May 2012
1 post
mothers day, 2012
Futility.
Came to me in a dream
With little baby hands
And thin and thinning curls
The color of my sister’s
The color they once were
Little baby voice that
Would once have asked
Why I kissed a strange man
With circles in his ears
A strange man that now denies
The circles in his ears
Who told me to look only at
The darkness of my lids
Until I would see nothing
Instead I saw a mirror
Pictured...
April 2012
9 posts
Plantation Society
In the whip crack silence it hit me. This town is still a plantation. The time was once Antebellum and these lands were still dense with vapor. The air was still warm. The air was still unchanging. In fact, a lot of things seemed never to change. The ladies with their hats like appendages; the children with food on their plates and dirt between their toes; the men with their voices that seemed...
You Have Crossed Me, pt. 5
There is the couch
for being still
while everything is running
place to place
THEY SCREAM
They’re being chased
by whatever might become them
but nothing can become you
while you sit upon this couch
this couch that’s marked
by comfort and by weight
the things that keep from running
a person and his preferences
which also mark the couch
with tasks in pen
and checks by...
You Have Crossed Me, pt. 4
How is it
with all of this you cannot see
you feel you see enough
with something as impotent
as eyes
eyes with liner
feet with sandals
legs with vulgar excuses for shorts
mouths with vulgar excuses for words
undeserving of these ears
my ears
which for so long have listened
and in listening, seen
yes. seen.
that which you cannot
and so you look at me
secretly
begging me to...
Distraction: a romance
I smell blood
Fluorescence from all around
The walls and ceilings, canvas skin
Canvas mind, stained with age
I still smell blood
The fluorescence does nothing
These eyes are so open
So looking through a veil
Embroidered so kindly
With terrible, wonderful things
Like grass beds and tree limbs
Dismembered from trunks
By sea storms
That they did not wish upon themselves
But they were...
Vinyl. Blood. Dirt. Nectar.
I have never known a floor to be my own
For many reasons
One
Its grout was laid upon the Earth by hands more able than my own
That is to say I am not able
Two
Able to
Call myself the owner of a portion
Any portion
Of the grounds that made me
The grounds which laid me
Up into those soils that they govern
Of shared and gaseous lifeblood
More vital than the heart in us
Which beguile us, our leaves,...
Familiarity
Reads more like anxiety
March 2012
20 posts
on bicycle
take note of the pavement
on bicycle, on bicycle
watch it grow longer
there is a pulse
there is a breath
take note of the time sands
on bicycle, on bicycle
with more glass to fill
and more time to fill it
all eyes to the person
on bicycle, on bicycle
allowing the pavement
to become a real thing
and low-looking eyes to take into account
the unmoving carcass you passed
host of the...
ihopericksantorum:
I hope Rick Santorum gets a Nickelback song stuck in his head the entire day.
Fishtongue Talk
Nocturnal friend of the ocean
If only when it rains
And desaturates
And puts pictures in your brain
When the most vital vain
Is dis-conn-ecte-d
Only here are you protected
If it’s anything like the time
You swore to yourself
That you’d never speak again
To the man who once took you
To far away places
Like the sea
If only when it was brightest
Which dimmed the other lights you made
That only you...
Joan Didion made my life flash before my eyes... →
Bottles
I thought I’d let you know that I saw you just now, even if you did not see me, even if I was three beer cans away. You look the same as before, if my memory serves me well. Your voice is so rusted a vehicle of forethought, fragranced with tobacco and liquor as if it comes in expensive bottles. For what it’s worth, the former may as well be included with the latter- the former being the bottle,...
Watch
WatchTwo Doves by Dirty Projectors. incomplete.
the best birthday card to ever be concieved
Dear Lochey,
You might be questioning why your card is in the shape of a St. Patrick’s Day hat, and my response to that is because we had no more red construction paper in the house and I know how much you like Firetrucks. So this is a green fireman hat. I’m never quite good at getting to the point. HAPPY BIRTHDAY cried the leprechaun! You’re 17! What does that mean? Nothing....
theivery
the all-consuming faces of
what could have been, what could have been
are matched with kleptic fingers
that sometimes rob what is
what is a crystalline structure
the most intricate, infinite structure
with base of endless causes
and well-thought-out effect
I do not blame the robber
his eyes have been torn
torn by the hands that took them
left him to become a theif
and as you’ll...
February 2012
14 posts
Always Carry a Sewing Kit
There is this knife that has a blade sharp enough to make incisions in time. The very tip is enough to slice and fray the endlessly moving ribbon of seconds and minutes and hours that fold blindness into the eyes of the best of us. The best of us will somehow mock the hands of a clock, aware or not. Perhaps it is the ticking thats forces such timely habits of the busied man, the self-inflicting...
the fear
I am fear
I am not fearful, but I am fear
my eyes do not know where to look
my hands do not know how to move
my mind does not know how to make up
my makeup is running away
in the way that my pillow has moved it
while I was unmoving
as a condition
as it seems I quiver, I quake
as it seems I am moments from
falling low and pouring out and
trickle as i may
arbitrarily
as...
this is a song baby which my friend Dylan and I... →
You have crossed me, part. 2
I promise that the joke’s on you
You gilded charm
As tarnished as they came
Heavy on my blouse
Knocks upon this fossil frame
Around a fossil organ like a heart
The only difference being time between the pulses
Beat once, think twice
Swing faster than you rust
Swing as if you must
Assuming you live dangerous
It’s comedy that does the job
As you’re best left unemployed
And always worth...
January 2012
21 posts
At a Loss For Words
when all there is left here
is fingernail clippings
and shoes
and things to groom with
these two lips are parted
top on top of bottom
and at a loss for words
for a time one may quiver
until it recalls
the other night
it was told to be still
and know the order
of pasting then cutting and
cutting then clipping
that nail that will never be small enough
that will never be wise...