Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea
Lava Meets Ocean. Lynx, Starboard Side. Day 2.Early Morning, July 8 2006, Looking for Flashes off Chain of Craters, Big Island

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

I DON'T CARE ANYMORE


I don’t care anymore
and the next word is hole
a very tiny arrangement
with sphincter-like musculature
and the guillotine decisiveness
of an old-fashioned single lens reflex

yeah
camera
not obscura
more the fuck you ra

because I don’t care

and there’s so much I don’t care about
so much that will not fit through that
tiny pinprick

if it doesn’t fit then sayonara suckers
with all your politicizing your bureaucratizing
your proselytizing your capitalizing your
monetarizing your theorizing your down-
sizing and your upsizing I’m done I’m through

the magazine subscription reorder forms
make great book markers anyway and landfill
does it ever reach the recycling center?

Oh yeah I forgot
I don’t care

excuse me while I take a sip
brush a hair from the page
filter out the sound of a passing mynah
sit up straighter so the breath
will find my toes
press my thumb against the table edge
just so

think of Kipling Empire and dead queens
which reminds me of that nonsense
about the champagne and Kalakaua
I’d drink too wouldn’t you?
but the military outfits...

my hand isn’t fast enough to say it with ink
and these abstractions begging me to say
Get knotted calligraphers of the world!
Untie or die!
Do you care? Do I care if you do or don’t care?
And that rhymes with not fair their share
who’s the mayor and she’s a player
Bayer Bayer your beehive’s on fire
and the beetles don’t even like honey

I don’t care so much it hurts

I woke up last night talking to a ghost
and she said you have to stop caring
but she didn’t say “anymore”
like the raven or not like the raven

She said just stop

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