Demonic Words (unfinished old poem that feels good as it is)

[tun]

When I read Charles Bukowski stories or poems, I like them while reading them, I remember a few things, forget the rest. I read them again years later and they feel new. Your poems are like that too, with less narrative and more monotony with sudden shifts. Monotony is a device, not a flaw.
You write poems in different ways. The poems you post lately are what I'm describing.

Canons and art brut and nova, that's my triad.

Memory isn't important. When it is, it is. I eat my cake and have it.

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You must be thinking of this poem:

Friends With Benefits


Memory is abstract.
Mnemosyne is a kindly maid
with pretty daughters.
There are pretty witches;
and attractive Medusas
what turn you to stone.
I forget her name,
I feel nothing for her feelings and thoughts . .
Why should I,
when we always treat each other right?

If I read the first word from each line in any poem, or any text, such as the poem 'Survival is Eager', it goes like this;

Out out a harvest
grasshoppers and homegrown relic
a if hello ever of smell
on forsaken don't weave though
take and a for this
call this tongue at he death
nor classic dream generic
midway no bored no more root.


This is the effect you achieve every time. It is always exactly the same. Randomness is pleasing in the moment, but it cannot generate meaning.

'Memory isn't important. When it is, it is. I eat my cake and have it.' -

This is meaningless - it does nothing to support the idea that meaning can exist without memory. Meaning is not a momentary pleasure in randomness.

Or are you now going to say; 'Meaning is not important - except when it is.'?