I write poetry articulating internal silence, internal violence. Also possums eating mangos; go figure.

In the mind, a few splinters— memories of glances, of words: small, piercing betrayals— have lodged, are lodgers. Little hooks: they refuse to leave. #poetry

Blogs are weird. Nobody reads your stuff, then all of a sudden, some dude in India is saying "Hey, I like your poem about a possum eating a mango." It's a nice feeling. #poetry

A poem about a possum (well, some of it): But now, in the pulp-sweet air, the cats are gone, the birds, the tree, even the sky and the hot sun— all gone; now there is only a sweet greenness, a mango— only mango. #poetry

People often complain about The System, but The System knows best... The system is Optimal. Inputs, limited as they are, do not register the documented necessity of upward reallocation and the requirement to off-board non-performing units. #poetry stygian-muse.com/compliance-i...

in the half-light the ferry's fog-horn sounds— a dog howls cool morning breeze along the river— the scent of jasmine a rustling flash— on the railing: a noisy mynah from the topmost branch of the tallest gum tree— a magpie's call #poetry #haiku

A single-sentence drill: Because the shells are close, I stride toward the bus stop, shivering in the dim light, the houses boarded up or bombed— although I don’t look hard enough to tell: on the sidewalk, I see enough— a mangled bike, a shattered helmet. #poetry

A new piece today: "Grass slopes down to a sand flat: its surface ribbed with frozen waves, crisp-edged in the sun." Full poem: 'A Tiny Deity' stygian-muse.com/a-tiny-deity/ #poetry

I recently started a poetry blog. Today I noticed that someone copied one of my pieces and pasted it into a post of their own, without attribution. Has this happened to anyone else? I made a comment asking for an attribution but did not report it. It's pretty weird. #blog #blogging

A flash fiction piece on small childhood betrayals and how they ripple. “Tom kept an eye on the other kids, grouped in tribes, wary of trouble.” #flashfiction #fiction #writingcommunity #writing #shortprose stygian-muse.com/deep-blue-sky/

You said: why do you treat me like this I said: treatment is not an option You said: a treaty is a meeting of minds The waiter said: who are you talking to #poetry stygian-muse.com/in-denpasar/

I push. The stone shifts. I push again. There is a reason for everything, I suppose, even Unreason. I push. The stone shifts. I push again. #poetry stygian-muse.com/the-hill/

A system-voice poem: Orwellian, a bit Sci-Fi and, imho, fun: The enemy is ever-present, its design is to kill, And its means is through the sowing of chaos, for It is through chaos that Order is annihilated, And only through Order is survival maintained. #poetry stygian-muse.com/nonexistence...

The loom stands empty. I wrap a sinewy thread around the loom and pull it tight. My vows are like this; there is no slack. #poetry stygian-muse.com/gordian-knot/

Once, when I walked, the earth would list, and storms make way for my coming. #poetry link to full poem in comments

An excerpt from today's piece: A ringtail possum, cat-nervous, scurries along the powerline to the mango tree, in thrall to the scent that, in the full light of day— has drawn it out of hiding, to here, now. #poetry

There are no words for this feeling— broken chair empty cardboard box lost in a strange city. I sit, and wait for the words to come they don’t #poetry

A syntax experiment in the outsider tradition. Warning: vivid, unsettling imagery: visions confirm when i was sleeping last week ten dog walkers broke into my apartment and put microchip transmitters in my eyes they are trying to see what i see but they do not have the second sight #poetry

The words were lithe, slipping out of mind as soon as they entered and in their wake was a bafflement, a blue void that with absence spoke volumes, and its blueness was my mind #poetry

Her eyes lift to the window, mapped with raindrops— one drop among many is sliding a jagged route down the glass. #poetry

1. Lay the body’s length on a bed of ash. Do not look at the face for too long. — poetry

The grass is rough underfoot as I sit in an old lawn chair by the river. Birdsong swells: mynahs, harsh crows, and the peep, peep of a river-bird I cannot see. #poetry

I write poems & field notes → stygian-muse.com/start-here/ Begin here for context, samplers, & my posting rhythm. New poems every Tue & Thu. #poetry

It is, without exception, forbidden to speak of things as Entropy — this lie must not be countenanced. |dependency status: undetermined| Survival is Order, and Order is Survival. Survival≠is≠order, order is— surviv— #poetry