


A pile of disembodied poems Con/Jur/d, 4/14/2023 O we, o we, o we, we, we the complaint runs from toe to pineal we don’t, we don’t have to be this way we say, too hot, too cold, too soon too late, all these disembodied poems, their symbols metaphors, like similes with out an anchor, like this or like that, disguising our victimology in a few well-chosen words, disgust isn’t a template no matter how we smoosh it at least then you’d hear the squelch understand this is of this world not some pretentious ideation running away from more running to before it can get away from -- NO almost did again what was rejected before, no to no from, not broken not whole and not not whole only this.

A Dragon who thought he was an Elephant (What Bull!)
Con/Jur/d
Someplace, below the heart chakra, confusion exists
we want to be rooted, Elephant proud, not part of
rather, a landscape onto ourselves, and we
are, we were born in the center of the
known universe, how it happened
no one knows, further still, we
are a Dragon, capable
of flight, we do it
all the time
dashing
into the
air, br-
eath-
ing
fire
although this appears to be Bull
deep down, where it counts
we know, without
hesitation
this is truer than true.
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 4/14/2023
I did my first Black Elephant parade yesterday as well.
Wow!