once smooth, these rustdemons these techy/touchy bros absorb the analog smooth leave the crunchy grit would be funny, until you know SOMEONE HURLS A BIG GLASS BALL through the plate glass window brings WD40 squishy to a sudden SCRATCH (the squeakiness compressed) cut/cut/cut feels more and more the edges are softer, honeyed golden, the way Oshun likes it all 5 senses, not just the translated translation in zen sand of “eyes peeled / ears cocked” Really? all we can say to 14 surgeries in 4 years the woman who’s making our breakfast in this little, out of the way, lakeside village maybe more hamlet, soon, soon they’ll take away the postoffice just like the pennies the absolute in the relative, the relative in the absolute ZEN of SQUISH surviving cancer twice, now making eggs and pancakes, discussing chemo like yesterday’s murmur of football flow/score why did the barbarian come from the west? SQUISH, SQUISH slowly he turns SQUISH, SQUISH there was a time when we could spend an afternoon thinking, being, doing: GALOSHES IN MUD coming home jellied and jammed mud pies for the wedding (we meant it/ we still do) now everyone’s surviving and overcoming an age of life? an age of culture? a kalpa? A wearing down, AGE AFTER AGE, ageist the hedonists who once bent limbed climbed/jumped defied Zeno’s spectrum DANCED/DANCED HIGH HIGH HIGH (the slippy slid/slide y people) now confuse the crisp/crisp endlessly arising discreet, finger forward (forget the hand) with fecundity, with generation, with creation the porous punch of Jellyroll Morton’s liquid keys imposed on the drone boomboomboom the breaking of the glass CRASH with the infinite stickiness of this embodiness now we indulge in recovery like we’re addicted, NO MORE Soon enough Alive or Dead? we will return to analog pareidolia CRUNCH / SQUISH he.. ...rs l oo ks back/back (ekphrastic)
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 7/21/2026
Imagine
if you will,
we’re on our way to set sail
and the navigator
is fumbling with his
his music app, to hear
SOME ROOTS
MUSIC
hurling through the town
named CATO
Valerie June - Calling My Spirit, plays
and there is a long haired
wildchild, dressed in neon green
foolrobes, fresh from roadwork driving
a too small bicycle, doing jerk/jerk
wheelies trying to cross the roadwork
atop his head are VR goggles
while he listens/listens to music
only he can hear, until our eyes meet
she pulls past him
we mouth in the midday
hot_junkfood_sun
DID YOU HEAR THAT?