Tuesday, December 30, 2008

looking at big things made out of small pieces

paltry beginning disguised with the shaky song of blood beating excited--
oblique movement turnaround touch

we are reliant on palpable editorial signage (in the realm)
of love
of commercial appeal (sex drugs rock
the rolling syzygy
concoct the ingredients of selfish thought

wanna shake it
with that one over there
get down real like and sense something of the other

though these things are seldom connected
still gonna give it a try--see why it never
to anything but a hooked look and a beleaguered sense of self

turn around grabbing at the dust kicked up
by sobriety (the narrow arrow sprung and shot forth)
gallant rider of courteous deeds
speak easy and steal something worthless
take what is not ours to take and glower in the feeling of religious ecstasy

sheathing silence
loving the songbird perched in the window so loud--
take me back to herstories defined by noise synchronized
expounding out into the soft night where cold waters stand (still and alone
a place where ladders climb to blank space
filled with unopened letters
and childless birth is everywhere

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

feeling fooling 
underscore that boy 

who looks
like a girl
and the beard is just a false (seato 

while i drink
with love taking note in my pocket
a personal compass pointing north

Friday, December 19, 2008

upon seeing a pretty face passing

sensitive forum
(the aft of lamentation) considered a great curious structure--
explosive nature lipped with wet words
veiled prejudice shakes hands with color and pretends to be blind

we decorate our graves with woven blankets
plastic flowers--grievous sighs resign--we will never have eyes of a child--
too much has passed
leaving grit and scarred tissue (behind our very efforts is a sleep that in part is wished for
hoped for is smooth skin fused energy forever
though no power that be/ever will be can concede to this happening

in times stead is minute action built to the beat of an empire (self considered reticent and fighting the abstract anomaly that bakes the world into a stupor) assembling outside a door --collective good coping with global impact and diversity

the same wild eyes of birth appeal to sensitive differences
saturate body convulsing in slow hip-waves cistern for liquid heat emotion
and cry obeisance to earth's color(s
bow to eye contact and dedicated communication
Oh living delight! L A N G U A G E is sense and light and above--
we are silent vocal bodily communion
verbose love
and seething anger
our silent reservoir of desire
etched in skin and action and stillness
gratitude to the ground which holds us
and give us departure
and thought

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

after the fact of dance

discreet edges---

slipping slope downwards pulling up towards invisible beats
feet leaving ground


we are failed experiments in greatness (technologically seeking correction--connection

attempt advance placement -- cut in line -- lime in the mouth -- bite down
and exercise free will restrained and aching for the actual

tactile turnaround
the texture of experience is
tight versatility and loose motion

Sunday, December 14, 2008

figurative output

resentment left under the skin of words (worlds of two kinds clash
then meet when no one is looking) under influences dissolving in lovely argument

state of mind --thinking it of value-- just to spite- let it go by
and see if the source stays

Friday, December 12, 2008

arrangement in blue

new arrangement
---------------------in blue --- space

where crystal thought stands -------- - - - - - - ----- still
far alone on branches heavy --- rocking---- branches-

as cold as bone-- years gone without flesh buried
grounds infected with time
compressed footprints

steps yield to celestial traffic above

Saturday, December 6, 2008

deeply breathing streaming from the tip(s)
-of fingers nimble with blood-thought reimbursed from cold
winter nights leaving sentences hanging and memory clouding at the mouth disappearing
measured steps-hurried education-staggers lurching into busy cross sections of towns
numb with movement thinking it to be something great
futile severed past
talking out-loud to the moon while sweeping streets mean with *ruby's comparison
chopping block city walk swerving prejudice and neighbor

short term memory collapse --- suddenly everyThing is old --- happened history's ago
and I am without a mother or a gender or a foundation
stranded in bestial surroundings where definition slash recognition is survival--
is based upon mood
and "since feeling is first
who cares about the syntax of things"

half hearted predator smiling a crooked smile
lurking inside exterior fumbling ghost--reference to sense of self--the eye cradled in sound
believing more than sight offers in light or absence of
close to understanding that one footstep over another means little for choice or what could have been (never even existed
yet for severed existence it seems otherwise

*ruby payne on socioeconomics

Thursday, December 4, 2008

a quick thought inbetween work


line ---blood ----

on the run wet pavement and wind

splattered cadavers along the way stepping stone steps against blurred backdrops

insight contrived--are we living
in familiar
for comfort and placement (known)

are we living
in familiar because of anticipated line breaks
that coffee shop where names are thrown around and driving to work with closed eyes is habit made possible by all the short cuts and shoulder shrug struggles?

inside swells at audacious folk--believe you me they say-- this place is the real deal and our conversations are top notch intellect sculpted by worldly views-

something seems askew off kilter akimbo (1 million strong say they don't care to know
wonder-often--if anyone can say so -----

(embark now reader to a place of silence and think---

what worth pushes beautiful out there?-
can our eyes form it to shape someThing resembling true

Friday, November 21, 2008

abstract untitled

etch away
a constant check--connect--disassemble

looking for ---- ----(blank space) to live by

tied to a cross constructed of selection---choice--what song to sing today
lament and grow old--
a pair sitting in a tree too meek to see the space
sucking gasping rasping between (what is youth

distance not measured with words nor road but with silence -- understanding
and obscured sense

Monday, November 17, 2008

hotel window morning

paled in winter white sheets
some strum of affection gone astray --- weakness obeserved in low lit bars
where circles ring the eyes of strange selves

leveled into sleep lulled into deep cold

and soon naked touch --- picked her up --- unfamiliar eye-dreams --
said without schemes its only a small cut --not much blood but in breath and bed

erase-- identify momentary thief --recede concede giving all to shallow grounds on bent knees

and pray

that it'll happen again

damning memory to hell fire brim knowing it is that "I" that everyone speaks about
revered by scorching tongue backlash and sink into curtains
knowing influence finite pain unidentified
only to forget

a city exists built by hands and sweat and fame is only around the corner next to anonymity
broken church bells and frayed flags ring courtships cut lawns and songs
we the people move grim notions around exchange current-sea for land
the debts unknown too much for too little in short lives lived hard and fast

sudden breath
shielded by foreign sweat while the sun rise brings new sides to dream
while this tide is to low back gone -- a fresh sin
never saw her like that again --- on the corner --- her breath borrowed and visible
and in that moment ----- isolation

------------------------------------ - again a good friend

Sunday, November 16, 2008

DC: tired impression

tethered windows
eye socket jam(med packed with movement sins--pilled out on glass buildings and trains

spotting saviorlord in homeless reflections--
a token pass to blindness and faith
point to point ---------- i think Moholy Nagy would like this place--- though it's industry is hardly a place of safe


Tuesday, November 11, 2008


smeared across crooked frames

--------- left --------------- - -- in dust to dust fever

good fortune gone askew --- -- with no more words for the merry

Friday, November 7, 2008


scraping the day from my skin
a testament to how slow progress is (or passion

digging palms white into eyes red
picking out ruined voice -- vocal chords tense dark strings of given-up sound

those earlier screams are lost in broken playgrounds --- broken lines and tense presentation

braided into the day is an overlapping sense of filtered reality ------- mouth inside-
out---of the body springs a well
largely held by a flow of remorse
gathered in a bundle of throw away--

drinking process - pure movement of purpose delayed

(tar jerked and feathered in the street)
waters are level with the ground and rising

life now holds a mandatory tithing (10% of your time of your thoughts of your crimes of your sound reserved for kiss) bent
on only the best exchange
salvation made with full-length mirror vanity and veins (circulating towards another day

weakened by present resentment untold victory of isolation
pursed lips and sullied sentiment

Friday, October 31, 2008

see you on the flip side

darkly scanning roadsides as to why --- this predatory disposition
illuminated by predilections -- thinking the flow won't go too far out of reach
well hell- our seldom keeping secrets is admirable made by distance

(time machines backandforthbackandforth)

sticking fists forth into the air and demanding clarity standstill brevity

grieve sieve and sift through the behavioral calamity
shams blanket anonymity ---------- and we our without our vises stooped over
mass graves written on papered expectations

flushed skin blushed organs --- where is sex in all this mess --------- scratch that

--------- where is love --bending backwards on the wayside a mutual agreement met
for in house service and partnership ------- --- who cares about roaming eyes -the bump and grind of daylight savings time

our ship is sinking fast and death doesn't wait
for green lights but teeters on the withered yellowed branches of weeping trees sunken in the sides of dry urban legends lost in gritty bars---a constellation of stars complex against the stage where noise stands and the decision of sound lives up to it's many names

my muse

where are you walking now - - - - -- - - - - - - - -- - what is this cruel city that tangles my feet in roots buried below the paved broken streets

what is this place i recognize so well against dark nature?
(great eternal couch)---
even published thoughts perish in the deep recesses of sleep

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

so full of shot (the body's mind rot)

this thing
this back is stitched up---


now - - look

- - - we are space

held loose(ly to-get-her -gathered in the arms of another invisible
un-divisible force

- - - six feet under grounds

- - - -cold right down to skeletal mounds

do you hear fossils forming

Saturday, October 25, 2008

the books


blood beat (the hearts keep

shipping yards and sails----

---------------violins play cold steel sounds----

old books yellowed

pages of vision-------slender sight - ------------ - quiet looking

dripping conversation swallows reserve

smoky constructs ------- - - ---- inside -- the brick house burns
while soft insides sound afrika electric

understand----see---we are river skin and shepherds lost in a swollen walk of modern

Friday, October 24, 2008

written in the ground

fall crow eyes black

--------------- against ------- burial sounds

evening attire & footsteps

scraping stones-- the sounds echo off basin mouths-

---------- ------------ - chipped ageless

- - faceless ------------------ ------------ noise

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

"trade in your hours for a handful of dimes, gonna make it baby if we try"

though it hasn't crossed

yellow lines -- ---- yet

i know ambush---
self implications contained
bar none against insider's spirit

be glad bread is on the table
be thankful for roof and the hours of nine to five
they say-----

our grind is worth it we say our grind is worth---- what?

pennydimes questioned
bitter pride questioned
raging bones clacking too tired for care questioned

still-------- we anchor our thoughts and clip on the mask--turn heads to senseless tasks

buy back life with shelved items (dust we carry home . . . and weight-by the road
for eternity's foul bus to hitch us a ride

married to our pride carried in a bag--fear that hides ----consequence and delay

what role do we play--while not doing to not say
giving up the day for weekly pay-checking out of slow slumber ways

where self
---------------- assurance once

------------- -------- ---------- --stood

Monday, October 20, 2008

the street has two sides

make splatter against the sidewalk

mind trot---forgot to look right before left wing took flight

the lure of two lives
oppose the lure of two lives parallel objection

-----------devotion to space---------this is now

and k(no)w one will say otherwise

choice is thrown to circumstance

two winds// one slender pick and a story to go along:

this one tells of comfort and green-it says the work that is hard
will well earn extra years to upturned palms and calloused history

the other speaks of short lived love and sense
the walls of night and empty glass laughter// time well spent and a death well earned

too choose--renounce this
- - - - - - renounce that

our giving up and out of decisive moments
forging currents--our hands too weak to damn
our hearts too shallow to name

tethered calculations made careful
slow descent and divide

- - - - - the keepsake moment left to wither into a sigh

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

pro-lifers holding signs on union again

selected outings as body leaves mind

a follow up ad - - - - and a brief reply

random contributions------------frustrations fester

our mounting greed for justice --- the foolish scheme

leave it at the door --- per says ------ and something equal will come this way

--------- --------- ---------- - - - - tithing's of old thought and old church
------- a hint ---- of how people trip each other up

slip the slide ---hanging out ------- the fatty windows of false vision --- anti-revision

------- - - --- they stand on the street corner with their signs

thinking --they know--what a woman's body is for-- as they recline with lemonade and exhaust from the many cars that just pass on by

as they stand - -- - with the many signs --- that sing of chipped hope - - - alley way votes


anti-life? or is it choice and choose to be -- - choose again for rights choice is not option
-------- ----- it is given

and destruction comes in pink packages labeled

-------- --------------------------------- - scapegoat

Friday, October 10, 2008

we are bad parents to the earth's children

Birth. Breath. Influx, absorption, growth. Curiosity. Searching, seeking, discovering. An organic expansion of the mind, child sight and wonder, wander through the folds of this fantastic, color filled world.

The grind. The halt. Force fed, cram. Concrete walls, metal doors and closed posture. educate order realize no thing importance reason why undefined

belly full filled billed taken to streets beat with heat double down back around unsound conclusion conclusive death derived higher order thinking mind
in the cellar a mountain pillar dug from the ground let loose the hounds
on child brides eye navigate away from certain

Sunday, October 5, 2008

(tant) sea crets real(alize)

h eav y light ss

sm o o th talk--

es speci ally when they thought

k no w on e was l o o k ing

Saturday, October 4, 2008

sound energy vibrates brow
anger darts the night laden with broken glass and slipped calls
to ships(relations now far removed) and missing numbers
echo space

this weird thing called time
beats down new Things like shopping for compatibility

broken naked night
seeming this that is not
sin prevails
shoring even grounds misstep stuck in soils too soft too deep made mad by
irreverent desire

collar bones
white light night and our dark sight
doesn't even stand a chance love
when so many faces are looking
swinging left--
too many fingertips to touch

and sounds to make

Friday, October 3, 2008

64 degrees outside

swallowing breath on breeze

moving swift on wind invisible divisible only by summation of time and place

reticent to immobility --the armature of predicament and static stance

stuck in lands with naked trees baring white teeth

white bones--

crisp air delivers boarders restrained edge--

the long light staggers heart --breaking ribs as it leaves
viable memory in tact and sullen lingering thought pressing breasts

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

loose thought on the number 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000

our voices
made big--by single-mind(ed thought

existential hands flung into future thought
string jazz and breaking glass

pregnant shadows abort light-

while handing out bread baskets
to the poor
broken banks resting
on the backs of silence (milkmaid servants & candy eyed farmers

our voices left be(hides tanned against the smoke house wall

etched into sidewalks--small hand print signatures spread out against time immemorial


self-righteous escalation

cynical beat
broken curb
and stand still slurs

Saturday, September 27, 2008

scattered across the floor

staccato images

spent lying against the curb

Friday, September 26, 2008

before oxford (at the memphis airport

mississippi hot spot
searching the skyline for slender metal arms
knowing this black man is going to land

just like before

dream about how
if only
this one can do it

wonder if we'll riot?--
we'll riot
if conservative cunt and cancer
ooze their broken agenda into the already stale and stinking room (it's yellow now)
putrid from sandy lies and oily wretched buys

podium battles
raging for the big saddle
today i saw a man pissing on the side of the road
wonder if he cares about show downs and promises

big talks centered around unresolved issues
think money can assist you??
'hell fucking yeah it can--you ever tried to buy food with borrowed time?'

american health fasted on food to soon
our obese nation will give weigh under weight
po' boy buckle
and see how the land of milk and honey no longer suckles
no matter
how deep
we dig
no matter
how much
we dish

it's all coming back--the wind says so
with hurricane blows tornado shows and quaking bedrock
it's a conundrum of the clock

taking sharp account
of everyone who said the bible told me so
scripture wrapped around the nails of a government made green from scraping unseen bargains
and the good people left behind let out into a concrete wilderness
where voice is death
where broken backs tell of familiar stories
familiar history-

books written sold and told--
who'll write
the next one
changing everything back again

the hot mississippi night
for a good fight

Monday, September 22, 2008

attempt) vision & time

pastures cleaned by dry air

a heat navigating through invisible channels
broken only by occasional shade (trees withered by yellow fevers turning red

desolation dreamed of --or so it is written
about a place
where the ocean
meets the land and speaks words funneled into windy screams

guttural words
spoken sweet goodbyes
sand is picked up from the sky to build mountains
(built on the backs of ants (our mass) a bulking enterprise

hell bent to stay alive

Thursday, September 18, 2008

u title

lung roots tangle this breath
the body a resistant foe while the mind in refusal grows

top soil erodes while the twisted masses reach down
depths beyond the memory of death

am i dark in this step?
is my skin even white?
it feels
like red rubbed raw from labels (called disabled
and the broken lime light signals departure
radical caricatures of the self

masked off temples--
a home without ritual robes where noThing is closed
looking for a door living open and lock-less
where mystery is thick inviting mercury milk--
a poisonous necessity for birth(re-plied
a subtle slide into earth sex and scent

a mutual pattern of ascension
leaving behind rhythmic dissension

spreading palm palettes
across the table
at one end
possible thought
a radical notion

Monday, September 15, 2008

simple death #2

the great ornament of death
is a shiny mantel above

where hands reach with prideful palms
sweating their story--

our birth is buried
in signature moments

the simple death

left it outside the door

in the grass
behind the house--

the little ones

found out what it's like

to lose

this violent earth with all its dark flowers

Saturday, September 13, 2008

city of six lane highways-you don't have to look both ways before you cross

everyThing slow(ly) dies
a-sort of sad melancholy
blanched by the sun--it's white heat gone gray

the trouble seen
with this city is the heat permeating empty space
urban retreat-black beat and broken allegiances
the sprawl of look-alive homes foreclosed
banded boarded up business

memphis heritage kept alive on black and white postcards
50 cents a pop
if only the corner nickel and dime didn't hit bottom-dropped shop

i heard once that a movement as strong as oxen
as slick as oil skin and brazen palms shook loose
rusty southern lungs in this town
picket lines -- racial cries -- and downtown was broil

now this moment is mockery sheen empty street
a great urban sprawling sword slashes at retrograde
signs chipped back in time

promise of renewal
bus stop blues
nested blood
oxygen courtyards

elementary crime

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

computer battery dieing in a coffee shop

28 minutes before
this battery pushes its final currentelectric mindraisingenergy to completion
permanent deletion

16 minutes before
the letters give up their click
my clack giving way
making room for over stimulated caffeine breaks

9 minutes before
i yank those Tibetan prayer flags down from where they hang over a tv frame
what is this place and why does my tongue still have a taste for its flavor

7 minutes before
the street outside becomes dangerous
angry memphian citizens crawling belly down towards a greater good regretted sailing up stream

3 minutes before
this music-sound gets good
damn this noise makes me nervous

1 minute before
the secret to your trouble is revealed
bet you never knew th

Monday, September 8, 2008

this morning i threw away consciousness

in light of severed impairment
labeled disabled
and left to grind out time sorting tiny machine parts
trinkets for a fair (game) -- they say -- fair game they say
they play
on the coy voice of tiny american people
playing with electrical appliances moving flat screened bibles and cutting the grass with impeccable perfection--

what ever it is called is dwelling underneath it all

our view point skewed by innumerable leisure's
atrophied muscles
neuronal discharge
the souls of our feet leaking the great heat that once kept us close
to the earth
a final salute

and you wondering why
so cynical--
because i had to take the trash out this morning and they didn't even look to see what was inside

Friday, September 5, 2008

education #1

eyed witness
many things left incomplete pleating with ill company
social construct leavings
and the board of higher education vacationing
permanent placement on the plank walking knife point at our backs

and red tape
red tape fluttering in the stomachs of the recently (re)possessed
the unemployed country having coffee on the sidewalked curb with an administration
who won't even give us a little head (way) for gain-way
self-save they say (their six digit salary buys them a lot of bread-expensive whiskey and wine

expendable children let in the desert
the classroom is five minute increments--a segway saluting no other choice--
paper trails and the smell of crayons colored wax and baby breath the last retreat
before possible future leaders are beat
black beat blue and the night is crying for mother when millions pray to it thinking it mother

to the
less scraping concrete pennies with broken nails hear this--
if your faith dropped in the good He's hands works--than fine--self-responsibility is a difficult fear barely overcome--
but if cop out faith leaves you broken legged in the road--then suck in your own air and leave it genderless
take choice steps based
on the natural ebb--any entity above beyond is probably too busy to worry about human hardships so small next to universes-
become fire
become a calm surface body of liquid
become all that you can be without the militant glee
set free
to know
uncertainty is o k company

Thursday, August 28, 2008


on the edge of adulation
where separation comes apart--thin seams
a hem on a sheer curtain--

the blindless window
cracked pain and the shadow in the center
fingering the neighbors wounds

looking up
visions sway like limbs of a tree of a woman of notions
spent lying there
among fallen cliff sides fallen times fallen remembering

rewinding adulation into foreign notions--affairs
so that everyThing seems outside
outside of self outside of control

like everything was supposed to happen that way
and the shadow in the window isn't really there
just its impression

solution disillusion
the crack in broken pains
will settle
when time falls away from our frame

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

be f ore -- t arry day seldom see n

a beauty un
de fine d by day lit h ours

Saturday, August 23, 2008

untitled 3

abandon creation
where blood lies

expecting gated passage permission granted
to pass holy curses among
our common ground

Friday, August 22, 2008

untitled abstract

reactionary revision
consequence withheld at the first light

where discipline is incurred the delicate handling of knowing

lines (what when to cross step back--again forward define(
diagnosis is looking good

her pink experience is that everyThing one could ever need to know is found at twilight (or sister dusk) while the eyes are slit searching
shadow mime

concerned with compass rose
white coats (the landscape

while birds seep in out in out of horizon

Thursday, August 21, 2008

reedy whisper as thin as wrists
poised for persuasion
slender confusion--small talk--coffee rings on table tops

this is our evening
our white bride married marring to night whose skin is so black
even the inky sky cannot silhouette her

two down--who's next?

keeping pace
becomes something--
more the sounding of thoughts

thoughts once as loud as bells where she stood in cold silver--ringing shadows--where he was blurred by others uprooting

we are forgotten touch--this sheheiheshe while pieces were left scattered on the floor--
windy retribution flew them to the north east south---a triangle of time

by-ways forgotten on energies spent lying in open fields--solitude a familiar friend that comes and goes to often gone
and now i haven't the day

what is being said here?-- a loaded question for in words written
with justsobreaks--
meaning could be
h i d d e n
any Where

and in-between the lines is the last place you should be looking

Monday, August 18, 2008


bone tired memory
clean skin and pillows

marrowed sense hollowed
a brief embrace
earning the right to decide
replicate fundamentalist's eye to see how hypocrisy likes to fly--
infection of the lungs--spores breath filters decisions down from those living

exclamation of the self upright uprooted by patronizing mother hens
clucking away always clucking about agenda's --what to do today--they say crash the next train
tunneling through anybodies breakthrough
humanity is sinking faketruth

did you read the papers
we are in the earths sixth cycle of extinction
the scythe-- agriculture's sickle industrial revolution revolting
as this great mother sets down her horizons
slowly sinking to the seizing
proletariat espionage
the bread
the butter
the knife
the spreading of slick views unrecycled through vestibules leading knowWhere

green palace ferns give way to concrete staccato planted metal beams steeling space
for that hummer parking place
our crisis is ringing sirens--
QUICK! everybody against the nearest wall
heads cover ducked and running eyes cast down to(ward spiraling we will go
merrily merrily
ashes to ash and dust to dust
falling down the tightest rope ever put up

Thursday, August 14, 2008


a subtle knife searching the air 
for invisible    words

smoothing over loose paragraphs
swollen sentences

the tip is infinite and sharp
that hilt a tight wrap of emotion intuition 

sever the space between resistance and pull-
forward to questiontruth 
this lusty want
to know more than present text can offer
even when the lines are thin and sheer
the shoulder is bare faced against this grind ruling thought and eyelids

split bones a splinter in the air under the window without blinds
a search--until--knife tip touch stumbles on ridged air--a pock invisible

hilt held tight wrist twist a subtle slice into noThing
without seeming sense -- letter by letter spills out of an invisible splice invisible space
no stitches -- just symbols running like blood pouring pools of shifting thought on dingy floors

to say order can be made of this mess--
placing hands under the quick leak words elongated and starving shaking quiverbreaths fever
fill up open palms
spilling over smooth edges as constant as the search that cut them into form

into shapes

Wednesday, August 13, 2008


try standing for one thousand years--
pins and needles would be a pleasure compared to this run around conversation
intense exasperation exaltation
constantly speaking of freedompeacespace __ made from what?_
some loose idea leaking from deaf ears

what if bullets were made out of something soft
to get shot a compliment common placed among royalty
instead of young friends feigning for an explanation with lead in their hands
carbon copy signatures initiation -- this family needs an explanation why babies
sometimes go in the ground and why some people sit cross eyed on Cleveland St. picking scabs scratching at invisible bugs crawling over their skin
why some people are born in brothels and some buried in mass graves

this family needs an explanation why some people have the time to go to the gym
why some can drive fast cars too fast and afford to crash-fast this logic isn't going to hold up in a court of predetermined law
where the makers are invisible calling shots from places too far to hear
how it all came about in the first place

distinct pillars hold up memorythought extending out into one thousand years
where standing
is all the peoples who ever tried to
understand - this--
we are not true believers in salvation--not really anyways
consoled caroused into faking it making it look authentic
co- conspirators in disguise as faithful sinners loyal to idea forgiveness and hopeful destinations a place where space isn't even an issue
a place paved shinning with mansion wealth wings lighting on cloudy bright skies--
but when the clock strikes two in the middle of night lusty faith is placed in
a place
where lucid shivering sex creatures shine and
criminalized acts are redemption and outlaws get a prize

