THE HAUNT
Con/Jur/d, 4/8/2026
“sometimes think you purposely throw in a few lines here and there to confuse” Colm
The professor, the one who married his best grad
their university perambulations were scored
with whispers
chose a judasgoat-student, to begin intro to post-modernism
the ask: What is your middlename? [ ] WRONG!
it’s CONFUSION It's where we start
(we see it as a scale of armor
lost in the daily noble grind
lets the spirits of your enculturated armor out)
or the TRUTH, what da
buddhists in english
call delusion
sometimes, on a cloudy morning
in San Francisco, (saw it in Buffalo
once too with an opium/hash pipe at 5 AM, at piny/wet docks
near Kenai cannery before the sliming began, once by steam
from a fresh cup of cheap coffee with a clove cigarettee
outside the youth hostel in the converted army base
By the marshy briny beach
in Heidelberg, but was too young to know
if it was by spirit of plant or place) if you blew tobacco smoke
toward the Brugmansia, standing before first the concrete
step by
the invasive English Ivy covering
wall/fence to the right (a rental
for hopeful newcomers
trying to make it -- in the SANCTUARY CITY
FOR THE RICH as the graffiti on the sidewalk
near FOLSOM and SIXTH whispers its
perambulators only message)
on the left were the metal chairs (too
cold/damp to sit) and the fresh americanspirit
if we were flush, or a hand roll if we were
skint, thick, first thing resinous, the tarry
reboot to peaceful reflection, operational
certainty, before the days events convinced
you the entire world was rushing/rushing
madly/blindly/stupidly
:toward:toward:toward: BLOODY utopia
(The stone Xochipilli living on the concrete
running beneath the first floor, library
sitting room, between the little backyard
lot, Honeysuckle and wooden stairs, once
OUT OF HIS BLIND HOLLOW EYES
while juggling the phen-ethyl-amine rings
-10 mg-
of 4-bromo-2,5-dimethoxyphenethylamine
explained Maslow’s pyramid was the same
pyramid with rivers of blood, in his day, when
THE IDIOT PRIESTS got literal
hierarchies, are fodder for gods never arriving
STONED (any god worth paying attention to
is already here))
worth REMEMBERING
even out of state with the gentle tobacco spirit
HAPPINESS
only starts, continues or ends
HERE, at this moment,
IT MOVES WITH YOU
wherever you GO
smoke/ spirit detector
would outline a GHOST
a form not of faces, fingers, tentacles or
batwings or mushroom clouds
although, those can happen too,
MEMORIES in gestalt
as real as we’re real
seemingly solid
They can blind us / bind us
to the orange cat who
twined about our feet
of the promise of coffee brewing, mostly to
the SILENT something, we pretend is
NOTHING, because its beauty will crush us
THERE! THERE!
You can see it there! If you let
confusion wash over you, abandon
meaning as a transient betrayer
THERE outlined in memories
of mixed solids and gases, a lazy
manifestation of breath
IN/ / NOW/ /OUT
Did you see it?
MUST EMBRACE THE SUN!
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 4/8/2026