. . . he recommended to all those who might be impressed with a sense of their importance to bury a copy or copies of each work properly...

There’s always something you have to say.

Past and future live in our minds

Many of our customers give it a whirl.

Standing at that door, I wait.

Despite what happens, thus, I write. It helps me pass the time of night.

A reconstruction of Hekataios's world in Wikipedia. “A boar was in the mountain and he did many terrible things to the Psophidians.” —Hekataios of Miletus (ca. 550–476 BCE)   This is prose that time has turned into poetry. Everything's transforming itself, right under our noses. Boar and PsophidiIans are long gone, yet here they are. In my closet hang neckties and a bespoke suit I'll never wear again. But I don't discard them either. They have their stories, and perhaps s

The sown whirlwind bears no fruit

Grab an umbrella, keep it furled —even the rain now makes no sense!

All manner of things might well be well. But if they’re aren't, how would we tell?

Effecting a more perfect union Is what it's all about—

Some things are just too fierce to mention But I mention them here anyway!

Artificial intelligence is nothing new. It's natural wisdom that's vanished from view.

The sun has spots, a leopard, too.

A plurality of congers calls for bouillabaisse!

Miracle Whip in the Great Depression!

Found things have guided my life—

There are a million poets in the United States, All lined up waiting at the Pearly Gates.

Jesting Pilate, it's no joke, right side up the family yoke!

I might be an idiot, but I’m not a fool!

You call this “nonsense history”? And so it is—but made of words, must be!

You did not promise overmuch, Parent . . .

Don't try to catch a falling knife!

No matter how good you are, you're never good enough.

This is our stop now—the Skivalocene.

“Not without mustard, good Lord, not without mustard.”

Once built a mighty tower for the birds. But coming there, they came up with no words.

·        Chatbots gather around my knee. ·        Hear your loving grandpa’s plea.

Fortune, the Goliards knew, rules the world.

Replacing truth with meretricious farts

Just be quite sure that we can say: “They fake things fairer now today!”

We sidled among the yawping grownups, Hoping to score some of the pastry treats . . .

But how could they omit the mighty lines of Samuel Hoffenstein!

Sure, you know, it’s wasted whining!

Though short on liberty and fraternity We have descended to equality—

Famous figures in the Cloud Do their best with what’s allowed.

Nemeses don’t take kindly to dictation

In the Aceramic Neolithic, humans were still just newly tamed.

Flog your vermilion blood . . .

As we were saying yesterday . . .

Computers are only paperclips on stilts.

Give us a break, immortal gods!

. . . the liver is the seat of doubt

Empires still had many millennia to go.

Renounce the old, then, flaunt the damnèd new!

Don't ever listen to the news.

. . . on our phones, the shit-faced dead Squeak and gibber beside each bed.

So seek excuses, giving up the ghost?

The quotidian leaves me queasy!

He dreamed that a kindly sword-wielding god cut off his head and replaced it with an exact replica.