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

vacuum drain

vacuum drain burns the brain
telling of stories long since
into a place where everything is dust to dust
some rosy place lost
where rings hold no symbol
and only Saturn's marriage to the stars sings a sound
worth hearing

bearing north due south
compass fuck clustered around inbred ideologies peeled from books
(read to complete a sense of lost heat

bone breed bread from bones
herstory (his too much told rewritten and left sinless) sick of
she swings her sword blunt from stabbing too many fake stories
this false perception is thick--requiring much sifting

who writes the text decides what's next
isn't it so?
this much our boys and girls are not told

little men scurry about in the middle of night
goblins in the castle
by day they grow tall and wide and laugh too loud and build giant machines that grind and grind and grind and grind and grind and grind and grind and grind and grind and grind and grind
all day long
the bones of time of truth of sound of mercy of minority of child of spirit of womyn of education of rights of human rights of thought of choice of opportunity of individual of freedom of queendom of true kingdom of god of nature of religion of animal of earth

correlation is not causal
nor is history regained--
what is lost
cannot be rewritten--
causality is what but

some found action limber and spreading across wide plains tusked with the ivory spills of fallen vessels

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

note to self #2

residual energy of time spent lying there)))
ricket T
sub(merging)urban legs falling asleep into Zzz

how far removed
are wee
little ones running round the world
self rapport our own support
crumbling stucktures (structures
given to magnificent ornate shells where faulty foundations are well camouflaged
among repentance
the barbs fit tight around the skin
to tell us of our sins

we are self-infliction
amplified without definition
all afflictions become notorious
only suffering has a clear line defined
so says the man up high

down below
the crows tell a different story
where morning glory
begins when sleep (a small dose of death)
becomes a monument to erected detections
of old souls since ceased

seizing upon open eyelids
open graves and head stones
the gravedigger only nods to those who pass alive
he knows sin or no
the shovel of time will wait to abide

crow eyes
a wooden handle and soft ground

Monday, August 4, 2008

back to school

for all infamously famous readers
who's broad course runs through these words often
(though believed i am speaking 2 myself

the vortex that is my current citation/deviation/un)?fortunate opportunity to unite conscious life into all the wee little minds running about in this depraved city
is once again sucking in a deep breath
200 days long

or perforated entries

it seems
is know longer
on my side

Saturday, August 2, 2008


hard until the surface is broken

the choreography of our bodies beating
beating like a heart
breath beat a seeping keeping
of ancient secrets ready to shout

to say our jewels need polishing?!
our tapestry is missing threads
parts of our story

twisted, mutilated and forcefucked
language fucked cunts claimed by foul
mouthed men male sized egos powered
by pedaling soft thighs like a tool
like a machine
like a hygienic profit
to be turned - forward no straight
angles are not mine

heavy it is not the act but the dissolve--
are we shifting creatures without a country speaking of home--
a lone as we sing and sing and sing cold songs

towards blacksoil freshly turned and stone freshly carved some parts smooth
some parts rough


in a state of betrayal and scraping-
memory from the rooms like old wallpaper
hesitations interpretations
asking for and giving constantly

you didn’t really think i was going to show up

did you—

are you going to bunk out
get busy
fall in love or skip town

active destiny or daydream


running until i almost collapse—a few seconds form when i cannot breath and only when my muscles barely hold my weight is it that i feel i’ve done something of significance—nothing to be remembered—but something being built—a revolving axis pitching forth great notions sweating collisions--reopening vital(ized) rooms--construction-- tearing down rotting decks with too many footprints

end of shunning a folded memory

response read
zealous tribute to history un-understood

conversations kept quiet between lines (of sex) complex (made) difficult by falling chunks of clouds thought already to have dispersed

Monday, July 28, 2008

paper trail (getting another degree in the arts & (humanities))


a leading inclination where meadows split diverge and bulge outside compass crosses

the threaded links bare-- simply put
they are not there
the fit is not tight security is not tight our coupling is not tight

cradled in the shaft of a large machine
i cannot see my face
(fate) is a mystery beyond

intellect is without a weapon in this world where prayer becomes--
(a new stirring of self(hope) though god has no grip on her cliffs

trusting to difficult directions she dances across the stage towards a pole planted firm--
it is hers to hold slide glide around
loose structure and the study of women
the study of american history which is part of world history and now earth history

behind her sky paper patterns collide--
remnant of the undefined
the finite torture of signature

Saturday, July 26, 2008

a small restaurant unlike memphis (a bad andy warhol film)

inhale pink oxygen
where drinks like fire run down curtains ---- throat ---- lungs

where dismal hope exists ever-always reaching
beyond shaking means ---- torpid steps ---- tepid conversation

the couch is covered in faux fur ---- the floors creek ---- groaning-
ages spent lying in the best of moods glass in hand
the peopled rooms speak of hideous efforts (masks in place greeting fake face)

affront to quiet nature
affront to Warhol
affront to the very circle of familiarity

we languish in removed connect

quiet months pass where nothing curtains our view
yet still ---- we are unable to move

