didn't even realize how much till i found your old blog profile. that whole thing about the ocean made all my mornings softer. i continue clicking my life away, without you. but the poems are gone. the words, empty. dictionaries of silence. the hotel room, just an empty sheet of paper.
i sweep past your posts. bare soles * older & older, we both laughed at him, together. . the way he thinks he knows.
Monday, July 18, 2005
sleep baby, sleep..
while the devil
shepherds your
eyelids thru reincarnations
the braille of scar
& informal workshops
sleep baby, sleep
and know that you are loved
like the quiet key or
a jungle flower --- ants in the hollow stem
racing to secret destinations
& so the heart beats on
........
it was always blue on blue. we never kissed, never really even wanted to. and every one i gave you, you took.
begin again
with the soft thing
begin again and send me words
shaped in an isle of smoke
*
Sunday, July 24, 2005
no heroes..
only deep pockets
of varied storms
playing about this city and its smoking digits
its crying lambs & down time
souls partially reflected in eddies
darker than venereal gums
or the ebony-handled knife
stroking a soft cheek
*
Corkscrew Misdemeanor
It's like you suck off my boots
with each sip
& run ahead of the soundtrack
a hushed chorus of synthetic noise
caught in your eyebrow
and yes
you pour and
I sink
into
*
baby, baby, baby, baby...
Collapsing, Moans Cloudhead, Rain Unto Earth
and I am perched on the tip of something big
this may take all day
he burns new and bright
his elbows and feet
awkward and sweet
his hands
dew-slick windings
his mouth tastes of woodsmoke
I imagine its dark color.........
*
[ here is where i would post your beautiful face but what is the point ]
*
THIS DAY, A FRIDAY
the hours are:
leaves
drowned ideas
lost creatures
trains
dark shawls
automobiles (whispers)
a perfume of black wings & lost things.
shiny ping-tings
my hand in your no-
where-shadow
sickles in cells
your smile.. a twisted gin sour
i like it when you
sample
yourself.
........
what is on the nightstand now? an overture of ash in your cup and the clear skyy spill?
how long will you stay
box writing
plucking the dark
waiting for me to do it to a real girl
and seeing your face
maybe i don't want to come back
a pennant for you to dip in salt
to suck, silt & stroke
to roast when the mood strikes
Sep 9, 2006
Fragments 1 - 37
Hey Flatfish X,
you need butcher paper & portable legs
to fall with occasion
~
then at cum window (not yet written)
girl hail & text trances
~
Nina didn't care whether or not the room overlooked the harbor
she was depressed and only wanted to sleep.
~
dream 1
she was standing in a round, flying machine
they were cruising over an island, spotted with palm trees, he was speaking and she was laughing
there was a large, silver purse slung over her shoulder
when she moved
it sparkled
~
outside small waves leave their foam upon the shore
~
in the room next door
a man with tangled eyes
writes:
death music
our last ash drops into the air
we become gigantic stars that walk among the trees
below us wavers wave away the last wave
to brush silver from their hair
~
