Saturday, December 31, 2005

one flight

I’ve seen this car freshener feather in my dreams
Where the dirt is rust red
and young trees bend over like primitive rabbit traps
Cars park on front lawns
Mistletoe hangs from tree tops
Durham stole my fire and your flowery gift
Here I've found the greener grass
and cabbies who open doors for you

Friday, December 30, 2005


crayola indiglo
perfect specimen
touch me right here
my pants glow in the rain foreets night
i want it so
ripping my own flesh
helps to pass the time
i hate my job
184 dollars and 76 cents
thats the equivelent to time spent doing shit that you don't care about
buy me a new corvette
i'll sleep in the woods in an old style bath tub
allen ginsberg is better than you
i learned all your songs and i know how to fuck by the sound of a place mate on television
oh the happy little trees never quite deserved you
if you can't find the peace of mind to get the emotional rollercoaster in to the amusment park, then i guess you try borrowing the start up capital
wring of lingring digerydoos i can't tell you you

three toes are better than one

elevator door never really closes
as you pass the all state office
neith the obgyn
some where south of all of this i can see a man in rags
laughing bout the life time spent caring deeply for all this shit
stream lined sewage to the old dark wisdom
that the world wasn't built to accomidate you
just one more trip down memory lane
and i hate myself this morning

what happens to the sloth whos resolve has disolved
does he start to look for more from life
climb to the ground and shake of the mold
cut his finger naills
and dress to impress all of you
wonder in to new york
find a job
a secritary
bmw and a pention in a place he don't belong

for now you swallow lightning bugs
like your the one who thought up love
and pigeons are just filthy doves
like you and you and me

so swallow hard the truth and
bite all the hands that feed you cause there be tender meet in the palm
just incase you ever wondered
and curse all but the ground that lets you stand watchful of the rest of the parisites that fuck buttery toast

Thursday, December 29, 2005


that one's chewin on a little bit of oregon
an array of main ideas left for home
air in a friendly philly waits
married to korean gym
new york will claim an unmarked name
entirely told of boston cream coffee
wild berry tales from tennessee
jonesin for nevadian firework nights
one in the jon sipping on malibu and ice
cash and bonds from vermont
aim for canadian comfort
war wicks walk cali coasts
a messed up face wandering this place
cousins washing tons in cold rivers
a bird that flies by colorado style
smiles all over the world
lizards crawling up old men in mountain tops

we all spill the wine
give in to gravity
and everyone sits down to jersey supper

this year Carolina

caught up
searching for the beauty in this place
dismal arbor bluffs
are these dried up days
under dried up skies
on a browned piece of land
a retired top hat
a picnic in abandoned cotton
and face-paint smiles
there's a secret they're all keeping
and wayworn ways are contagious
like a yawn

Searching for the sound of water rushing
Retracing footprints washed away
By wind or rain or breath
Just wanted to get a taste
Maybe see mad eyed reflection
In pitch dark, only a burning point
Illuminating heaven bound smoke

One road takes you to New Jersey borealis
Explosions in the sky expose
The layers of dust on this town

One of these roads leads far away
From where I lay my hat
And the trap of always knowing
When the lights will change

One is open ended
Paved with yellowed newsprint

One takes you where there’s
Sad fingered man whose truck
Won’t run, and women wonder
What those fields on the other side
Of the mountain smell like

One will lead you to the desert
Dry as earth baked bone
Where miracle sunrise makes
Painful break at the horizon

One should lead to left over
Gun powder
Lost it’s viciousness
To gain independence

I know one leads to warm bed
And a girl with honey scented neck
And tender hands,
Grasping tinder, dried grass and
Pieces of past ghosts

One leads to clear streams
Where the water tastes cool
And rushes loud

under the ground

when the flames are extinguished a little too late
or the flywheel comes through your skid plate
when the blood runs cold
when your tumors grow older that your children
when the sun sets last on your poor soul
when the agony takes its final toll
and tommorrow is watching from distant shores
i've come visit you under the ground
the bone spurs cut you deep and true
they've made a real damn mess of things for you
and the surgery only prolongs pain
and there's precious little point to go through it all again
just drop in on me under the ground

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

I tend to linger in the mind numbing silence of 3am, and the fact that I think my cats understand me better than any human ever will. It's hard to figure out what comes next when you can't even locate the pack of cigarettes you just had in your hand and as you're drownd in someone elses insanity flarring across the screen, you wonder if it's possible that somewhere down the road, it'll all fall into place. I have come to this conclusion; No matter how out of control your world spins, the music will always play so there is hope and my head doesn't feel so heavy.

