an alternative to driving

the sprinklers are working a little bit now

2011-06-20T11:42:00.003-05:00

cleaved in half
self-surrender: part two
vacate awkward sacrifice of bodymind left slipping over choice and ravaged decision

meaning: the country of our countenance is haggard city night
with gray matter splattered against choice alley walls and treeless endings

it is not by fellowship in the chapel we have come to this conclusion–so far removed from the plains
of our beginning
hotly beginning with the last letter of mercy y y y y y y*

The odd suffocation of you and i across the room so wide built by the tides
the restriction of dense population and custom–the tradition of lying
to sound like we know--
like we might have clues
to how it all began

introduce uncertainty--the wild resurrection of embracing sound and movement
coalesce into bold new making of wordparts, suckerpunch the cordial south right out of the mouth of gentility
and make it real make it feel like something worth doing
like action is valor-- the daring heart of risk and her sister fortitude

strike chord into glances so when the eyes meet forgetting is not an option stranger
and neither is letting go

what is this poem about but bravery and heartcranks
chapelmaking fingertip calluses to ease the pain of
sewing self anew

2011-04-10T18:16:00.001-05:00

our own voice
composed mostly
of sweet grass and lemon drops

what a delicate treat this sound is sure to be!

temple talk

2011-02-21T17:40:00.003-06:00

swift flight south
the orange temple song
balled up and wasted in a field
of clouded sway

rocky mountain cliff song
little girl feet step
around trees with roots
like the knuckles of giants–
giants who roamed longstride
bellowsonging about how the ages
get smaller
with time
separation of space

the hill country songs bedded like rocksoil
in hide-wearing folkpeople
the two step and wicked jazz that passed over
during sunday dinner–
possum eyes glint night light

the feature of withered faces windtorn and blown
half asunder by splintered labor
knelt at the temple singing songs
of how things are
and were and are going to be
temple talk language like color
like a blanket in the regions

2011-01-18T16:26:00.000-06:00

birthed
at my wits end
with my head growing sideways
against the ground
listening
for noise

maybe for a stampede
of Great Things happening
or maybe it was the sound of railroad ties bending metal-ache
humming trains sounding like soft distance
carrying cargoboys hitching rides with hobos
to better places a little greener than their wasteland
homefronts

or maybe I am listening for a white horse
hooves all pounding against the hard soil
sweating and toiling
so I won’t have to
ready to ride into a distance that doesn’t bend
where the sun never sets fully, just sits
looking nice
peeking above the never reached red horizon

wanting existence to curve into your shoulder nice and warm is like that
sometimes--
except for when the ghosty figures of maybe what if and remember her, him and that other thing were not standing stock still surround us
making us remember
mind speed drifting out of NOW
into some fakebelieve world of itcouldhavebeen

time stands still like that—silent taunt making fun
all in your face yet can’t be touched--
but if it could—time be touched
I’d suckerpunch it right in the chin
give it a good one two with my
‘hey, you thought I was a goner for sure,
but look at me building a bright future
without all those memories littered on the ground making me stand
stock
still’

yeah, I know time, what it does
what it doesn’t do
my little framed perspective
keeping company
keeping beat
setting a pace for my imagination to keep---….

I wonder how many lives I have lived
we have lived
hoping it more than one
with so many
paths yet untraveled
growth unraveling choices as much or more than it brings

travel me smooth world
my little prayer to the universe
beckoning desperate magic
sight and love
beckoning spells and tumblewords
fullbone strong
ready to break noise
into smooth silent movement

2011-01-18T15:39:00.001-06:00

is the same sun in mexico setting spanish style in memphis?
the wide oak maple poplars looking cacti in the setting light
the midland delta south shacks shaking like a siesta in the muddy river land
the blue boys bouncing jingles up downtown like gringos on their own home turf
wars as bloody here as there and the boarders as pronounced

what is remembered from being on the road, so open?
desolate highway rift through her skin
and the dust is flying
balling up street calling like a winded cat on the fringe
of madness-great things—between sleep and sorrow

her barrel sticking out happy
trigger happy
singing about big skies and makeup–
the stuff women are made of
in shanty towns where living is hard shackled iron eyes
sweat stained laundry on the line
bare feet printed in the ground pitter patter pitter patter
ring around the rosy
ashes ashes Spanish sun
ashes ashes

r us h

2011-01-18T15:29:00.003-06:00

r us h us (h) rush us into confirmation
a zealous flightpushdive into relaxation
looking for moment

for the silver curtain of affirmation
pleasing begging it to say
still freechoice
it's yours
silence the golden moment

dissipate self out the body
eyes grinding open to watch it spell away into surrounding
littering the air with memory and broken little stones
rounded at the corners

florescent diver sucking wind on the fall
reflection on the surface ringing out depths where the sweat drips
arching musclespine tendontight praying smooth entery
splashback without the whiplash
everything is loud and cheap

winterscape (music by Bon Iver)

2010-12-29T17:51:00.002-06:00

check it

2010-12-16T17:55:00.001-06:00

just to say i read the best prologue ever.

"the dragon can't dance" Earl Lovelace

2010-11-17T15:23:00.002-06:00

burn into recognition
the link of communication
between street lamps and wheat fields
temptation and redemption

the last folly step--carefully
drafted in the pale day under spread-out dreams
where morning glories made of iron
wrought the etched light
moving into dawn
whispering about silent
chasms
and chaos

a quick sketch for a spoken piece (reads a bit different off the page)

2010-11-03T21:29:00.002-05:00

so you called me again on the phone
bones sufficiently rattled
i always sigh sad when you call–
you—a pole throwing out your line, looking for hook–
I know you
how addicted to the weight-on-the-line you are
gasping with ripped lips and stuttered words
while your silver hands reel them in blue
knowing the real energy spent is post catch---
something about gut-letting

what really tangles me though
what really splays me open wide
lays me out to dry
is your agonizing.
how you belly ache agonize dramatize over every soul in your life
except for the one
who flips sense off while running mindhoops and muses gritteeth
biting chunks of spitmemory leaving them like bread crumb trails
so as not to forget how bad—and wonderful—things can feel

but what way home to feeling is not blanketed with
irony—the wife of cosmic delight

the irony that we fist fight everyday
taking in black eyes and sucking mouthfuls of ‘what-if’s and could have’s’
the irony that without, this estranged space between you and me
would be nill
that without this heart-stretching, moon shinning distance
where would this love poem be?
where would the hand-scratched letters be sailed out too address sent and postmarked
as our annual reminder pushes the bed sheets into the corner of mind–
so much to loose and forget while taking punches in the stomach for risk

with future in our eyes--blinding ample simple conversation
about letting go without ever saying so
polite overture to moving on while staying in touch
discord dealt
an image of whiteness, silence and bare space

2010-10-29T10:52:00.004-05:00

limp procession of democracy
in the center ring: education
the corner leaning towards bitter strife

ghastly voice yelling,
something about blocks and lining up
building great things with edgy hands
leaning towards striking

bitter woman with your bitter words and your bitter children
asking for handouts and quiet whilst standing gogglemouthed
and weighted hips bulging with blindsight and laze--

to the feeble minded, this may sound like air
moving languish through the halls

but to the narrowed eyed pressed against the wall
skirting harsh words and enemies in disguise
it is chalk dust
choking calm with text book lies and five minute increments
of how to line up on blocks and build great things made of silence

it is how change comes and stays too long
building ratty nests snuggled in the system of children
waiting for lunch and a clue
waiting for significance and relevance

2010-10-08T22:42:00.002-05:00

if out the depths some semblance of what was
would emerge
then what great things could we conjure again

2010-10-01T22:25:00.002-05:00

i have to turn the music up real loud because sometimes,
i hate your fucking voice

