So, Words:

Words are what I have now

and a platform to spew them

from…..oh glee!! I know I'm

just talking to myself…why not?

Reality Television: the home game.

Is there post-modernism in poetry? 

A fish? No…that's not it….black…

black…black…black…black….black…

white….black…black….or something.

Meanwhile clean space…..white…

white…white….purple…purple….

white…white…white …sunlight…

smoke…smoke…music….movement

of the mind…echoes down time….

strange planet to find myself on...

strange time of "The Big Boy"…

you don't have to look into the sky

to see aliens….we're alienated…

inoculated…  a whole list of words….

the words, the matrix, the virus

has us.