Crash-test Dummy

Hey your mother needs a ride
I'd take her up the road
but there was this truck
she'll call a fucking taxi

she's drunk

So the woman came down again
said what the shit is "anxiety"
told me to get more jobs
I said I would

I wont

She's sick of picking up the peices
I'm tired of throwing them all around
these messes on the floor
The mess inside my head

Box upon Box

The dogs are back again
this time they're barking barking
Wet pets! Wet pets! Wet pets!
with the door knob in their mouths

so let them in

Licking shaking slippery
tail biting bafoons
The rain slicks off their backs
and reeks to the floor

Let them out

My face met the steering wheel today
as my foot failed to suduce the break
Now I drive myself wild
Running the whole time

into everything

I can't figure out where I am
Or how I got here
Time spent or not
"Hey, what'd ya do to your face?"

It musta been that truck....

what do you feel in the frost bite days

so they split the atom
and the sound barrier snapped
but the ethics of a man in here
leave the soul feeling so trapped

i use to know this thing that made
my soul grow so insane
the time well spent did comfort me
until my heart went lame
and now i know that i'm without
a few pieces vital true
and i know that somthing lies just passed
the last place i loved you

and happiness eludes us as we try to keep the peace
no unkind words ave been disbursed in fear of how you'd break
but i've seen it all this first sad time
i'm cold enough to drop the dime
as i listen to the rim shots of the misplaced memories
and know that though uncomfortable tommorow isn't fate

i know the way you feel
as I seperate your perfect form
and where to lend the heart beat
to make sure that you keep warm
but i'm drowning in the last few days
that we have been apart
and i ramble incoherent until the next false start

strips of hair
dyed acetylene burn pink
searching through a book
on Quantum Electro Dynamics
for the real meaning of uncertainty

Monday, December 26, 2005

i left you in so many different towns

theres too much blood on my guitar
my finger burnt from tip to joint
she slept naked in my luxury
trying hard to make a point
hours passed before i asked
if one of us had better leave
she smoke my only cigarette
and burnt holes into my sleeves

soon days turned into nightcaps
and broken bread was passed around
two weeks i borrowed pieces of the fools love i had found

shaking cold december mornings from our hair in mid july
i had to asked her saturday
how anything survived
when the train still leaves virginia
under cloak and dagger grace
and the pelicans are careful not to look a real man in the face

she said don't forget the morning
cause we're all doing our best
not ruffle any feathers
that aren't lavishly dressed

so the dry ink smell of new tattoo
wakes me cautious
mid day draft
and i've never asked permission
she says simply pay me back

now i'm standing in the doorway
trying hard to hide my tears
ain't much to say in knowing
that i don't belong in here
so i've booked the next hotel
about 12 miles out of town
and left damp pre dawn virginia
without so much as a sound

Sunday, December 25, 2005

Im starting to think
I need more sleep
or just
less track of time

3 images

ancient boards creaking beneath my feet
silhouette cut into headlights
the helplessness of being within inches

like the ticking of a clock

I've tried to suck every drop from this pen
taken the wrong approach to wine
closing in on a faster gait
goodbyes like that'll never get you to heaven
lets meet in the dark for a token fix
thinking about all those miles I didn't drive
please don't turn me away from your door
I won't be thirsty, I've still got the sea
these words are old but these thoughts are new
some weird kinda reflection coming off that gun


tired of lying bout how i got this scar

theres too much broken glass to be certain
but i think most of this blood is mine
i wish i'd seen that freight train coming
but i must have blinked a second longer than i thought

picking pieces from my palms for about a week now
thinking bout how i just got out and walked away
what i said upon reciing the phone call
that it must have been stolen as i slept

now the hitcher i picked up to take to frisco
has no place left to store his dreams
and every time i close my eyes
i snap awake hearing his screams

but i never caught his name
and it seems i got away
a broken arm and all the glass one man could eat
but that was long ago
and i've since put some miles
under these swollen feet

made my way back sometime later
and found a lonley widow weeping in that street
i asked her if she'd like a cup of coffee
and where a old twisted soul could stop to eat

she said her shade of blue was left from morning
and her fiance was never coming home
she lost hm few years back
found him near the railroad tracks
in stolen car where he bled out alone

Everything is Karaoke

this is where you feel that action
to be plugged directinto the screen
it's precicse selection
if that's the right move, go with it
don't let 'em catch their breath
bottles may break and that chick
just ain't gonna stop dancing no matter
how tight those pants are

that table stretches on forever
slide down a glass of shoe polish
like grainy old western movie, when
they never shoot the piano player
we've all got our own motions,
splendid automation, and you
can see it in their hair
every word is true, if you believe
that sort of thing

sound hanging down
like london fog, getting under your fingernails
where times like these live
where thoughts don't get lost in translation
where that guy just walked
into the wrong bathroom stall

so grab another taste of cherry flavored
lip bomb, clear out that room right quick
and lick my ears one more time for luck
go on, kid
yer a fuckin STAR!

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Want Ad

craving life more then subjects

craving rapture and tears
sunset after sunset
dreams in a breeze
pain and footsteps
heavy eyelids and overworked organs
words that fail horribly
hotizons starlight and lust
tables of empty beer bottles
mediocre women shaking magically
silhouettes in crazy lighting
aromas of far off places
maybe somewhere eastern
landscape and creatures
tongues and ships and visions

nature of the beast

in these science fiction days
the buffalo and mammoth
have left empty silhouettes on the horizon of my psyche
but the urge to chase and hunt
still rumbles in my calves

Friday, December 23, 2005

the gate rust silent in the long winded afterr dawn conversations
i'lll sleep and hour
and hour or two
the one more time around the moon till i drop in on leftover lamentation
for a bite to eat and a warm bath
i built a mountain of idiocy to get a better view of mein kampf

for Lillian, in light of a dieing grandfather

Lily flower of her time
Living Laughing Lovely Fine
head gone for long
heart strong
smells of a nicotine song
No one has forgotten
even though your time has passed
We hold tight to Lilly’s petals
that will forever last:
Perfect Potato Soulfood Maker
made fine to wine and dine
Classy Cozy Comfy Rosy
A flower of her time
laughing loudly picture box
Christmas Elvis sings
secret rooftop rendezvous
precious shinning things
friendly fish in storybooks
bird pool green and interesting
brazen quails all in a line
A lovely flower of her time
Now mother’s tears begin to fall
so we say good night to Lilly Doll
"Till tomorrow then!"
forever framed in memories

Long ago, someone wrote in the sand......Wade

Concealing repressed drops of feeling
now rushing as white waterfalls
down into the rivers that run through the valleys
and into the ocean love flows
flows soft down the cheeks of a lover
for the lover loves the other deeply so

Yet thunder rings through the skies
and from her passionate eyes
the rain does pour
as titian-like tides
and the swells that arise
trap her on the shore

And to venture to sea
would surely be
painful upon return
but to stay on the land
with her feet stuck in sand
the lover’s soul does burn

So she wades in-between
the waters of green
and the sand and the shells on the shore
with tears in her eyes
she silently finds
tranquility in a heart so sore

The tides for now stay
and keep her away
until soon
by the moon
of a new year to bloom
the young lover will be set free

The swells they will cease
and the tide will decrease
and she will rain love in the sea

he ate shit everyday for thirty years. he adjusts his tie in the mirror. kisses his ever aging wife, with her sagging tits & her 6am martini breath. off to the office to get bent over his a not so literal/not so proverbial sense. turning his ass out for a good pention package. traffic on the way to the office. eventually he stops on the bridge & gets out of his car for some fresh air. he leans against the rail to look into the water. shrieks & shrills, siren & prayers. in the distance a 1oo foot tidal wave of hellfire aimed at him- throbbing. oh god yes. like stairing down a broken nose... to find a beautiful stanger

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Before I Beat Your Brains In......

Am I trying too hard to make you hate me
cause these eyes are tired
and I just want to sleep you off already
It's my cat and I against the world!
I know you hate that part
cause you had a teacher once.....

i'm gonna cum

i'm just putting the pieces together
the glass in my foot would probobly fill in the gaps
but it's been there so long i may just leave it
posterity you know
i lay awake till the sun shows traces of illumination
and i let the world slip away
just making sure that tommorrow will be there when i get up
theres a fly on the wall
and he's reading my thoughts
so i'm thinking real hard about his wife in a sexual waltz
easy comoe easy go
got this world looming close
and i feel the edge coming clse
i feel responsible for my lack of action to date
but the theater is ripe for gorrillas
and i'm growing a taste for blood
placate my insecurities
till there gone
and i'll drink to the new life i bought from a catalouge and ordered over the internet with my gold club masterbation machine
bleed for what you need to live
cause life aint worth living if you have nothing good to die for

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

A strong jaw
a trick of light
or a scar
and a guitar
and the field mouse
who’s fields are on fire
living in dreams and Dance

I like your idea of a high school play;
Juvenile, an erotic musical embarrassment
The magnets in your mattress
and your Eyes
left me shy and stupid
wondering where you came from
when you came from
what you see

Concern in spoiled night
and homeless Peruvian house guests
Tinkering with gingerbread molding
and Jeff Buckley records
Of all of it
I’m just glad you could live vivid
and I learned relaxation
under the power of Nina Simone
in-between deep deep breaths

This is weird
Like a waking moment
in which I could live forever


soft rain on a soft day
no pushing, no struggle
just a marriage, a cooperation
a well disciplined machine
silhouettes in the distance
lighting cigarettes
& tying their shoes
some days everything floats
the newspapers are blank
its the equasion when it
spits out the same command
a rhythmic stream of conscious
understanding ambient noise
it's motives
it's vinacular
become what you experience
touch the hard line that
seams the sky to the ocean
trace it with your finger
for this moment
the horizon belongs to you

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

eleven sparks

the ghost of a New Orleans
tipping his hat
and then the waitress
like the coreographer just got fired
and the chefs come out of the kitchen
but the audience is gone
minutes earlier
someone whispered, "fire"

the alien in each of us
under the strange lighting of this world
with LSD
we first concieve
all the strangeness that we've seen
bipedal bottles of organs
typing resumes, making love

pain killers making the stomach turn
and the skin flash white
at 5 in the morning
one look outside and the weatherman's wrong again
but the clock's right, always is
trying to sleep with the lights on

this wine stain
haunting me
with nights never remembered

the promise of rock 'n roll morning
matches the grime under my nails
I never expect "O Tenenbaum"
to end as an instrumental

the bus boy
clinking glasses
the milk shake machine
drowning out the piped in

something about
the shape of lips
on german porn starlets
during anal

and Ian's story:
cowboy boots
a black lincoln
a red ring masters jacket
pill after pill of morphine

never hearing the sound
of eye lashes cutting through air
a small girl in tight t-shirt
with the light playing just right
against her face
small towns scattered off in the night
with mad lustful teens
unbuttoning lowrise jeans
there's a mottled cat
perched in a window
tail moving slowly

these imposing sunrises
inviting themselves into mornings
better left as unmaid night
tossing hair, stealing bodies, keeping secrets
of whispers in smothering sheets
the used and the savored

brought up in Vegas
off the strip, no neon in her soul
the fantastic way
she lets no sentence escape
without a well placed superlative

Monday, December 19, 2005

blood in my shoe

propped myself up against this old abandoned freight car long neglected and ripe with age
twisted my foot a ways back running from the bull through the loose soil
set my roll upon the ground and waited for the silence to pass
beautiful night sky
turning purple black
the rain came slow but i didn't mind
just good to rest without running for a night
tommorrow i'll get back to the race


I keep finding myself in the same place, smoking the same cigarettes, talking about the same things with the same people. Bored. Loneliness in numbers. Even a crowd can't kill this. Still coughing up gunk and nicotine, spitting yellow. Still reading 12 books, not understanding a word. Re-reading the same lines, forgetting where I left off. Still not undertstanding. Once again, the same conversation. Bullshit theories and cosmic nonsense. We're not making any sense but we're both pretending we understand. "What were we talking about?" Picking up where we left off. "Time travel," "AH, YES! It is a state of mind." "Well, the laws of physics state..." and on we go, until the coffee goes cold or cigarettes become stale. Even a crowd can't kill us.

For Johnny

no one who likes the Shangri-La's
can be all bad

well, maybe good-bad
but not evil

tuck-in truth sleepyhead

in-between the time the wine
hits the back of your throat
there’s a million moments
making you choke

now everything gives you cancer
George Carlin said it best
earth’s got her back covered
that’s why death is spread through sex

for we are but a mockery
a mere experiment
to please the giggling gods above
until they are content

to recognize the eyes of spies
to tame the plague of slander
seduce the beast whilst she feasts
and live in the love you hand her

within it all
or maybe under
someone snores
and roars with thunder

seven pence nonsense
this is all too raw for me
I just want to live within your face
where all the words are free

there’s a true child
and a cold hand
in a battlefield
with will to stand

coughing up ipecac memories

it was closing in on winter
the air had chilled the baron streets days before
those fortunate enough to clamber indoors had done so by now
the rest fought valiantly over steam vents in sidewalks

i helped a traveler afford to feed his dog
now i was broke and hungry
not a familiar face in the sea of commuting sycophants
starched and pressed and pleated making a b-line to the perfect job miles above the filthy street corner refugees

i don't know what it is to be home

looks the same in Altoona

I looked up tonight
saw a hole
you could drive your city through
saw the perfect formation of wind
blow wide open
a framed neon cigarette burn
that's where everything that's spilt
finally makes it's way
saw a white hot ring
you can see it around my eyes
saw the end of the light
measured the distance in waves
and I made sure
to exhale
create a disturbance

yeah, I looked up tonight...

Sunday, December 18, 2005

christmas in the sand

pieces of men not walking
not living
not alive
just pieces
for a cause
for an escape
for freedom
now pieces
in wheelchairs
on street corners begging to live or die

anything but this they cry anything but this

the short haired girl, after the party

little Wynona of the suburbs
curled up in a quilt on a second hand couch
saying she's a good baby and a pill head in seperate breaths
wrapping herself tighter in a valium hug and Johny Cash lyrics
this whole house- slivers of the 1950's

let me tell you

i'll be brief in this recolection
i devoured worlds and killed more than my fair share
i miss the simple principles
i swallowed arsnic until i couldn't feel my hands
awakening under blue skys and a beautiful array of birds

this isn't the first time
and the last time will shock them all but when i'm old and grey

how do you perceive perfection
is it a sad collection of words or a single drop of blood
i promise to be more someday
but for now the words i empart upon you are as follows

the night is meant to destroy and come morning your headache will remind you
the blood flow will drive you
and i will be there swinging from a rope with a smile on my face. breathing clearly, neck in tact and telling all who pass that yes it is that bad and no
i don't care
for tommorrow tommorrow
you may be

Saturday, December 17, 2005

looking at this electric drill i can't help but see hundreds of world machines jostling their very own bolts and screws loose under their own monotonous powers- the tech droids come to me in the cold tundra nights with the breeze and their shining stainless steal probiscuses enter my flesh more like the jowels of rabid pitt bulls then a surgical needle- when the Control Board first issued the implants we all had a good laugh that the advanced mathematics and the quantum level physics were the first of the black arts to disapear, their truth proving to be the most imaginative fabrications of all- the cylinders side by side in my guts are churning and gurgling now, pushing my heart and it's cardiac muscles into an overdrive completely unimagined in YOUR TIME- mech creatures with their eight sided wings and phlorescent green ocular cavities have gathered at the windows again- on the stiller nights, me and jose sit on the front stoop and listen so hard that we almost hear the solar wind scattering bits of our atmosphere into the nebulae- the oddest thing about the neutron ray is that there's absolutly no way to know if they've passed through us, i suppose one just has to assume, with the odds and all out here, you know- out there on the neon horizon we have to marvel at all the gleam of these alloys under that electric orange star- "Why did the stars stop falling, Daddy?"- the threads tear out accompanied by a noise that no ear can hear simply because it refuses to

Carpe Canis

curl up in a nice warm oven
home is just a broken bottle
anyplace to put up your feet
scraping along carpet imprint
jaw pried open
hard to get a nap in here
fuck that cover charge

Opened every door, every drawer
looking for air that
hasn't been recirculated
the breath of opossums
mirror eyes floating under bridges
and patio furniture
gives a beautiful stink
to an otherwise bone dry night

Friday, December 16, 2005

draining dry a frozen moment

leash-lead through this sleepy, hollow chapter
bound down again
frying under the blistering sun
frozen to the pavement
sick, tired, and empty
wanting quiet cups of coffee
and unspoken understanding
to look up at foreign night skies
through lemon leaves and smoke curls of a moment
haunting and surreal
to be lost


false alarm dearest me
the rain brought allignment
a sense of security that i can't comment on right now
think i'll head west again
think i'll drink the warm winds
and blah blah blah this is all bullshit i hate

the sound of a dry heave (through a million dollar smile)

come and let your blood flow child
i'm not here for cathardic misgivings no
but the role of tortured soul played through and through has me typecast and you come with your eager desires to know what i know
to know me
to understand and undburden your heavy heart onto my plate
from which i will devour your pain and loss

so we'll toast to things like existance you say cheers i say less
tommorrow you'll wonder what i meant when i said you were smaller than the day is ugly

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

"Can you comprehend infinity? It’s beyond my mental moronic mind."
one poetic explosion
when Bert Reynolds is you breaking point
and Rock-star shades are thrown over derelict hotel rooms
where tired souls sleep together to keep warm

by the way,
the movie was
"The Longest Yard"
also staring
Adam Sandler
the brutha
from "Good Burger"

there's always a fire and some way to put it out

A tidal wave has been bursting through
shoddy seam work sewn in haste
and I just today learned how to really cry

Not for, not at all
for many a tortured soul
often weeps itself away
or wallows in the gray
behind their own swollen eyes

I cry for a man I loved,
the one you killed
the man I know you are now,
I can’t even look at
so I’ll sign these papers
and you leave
while I turn away

I cry for my mothers tears
the ones she crys for her mother
not for loss or death
but for the memories

I cry for my brother
on the front step
waiting with me
when that man forgot about him

I cry for that man
for all the regrets in his life
how he feels when the people laugh and enjoy his food
how he suffers with himself

I cry for the one who married into all of this
how he tries so hard
his monotonous mask
and ignorance

I cry for the kitten
with the terribly blue eyes
the one that runs away
the one I left behind

I cry for the baby
and the babies now
the world they’ll live in
and a hope
that they wont ignore it

I don’t cry for myself anymore
or what I couldn’t mend
or the booze or novocain
the numbness
or the pain in my head
and the scars on my heart

I cry for the falling stars no one sees

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Falling Back

I fear my musings this eve
shall be the death of me.
So before they are
presented to me,
I shall retire in a haze unlike one
I have known.
And inspite of everything I have
known, I will thus be unsure.