Monday, July 21, 2008

building history a nest (or an explaination) part 1

building a nest out of found parts

of a sort shunned by most while this nest

t e e t e r s on withered storm drains
where even the most violent
screams of nature are funneled

antediluvian promises curving away from sky

angry black night hard light billows prophecy
the gutteral scream of receding oxygen
fleeting memory and savage wings

still this loose grip holds—thin as sleet and venerable pages

nest building 1

soul crawling backwards
finds a nest
doesn't care which fits best


was it puerile to think love would work
insensate forces fester barring teeth and breaking sound

the burden is too great for our solution mingled in dissolution and solace
found in boxes taped with age hidden in the attic
where this withering mind resides
lofty in past crimes

how do we get out of here
this place of prices paid
yearning rage (not wage) earned

by stretching muscles lengthwise (she said

peering peering peering into past reprise (no amount of make up can hide

how come you never told me this meant so much
to young sick hearts living in icing suffocating sense

we didn’t have enough scars or wrinkles for our souls--
they found us before we were ready

without defense shedding tightening skin wrapping around taunt lungs looking looking looking
for ---absolution

swayed back by thin air memory and hot fortunes

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

a quick sketch

crack me open
i'll never be 
the sultry poet 
that i want to be--

the distant figure 
in the tunnel will never be the muse--
my muse--

oh but their sound is wonderful
full of strings long
and thick

though it be i swore 
never to send another short lined letter to missing muse--


eyes tight and closed  double-over

time folds velvet over itself
pretending to be female male then female again
the perfect sex forms
made inner connects--

the ocean is in the air our tears hot summer setting

when light has left and feeling is gone

     the past will spread out 
like sheets on a line
reflecting sun tarnish

reflecting memorybirds
and touch

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

am i talking to mySelf

no comment

reflection or infliction

in a dream
i am walking
and I cannot see my face

even though
i am outside of my self
not really my self
but something constructed
inward pushing out
in a car
on the other side of the road
i am watching myself

looking at my self walking

though i cannot see my face

note to self

write a poem
about how
nothing is refined

fretting about arguing about the future

clattering spindle

tearing thread s
the article unravels bit by bit

once there

now removed

aching bloody head

constantly this essence is released with each passing beat
the wound is too large

and the mob is knocking with demands

Friday, July 4, 2008

this poem goes to ideas hidden underneath clutching fingernails

this poem is dedicated to all the knocked down knock arounds
to anybody and everybody who’s been called a minority
root word minor meaning lesser in size, extent and importance
this poem is dedicated to all pained peopled driven by circumstance
and all those boats that came across surface waters
when underneath swam glowing creatures unchanged by religion
or war and all burning skin peeling horrors humans like to claim
as their own as their own they laid waste to centuries of thought
of culture ritual tradition keeping the bearing straight out of mind
out of sight and focusing on the ‘others’ plight from lands claimed
as their own trying desperately to tame, maim and cage
no one even thought about where it all came this rage out of left
fields clear cut cause things like world series and hotdogs became
the new


passing tongues
foreign touch

young hips and a lit match


the night ward passes his urgent message
to doves stuck in the night
they beat wild wings in his wake

delivered on swift winds whispering the end
one by one

white doves drop
turning to creamy
milky water

the message lost in the ripples

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

an angry sort of thing

running down out cover abound
filing down the dirty nails of past scrapings
foundling shadow creatures eating ice and air
flaring footsteps
wide open mouth--

this is not your sentiment

nor mine

lucid clacking bones twisting shoulders spitgritfire
how far horrid reflections lost
liquid glass broken teeth filaments chipped porcelain skin

this is not my current device

nor yours

pouring over aggravated rocks
propping yourself up on others then lean lean lean
they lean for you
but only smooth air is left and hard edged shapes undefined
believing in small particles of dust
their repose
silent against absence

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

where this don't live

filament threads running over north south east
the south
southern tongues tasting
forward road running endless
the sides of the earth fenced tamed rubbed bare
sweat runs down her face and womb swollen with spring and the south

the open air casting shadows
filament threads weaving intricate tapestries

her posture spoke of differences between worlds
the thin edge of a window naked to the touch
drowning ancestors open their mouths at vast space
swallowing sense of self
the boat churning to horizons disappearing

this time she shifted into a strange stance
holding it for a long moment looking focused
lighter than usual yet
straining from the weight
she said
the weight of muted oceans—
panic is no longer an option

she took off all her clothes
letting them fall to the floor
they slid away from her as her hips swayed
as if standing proud upon the pier of a boat
rocking back and forth
eyes searched beyond middle grounds to horizons far removed

Friday, June 13, 2008

Carbondale, IL Historical Sights Continued

Longbranch Coffee House
Old Varsity Theater
Wheeler Hall 1903
Yellow Cab

Historical Sights of Carbondale, Illinois

These black and white images are photographs taken for Booby's Restaurant in Carbondale, Illinois. They are digitally printed on an Epson 3800 Archival Inkjet Printer using Ilford Glossy Paper.

-Altgeld Hall SIUC Campus 1896
-The old Dairy Queen 1952
-The Glove Factory
-Previous home of John A. Logan

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

day said no


inquiry of the night--

darkness sat tied to a chair
the four legs stuck to dingy linoleum

by dry blood the verdict pronounced



Monday, June 9, 2008


in my mouth is a word
       pressed together
       tied with a string of sound
long moment-pause--gape--in between
the hierarchy of her thoughts 
climb upon the couch of my immobility 
beating the gaps expansion furiously--movement
her hand is growth hiding in a well on the inside
                         of palms (psalms) raised upward
soft light dark light illuminates dark eyes--hair 

prayer is not a conversation with god or goddess 

it is human consideration
verbalized clarity of wants needs worries disintegration affiliation raising-ation 
the shedding of confusion and fuss

our skin is elastic
everyday we ink our pours 
the history and silt of yesterday 
becomes today--

the river is misdirection 

(this) meditation is a word inside a mouth released
the forming takes place drifting slowing
from the sound wrapping around

inside my palm i dig a hole to place light pressed together
it grinds and grinds against dust settling knowing
intervention is not possible even with a working engine--
we cannot move to let the light out

the bible told me so

dedicating a few moments to swallowing the sky

with sharp shoulder blades the earth splits open
                                                                   & fauna are born
constant as the rainy season
buried under deep grounds where people kneel
budding knowledge heavy--solid--rhythmic
the serpent wore a mask and it was grand
angels on her side with a bird named silence
eve was the tempter

