A photo of a curtain trying to escape on the sand

When The Dad closed the car door,

The Toy opened up,

mechanically beating the drum –

with monkey hands.


The stomach stirs with the doughnut-doorbell’s melody –

When The Hat arrived and entered the room,

He was shot with an arrow,

ran disguised as a closed door,

and lay quietly

on the floor like a Persian cat,

impervious to the chanted signs

of greedy secrets.

Will he go out?


He saw a hand pointing upward – a breathless voice said, “ Look at that! What is she doing there now !?”

Like the hands of a mad clock, The Woman twisted, her legs danced on the rug – she wore no stockings, her legs were thin wires of weary hope – sliding, sliding, sliding. A bundle of dry twigs swayed and twitched to the beat of a toy monkey’s drum – clap, clap, clap.

There was popcorn in the bowl on the low table in front of them –

a big, dirty, straw yellow embroidered hand bag – filled with regrets and stinging rebuttals spilled out torn snapshots and movie magazine pages –

The shape of the face and neck

is not enough for the neck –

No one found a way

because of the song

he composed.

He sent a song of justice

sliding across the floor,

a Silly-Putty ball,

with stretched

comic-strip faces.


A recent moment of his romance, sits like a cigarette ember on a foil-ball ~ his general vision feels fictive, hugged by the edges of a faded snapshot, a monochrome moment of the mundane wistfully becoming a blurred shadow – He opens that venting heart to the door, has a kiss compromised by the chafing light etching loss on his dry paper lips.



Before going to bed,

7 Hidden Swans,

like a man’s backpack,

carry the weary burden




I have a picture of my father

Blown off the wire I made –

ice is tied to a rope

that rises in the smoke.


That day is cool for me –

The Photo is broken now,

keeps the smoke swirling

in front of the curtain.


It is said that the skin is exposed –

I(t) cried and brought the birdhouses

I(t) had collected to my room.


Lying next to the landline,

Eye was surrounded by light –

tracks appears

in a vibrating scene.



It smells at night –

Weaving threads

And the trees’ limbs

rooted in the empty sky.



Not because eyes are red

after kissing her –

her neck finally felt the light –

the headlights in her ears, sticking like a thumb to the sugared doughnut, on which her portrait/his painting was standing.



While working in Paisley, I paint both the floor and the water, under a watch full of eyes. I have hands, but it’s oil-paint, like melted butter turning into rue. Oil for me and my favouritism car can be turned on at any time –

I Keep it in Good Condition – like a song that keeps repeating at the mention of a name in a photograph.


Maybe it’s that person, but not me,

a singer who doesn’t like singing –

A photo of a curtain trying to escape on the sand –

A bird that smokes like a kiss,

She closes her eyes and hugs me,

as I stand in the Camera Obscura that is her heart.


I’m a liar, probably;

stork stands in low waters

twists head catches frog –

eyes catch headlights’ gaze,

I can no longer trust a woman to stare at me

and sing an unfamiliar song.



This collage poem is my response (derived/inspired by) to sweet burn of fire.

This Dadaist mix combined other pieces of text from various sources, including a random word generator, Project Gutenberg , some of my other compositions, as well as other online archival text. It went through multiple translations & reassembling before coming back to English for final rearrangement and word-phrasing modification. The final form became a surreal stream of consciousness hardboiled narrative.

Conspiracy Poetics

MagaLibs created by Kevin Paul Keelan and lastcre8iveiconoclast, 2022 click image for source.


This  great creative writing game/exercise created and posted by KPKworld is called, MAGAlibs For the Whole Family (linked). I thought I would give it a try. I used my favourite Random word generator,   linguistics terminology, a helping of Mysterious Universe news, and my trusty dictionary of literary terms.

I added my own twist to this MAGAlib, with two closing stanzas. I call the whole form Conspiracy Poetics.


Those Anorthositic Democrats are putting Anishinaabe microchips in the election tesseracts to control our children’s thoughts!

The Climacteric Vaccine was developed by Agoraphobics to implant labyrinths into patriotic grammaticalized Americans!!

Giant lasers from Zothique  are being used by the Bag Pipers & Steamfitters Illuminati to light enormous metonymy fires, so they can build a high-speed flibbertigibbet!!!

Those Semiotic Democrat pedalists are using robotic Thylacines to control our cuticles!!!!

National retailer, A&W Root Beer, is using the names of its aerialists to capture and wassail kids for the Poetics Conspiracy!!!!!

Nancy Pelosi is in cahoots with Betty White ( she’s not dead, and neither are the other Golden Girls – they’ll reveal themselves & the BIG TRUTH about the Jersey Devil at the Truckers for Putin Protest in Hoboken, NJ) to genetically modify our American platinum sitars, so George Soros can metatexualize everyone ( just like those Canadian Socialists )!!!!!!


The experience really makes you think without words.


More about this source text –


This is the essence of the eye,

A civilian congestion sighs

before Erasmus’s

comical consequence –

a conical quantum context.


The organic blade prefixes

the broken converter –

When the ritual contrives

on a hobbled street.



Also in the News:

Secrets of a Japanese Mermaid Mummy to be Revealed

product placement

Product placement

embedded marketing,



into a Mass Media Text


Reality – Fictional


into MASS MEDIA works

Maintain a feeling of REALISM


be a Subject



Product placement is the deliberate incorporation of references to a brand or product in exchange for compensation. Product placements may range from unobtrusive appearances within an environment, to prominent integration and acknowledgement of the product within the work. >>>>>>>> Eventually the products are hidden in plain sight of our everyday reality, on our shelves, or as a favourite T-shirt or cap shaping our personal context, turning individuals into a Mass Medium conveying a message.