crowned ass*—zero ground


growing, groping under the eagle sky
dry spell … swiffing by
puffing a lonesome fag … i will cry …
can i find the batcher of the rye?
star fever everywhere
mouths passing by
on the strands of years
blasting the starry “but”
under eagle’s eyes
this catcher
in the rye is & is not
doctor seuss
as the growing mind takes a dip
for as much as the
dripping of coins will come on to fares
this makes us sip the sweat
of horse tripping
nibbling off purple guitars, nevertheless
here, to take a stand
trans work shaking hands
shaking hands with the loss,
the urban show  …
where we could say yes,
yes, i do understand that  …
here, caught up in a drought,
he(y)-drought ( leeway) of genuineness

dry spell
extravagance of thirst & heat
of agitation, of eagerness
the vehemence of passion
logorrhea caused by sun rays’
a flashing fiction:
“very extreme extremes”,
parchment of diction
enunciation flying high
slowing the circulation
heat waves you can’t steal away from
while bringing about
planetary winds
winners of the race

red heat, white heat, black heat
trouble with the police …
beat beat beat too many contestants
while northern ice is blowing in the wind


—Martina Gertrude Siebert

*Bottom. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear:
Which is–no, no–which was the fairest dame
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look’d with cheer.
Come, tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus;
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop:
[Stabs himself]
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead,
Now am I fled;
My soul is in the sky:
Tongue, lose thy light;

Moon take thy flight:
[Exit Moonshine]
Now die, die, die, die, die.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare