Poems by Ben Nardolilli

Vers Restricted
 
A poet is one
Who
Balances
The energy
Of a line
Within
Margins
Set by
The world’s
Smallest
Typewriter.

Mind and Body Together at Last
 
While Descartes leaves one room
For another, convinced
The kitchen and the foyer
Have too much in common,
Spinoza and I change the scenery
By flipping a switch
And impressing ourselves
With absence and presence
Being in the same place at once.

Wittgenstein Medley
 
The world is the totality of facts
that have climbed up on it
 
a good guide will take means
when he has nothing.
 
the problems are stops anyway
according to strict rules
 
only two at most
we do not live to be put into words
 
your questions refer,
they make themselves manifest
 
for things are in sharp boundaries
bedrock without thoughts
 
the existence of atomic facts
this cannot be said clearly
 
often misunderstood
most striking and most powerful
 
we are excluding certain possibilities
in a world that is mystical.
 
Little children
the bewitchment of our intelligence.

Fake Everything

I am improving,
       A sweet jelly roll,
I am getting bigger,
What progress,
       By 2 PM
 
I end up doing whatever
Takes a long way
       To money
To home,
       For liquor-
 
No, I’m clean,
       Disinfected,
But that’s partly rooted
In my consumption,
       Of previous drinks.

Crossing at Incarnation
 
Draw horizontal
the line of descending,
a line the length in dimensions
unnaturally circle,
inside the center by process synthesis
transparent in words,
our words
top the bottom of visions,
the point forming
on cyclical archetypes
contains itself
and endorses, back to campaigns
for resources,
we leave important behind,
this sole grandeur
providing support,
then comes vertical cutting
in the verse realm,
formal error of the human created world,
thus begins the garden