Poem 1

Everything today is obese with cheap meaning.

Each unknown is pulled apart and dragged on stage, deciphered and integrated.

We all know the time and place of our demise and there is nothing to be done.

Information is a virtual metastases, moving en-cryptically from head to heart.

Meaning is a con enacted by culture-men as metaphysical marketing.

Bloated and split, we cannot fit back through the punctum of reality.

We must swivel into the enigmatic and intractable bowels of the non-place and writhe in the joy of wasteful games, and the moments that cannot be modeled.