Books lined the room, from floor to ceiling. We took them down, one by one, and built towers of books, taller than the room itself. We cut holes in the ceiling above and sorted them according to color, to size, to author’s name, to “books we liked” and “books we resented.”

The Treachery of Images, Animated

They searched for pictures throughout Canadian lands, traveled in winds and rains to find them, carried their ladders, screens and optical pods from Minnesota to the Northern Shield.


John Ray, in 1671, extracted pure acid by the spiritous distillation of crushed red ant remains. What have I done, today, as acerbic or sodding perfect? As consummate, complete, thoroughgoing and stark, as virtuous and undiluted? Where has time gone, immaculate and symphonious?

We retreat to synthesize commodities and knit, the world described as indescribable, (or perhaps an oasis of awesome: approachable by all, one or none.)

Skeps of Ogilvie Sisters
Swarms under canopy
Dysphoric thorax-fecundity
Colony collapse, nave and apse
No honied commodity

Truth Tied Tight

Truth tried truth-food
Though truth’s tooth,
Rooted and crooked grew
Sick at talk of truth tied tight
No truths but crook’s trucked telling
With truth suits at trial
Truth clues too few
Truth talk ignoring
Truth’s proof in queue.

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