Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable


“Please deduct,”
a duck-bill clucked,
and waddled
o’er a waiter.
The maître d’
cried, “foul”
you see,
and skewered
him for later.


A pyramid impales,
death rings reoccurent,
swings of a pendulum
raining on cars.
A surfeit surrealist
unveiling his curtain.
Discriminate details,
debriefing en vogue.


Descriptors lie lifeless
on my table, clipped
at their edges, worn
from the square pegs,
their lines far too short.
Chained to their meters,
posts lining pages,
penned in dark phrases
— never released.

Tumblr’s Block Party


Tumblr has a spam problem. Which means I have a spam problem.

And, right now, I feel like I’m alone in fighting this problem, which drives me crazy.

Thing is, this should also be driving Tumblr crazy. Crazy enough to get on this junk. Big time. Fast. Hard.

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Existing in missives —
bemused, dismissive
like cuttlefish wishes,
this tank will hardly
fit us two.
It’s more than ordinant,
ord’nance booms
in clear, clipped phrases,
“There’s just no room.”

Radiohead at the Sprint Center

March 11th… So awesome. Can’t wait.