And have you noted in the
time you have doted that inspite and
inspire are but two figs in the
mire and so close in relation that they invite
all sorts of damnation and anything else that
might disarm or illusion you so?

umbrella shit storms from the holiday seasonings

i have my reasons
and the hamburgler is masturbating angry in the fry pan of the disillusioned kafka fans
but i don't realy mind the smell
theres winter in a daydream and i awkae to snowy nightmares
what a beautiful existance from behind the telephone pole jungles

ok so when you here the jingle about xmas and the woman comes on to tell you the true meaning of it all change your attitude for the rest of the month and be nice to bums and donate to charity buy toys for tots and compliment your friends you really can't stand because folks if radio personalities can pretned to have a soul then so can you

Monday, December 12, 2005

1000 Words

Found an old picture today
hidden under yellowed thoughts
had to drink a gallon of water
left me even dryer
couldn't soak up a drop
spit up dust all over my shoes

That day on the cliff
heading due north
it's been a long time
since she wore her hair like that,
but I can almost
feel it in my face still
draping down

Maybe we didn't know
where we'd find a tree to sleep under
or that Maine has birds
that look suspiciously like penguins
I remember 1000 miles of road ahead
but something about that cliff
and that vertigo
climbing, and the sensation of not quite falling

Henry Hudson looked up at those cliffs
dreaming of spices and women with wine dark eyes
we kicked pebbles over the ledge
with 1000 miles of road ahead
dreamt of dining on rocky beaches
not remembering history
that this way lies nothing but dead ends

"sleep paralyses and faith healers" she exhailed
well, everyone needs someone to put up with

Wine Bottles and Brownstones

I went to Brooklyn tonight
and saw fire cast shadows of you
in the faces of every girl in Williamsberg
I saw the brownstones and wine bottles
you played with in your slow told, tongue rolled stories
thinking of foreign California
and the vegetarian foods you were
learning to cook there
you without wine bottles and brownstones
you with all that ocean layed out

I thought of that time
you rolled a car in Tennessee
and the quilt you wrapped yourself in
and all that stolen time

now who visits your brother in his orange jump suit
who does Roger fall asleep next to
who's drunken eyes listen in my dashboard glow

and the night you dangled out the car window
yelling in french to your mother

I went to Brooklyn tonight
and saw fire cast shadows of you

Sunday, December 11, 2005

if this is hell, at least it tastes good

there’s a man wrapped up in a seizure
sewn shut with a guitar string
there’s 70 years of a white-haired rocker
headbop banging in the dark
there’s snot on the floor
and cocaine caught in the folds of a bartenders brain
there’s tonic
and a stomach pain
there’s publications afoot
a pear, a tomato, and NyQuil
there’s a bohemian dream here somewhere
and a girl speculating the validity of rancid organ players
there’s an intense watchful eye
and absolutely no way of getting around this fire hydrant

under the mistletoe-
the narrowing distance between lips
under my eyes-
dark reminders of forgotten sleep

If i have to hear Beautiful Tonight one more time

on the radio again
turning the screws to everyone with empty arms
who are you thinking of
in this big black lonely soul of a night
and who's warmth are they wrapped up in

can't a lone silhouette
stand against these winds
against this horizon
huh? delilah

cuz I know and you know and the bartenders know
a lone silhouette
can taste human salt on their unoccupied lips
alone and poorly lit
over a bottle
that lends something to compare the burning with
other then the sound of a single voice

yes delilah
there's a tier in hell
reserved for romantic radio personalities

Friday, December 09, 2005

what a waste

spilt black coffee
makes for slick black ice
in a frozen sea side night


Every time I drop the cellophane
Every time my feet turn lame
Every time it's almost
Every time I breathe in a ghost
Every time I feel some sun stroke
Every time there's burnt throat
Every time this blue rubs off
Every time this red gets dark
Every time a prayer is said
Every time you find my bed

some colors don't taste as sweet
make you hate your own lips
they don't disolve quite right
I'm not quite awake enough for this dream

I try to order coffee in chinese
lose a nail dug deep into flesh
take some comfort in parsnips
and the way you bend your knees

Every time I imagine a sound
Every time the corners aren't round
Every time my teeth turn black
Every time I bite you back
Every tim there's a glint of gold
Every face, every fold

Greek Wedding

dance makes my head spin
I can't find a starting point
to break into
dizzy celebration
moved into hand held serpent-
like form ready to eat it's own tail
and I still don't know how to drink ouzo
but it drinks like licorish
tastes foreign liquor-ish

while I sit there sipping
young women and little boys dance
there's chit-chat, no one talking about the future
but I keep looking over my shoulder
at sad, sore footed girl, keeps checking her phone
waiting for a slow song
another glass of ouzo
only one way to learn
and damn it if I'm not a good student
and I look again
over my shoulder


next train just half hour, 36 steps away
7 kids think no one knows what's in those
Snapple bottles, stand in current of grease
makes the air thick, they're sliding off
each other, can't quite grip, or hold on,
burning newspapers, turning off street lights
they're hanging off parking garages,
suburban jungle-gym, hiding from one way
traffic, perfect 7-10 split
tonight they'll lie through cell phones
and try not to giggle, a whole other world,
a whole not-jersey, promises of sin
and youth, back of their necks itching,
on fire, breeze feels good
next train still 25 minutes, 36 steps away

one less tree in the world

affected by new
razors of daylight
there's a thought
there's a flick of ash
there's wind

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Pining is nine tenths of Murphy's law of love

I see all this love. All this devotion and it makes me want to wretch.
Oft times, I am content (in the very least) with that which I have
obtained. But it isn't the same. It isn't the same as getting so
wound you're bound to spew. To breathe, sigh, live and die for that
one subtle moment of orgasmic recognition.
At first, a flicker in his eye, a tug pulling rank on the corners of his lips.
Then, a hand, misplaced in its rightful position on a limb curving into temptation.
Unto the blissful explosion of life as I knew it, an enraptured kiss followed by
complete and utter fulfillment.
Now exiled, the tumbling of his words would suffice. This alone my indulgence.
Letters slipping together, contorting until wrapped in melodic union.
Not unlike legs, limbs and minds on a night seared into my soul.
Embedded in my spirit, more engrained than any genetic code that he might have spoken of.
Forsaking all convenience I willfully abandoned comfort for boundless love.
And now I am bound, forsaken by the very fate which willed me to pursue beyond comfort.
This love, was not mine to savor nor his to return.

no more from now

Don’t look for treasure in shallow waters
or lose you breath diving into the deep
Just row within lily flowers
and pick one petal to keep
Cause no one can own the nature of things
and a butterfly will die if caged
So try not to blow the dust off it’s wings
or hoard what good this earth makes


creeping up the stair for one more
i scramble the egg of a shoe soul
and break a strong sock in the process
if only i had seen the foot-stool sooner

a grey cat sleeps only on my lap

infection runs through me
wild like geese
spread thin
like melted butter
blind with intention
and oh the noise it makes

disabled verterans day parade float

little innocent day dream
friends of death and indulgance
promise to fall apart giving me somthing tragic to look forward to
and i really don't mind any of this

rain stained sidewalks
cigarette butts
bottles cans and notebooks
broken teeth split fingers
the dirt and blood that won't come off

holding my boarding pass white nuckle tight
the land of coal and iron and desert sand spread out before my tearful eyes
i've waited so long to have nothing to lose
i could chew glass and vomit peace of mind for a dollar and change a quart

he sees me off
i kiss his lips and he gives me a copy of the old man and the sea
kindling for future fires

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

after shopping

this holiday traffic
in the parkway night
break lights taking on
the attitude of
christmas lights
strung out infinitum
up to the december sky
and the bells
of the salvation army
singing in an imagined ear

like incredible people and great musicians

a light snow never
sticks around long
enough to get filthy

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

one waking moment

this house is cold and I’m frozen to it
two steps away from out the door
and I’ve finely found something worth the world
and the words
the moments within
the hours
and other increments of time
but I have an oblivious habit
of stumbling straight onto the tracks
resting my head on it’s shoulder
and running the train off it’s path

this house is defiantly and icebox
preserving all within
and Id like to peek behind those doors
runaway with the cat
and o’ a bottle of thick red sin
shout at the sun for waking me up
and the heat rain that makes me dance
and the peace and stinging toes of the snow
and the part of a flame that’s blue
making you wonder
how blue can warm anything at all
and the trees that whisper seduction till my legs throw me up,
(weather I want to or not )
to hide at the top
and see all through a mess of green and growth
and the wind that rustles a butterfly loose of a long enough land
and the pride of a mountain as it steps onto your path
and the little rivers delicately carving trough them,
always on their way to ending the pilgrimage
in Great Mother Ocean
and that fucking ocean, just like the whales within
tossing and turning and playing with you
till she swallows you whole
or gently rolls you back onto the land
and the sand that sticks around
all over everything
for days and weeks and months
till Grim eventually pours it over your dead head
and the music that’s strong and will forever live on
and the dreams and children in the stars
and the moon that smiles and wont let me.....
wont let me


so if you can see through
this wonderful haze
of distant disaster for sure
grab yourself and a smoke
hold on tight
cause this ticket never expires
and you bought one at the door
boarded the train heading for chaos
stowed luggage and all
and somewhere down the line there’s a girl
making love to the tracks and the trees
cause the moon is out along with the wind
and she can’t even think about sleep
and there’s a chance she could wreck the train
or just hop on
heading homeward

help wanted

somewhere in Ti
there's got to be
drunken wandering bohdisatvas
mumbling inaudibly
who can help

somewhere in Heaven
there's got to be
sinners with halos
and a million churches and miracles dedicated to 'em
who can help

somewhere there's people praying
and chanting and meditating and
lighting votive candles

somewhere there's a lotto ticket
or a lunatic with million dollar charisma

somewhere there's a signpost
with a sign on top
pointing the way

somewhere on a hill there's a scarecrow

a few more lines about wine, shocking isn't it

the blood of the bull
and he uncorked it
in the afternoon
making the face
one makes after
slow tugs from wine
that hasn't sat

winter again

this season
the concrete and cold of it all
that wind from which direction

collars pulled up
force the soul deeper down

life takes on
the depressing majesty
of a pendulum

cavities in the waning daylight
like eyelids dropping

even the sun seems listless
especially in late afternoon

but there's a phantom of a promise
in the electric character of these stars
something in what the cold does to the light

