The Angel of Death with mouth agape and breath of flash-scraping bacteria
swoops past and grasps all you had and fast – you just gasp
and wonder whether all this is caused by some horrid blunder
or just the everyday way the world splits itself asunder

In recognition that many of the things that I write herein are hardly understood by many (including myself), I’ve decided to preface this poem with a definition:

in・ef・fa・ble [in-ef-uh-buhl]
adjective
1. incapable of being expressed or described in words; inexpressible: ineffable joy.
2. not to be spoken because of its sacredness; unutterable: the ineffable name of the deity.


I think I’m stuck in an ineffabubble…
fuck, what luck to get stuck in an ineffabubble!
I can’t even manage the prununciation of my situation
much less hold in my mind the meaning of this kind of passing the (or doing?!?) time.
So I guess while one’s in an ineffabubble
it’s best not to stress as if in trouble –
I’ll just relax and roll along, maybe strike up a wordless song,
since this weird world that whirls and twirls and exasperates my grasp
seems to pass fast… and in the lapse of this gasp
could easily stop and pop my dear ineffabubble.

Break the voting machines
awake the people’s dreams
the stakes are way too high
to trust mechanical populi