Friday, October 27, 2017

Mike Ferguson, Spambolic Q&A

The Hacker’s Paradise, image by Daniel Y. Harris 

Spambolic Q&A


A nutritious asplenium scat –
fern juice fern juice fern juice:
farfetched? It is an endogenous
gastrointestinal squash.

Nutritious? Like chocolate
sicklewort, but beware the
rigorous luxuriant as an
expeditious streptomycin.


Incinerate comradery? In a
somersault of snow,
micro snow, to quell the
filthy respite of the codomain.


Attach a chamfer
inequivalent, and it is just
protrusion: all slope and no
direction. A meaningless meridian?


A girlie girlie sorority
the siren magnetite for girlies?
It is exculpatory to trust
in this inventory of gender.


An anthology of psychoanalytics?
It is: vainglorious, mutineering,
eigenfunctional, justiciable by the
fortiori of devious determinates.


To unify the metamorphosis of
trepidation and danger into something
awesome: the pupal
of the spam?


Adduce audibility to confer the
audible? Then hail ye conferee
of the audibility, this leverage
in the art of hearing.


Imploding belief smells of
frailty. Has faith lost its sheen?
In the allegory of this olfactory
snigger, the chronicle of failure.


Why are October leaves
at the top of tall poplars the last to
fall? This isn’t in the spam
but just in passing.


The stowaway was a
hoot, singing a medley
from Oklahoma.

Was he found straight away?

He was, by a bartender with
a squint, but he heard the
dharma of song.

So he saw the light?


To cogitate on the
postponement of infinitum:
paean to the grapheme in a
catechism of these words?


The littoral loquacity of waves
in the serendipitous acquiescence
to spam. Is it the wavy sisyphean
handwriting of the imagination?

Or is it the subrogation
in the sharing of the coalitions?
I say it is all about the flexure in
the goose-bumps of meaning.


This salvo, this various hail,
this kingdom of words. Does one
dine in a heaven? Yes, in the collocation
of finding questions in answers.

—Mike Ferguson