trial
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
droning
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
Monday, July 28, 2008
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
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
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
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--
except
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
afterwards
when light has left and feeling is gone
the past will spread out
like sheets on a line
reflecting sun tarnish
reflecting memorybirds
scent
and touch
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
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
sitting
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
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
sitting
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
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
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
craze
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
craze
untitled
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
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
loss
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
decern
believing in small particles of dust
their repose
silent against absence
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
loss
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
decern
believing in small particles of dust
their repose
silent against absence
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