2010-10-01T16:12:00.000-05:00

2010-09-29T18:20:00.002-05:00

illuminate–
thunder past design

sight unrepressed
hear it and stream past into living
sound–

2010-09-28T21:46:00.004-05:00

dear tumblr,

your little plastic castle
the words made big falling out the windows–

we both have nameless sayings
nameless ways
tied to great expanse

call it a forging of sight
the shelf on the wall
solitary holding of other:

the return of empty filled me
swelled the loneliness and flooded breath
until her silence came again like a concert
of strings
tying together meaning and strength

trinkets

2010-09-24T15:58:00.003-05:00

it's this light that keeps

escaping between the folds
of fabric
and glass

the gentle posture of shoulder against sun

it's this oddly shaped memory that doesn't fit

in any of the small boxes tucked in drawers
holding old skin, hairpins and buttons
little things made big

seems only a fragile lifting of letting go
will do away with this quiet nonsense
made like steel glory in the corner of our eyes

little stones in my pocket–
not so innocent shrines in the cupboards

you speak of letters like they carry the memory
and not you
like a ritual fire will cleanse and hitting replay is a sin

govern the light
illuminate fingertips
pass out the day and dawn new intention

curtsy to the clock and slip it a kiss
it knows circles and anchor

a quick thought

2010-09-22T19:37:00.003-05:00

frantic search

the quiet of touchless sight

expel--- fathom judgeless morning
where white walls and windows, salt and sentence
replace narrow escape

gravel under her feet fosters rhythm
while the street light resembles her other life

a young hip
and a lit match

2010-08-29T01:15:00.002-05:00

her dark material
spreads

sordid cloud of spoken word
grayed in the dawning of new intention
little pill of presentation–bring in the light

splay open sight
conspire solitude–
intercom this message:
wisdom is hard to come by though everyone is selling it
and righteousness doesn't exist
except for in the mountains
and sometimes the ocean

prayer forecasts trouble and hope
while bodies kamikaze storm

the night steals away memory
letting thoughts jammble towards space
scenario relived 1000 fold times

decipher your distance
and call it circumstance

the bell sounds toll in the landscape
calling to home
calling to paper houses stacked against the rain

under the sleeve on a whim (while listening to Groove Armada)

2010-08-29T00:55:00.005-05:00

refusing
fuse lit
and the cuff is burning like parchment
connection to splayed out phrases
no one knows what to say

depraved center
bartenders and cigarettes
the smell of false interaction
conversation
satiation is not an option in this scene
only the obscene

concentration
delight in when the door opens and we walk outside
we walk outside
an entire universe in the living room
never left the soft structure of home
yet observances came easy
like fortune telling was nature
and this music in the ear is blood

her dance constructed of sketches
glue stick type
the phrases stuck together like intention
live
not recorded

sensation is flight
and magnet
stealth
and wearing off of wakefulness
no one will read these words
and if they (you) do
it won't make understanding even if spoken out of sound

wanna know why?

because i'm not your familiar
nor trying to reach out

just listen:

i'm scared
scared like maybe suffering is undercover in the guise
of earning bread
of earning care and consideration

i'm scared
like maybe this whole big time i'm alive
little moments
spread and disperse
and sudden are dispensed

and maybe
i'll forget that really great piano solo i heard
that made everything perspective
and poetic
and pushed hesitation into the ground---

gesture towards sky
silent night
church songs gone right
yet this prayer has no end
only ( )
and time

only ( )
and time

only ( )
and time

2010-08-27T16:35:00.002-05:00

1000 mile/hour caffeine head--she even said yes to a ball game

in the spirit of getting what she needs

pitted against the beat
street vs homemaker keep
tough as tender nails
railroad spike

the gullet of recognizable bravery
shivering in night sweat dance
moves like a queen
a real heartbreaker against the wall
where others shiver timbers and mortar
loose
tremble like a champ and call it real
keep it company
the hammer's in my pocket and sings like a dream

unfinished sketch of a system in turmoil: blind leadership in the six digits

2010-08-20T17:42:00.003-05:00

attached

to need

like whispers in the ear

building sense playing rolls dubious concerns about reality

school teacher smarts

left with a block between

while pedaling illumination under the table

a dog in the room you see

a dawg in da room

the BIG secret: admin passcodes blow

while everyone thinks about data

meanwhile:

a small child running wicked wild from room (class)

slapped senseless before sleep (a dark bedless room)

left inside all night

now count to two and learn to measure this line

education designed: clustered--cornered--cherry bombing real life

and fucking paycheck stubbed suit-ties from florida ------ apparently

meanwhile

the real deals sneaking in technology and concept

slipping students some understanding telling them life is fucking hard

but you can sail away if only by looking observing focusing

read read and read

the intercom connected viral exchange

pushing pennies and title 1 funds

this book from 1971?

outdated

lets backtrack

since when is truth shouting a criminal fact?

hit me baby one more time

and this go around

little pitter patters

you're shelling it out

the revolt

the news reads:

500 12 and unders take over a school in southtown memphis

the word as to why: tired of a block between, little tykes crying for a new scene

do you take this bride?

2010-08-11T15:30:00.001-05:00

Standing near the large speakers booming the apparently intoxicating song ‘Louie, Louie’ I stared, unaware of my expression. The crowd danced, twitching too and fro with a stiff rhythm following the chorus in the expected outbursts of sing along ‘yeah yeah yeah yeah.’ The ladies, in their very straight ginger colored dresses had taken off their shoes to pad around holding the ties of their late twenties, early thirties, slightly overweight boyfriends and probably soon to be unattractive husbands whose narrow-minded man’s man seeds will probably seek out their ovular target to help over populate the world with their unfortunate offspring. Highlighted hair swishing, Keystone Light sloshing, the lyrics of ‘Louie, Louie’ belted out across the immense hall, a fantastical hotel alight with marble colonnades and granite counter tops. The security guard slowly sipped a diet coke, his ponch overhanging the belt holding his cuffs, keys and pepper spray. He eyed the mid-south valley girls with narrowed eyes, up and down, up and down, seeming to nod approval with the music. Across the way from the dance floor a large spacious area opened up with clothed tables filled with delicate white flower pedals, crystal glasses, half eaten pieces of wedding cake, scattered silverware including three different kinds of forks and the slouched lumps of all the southern money oldies, the aristocrats of Tennessee half dozing over cooling cups of coffee. The caterers, dressed in black, eyes casting about for ways to make the event move as rapidly as possible, stepped quickly and efficiently, taking up forgotten drinks and left plates, attending to the spills and broken glass left by inebriated guests. ‘Louie, Louie’ dropped off while ‘I’ve Got the Power’ slammed into my eardrums, rattling my observations. I sighed heavily and walked over to the bar, the thirty five pounds of equipment strapped across my midriff and shoulders, taking on the visage of pregnancy, protruded from my skinny, almost undernourished looking frame. This stupid lens bag is stretching out my shirt I thought, while laboring across the dance floor through the drunken, fluffy, pink colored crowd. At the drink tabled I asked for my third glass of wine.

“Red please.” The bar tender handed me a shimmering glass of white . . . I think it was Chardonnay. I’m not good with wine, and I didn’t much care anyways; I was trying to stifle my disgust and boredom.

I helped myself to a piece of vanilla, icing covered cake and took a servants route back to the dinning area where I sat down next to a old man who had tufts of hair coming out of his ears. Unloading my equipment didn’t take long, having done it many times before. I settled everything very particularly on the table top; I had to be ready if he called me . . . he wasn’t a very patient man when it came to photographing weddings. When he called over the three-way walkie-talkie, I had to be at his side in a split second. This gig isn’t so bad. I was drinking good wine, eating catered food with time to zone out and think while watching hordes of wealthy people make fools of themselves as they celebrated, carrying out a ceremony to a probably unsuccessful life together. The divorce rate in the United States is over 52%. That means a couple has less than half a chance of their lives together actually surviving together and most likely they will be celebrating their ultimate separation before they both destroy one another’s esteem but of course, only after having two or three children to make the whole matter more complicated and difficult.

I blame religion for this. They go into a union trusting that god is blessing their choices, blessing their lives, blessing their new combined income, blessing their new home, blessing their new fat babies on the way, blessing their whole entire goddamn stupid marriage, which by the way, is a marriage of exclusion; a patriarchal institution where only a miniscule sliver of the diverse pie, only a fraction of the world wide melting pot will be blessed by this very particular god. Fuck me. Not even fucking civil union can be afforded in this completely money driven society where everyone can be a consumer and pay the government but not everyone can reap the few benefits of being a peon underneath that governments umbrella. Sigh again . . . I think I’m getting distracted.

It all ties in though, everything makes sense; the people feed religion, religion feeds the government and the government feeds itself. All of this I thought while eating my cake next to the lumpy old man with ear tufts, slouching into his fold up seat with the expensive corsage pined to his lapel.

