Once Faulkner & Joyce exposed their
streams of unconsciousness offending
my linear habits of beginnings, middles,
& endings; and then MTV, damnit,
began generating constellations of imagery
non sequitur to whatever lyrical sequence
was going on & on: my sense of Show & Tell
took a hit, ambushed by internal providential
explosive devices until it became clear to me
what a merely convenient truth a sequence is
—& because & affect.
& now only a snow ball
squat on top the tip is
Or sitting in a plastic kiddy
seat beeping a rubber horn
as if driving the auto-mobile:
a convenient toot. Watch out:
Consciousness Coming Thru.
Aiming to save the world with
Buick intentions, I’s berg
aspirations, & a snow
ball’s chance in hell.
Consciousness: a miner’s lamp;
little lite of mind: I’m gonna let
it shine let it shine-- my total
eclipse of the sum.