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the 1st Kerouac _working title

Diane Robiscoe artwork
In the beginning

was

is the Word

and the Word—the beginning

the upon

neither Man-u-fractured

“time”,

nor unnecessary

“once”.
 
 
 

The

beginning

(a dark & stormy night)

of

–His·story—

God’s.

the Big Guy, you know,

your upstairs border

–the fella that barters in place of bucks

(you might have seen him on TBS)

but however it goes, He’s

a righter.

(I role, sure, but it explains the rent situation)

Righting

(and re-Righting)

“tome”

U-ni-Verse

that’s

U in Verse, to be precise

–wherein the lot of U’s are graphemes

characters linked into words

(mostly geographic)

excepting the compound verbs families compose, and

the repeating technique generations braid by epic chapter

that’s epoch chapter, but am I repeating myself?

Events cribbed on The Wrist

Happiness bolded and

underlines

Natural Disasters a crumpled ball with which He’s disgusted,

tragedies

Accidents

just Cross* Outs,

&

death the Red Pen that edits

–courtesy Lou Cipher Ink, a

P.O.D. outfit whose contracts bear a certain amount of scrutinizing,

fraught

~as they are~

in coded legalese.

 ©Karen Robiscoe

artwork by Diane Robiscoe

* subject to terms

Yardstick

ruler

I buy towels

I’m not good enough

to use

feed

silverfish

expensive clothes

keep memories

on my

to-do list…

dream dreams

too perfect

to dare

Lose

things never

mine–

try

and don’t

believe

but, oh!

I want

—and wanting

do exactly

what’s

necessary

to insure

that’s always

the case.

©Karen Robiscoe

Hot, Cross Buns

breadthe grindstone

crushes many grains,

call it bread

or call it pain,

the milling crowd—

the grist within it,

stones don’t care

if chaffe or millet

–if flowery white

is kneaded from it,

it rolls its load

no heed to crumbs

that break away

from bread then baked…

like Antoinette

it could be cake…

bread

only bread insists specific

every flower by rights terrific

the bakers lording

choice of mix

like bankers hoarding

golden bricks…

bread

golden loaves

are packed and labeled

to complement a humdrum table

every slice

/ familiar cut /

they never mix banana nut

with sourdough

–although the blend

might suit the diners

in the end.

©Karen Robiscoe

Come She Will

calendar

September

~reaps~

October’s

dead

November

e< a< t< s

December’s

red

January

———–>starts

————–>anew

February’s

♥ love ♥

for you…

a lion’s

March

–as April jests!

from

May

/ pole /

moves

that

June

mOOns best.

July

unleashes—

August’s

dogs

that guard the yard

September

.crops.

©Karen Robiscoe

I Know

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

My I’s are all spoken

& so is my knows…

by that same token

I lip-read my pose…

 

My ego—so super

is tight under lids

ephemeral rumor

to govern my id…

 

My I’s are so pretty!

in make-up & shadow

from fathomless deep

to skitter-bug shallow

 

My knows—problematic

it’s big and it’s small

& in the right lighting

it’s not there at all.

©Karen Robiscoe

TKO

puzzle_piece_left
 
I’ve left my brain

–logically speaking—

in a lurch

my write brain

overloaded

scrambling

ambidextrous in the aftermath

(thank God math’s over)

so

I

seduced

induced

created a mock-up mind

smoke, mirrors

(so status quo)

and hot air

(for that must-have popcorn popper)

kinda like a pontoon that isn’t fully inflated

(it won’t win any Stanley cups)

and like any jerried Rig, there are

…ahh

deficiencies

mutations

complications…

cortical bridge overwhelmed by

bawling

bellowing

billowing boat

that plays havoc with recall

and port to port cargo

(I ship you not)

©Karen Robiscoe

Dream Theme

deejay

JD the DJ

liked to play

be-bop

and hip hop

night into day

a shock jock

he rolled rock

in rhythmic reggae

as mood moved

he scratched grooves

directly in grey

–matter

the platters

progressed like time

skipped LP’s

with church keys

in soundtrack sublime

and slipped disks

in playlist

exclusively mine.

©Karen Robiscoe