Just then, the talkie beeped static; I could barely make out Norms voice over the scratchy connection. Doesn’t matter, I don’t need to hear what he is saying, it just means come. I took a final swig of the chardonnay, deftly (well, almost deftly, by this time the wine was bubbling in my head muting out the crappy songs the DJ was playing) swung the lens bag over my shoulder buckling it at the small of my back, picked up the monopod and headed towards the bride and groom, picturesque in their soon to be unhappy selves. I could see the flash of Norm’s camera as I made my way between the swishy crowds.

she heard it had something to do with telepathic communication

2010-07-20T14:04:00.005-05:00

make a scene

while slipping (unnoticed) out the door

the quiet air fair (or is it affair

rehearsing take offs

landings

takeoffs

continual comings

goings

-------nestling of cheekbones and collar-

bones

bleached out in the sun

neon in the night---

taken in by sight

it must seem quite obscene

until subtle--eyes adjust--

nuance and synapse--------

how she agreed was agreeable is in agreement

not unlike understanding

turning vulgar intention into sweetsouthern layedback hellos

2010-07-20T01:31:00.002-05:00

define illumination---

stepping

steps clatter away from--

the night

shivering about connect

believes in noThing

while still ringing (loud) about reality number 1

and, ,,,,,,,,,

reality number 2---

stop

stipulate

it means

dance, i guess

or quiet revelations on the corner of streetlit lamplit evenings

something about kiss

it was also cut magnolias and shroud

2010-07-01T10:37:00.002-05:00

again the search

distance---stride for space--making headway
even in noise

valued silence--the parcel of peace

thunder in summer
porch and path
alternative to driving

change is made
focus and push--act

know desire--self-learning
prescribed grapple (notion of living)
impression
restricted law of time
environment

catch this phrase and speak of possibilities

the mountainous call of NOW
never sounded
so loud

in the ears of a listening bird

2010-05-28T09:19:00.001-05:00

be a birth—a flock of feathers tethered to the flume by design—
to know freedom exists—is—even in small spaces
where moving is made
difficult
by pressing matters in all states and form

shake sin into palms and press in till fire is made
nothing else is there
but lines and sweat and scars-
scars made by digging

digging through midwest earth
where the fields still sing of beginnings
beginnings of plowed pained
sore history and skin lynching

tight values without breath fringed by
fried southern misconception—a crippling attribute
of judgment
a personal Bill of Rights upheld by a god of design
whose vendetta is reflected in prayer
SMOTE THOSE WHO DO NOT BELIEVE OH GOD ABOVE
AND DELIVER THEM TO REDEMPTION
or hell fire will surely follow!

BRIMSTONE THIS EARTH INTO SAMENESS!

those are where the pale scarred palms come from—
the sweat of searching for
something great in a dusty field of swollen narrow values

but the midwest is expanse
and knitted seamless into the shores where oceans live
and moon flux tide, and darkness
a salty darkness neared by secrets of the most . . .
profane pleasures and adornment—
where the coast chooses the place to go
and bend
and twist
life as waves rolls like sex up and down the shores
kissed light by the desert and pinned by the rock face mountain—

a chiseled woman and her foothill children

the geography of design—a birth—a flock of feathers
tethered to the flume
to know
even here
there is space
for thought and matter
to know
even here
compressed and stressed
vision isn’t without choice nor decision

and as the skin finally heals
the palms whisper great stories
faint echoes
speaking in landscape tongue and remembering

2010-05-23T17:50:00.002-05:00

don't allow the more
--------------sophisticated fears
---------to set

they play like doubt
--------------distraction
----------centered on self

an overture covering pale implications---

robust intentions slip loosely around idea:
ideas like looking
touching with trembles and hands that wear masks
during the evening hours

a misdemeanor in some states

carving a remembering out of slow air and electric invisible wishing

upon witnessing a drugbust across the street on the last day of school

2010-05-21T17:13:00.003-05:00

marking the day
deposit: brandishing guns--politely ringing the doorbell

a sketch of under the covers
her frame marks the anniversary of adolescent death

the working out the polishing the wood grain fever
finishing out the year

a splendid repose from real fakehorders and their drugs
lungkickers on the swat team

children running: a woman spells panic
urgency with her eyes and snarlmouth twisted into fear

while laughter litters the playground
along with candies and popsticks

lockdown
popo apologies
somethin' about doen' a job

the excitement left jumpy words in the halls
dancing with first hand experiences--slamstories of whathappenedthen
and next

a furled fist in the background

better go watch the cars
the high school lets out soon

2010-05-09T21:19:00.000-05:00

addison gray is blogging to herself

2010-05-07T19:09:00.003-05:00

cover
up
the crisis

the war raged all of this life
while willows grew and barn wood aged even more
against fabric blue skies

transition brought her to the brink of static
thinking fate was working itself out
and old pages were valued for their store of wealth
memories likened to gold

space was an issue--------------some concern
discerned from meager stillness, shyness, mute narrowed eyes
and a battle with distance
where love harbored masks (often perceived as villainous) in the in between

keeping true to light
scattered by branches
shyness agonized over courage
calling her a coward

until steps focused
one
at
a
time
a brave beginning
for this sheppard
cooing to feelings
a coxing of action
emotion

silence finally played its' part
having dispensed with Awkward--
that haughty noiseless woman
had her way
with the remembering

2010-05-03T17:14:00.003-05:00

your presence is like charcoal on the skin
toxic gin
smeared with your dark outline-
everything looks messy

wish i could drink in reverse
that way i'd only improve as the night
teeter-totters on

whiplashed into thinking
the SOULution dwelled sacked-out suckerpunched

in common beginnings, endings
begging to be different
in the mind a great fantasy of forgetting (to feel-- grows
saturated excuses build blinds on our eyes

the solace at the days closing rests on a pillow
smothered in the mind--silently working
us unaware

it was triggered relaxation
at the sound of a bell--
Pavlov and his dog murdered mystery

or was it built infancy
human nature
our farce a golden treatment of wheezing punched up love

naked front--
can't everyanyone write a fucking memoir
i mean . . . exaggeration isn't a difficult lie
more like sexed up truth

and that kiss became an entire world
and that brush stroke brought millions to their knees
and any folk with a sense worth two licks can bury history

it ain't that hard

i mean
without
its back--
back to common beginnings

and do you feel small still??
like the big world keeps getting made bigger
by all the loud walkers with big flapping jaws
and fancy lighted signs singing
"Watch out kiddies--wide load"

help 101: just think--exaggeration is no womyns' claim
it's a free trick of the trade
so broaden your shoulders little lady
suck it up cause the worlds looking bright

but i can see---
see that you are no fool
probably one of those stand-the-test-of-time runners
in which case:
hitch up your coveralls darling and run on
an on an on an on an on

who knows, you could have your very own sign soon
that reads
"watch out world--inflated truthkicker coming through"

2010-04-25T07:35:00.003-05:00

chardonnay sunlight
filtering through breaking day

the sound of wind
trains
empty streets

footsteps at the door
the stairs
toward the bedroom

making sense of order
time lapse
the great divide

2010-04-17T17:23:00.002-05:00

she kicked open my odyssey
ripe on the tree
and told me to go home
(the ocean i mean)
left me dangling on the hook like some
peeled back wigglesmacked bait
leaning in for more knowing the cure would hurt

and it did

when her big blue thighs came in at high tide
frothing at the mouth
speaking wickedquick tongue calling to the sky
(and old lover I bet)
while chuckling rhymes--
and i was beside myself
still hooked and wriggling
wishing to be NOwhere else

it was like that--
an entire crescendo of lapping licking smacking waves
folded in the crests
entire treasures full of truths made of sound
sucking on the sand pulling at the band
while smiling slicked mouthed unafraid
daring folk to walk up and try skipping a stone
or two

(paused in awe decided that)

after hanging tattered battered and peaked--
little me climbed down from that moment and even though
it was i who walked away it was she who left
me standing dumb on the beach--rock breaking my teeth
and rock breaking my bones
and rock breaking my tone

thinking back---
it seemed like a great ending to a severely atrophied love stint
making sense only at a distance
playing it safe from across the road--
but sound travels baby and it travels fast
keeps on talking even if ears aren't openflamed flapping to listen
catching our attention when we least expect it
exhausted and fistworn from the day knuckles all brokenswollen
throbbing like a robbed tomb when the sun goes down--
it will say:
shh
this ain't no place to stay
pack it up and take it to another day

2010-04-16T17:31:00.000-05:00

we're all so cool here

HA!

trying something new--take 1

2010-04-16T17:04:00.003-05:00

and i forgot to call it out
shout it out
at the top
of trunked up trees where
it couldn't be smelled

that lady sitting next to me
with her trick trickling cigarette made to look like butter
on her lips and fingers
a growing joke and her satin scent of flower
little blossom puke in a bottle
the fragrance tires the scenes and sets
the stomach to churning

you make me sSICK said the little autistic boy
to no one in particular
til i realized he was talking to the whole lot
of centralized slothcattlebots with
their fertile parents slapping piggybackridding
booty
big with cheap meals and fatty betrayal
thick
with ignorant immoral unethical imagination punishing
killers---i mean---most of em' of are against abortion
and ain't no white haired wrinkledasspolitician gonna
pay for that real kind of sex ed

so grind me down perfumed smoke women
and tell me that life is good wearing a little black dress
and forget the rest
my table top isn't for forgetting though---
no and it's not for style either

i tell--sense can't be breathed in like air
it's not a drink to swallow either
more like scrambling sweating clumsy thinking clawing
towards mazelost exists and expecting a reward of fresh air
at the end when all you get is more slipping
and needle compass roses swirling in the head like
a dark night of drinking and feeling separate in the midst
of folks churning hiptwisted on the dance floor of time
and don't get me started on space

i am ebb
sticky sometimes but ebbing on like loose leafs
in current blue rivers in pushing green reservoirs
the stone cold bottom of wells springing up life
and feminine mystic cheeks
turning the other way
when loose tongued motherfuckers suck in too
much confidence without abandoning ignorance---
abate this mouthflapper:

drawing on the wall of silence
mute shyness
i scream a lesson learned and realize
to work through to abstract selflessness (if there is such a thing)
it's got to be figured first--fist first by sounding out self
and giving i a new chance of sight
abide by the rules of insight keeping it tight
so for real--my childhood was good
and screwed up like every ones and to say less or more
is just ego and might reveal too much of those secret
seances concerning home

so lady scent
in your black dress
and smoke perfume
who are you
chatting with the sky
about loss
and sight
sticking your fists into
life
(?

2010-04-09T17:00:00.003-05:00

time and space
misplaced
a mistaken shape

the drawing came together from a sketch and she realized--

shortcomings were dug deep in her actions--what to do--
move
push
on
through the shattered light of memory--the dancing fractal images of faces words
night smells and sight

roads like thought stretched like a familiar pattern---- carrying in old hands weather worn-
cruising transient boy blurred by timelapse----
the best kept secret folded in pockets of embarrassment--shy muteness--pretending casual-self in the midst of embers and voice
it broke--a misused door on hinges turned inside out
spelling e x t r e m i t y

meanwhile--the sidewalk offers its assistance to pondering and meandering and all the rest of that thinking back

a slow stride sentence looking for a poem
a raven looking for limb
a lamppost looking for a shadow to cast

select embrace, erase, move flightless through the air and realize falling
something like prayer only more like an empty calling

brazen gesture
sounding at midnight -- lighting fires in her sleep

reverb rewind, longdayattheoffice

2010-02-24T17:31:00.003-06:00

i digress shift
depress
external expansion
the minds dull explosion (no one noticed the pieces being picked up)
nor the drive by jokers
in their youth
and in their glory

it was a connection
a loss
a felt dimension of mention--
the zoned out man with his chin and his other chin
calling it exploration
(as he sat dumb looking at the sun
or was it the short skirted cutie with the cigarette hitching a ride across the street) yeah i think it was that
one over there on the hill striking curbs while keeping it real, hustle--doesn't even have to make sense, just give it a moment to rest and keep the sentence running on and on cause no one's goen' to the trouble to read this mess anyways, talking a wall, a white wall with an inched up dress and a flamingo haircut--beer followed by a coffee followed by a bed followed by an alarm followed by too many motherless fatherless children trying to be students really being dogs in a kennel--keep your chin up kid or the world will fuck you over real hard--digress i digress and shift into my best--like sunday attire--sam i am you be reading dis?too much time in memphis mitch and not enough paZazzzzz--damn it's hot in here-ya hear-?? ? ?stuttered a here ? ? ??? present tense
the rest is
just mess

immigration policy: a polite overture to injustice

2010-01-18T15:43:00.005-06:00

Part I

the flesh of absence--
a watery color ghosted and framed
by windows--sheer curtains nuzzle breeze

empty throne, the sheets cool
and growing sallow the room is left alone

Part II

immigrant connection
the embassy totes white glory
plush power

discord--interview with a stranger
a most intimate investigation
looking for fear, for the eyes to look up and to the right
stamped down denial

stranded in a strange land called home

Part III
(a more aggressive approach)

serenade to separateness
REpresent
no return date
no return ticket
invalid license to BE
to say love
is determined by dot gov---
absurd ritual
lies are told as factual
immigrate this mother fuckers:
keeping the country safe
homeland security
priority: Debase
mistrust
policy thrust
unequaled affront to the nature
the very nature
of human rights
dieing endlessly by oversight
spectrum of delay--family values gone astray
hypocrisy as bright as the suns rays
an ocean dividing--ameriCat keeping talent at bay
all our bets riding on the HLS office
preserving our freedoms? fuck it! till it's right gonna dog it
HA
seizing the innocent--victim to lack of common sense
man on a plane
man with a gun
hold it up high
bang bang dang
look at those chains---a painful shame

Part IV
(a slight return to square one)

reverberate
talk of concept and ruination
the country swaggers--a drunk giant
with fatty baby legs groaning
or is it boasting?
provision for self
it forgets the rest who put it high up
on an absolute shelf
glory and absence
affair with paper trails
secured perimeters
meet me in the back room
and we'll talk smuggle
we'll talk struggle
and hatch insanity
much more tame
than policy
fear
the worlds best
misplaced
fallacy

rural picture of winter(interaction

2010-01-07T17:38:00.003-06:00

resist

the knife-point search for words--intact but deserted--
reticent self--outward expression defined by reserved contact
minimal self inclined to withdraw--decapitate possibility with pained movements

we are cold snow dusted roads, gravel dirt ditches frozen by abandoned nature

it is our swollen sense of importance that keeps us bold (behind closed doors)

---------------------land laid out bare and touched by sadness------frozen touch
-------------------and poor memory

poor memory serving another time--

her figure looked liked miles and left a still impression
silhouetted against edge and mood

touch of gray
calloused hands
abandoned fingers with silver rings

furious possible connect
shift shape and leave this space for something quiet
in the solitude of forgetting--make believe busy--stacking cups
like it means something
besides indulgence and escape

the frozen house
on the hill
keeping vigil
over dusted figures--
shaded silhouettes against the snow

(a picture painted the attic

the warm air rising
the curved shape of expression leaning heavily
upon the chipped frostbitten window pane
looking through breath
down on roads
and frozen grounds
the clarity of distance kept keen for moments
left behind for a grand hope of understanding---
of sharing

quiet settled upon the land
proclaiming the business of sadness(
on every eyelid is of importance and should be listened to

that no distance can separate one from what is seen
no even closed sleep nor drunken love
not even soft embraces under the guise of trust

and through the window came a cry
distant and carried by north winds
the black m of flight
the crow looking for companion

the winter looking for a lover
her cold nature an affront to all but chiseled stone---
monument to self

the ending eluding to clarity
the death of spectacle,
of showmanship

the curtain closed, the attic window shut--
under the sheets, the house sits quiet
a borrowed breath away from
the couch and the grave
and settles silence under the skin

2009-12-11T19:59:00.003-06:00

dawning of day--bridge me the sequel
and say nothing of memory--
hard stones looking back
into foreign affairs--where's the knife point?!
searching through the air
words tumble blood to bare
the sequence fumbles through like this:
noThing to bother the bitter left outside
the door opened looking for
bright colored evening song and boy lines drawn in the sky
silhouette my song and feel it like pride
in the lungs breathing deep the night and the day the dawn until
park stories bring us back to earth and we feel like light on the skin

no turn
rounding the corner of earth or growing
up and out
became present
and sudden
a godless warning
caught
on the stage, flood lights, dragged from the porch and her death--
child--
is great--yet still means noThing next to universe
rocked by the poor pitter-patter of left-behind-future

bleak blank and drunk on the street
unless
some pick-me-up shoulder shrug can bring her out
out of time and shell
noon day spells, sun on the skin makes one think again
of rosters--foster the cost of living
shown blatant and bare--the face (off) laughing
sagging is the sense of movement

where is here and how did it come to be?
i normally see these things
well in advance
instead looking to the radio gods to send a sign
what way to leave this benign existence

looking for fever--progressive strife
sound by life
it is breath and lips and sweat
concrete scores rocked by a dancing floor

deliver the couch with great austerity
bring to my mind
accept the rest as unavoidable
and affordable death
alternative to the rest (consumption and burning)
hypocrisy learning

single out the lined figured in the corner
a lone
glacier serving solitude and wrecking the scape
keeping noThing not even herself safe

2009-12-09T21:21:00.002-06:00

the great voice of reason
drowning in escalating treason
elephant in the room
bone white ebony sin
singing about irony

her majesty
blond hair twirling round

slender finger
wrapping
warring against dignity

great beyond measured
in time hearing how seconds are formed
missed communication
step back into the pink tingling night to know children
and their madness
venerable world
salvation is chance
and memory is everything

keep me company twilight
sinister night
drunken escapade
into strife--strangers hold secrets
held in posture
pinnacle alter--bow down

blow me westward
singing about silk and secrets

2009-12-02T20:14:00.002-06:00

shove into
insight (provided----)
the text bold slash sans serif
unequivocal truthbetold
i never loved you
only idea
of blue
silver
red streaked moment
no words of any kind
in any order
could save this
no handmade trinkets
nor memory
could save it
not even a wrecked conversation
about 'what ifs'
could make the front page

only idea
shattered against
self
will
and hard cold stone memory
is left to pick up the shame of salt
and letters

