the missed spaces, the missed places, the missed times, the missed rhymes, the missed persons I could have been or will be, the fear that restricts me, the choices that elate me, the food that prolongs, the life that kills and opens and winds up and scares and tears and screws, inspires and heightens and pitches and rolls and drowns and crowns and takes hold of and molds and breaks and pours into and empties and burns.

and here we steal away together

∆upsidogi rotations

when the fall becomes the leverage

stephie wrote upsidogi drew l danced

upsidogi moves out of the dust of the rotating sphere

glimpses the pattern hears the rhythm and walks down the slowly trampled path


a yawn a stretch a howl

upsidogi turns the page and sees a photo which saw glass and light which saw white linen hung to dry in the mountains. upsidogi saw a white flag surrendering.

we are through the war indeed that kill those killings that was a war which lasted our whole ego

all of our recorded years but twenty and one a war of-by-for humanity

to its end


to-for-each other

upsidogi floated-shook-quaked through a ripple today

a stephie-ali-ripple

upsidogi tries to keep up to record and remembers to just be



back soon

we got this



∆upsidogi transitions

∆upsidogi ritual III III