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
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
untitled 3
abandon creation
where blood lies
consecration
expecting gated passage permission granted
to pass holy curses among
our common ground
where blood lies
consecration
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
bells
strings
white coats (the landscape
while birds seep in out in out of horizon
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
bells
strings
white coats (the landscape
while birds seep in out in out of horizon
Thursday, August 21, 2008
two down--who's next?
keeping pace
becomes something--
once
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
becomes something--
once
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
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
topside--turvy--
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
replicate fundamentalist's eye to see how hypocrisy likes to fly--
infection of the lungs--spores breath filters decisions down from those living
topside--turvy--
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
writing
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
sudden--
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
blulp
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
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
sucked
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
It
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
clever
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
memoryeffortmotion
some found action limber and spreading across wide plains tusked with the ivory spills of fallen vessels
telling of stories long since
sucked
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
It
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
clever
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
memoryeffortmotion
some found action limber and spreading across wide plains tusked with the ivory spills of fallen vessels
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
ricket T
pleez
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
metal
a wooden handle and soft ground
pleez
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
metal
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
forgive
absence
or perforated entries
time
it seems
is know longer
on my side
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
forgive
absence
or perforated entries
time
it seems
is know longer
on my side
Saturday, August 2, 2008
herstory
R U N N I N G
hard until the surface is broken
the choreography of our bodies beating
breath
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
R U N N I N G
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
R U N N I N G
towards blacksoil freshly turned and stone freshly carved some parts smooth
some parts rough
hard until the surface is broken
the choreography of our bodies beating
breath
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
R U N N I N G
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
R U N N I N G
towards blacksoil freshly turned and stone freshly carved some parts smooth
some parts rough
untitled
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
--choose
sometimes—
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
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
--choose
sometimes—
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
implications
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
implications
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
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