2009-12-02T19:45:00.002-06:00

effusive beginning
silence in the absence -- this isolation keen and well kept
weep--emotional stint
felt like a whip to the back(hand) of dis[soul]ution--

gray night gray matter gray sight
follows
the connection strong
vibrant and empty
the physical prowess removed
grown stronger the absence
the hum of dark house ringing through the ears
listening with ears to the ground
to the door
the floor giving a signal of
coming plight
urgency
--speak about peace
peach and fur electric eclectic touch
from everywhere a beginning a forgetting
sucking in the brave air trying to be braver still
and poetry is at standstill
human bondage
the torture of observation
knowing human disadvantage
isn't found in stillness
but movement and thought
thinking that we are whole
centered and kind gentle sensical beings--
reality the bitch next door
divided our efforts, thoughts askew
separate living and breathing only self
others an illusion
caring too much
too much the sins--right wrong
dialogical process
conversation with no one but
self--diminished
damned
and reaching every reaching
for salvation
living across the corridor
and weeping
about howthingsusedtobe
and weeping
about howthingswere
and weeping
about nothinginparticular
until
s t o p
sudden shrinking self
the world so big so big so big big big
tiny little self shrinking
in the night
under stars and magnolia trees next to giant city blocks and rivers
muddy rivers were death and carriage both reside

polyester suited man on the corner
preaching his sign
saying god is a badass
and we're fucked
with his loud speaker
and small eyes
praying for eternal damnation

while pedestrians walk
walk like death is something known but left
alone
under the magnolia trees by the cobbled brick street
the street light singing shinning through the water the rain
the best part of life spent in front of a stop light
waiting
thinking that some missing piece is about to jump out
SURPRISE
with an answer
to solitude in a crowded bar
judgement
snowy white judgement
soot
the black soot of conclusion
illusion
sophisticated inclination
that something
is not
quite
right
signpost--the signal to leave-takings

2009-10-15T17:27:00.000-05:00

describe affluent subtilize
back away
humble
discreet notion
hip joint and shake

mark the skin with ink
and play like love
isn't dark clouds hanging over
concrete ledge--city brow
and sinister
street-
light

with all the courage
brave beginnings--
pressed hard between repetition--
is hard (graves gone) to come by
wave
good byes
while looking
like rolling plains (grass land empty)
heaving thought across
heavy
unmarked
road

quick impression of Patagonia

2009-09-15T21:06:00.002-05:00

looking askance
pale nervous laugh
white palms rubbing together
a psalms to current time

Patagonia wind
wild
willful
lit mountain rain and broken tin

small i's dot the landscape--
a call for greater Things
where horses are not broken
where

we linger on gray hooves striking the ground
with our stance

2009-08-20T17:54:00.002-05:00

thin enough to call a barely breeze
-----weak

----her images--already ill-defined--began
to dissipate

walking
was difficult
marked by sin (among other things)

when wildly forward
was all she wished
upon nothing her ground--imaginary

plight--
exodus to fantastical future
where running and WILL
returned
to usher in another time

less stricken by the weight of day

2009-08-19T17:42:00.002-05:00

little stone
working its way
into celestial trials

the next step
forgotten
among the looking-for of backdoor escapes

leverage--a fake sucking-in of mistakes
among discarded skin and error

delete love--
gouging out the eyes of romance
with tender hands and a smile

2009-08-18T19:38:00.003-05:00

be a breeze
----------- a birch tree silence

a swollen eye
------------- black envy

destination--sheets--the cool spread of sex
------------ a syntax misplaced by garment

---to know thunder---how it hollows the skies
with talk of murder

keep it smooth
---------------- sing about other things

like trumpets
and spring

2009-08-14T18:04:00.002-05:00

a trembling parenthesis of gathering silence

the allure of return

impulse

ferried response carried electric

across blighted emotion

speak into the thin darkness

to feel it reverberate

sending shivering fingertips

to collect dense intention

2009-08-11T16:36:00.004-05:00

white washed illness
stalled plows in the field
river bones mixed--
wash out to sea
whose salt
is sweat filled
teary night--

stripped ashy trees
stand unashamed
skinny naked trees
gesturing to bald sky

bald sky bares witness
to our embarrassment
as we grow
mute
and shy--

the heavens do not know pity
brothers and sisters
circular nature
company and split self
wetlands, coast, drying fields
fertile
rusty plow oiled slick and new

the corn is high and blue ------ while
history is made in backyards
urban slews, rooftops, alleys, near the silo
behind the brush fire, in the kitchen,
on the street
mingled with place
and people

stories are being told
borrowed time
walls
lots of walls
bricked up ------ plastered
coated and invisible
like birds in tree tops
birds in tree tops with their
invisible hanging houses
searching for the morning

the morning and sound
the salty sea
north
the south sweat
river
muddy and sensuous
the bones of stories
silos and plows
noise, morning noise
and mist
mist covering--a blanket over tilled land
tilled land filled with future
and past

quiet from its past
tilled by its future
while the long hands of century
hold
element over this land

dramatic thought/untitled sketch

2009-08-06T20:43:00.003-05:00

carry me to your chagrin
ferry me
dead weight eyes
cause (effect) a stirring
every thing lost

to crows kneeling sideways
against the snow
pecking bones
bare branched homes
sketching gestures to the sky

broken contour
too thick laid on its side
scratching a hole in memory
picking out the stones

praising all great mothers
wishing for the womb
sacrifice, arms
unaided cleft chest
pressed against safety

deft we deliver silence
absence
crossed legs
hanging breath
our own untimely living deaths

like when a space is clear cut for growing but then is forgotten and wild things begin to take over again

2009-08-06T15:21:00.004-05:00

it is

hard to let go

of names

when naming

is everything

and more

working searching

for integral

connect

ruination

of self

of WILL

of bravery-

standing only as a front

for more sophisticated fears

that cleared the path for greater sins

like remembering

stretched out

ephemeral past without hard edges

what strange contrast she holds!!

time is not a divine right

it is only

until it is not

to say--

what sad stories we live

full of bright beautiful change

Fox--Part I

2009-08-05T16:02:00.001-05:00

speaking from a distance
knowing no other option

only

water --- blue and tied to solitude

meaning found
in cadence

subtleties

restless fevers shivering sweat tossed in damp sheets

speak to me

this holding of tongues is madness
against history
against certain stories

Fox--Part II

2009-08-05T16:00:00.001-05:00

the fox burrows deep
digging two exits
knowing entrance is easy

but to leave
to leave is a universal matter
tied to Great Things

like survival

necessity

the fox knows sound
whispering when to retreat

yet even instinct is compromised
as curiosity often weighs more
than danger
and sense

laid waste---stream

2009-08-04T19:06:00.006-05:00

god must have laid waste to us o' so long ago. before the busy streets with yellow paint and tar before broken alleys and bricked buildings. before thick combs of people mashed together on sidewalks god must have laid waste. god must have laid waste to us long before flickering screens and wires with electric impulse and plastic bags with handles. god must have laid waste to us before planes could crash and before we thought dead earth buried black was any good to us. god must have been so mad to lay waste to us even before johnny apple seed and cannon fodder and domestic pigs. god must have laid waste to us o' so long ago. before stucco and the invention of saws for cutting down trees before we lost sight that trees share the same fate as us, before hygiene and fire god must have laid waste to the little souls rocking back and forth in tight caves with sand in them and with cold found foraged food below them. god must have laid waste to us crimson red with all kinds of glory and light and must have thought about dogs while laying waste to us. god must have thought about dogs and laid waste to us with panache and flair and a sense of fashion. yeah, god's got fashion and style and sense and panache. god's got it all under control from the tiny tunnels dug feverishly by ants to the tiny tunnels dug feverishly by us gods got style and panache. when god laid waste to us, i bet there was probably glitter everywhere, the kind that gets stuck to the cheek and glitters in the right light. yeah, there was definitely glitter when the waste laying was happening

2009-07-30T21:21:00.003-05:00

ripped by novelty-------

familiar fate
go fuck yourself-------

and eat this pain
pushing forward through WILL.
the terrible force of WILL.
coming under severed breath
the degree to which bravery falters
swinging her hips
she alters
and fate smiles at irony while kneeling
down giving head to undiminshed universe

keeping stride --- ooooh ---- our pitiful curse
dreams deafened by birth (of new
while the wet earth denies sensuous touch
keeping distance between us

down
DOWN to the ground with our angst and sound----
looking like hawks
WHERE ARE THE CLIFFS
searching to avoid this rift
chasm
fathom and breeze. WILL.
where is WILL.

