(Sketch Poem): In Bardo with Beckett Eating Celery Sticks

cruunNNCHH beckons the thicket of //
Green stalk fibers.
General poetry category.

cruunNNCHH beckons the thicket of //
Green stalk fibers.

Tour the track "Chef Eats Last" by Alex Sitze, including lyrics, lists, reflections, and other peripheral context.

"What is the meaning of life?" // Philosophers ponder to no end // Like a dog chasing its own tail.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Here's a little limerick I wrote day of 03/17/2023. Cheers! 🍻🍀

Midnight at Noon awoke to the world on 03/07/26. Listen wherever you get your music. This post provides an inside look at the song, illustrating the lyrics, construction, credits, and colophon. For any curious souls or cultural foragers out there, this carries on the Liner Notes trend of my last two originals, which you can…

“Dawn of the Augur” (alt. title “The Crossing of Auspices”) dropped on 01/22/2026. Listen wherever you get your music. These Liner Notes serve to supplement the release, providing the lyrics, colophon, and credits, as well as broader insights into the context, construction, and meaning of the track directly from the creator. This follows the trend…

I made the news today //
It all happened at once: //
Someone peering down at their //phone, alarmed as, //
All of a sudden, in a great reflex of //passion, //
I boldly declared, "fire, FIRE! Flee to the // nearest foxhole, now!"

My gaze scrapes the blue-gray skyline //
Over scores of peaks and bumps of shadow //
A reservoir peeks out like an alien-Lump, a stumpy kind of ship //
Sitting adrift there on the shore of the broken skyline

On Friday, November 7th, 2025, I released a new single, “hapless romantics.” For anyone curious for more context, here’s a post unfogging some of my thoughts, feelings, reflections and details about the process of writing and constructing the song. You can think of it like an analog to the liner notes you occasionally find in…

Hey, it’s Labor Day! The day we dance So that we can dance With no hard work With no off-timed Time-offs No pied piper to pay No I would rather consume A windsill pie A breeze that wipes my forehead In the remaining heat Dropping promises Of autumn juices So sweet Swapping the bitter times…