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