only hallways blue and stretched
with too many knee prints and knuckle prints
tasting of salt
as hands grope for darkening ways to cope

blue hands blue feet blue street

2009-07-30T20:28:00.003-05:00

now sensitivity is known
as parts fall off me ------- ----- - - driving down roads
------tarred and blue
------ ------ ----------- ---
------ - - -- stained with too many said lines
----
-------------- -------- ------------ -- - and broken hands

2009-07-25T17:03:00.003-05:00

be my patience
delicious fall
where mood and leaf couple
a song of dance--

smooth crisp steps
sound like
my bell-tolling
a swarthy call of
please--

open the windows
with their cracked pains
and screenless
wide
demur
for light and bird and breeze
shun the walls
of our trembling touchless praise

untitled

2009-07-24T15:35:00.002-05:00

out of will to wish this prayer--
be equivocal truth
tipping on the edge of tongue
well-spring-forth
to be one greatness

muscles taunt
a tight breath with foreplay--life's trailer
a king's riches spilled naked on the floor

think world-self

masters of the desert
whose Valkyrie is shield against the storm
an ancient war waged against unsettled risks
calculate hypocrisy and feign surprise
unfolded pattern mocks history
sayen' 'see you soon babe. you like it when i lie'

2009-07-23T19:56:00.003-05:00

tied to
great Expanse--the capital of our state (being)
knowing
answers are not what we need

questions lived
exaggerated forms thrive under
secret conditions

like the night
and other mysterious shrouds

veiled in pale watered light
willing original thought
only to find--
past
wanderings

yearlings of love--
beginnings again
again and again
until fathom is felt

unspeakable feeling! hear
our stomping
on grounds too soft for comfort

cynical movement

2009-07-22T14:20:00.002-05:00

heart break america---
all those tar paved roads
glittering
like an empty bar

too much glass
and liquid inside

too much sass
and static outside

treat me to a lay baby
come on--
treat me

2009-07-21T11:33:00.001-05:00

chemical reaction
love a product of adrenaline

brain dope and hope
a sinister combination

little stone

2009-07-19T11:33:00.001-05:00

little stone in my belly

feed me something good--

devour clarity no more!

sinister little stone

the rest of time is passing

greedy in my belly--

alert

aware

stretched out

no room for truth in these walls

only comforting stories about how it wouldn't work anyways--

all the 'what if's' still trailing long and hard behind--

hard to force down but settles nicely after it goes

little stone in my belly

how long will you be here?--

what if it floods and too much water is swallowed?

no--

i think you are here to stay

company

weight

a tight hard memory in my belly

2009-07-17T22:49:00.000-05:00

sing a song of trepidation

of l e a v I n g

to know peace in forgetting—forging an angry bond

between memory and wish

believe me when i say—

noThing can be done

in the name of good will nor love

except

stepping on (sensitive) toes and messages that say

k(no)w one gets the real words being said—

an abstract way of holding-on

and shutting-down

holding hands with fake miracles fucking apologizes backstage

cramping my style like always while

waiting for you—yes you—to subside

into distant faint background noise

sea story

2009-07-15T10:49:00.008-05:00

our ocean muscles develop slowly

while telling secrets to the wind---

like how metaphors grow into years and become big--

telling us to be better

and to be kind

the salt like old pain--the earth knew we were coming

and cried love

as well as dread

and spoke often to the moon about what to do

while softly pulling up to the shore

rolling in and out of context

mixing sand and stone

knowing many bones would be there soon

what is prayer? said the ocean--

wishful thinking. said the moon--

often the ocean wished--or prayed--

for a great lover

to crack open the black night sky

spilling messy light everywhere to say 'i know i love you

because it's you and secrets are what we do best'

but the ocean knew

even with the light laying across her surface

she was bound to the earth--

it was the questions that sent earthquakes

across her dark depths

capsized boats and turned towns--

will you tidal up to these aching bones

roving eyes

to speak truth

while standing stock still

at the edge of tide?

will you spill your fishy secrets

like an accident over goosebumped bodies

lying prostrate on the sands?

the ocean knows

the excess of our excuse--

soft skin

and buried letters

the ocean knows not to believe in shame

the color of silver and blue

2009-07-08T14:38:00.002-05:00

think life

contagious output

the porous sinking-in of not knowing

(infatuated with struggle)

time bandits steal clocks for fun--

laugh with great mirth

gusto--

chilling salt in the freezer

an experiment with later--

wonder if we could make the ocean in the bathtub

with little fish and weeds and oil

predator and prey

2009-07-07T16:16:00.002-05:00

let dirt road weeds

live alongside lilac summer

pray to sprawling summer heavens

fence posts and cicadas

2009-07-06T12:25:00.002-05:00

stay

long spider night

shimmer into spectacle (take on the angry world)

to silence

those malnourished thinkers

who feed muddy rivers lies of freedom

knowing dams exist (and man)

who said the word love

couldn't hold meaning in a room

full of people

didn't know coal mines--

never felt the saviors hand

against mine

but the breast of grace

and her fell song on wicked ears

knowing isolation

grieving staccato sob poetry

and dinner in the alley with crying

cats slinking against bereaved dark

untitled pause--meditated stream

2009-07-05T23:32:00.004-05:00

burning--a candle in the wind

gone mad to stay alive

sucking oxygen (pause) burnt air (pause)

fighting back the night--fierce intelligence

even as foundations melt

drip drip drip

all the way home (pause)

spoke of dewy dreams (pause)

black forest feed me dinner

deliver sinners from eternal drought

what is this metaphor but a whimsy collection of regret (pause)

or perhaps--(pause)

a syndicate to recollection (pause)

reedy summer gave hints to nostalgia and fought off cicadas

singing and burning in the night

mere shells in the hot morning sun (pause)

we were lovers shelved

and knowing a poem for that one isn't worth the letters or breath (pause)

any

more than the next one coming up

unearth scripture and eat the bones of yesterday (pause)

left

over glacier--carve me a river (pause)

the splintered sky will give rise to a boat to sail

way on (pause)

keeping abreast of the latest trends (pause)

on how best to set the mast (pause)

drink liquor from her tributary

the great mother is aroused as she

lets out to sea (pause)

her river veins run thick with debris

and need the salt of open space (pause)

forging pacts beneath the sands

hour glass thin

our persons core out circumstance (pause)

deliver tendencies (pause)

and speak foreign face to lady mundane

(pause)

not my words

2009-07-02T20:30:00.003-05:00

"They remain slaves because they can't see what it beautiful in this world." *

* Taken from White Tiger, Aravind Adiga citing the poet Iqbal

lady face

2009-07-01T22:57:00.005-05:00

follow me

lady face

to a space clean of debris

marked -- the surface scratched
with footsteps of folly

shelved love--
poses (posies)---falling down--

the chalky dark night made of ashes and bone

2009-06-23T13:36:00.002-05:00

hiatus

running crime

hot paved road tarred

feathers flocking separation

the goat sack ninny escapes down angry mob shoots --- persecuted for spewing garbage-

truth --- easing violent faith out of the ground

to say --- trust in me and i in you no matter what you see me do*

devastation

collapse

ergonomics and destination

where is spine/ and pride

talking hope to the homeless living in big houses

heart and mind a far cry from spiritual reprise

ticking time--the tattooed wrist

numbering the impact of external light--the lives of those shinning individuals

action is direct motion

action is motion

action is

action

act

a sudden notion

*Karl Denson's Why Don't You Check Out Your Mind

unsexed conversation

2009-05-31T15:17:00.003-05:00

sing distance

--------------and know close elimination

-----of sound distraction---------(distillation)

----------- - - - - - cradle your voice like a close reminder

--------------of early sex

young thought and blood split lip

----- too quick to name words--

our detainment --- - ---- - --- - -- - -

----in noise----

echos long nerves---------------------------that stretch

--------------------miles into maybe--

to know sleep

-- - -- - is river deep bringing dreams of shared sheets

murder she wrote

2009-05-08T18:33:00.002-05:00

following her down
the river
that is
gold

feeling footstep shores
bold against dark lined ideas
prints of thoughts
impression
likened to the messages of old

ink stained night
follows listless movement
deciding to go through
with the murder

last night

2009-05-03T16:18:00.002-05:00

nostalgic stake through the heart found

a photograph of a familiar hangover

in the back pocket of last night

wake up with a stranger and call her Memory

side swiped on the front stoop

by Regret whose job peels back your skin to

exposure

and romance

a fit of fleeting sight

the lust

a sort of extension of tendons

tremors and touch

determine self-worth

in a dark cove -- a pub

with dark beer

scant light to conceal the deal

with devils and angels

lets be renegade pedestrians--

an alternative to driving

2009-04-28T16:59:00.003-05:00

we are time ticking out of sink

ticking away

all our rounds spent on the same ---- ticking ---- numbers

the face without eyes

ruling--we must abide

closing in--our sin--

against sin--the clock keeps track

don't ever go back--its says--broken jointed

a flood of envy at it's pronounced unbeginning

constant

in the clocks stride

our ruined nation led by goodbyes at the sun

as it raises questions lighter than the questions that the clock raises

repetition spells life

spells the rounded cell we divide around

the single celled clock

stronger than heart and gray hair brittle bones

the clock a syndicate to linear movement

hater of intervention

enemy of the divine

thinking about beats

2009-04-19T21:41:00.003-05:00

the beat generation--relic from a hard boiled past

a past moving fast where the task of crossing the country came easy--

the veins of black paved road opened wide

made room for wild eyed drive--our - - - - destinations

destitute prophets counterfeit angles behind the wheel

the smell of sweat worn leather and gas leaking

oil on the road mixed with slick ideas about the future

turmoil a moot point.

