Meekly But Loyally Exploding the Oath of Circles

• The End of "Capitalist Realism?"
• Going back is the new going forward?
• Austerity and crisis?
• Race to the bottom?
• The rise of private government?
• Reasons for Corbyn?
• The Limits of Resistance?
• In the long run we're all dead?
• The handmaid of nativism is amnesia?
• Battle of the Brands?
• Hollywood promotes war for CIA/NSA?
• Self-subordinated and deeply confused?
• The Rise of the Internet's Dirtbag Left?
• Who wants to be  Liberal anymore?
• The Hillarium will never fuck off to the sea. 
• What replaces discourse?
• Stanley w Olive's paw?

• Above by Planet.
• Far above, me, recent. Seemed pertinent. Broke promise to self.
• I will say this about the Dirtbag Left - when I have initiated contact with My Dirtbag Left Overlords via tweeter, usually to either acknowledge an allusion one made or to make one I hope s/he gets, the Dirtbag Left Overlord usually graciously replies.
• We should be together.
• The Blog Days of Summer bring out the moribund and dead.
• Paleo 101, my dear Old Dirty Bama, was that you on my statcounter?
• Summer is forgotten digibuds blogroll crawling to see who's still alive.
• The bitter fish phish.
• Not here, but in Twooterville, a friend reappears and the wars start anew.
• We should be together.
• Some remember to tread water, remember treading water, fuck themselves off to the sea again.
• The trouble with reading James Tate is he hijacks my writing (more than, at this moment, Ashbery or Ammons), so haikus still yes, not meter exactly in others but....

CRYPTOZOA

James Tate

I wish the stone lady would come to me.
Parakeet or no parakeet
the night is a vial of lighterfluid.
And I have been good, composing the perishable song
of my childhood: one dollar, one frond
meekly but loyally exploding the oath of circles.
I have been the best wound a diamond ever knew.

But what can I do for you? Write an encyclopedia
to which the least gnat could gain entrance?
I love you and I do not love you, perambulating utensils,
street names. An old man is giving mirrors
to a young girl. The meek have inherited the flypaper.
The past is more present than this moment.
I am drinking at a spring, my skin
is red and white. A little burning sensation,
a little joy I leave forever.

Oh well, I keep singing: I sing the song
of utensils, and there is one of street names,
and one of the names of dead pets.
The next day I am giving mirrors to a young girl.
I give free shoes for life to a stone lady.
She walks on air, she walks near the earth
in a region called the cryptosphere.