Friday, June 6, 2008

a late night and the next day

still a feeling and a focus

tendril bounces to trip you up
split you up
legs this high and thighs to ride all because the music made me
but it’s fine

it’s fine—
trust is just
a story
between two people
there’s no more to tell
just a dry well and strawberry cake in the late afternoon

dust to dust

lost in the middle ground

where focus is neither fore(um) nor aft

blurred lines with upward hands project distilled images across the surface of the sky

the grace that left and marred the benevolent ground coxed her barely held form into the wind where
once exposed
vanished—leaving a cut in the air like a window without an edge

It's been a while-

I am gathering my wits, caught streaming in every direction, except towards my blog or the viewfinder. In attempt to lure my self-will onto the page and strengthen the disturbance I am nurturing I will dedicate time not only to pictures on the screen but also to works of word. I shall stretch out my arm to a distance well beyond visualized capacity, stoking fires brandishing dim coals hard for the eye to catch even in the blackest black.

Last night, over a couple of drinks, a kiss told me that some people are genetically predisposed to religious experiences . . . if a certain part of the temporal lobe cortex is stimulated by electrodes, the individual will have a 'divine' moment of insight. (Actually they ((they being the powers that be)) made a device for this specific sort of stimulation; a sort of helmet called the Transcranial Magnetic Fibulator
that delivers a slight current to the surface of the brain activating particular regions allowing the resulting effects to be studied.) “This is why some people with epilepsy experience the finger of godly understanding”, the kiss whispered, “what happens during a seizure is similar to what the helmet does”; she was very excited by this knowledge. Leaning forward and towards me, gesticulating with excitement, the kiss asked, “What does this say about a divine creator? Our own small existence within the universe? Enlightening religious experiences? Our universe is too perfect.” she said, “Gravity, the coming together of atoms, the particles of life . . . is it all too perfect to be chance or are we a random occurrence of matter coming together?” There is a theory, a multiple universe theory, which suggests our universe is the only one that could possibly support life. In all of our perfection, assuming that divine intervention is not a rational possible report, this theory states that there are a ga ga ga gazillion universes folding in and around and on top of one another and it took the spontaneous crashing and flinging and marrying of all those infinitely numbered particles and atoms to finally come together in a sequence that allowed the just-so-happening of things to create life. Life, therefore, is mere statistics; it just took enough moving around for it to finally happen . . . eventually, it was bound to come about.
So, with the experience of the divine a mere tickle of a frontal lobe region and with the perfection of our universe being nothing more than a bound-to-happen-given-enough-tries statistic, where does that leave human beings and the meaning of life? The only meaning, the only significance life has is what we apply to it. I say this, and after chewing on the information the kiss gave me, I still find it hard to believe . . . or rather I do not want to believe it. I do not think I am one of the fortunate souls who feel the significant experience of religious ecstasy burning through my blood. Instead I find a hole, an abyss when directly looked at elicits vertigo sucking in conscious thought, creeping toward my breath, stealing it away while encouraging my hands and feet to fail me. It flags me down in the middle of the night, forcing me to search wildly for something big enough, distracting enough, lovely enough to fill that dark space knowing that it will never be enough and I will never be able to stop looking for a substitute. Perhaps it is the awareness of this abyss, be it produced by the profound cultural emphasis on religion or it’s inexplicable reality that keeps me from wholly accepting our spontaneous molecular existence or a mere electric tickle of the brain to sum up divine experience. The kiss concluded by drinking her last draught of beer. She leaned in close so our lips were almost touching, millimeters apart and whispered, “It’s just like the space between . . . an infinite amount of particles ebb and flow. Nothing ever really touches, it is only our feelings and longing that create sensation, ecstasy, pain, meaning . . .”

Sunday, March 16, 2008

This book was part of my senior thesis. It is a hand bound edition of 5 using handmade paper, digital imaging, letterpress and original poetry and prose.

. . . a fetish?

This image was conceived with a Holga Medium Format Camera. Oh to the silence of our end! Oh to the monuments we erect!

Basement Play

Hand held exposure at 8 seconds with flash.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Kitchen Death and the Clown

Part of the same body of work as the previous image.


This is a more recent photo of uptown. I ran around in the middle of the night unstuffing feather pillows and scattering the once-upon-a-time-attached-to- a-bird-fluff, around this small green space in downtown's uptown burb. The ladder is actually carved and assembled out of 2x4's. It is two sections attached in the middle to create a twelve foot unclimbable prop. This is a digital photograph with little manipulation other than a slight increase in contrast.


i shall give this blog spot a shot thanks to my dear friend shobo. we shall see how it holds up.