the gritty soles of people passing out abstract concepts

scribbled feverishly on paper napkins

over coffee

eggs over easy

west coast dinners spelled 'meeting point'

take-offs and landings timothy leary a fly-by-god

distributing my spiritual awakening--

can't make it tonight--

hitch a ride with a strangers eye

unwind into future till we're looking back

at the marches--the sacrifice of martyrs--characters lost found now only in words

pressed tight on ten cent bookshelves--

kerouac was right

give me a candle in the night--the mad ones are for me

open up your mind with a k e yed moment--

caution? oh . . . we tied it up to the old tree stump in the back yard

don't worry we left it plenty of water and grub--

now run

even if its raining and the sidewalks spell murder

run until your lungs feel thin and your legs spell taunt

and your faith costs less than a pack of cigarettes

keep moving until your gut feels shot and your brain is speeding down a highway at

85 mph

like that time you did cocaine in the gas station bathroom

with that girl you met in the bar next door

while dancing twirling crazy with all those cats

all those jazz cats speaking smoke and blowing notes

keep running until you're flung forward into remembering that its all gone

every moment

every seed

every soldier and civilian since gone to death's deed

don't stop--not till you drop

to ask how much has really changed (in all these years gone by)

except to say hitch hiking is now a dangerous game

and all the cats have now gone crazy

not the kind of beatnik crazy

more like danger danger crazy

rudimentary communion--hospitality--and handshakes are subject to suspicion

while free rides have all gone awry

whose blood runs in the veins of this country?--the people liberated and free

or a population full of the destitute and diseased

where are the angles that once drove like mad dark figures through the night

where are the cats who jumped souls loud like a moody ambush filtering into

the skin to dance us into the night

what generation now tickets across the country knotting us together

sewing a fabric of unseen history around sweating excited necks

old fire

2009-04-13T16:17:00.005-05:00

in the space

between silence and goodbye

i pressed you

against a wall

parting your closure

_____________________

thinking it haiku

a violent surrender evoked shuddering change

miscommunication--pale thigh sweats

and talk of courage

our brave misdemeanors echo

assured state of self--

the gravity of regret

we are wave open ended question and answer

born in a brothel of cool light made warm

by demand

our demand -- popular and unrelenting

sweet jazz voice vocal in her ear

and the spirit has got me

taken me away to swing sing of essence

parting closure

warm breath against the wall

trailing off sense

silence and goodbye

2009-04-07T21:20:00.002-05:00

you broke through airport security

with a quick tongue and smooth smile

to say something about the language of roses

fingertips and space--to say something of love

Bail Out Package

2009-04-02T15:57:00.006-05:00

we are here

and we are now

pick up trouble and speak

of summits

to pass to keep

prevent hurt

riot protest and die by belief

closure is a four letter word spelled

cause we are the

blessed middle class and broken backs are a gift from above

though from the eternal watchers i doubt

more like penthouse clout

letting the change trickle down

pennies in our cup

jangle it around -- here the patriotic sound

like heavens bells armed with the smell of fed up

and you wanna see tough enough?

hear us speak

on a never ending seek turn around beat

drop down ground

grinding out the sound of weekly days paydays seldom bring a raise

in spirit a rise in time

unequivocal resistance

meet me at the door

for word war

about too much forefathers with their skin hanging loose

and their belt buckles already undone

shun--

mothers! reach out with your self entirely- palms up raised

your fists ready to praise the first disrespect showing an ugly face

hit the dial and call 4357 a coded number

to speak to sisters

to live by sisters

in code

to die by a code of

credence

probability and self response-ability

to discern truth from fact

don't give a shit?!

motherfucker you are jacked--

tacked against a wall

tanned hide burned sides waiting for vultures

a miss guided culture---

too busy with picket line pro-life

just to give a young woman even more strife--

this tide all bent over for capital praise buy more to save

when nuclear warheads can wipe us out in less than a day

so you tell me jack--

who you gonna trust to hold your hand?

when times get rough cut told to shut up

those with a lord above to guide this war

or those with sense given by a goddesses grace

that set a path of peace to taste?

you tell me -- jack--

coast to coast -- liven in a country going to the sac--

a hundred trillion billion gazillion dollars to bail us back--

is it a goal?

do we really want to go?

a countries shame wearing nice ties and a suit

a yacht with a set of crystals-- uneducated children with pistols

foreign policy--the berlin wall set down in texas

drug cartels with high-as-a-kite americans parading around

shaking their fingers at the nasty gun wars--

where's the man in the phone booth?

collecting kick backs somewhere i suppose

no-

you ought to know jack--

not to go back

loose thought about conservative people

2009-03-27T17:24:00.003-05:00

strung out connection

to write of glory

or mystery

the conflict

vengeance

and reprieve

the sound of sleep

mercy and abstract law

again a man with a gun

opinions falter in grace's face

her satiated fate mottled by

s i n

current electric steals my strings

to play reaching hands

palms and story--the account of one woman

on one corner

in a city

somewhere

with air and soot in her lungs

optical hypocrisy--illusion democracy

affect sound

effect and get feet moving walking stomping and turning the ground

into protest

civil right

human right

a glorious stampede of reason--logic--education intelligentsia

loose tongues mark the direction

where crows fly

migrate difference

make it real

symbol and verse--closed path retreat backspace delete

appropriate words

dig into the earth

close your fist around it--raise it high

feel the cinema of our own drama

insipid insight

our radioed heads

uptight belief

vehement conviction

drop this s i n by the way side

nothing to die by

except ones sound (for good

stilted legs tread careful

extend hands to lift not to rift

and become impact

ill defined

complex

an altered arrangement of syntax

2009-03-21T09:41:00.002-05:00

glacial inside --- the wealth of childhood

peeking so forgotten above adult waters
where are we now? without remembrance—

are we holy
or are we the dredges of life on this round bulging planet—

below the surface
small self and personal history linger
waiting for connection

retreat back into young self
where image was really a welding hat and stick—
a night in shinning armor holding sword high

where gravel met sand and became
a mountain meeting the desert—the woods a broad jungle
with leafy muddy moist adventures—the kind where all the hollywood movies rear
their ugly heads
where a dog barking chases you through deep forest and across open fields
now become a pack of wild wolves

remember the bare patch of earth surrounded by green cut grass
and hay bales breaking the rising sun—

look earnest
look deep

for memory treasure—let it flow like the willows and smoke fires
try hard to remember the scent of aftershave and flannel
shinny buttons and buckle
and don’t forget the games smeared in ketchup and kid dirt

remember your first death
and how quiet the snow blanketed her arrival
as summer ushered in peaches—soft mounds and flesh

Education #1

2009-03-18T23:11:00.003-05:00

the sound quality is very crappy. i think because of the compression and file conversion 3x's over but it's the only way I can figure out how to post audio without going through an annoying hosting site.

Education #1

eyed witness
many things left incomplete pleating with ill company
social construct leavings
and the board of higher education vacationing
our
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
left
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
j
o
b
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
absolutes
to know
uncertainty is o k company

audio attempt--

2009-03-17T15:18:00.003-05:00

i recently discovered garageband. a simple program but a lot of fun.

Note: putting audio on blogspot is a serious pain in the ass.

