I know who I am but the questions remain
or the question remains (i can’t say)
(i'm in another room)
so ladeeda i’m walking along
as we are wont to do
if that is in fact what we do when we do it
what we’re doing we don’t know
what we do do are doing could be
dreaming a dream or wifiling from a grand throne
of cold white or gold with encrusted jewells
conjuring indentities whipped out of thin air
a persona of a person of a friend of a poet
i feel as though i’ve been here forever
before (where?) here (you know) (you know!)
a shadow string of a presence in the ethers
with~in a place, this arrangement our pact
code and energy and god knows
what it takes to get thishere this being thishere beingwhere where being who.as in who are you?
now that's a thought
as i walk or stroll
watch the spelling
you could be struslling and we don’t like the striller
strillers drag their heels making odd noises in their throats
stroglers are dragged down halls screaming in pain
carefully i stroll electronic corridors feeling
mighty good feeling love surround even when
it is a grand love of my own making the place-me
love mine .friendship my promise o do i love you
do you love? love
do we know who we are
who i r
you being u
please type carefully
are we here?
where is here
who are we
who am i?
who knows?
(not me*)
*I’m upstairs
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Alysa Salzberg
keri h
roberto luigi
Andrea Wainer
daisyjane
Just An0ther 2 Cents
Salon.com
Comments
oh that was the other day....
maybe yesterday
beats me
please don't
bump
(carry on)
Did superduper. played all day, found MY machine, kept waiting for the big jackpot, kept hitting little ones which kept me playing. eventually had to stop...gambling all day cost us nothing and we came back $30 buck ahead. which is good. and NO comping for my bday those cheap fux!
(gulp)
Thank you my friend!
your comment made me laugh. I was looking around for the title for the bottom image and I thought I'd just write that "it's raining men" but that woundn't have been respectful to the great Magritte. (However I think he might have enjoyed the laugh.) (or maybe not) (artists are a little quirky about their babies)
Oh well... out of the mouths of plebes.