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