2009-03-17T00:19:00.002-05:00

lay it down

- -- ---- the day sleeping

- -- - to learn living

is a sheer curtain

w a i t i n g -- -- - between secret spaces touching----

to be pulled aside - - - - delicate--more delicate than good(byes

look closely

---where my lace is torn

pulled up inside and shorn (from thigh---

placed in a notebook for remembering---scent

what it was between two fingers rubbing

------- lace---fingers

-- -- age seen through loud upright movement

people stripping dignity from her grace-- -- - surrendering lust and long songs

-- - - for a moment--- single ---upright ----- and sinless

an account of racism rape and bridges

2009-03-03T20:22:00.004-06:00

we asked for deliverance
directly from the mouth of man

and now sitting in the sand (quick like)
black hair standing like a black planet
with all her weight and dark skin

standing like a wall (between) us is history
a discord between the colors
the various hues of our skin clash
break understanding -- herstory chiseled into doing

blond hair moves as a reminder of
difference
hierarchy (a vague supposed-to-be privilege)

divulge female secrets
consideration of shared interest
unrest and repression

because cunts take abuse
and abasement has been a standing tradition
fist clench revenge red rage black skin white skin
tolerance is a damned river while acceptance empties into the mouth of the ocean

because we demanded
deliverance
directly from the mouth
of patriarchy

only to find that racism is still alive
and words like slut are still meant to slander
while women wear white and walk down isles (virginity sold a valuable commodity
were a tight train is a good train --- treat her like a sin is she speaks too loud

find out what's the best way for her to be bound
bounty rape --- a nations downfall --- mankind seals his fate
the scene escalates
Great Mother
alleviate humanities mistaken nature -- --- --- folly footsteps
repeated echo down times hall

we take our deliverance
to dump it in the mouth of man
and scream hypocrisy
we echo natures curve and peace

take long strides
relinquish the perimeters of our existence
talk full loud and viscous calm
walk full loud and viscous calm
live full loud and viscous calm

know need like blood
womb and lung

punked

2009-02-20T17:02:00.005-06:00

setting ------------- a h e a d
our hands shake and play against self doubt

wish articulation came easysmooth as butter--

---thinking that if we write a manifesto (of our own)
people might understand
------------ - - -- ,,,might even join this (whatever) movement--

to think--- we crawled
dripping
out of the human canvas
wet sea and fog -- found legs
to walk
even thought
yet
on all four we still crawl

where is our good humor (isn't war kind of funny . . . sometimes)
in high school i thought i knew a lot
wonder if i still think that

small children bury their heads in dance moves and pop(culture soda corn
and eat unashamed --- --- - - though,,,so do many grown-ups--

breath out of our wild skin
run screaming peeling off face
and grace
to sing the songs we found ringing up from the ground
with our bone legs vibrating to Ancient--

always wondered what a stampede of people would be like--
lots of stories of people meeting their ends at the bottom soles
of store bought shoes
didn't see them lying there (in metaphor) black and blue and bleeding

even if words don't make no sense we still gotta speak em'
a puzzle you know--the black woman on the corner said--
even if the pieces are all sorts of wrong and some are missing just
gotta make em' fit
fit just fine

--like a manifesto i guess--published truth? or lie?
doesn't really matter
just out there

catching any ol' stray eye

a song about lungs
osmosis,,,herstory and punctuation
flexing muscle bone brute and intelligence
flexing time trying to find
an ending
oral record (cut out tongues
and text
we are ill defined
misinterpretation
daft in the ways of making mistakes

the last argument

2009-02-15T12:32:00.004-06:00

you dump your thoughts in a puddle

on the front stoop

to vomit poetry all over the sidewalk--

all over the front lawn

discreetly using your skirt to clean up the mess

incident retrieved from memory where

we accidently touched

for a moment -- or two

before dashing headlong into oncoming traffic

gone now--

not even our shadows dancing

in the noonday sun

to keep me company

only the stained planks of wood

stretching across the warped framed porch

the grain running long ways

broken only by creeping-in plant life

a dark wet world residing underneath

2009-02-13T18:06:00.003-06:00

seep through slanted touch

------------------ - - to firmer grounds

-------- - - - - - - - - - to peel off old skin

bump back into the night

---------------------- - - - - a time to heal --- - ---- - ---- - ---- - --

destruction of body (smooth hip
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - slick lips)

in the back seat of lifted skirts
boi tie leather -- interior
plush and cushion

slink into soft cusp

2009-02-13T18:01:00.002-06:00

i forgot
-the use of words -- these marks
thoughts
scratches on a screen -- on old wood

------- - ----- -------- - ----- -- what was i looking for
----------- - ---------- in glass jars
------------- with lids
self contained magic -- caught

- see through your glass

mailbox-- ---- where love letters deliver
----- a soft grimace and pedal longing

to an edgeless limit

a rough sketch--a rhyme of something to come---

2009-02-06T22:50:00.005-06:00

will you be my beautiful

fingertips express (words staircase from them
and seldom land to rest

will you be my beautiful

delight in lungs that sing
sigh signature and breath

will you be my beautiful

a signal to our death

something unfulfilled
dream of muscle and wet fields

dream of moon
will you be my beautiful

words left upon the rail
teeter totter sign and sand

i'll leave it there

gripping life

strife standing on a hand

letters pressed together

2009-02-06T16:30:00.002-06:00

amazing assent
decompress--obsess

interpersonal connect --- we are silkenwoventhread

flattongue running-- self involved effect -sex bends
disarray and all the things we don't say

keeping missions secret -- creeping with heads tucked bent back tongue lolling
flattery in back pocket greetings--a defense of 'youlooknicehow'veyoubeen'
hand outstretched while the other atrophies holding black against the back

keep away from those types
type set a font--undefined where the letters mash together indiscernible

we are not clear text

instead layered letters words pressed together and runningonandonandonandonandon
the pauses broken and in the wrong place
punctuation kept at bay--a trick learned by us who say without saying and do without doing

a getting by ---- a midland cry ----- informal gray
against gray
in the middle and gray

please deviate -- I know i can enunciate iii iii iii iii iii iii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIi iiiiiiiiii ii i i knowiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiknowi iiiiiiiiicancancancancaniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
iiiiiiiiiiknowicaniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiknowicaniieiiiiiiiieeeeeieiieeenunciatiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
iknowicanenunciate

population control

2009-01-31T17:10:00.004-06:00

tired by design

running clarity weaves senses-----------------(to/get/her)

broken figurine dancing off kilter

eyes -- inward shine repealing time

love to often becomes a great crime

sin

a three lettered word driven into us (kin

left to our own deep world drownings
too many deaths--and births--------------l e v e l
level will leave earth -- -- a great vexing
a caving in of that everyThing-as-we-know-it syndrome taking plight

alight without sight spiral -- rebound off of cyclical assurance
that She (being what we walk upon) Will
correct our misdoings
one way
or the other

on peopled interactions: dreamt connect

2009-01-27T16:26:00.004-06:00

ally in time's scape

------------------------------censored acquaintance ------

------- - -- - - dearth of connect--shun approach with quick furtive glances-

--moderate escape made via separate veins running different bloods

------------ --------------------------- -- - dissect difference

behold similarities dreamt

-------------------------- levied truths stored in distant consorts

--- - --- --- --- bottomed out wisdom with strangers

1979 intoxication

2009-01-25T02:16:00.004-06:00

tribute to silence
out final salute to regret (our greatest defeat of)
separate synergies breathing
house
the west coast blues pounding
till the night closes in--
theme signature--style and portrayal

youth is illusion
and perhaps drunk is finalized prostitution (self against self)

the pinnacle--apex
triangle
salute to absolute
the distant sister
black skinned mind dancing
considering
union
sheets and blind eyes

2009-01-23T15:58:00.001-06:00

water on fire
sleek expectant faces race
towards finite beauty
caught
in wake
dismantled
on the winds whim
who owes no one
a favor
and keeps secrets
like stone grave blues

chiseled sister

2009-01-21T13:02:00.004-06:00

parts of the tree disappear
behind the dew

my stomach lurches for the viable
offerings of her (earth's) dark matter--
secrets buried -- inside bodies wombs evidence and insight

the artifacts of discarded (clothing) skin on the bed
where articles drift - recordings of old doings
going-ons and desperate beginnings - ends

draped over the chair
an old blanket telling stories with scent and collected hair
a cover of night sweats mares--
they say even bad dreams are products of women--
though maybe it is the strength of fear in centuries that bring us discomfort
the quietest moment of dark remembering

2009-01-18T16:54:00.003-06:00

sunday afternoon in the garden

withered by wind brittle-bones falling from the trees

cascade your thought down my nape and feel alone

the call of hills settling around us

armories vacant of argument and tears

we are singularity functioning as one sun and moon

2009-01-17T18:47:00.002-06:00

unadulterated synergies

the sizing up of absolutes--where--withered by asphalt and crime

destitute prodigies wear the orgies of beginnings and rise

like shackled maniacs preaching blood stone and bone

deliver sin on a platter with a bucket of gold and say you did wrong

by loving---her

and say you did wrong to leave family peace meals to walk alone--

but death is a cold companion in the garden wet with night and dew

while two selves battle

one serving bread

the other banshee blows--a promise of light and loose will reclined in propulsion

expulsion from the garden once feared yet overgrown

with comfort -- forgiveness

disenchanted youth! spring up from winter to know love

(it) traces circles around the body

a warm trail to touch--tattooed on memoryskin

chanting about made-up saviors and torn pages--

books drop from the bridge to float down stream

a vague understanding of

currents

sky

and deltas