chicago. anyway anywhere you go there's corruption. it's the hum of  humans. and then there's what you bring, not a bubble if you please, but a porous sphere. anyway there are jerks and kind folks everywhere. might as well be as kind as possible here. is a challenge though gnome sane. 

is a non-sequitur but i keep thinking about this poet eric baus i wrote asking if he had a review copy i could read and write about and he responded sincerely i thought and positively sure i have copies i'll send one and never did leaving me to surmise that what i took for sincerity and enthusiasm was actually common and base sarcasm. so i wrote back saying i considered the exchange and had an aha moment and it's ok dude there's something new in the wind every day, ending the exchange more aware and even keeled i think. now i wonder what it was i was interested in. i can't recall a word of his poetry, it's like a wall of consciousness and not i think defense, just a wall of dead letters, stultified and opaque. 

maybe i'll lift up one poem just to see.*

         what our sky is like

this was how we spoke to the distant flicker. our silence hydrated a speaker. its form came to us in pieces culled from the canopic night. we wore diagnostic dust in a book that believed only in ablutions. We dried slowly. now what our sky is like is like a hospital for the sun.

 

*ok there are infinite of poets, i can't like his poems, i can't say they're insincere, just that they are as he is to me.