Sunday, December 04, 2005


gee i like nice smells
like perfume and rigger mortise
and that one time
gee i like nice things

shaddow boxing my clown

you gotta be colder than hypothermia
if you plan to walk around this place
with head held higher than floor board scuff

no new part of all this shuffle and groove is promise or accention
just the bang crash tramplin of the good bad ugly through the windowless delivery of punch line obsolescence

laproscopic innuendo and the forgery uncanny
mistakes are made to vent frustrations
and diet coke is ugly like toe fungus
polish that trophy case empty my boy
we swallowed it up in confusion
don't remind me
i can't recall anyway what it was
but i bet it was

pirate slipdisk

tattooed Philippino women
lifes work from a farmhouse circle k
tasteless and pretending
licking constant the roof of my mouth
like the first words post trechiotomy
apocoliptic promises itchy skin flakey tomes
blech, idiom, toronto
don't touch that
dance dance dance dnace dance dance dance dance dance all night long
glaven with the flubber and the hoil

dang ol no good tell ya hwhat
bottles and monkey dung
fingernails pushed back to get the lash out
and in secret i have none to keep

first snow

the first snow cuts through me
an unexpected change of events
calls for an unexpected change of my mind
i look now for someone who understands me
someone who bathes in my mind

for you

if i'm ment to remember
there is snow on the roof of my cup

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Reservoir tip conclusion pocket perfect


blue factory
shoe street corner sympathy scratch
goo everybody listenings tounge
flu throwing stones from glass houses drive
stew no one hangs curtains all just ride coat tails stale
brew men in thre cornered hats hold pictures of the lonliness dead
new but i'm here swallowing quarters in the vauge hope nothing
who that i'll shit a fortune in due time green

pie lipstick and rouge
fly the company is thinning and there isn't much to prove bugs
die the butt of the agonizing joke laughs tremendously fuck
eye as it is all the same mindless jabbering silly
my just remeber that time when i ate shit and showed everyone my teeth rags
why purple octopus umbrella rage
shy meat flavored idiot urgent
sty can you spell pterydactol sea
try soft like the rain season piss bye ice water placenta truth

float cock rock junkie mirror
wrote bottle rocket force pose
boat aprehencive linsead labido lower
note i never had but i imagine the taste to like that of silk or honey dew touch
goat perhaps flash dance and split logs under rainforrest skys ask
coat swallow grenades and the chest walls expand dance


whose got smallpox

head throbs with early morning confusion
after watching magicians reveal their tricks the whole night through
a wet nose came pushing with the sun
he's quite simple, two in the morning one at night
the hat dances of silver microphone tongue
waist deep in watermelon seeds
i'm all ash and nullification
when i thumb through the faces
ponder cigarette burns, overcoats, madness

Friday, December 02, 2005

a tale of two cities (in two parts)

part two

rolling hills and fluid transfer
dear sweet prince of lake and blacktop
made whole by shedding parts unneeded
like stagnation and recidivism

traveling on the backs of dogs
and i follow slow behind him
to a place called little personal
i've had so many dreams

the subway trains are carpeted
the air a cool thin overcast
take your weary commoner
to elevations peak

now sand blasted machine
running down hill in reverse
a city wide tourist attraction
that i could have birthed myself

just let me come again
to that place that eased my anguish
the embrace of a dear friend
who wants more from life than memories

ragged and smiling
no one speaks like this
passionate glory bound
letting the hills develop beneath him

longlost brother
i saw him off
my ticket ill timed came
the pavement stretched between us
i'll be back to explain myself


eyes roll beneith sheets
sad dawn makes fools of us all
two three times a week

somewheres in that big black lonely soul
rolling out forevers
right up to this pain of glass
we call it the night

there's a sparkler of a girl swearing catastrophe
a giant thinking about his inhales
hop head kids hittin bowls in the disco flash of lighters
lovers rolling over quivering
beauty and drunkeness

somewheres in the wind and sin and streetlamp wash

Thursday, December 01, 2005

an old Volvo's ticking clock

inside that shoe box monstrosity
in-between the Rain
eagerly waits the rest of a life
Tiny compared too
and gray as well
gray that shines blue in the Light

just one more Window
to be thrown through
as she tenderly paws at the pains
there’s Glasses to fill
and quotas to meet
under all this acidic Fame

they know their place
exactly where they’re ment to Stand
when Time tells to flee
or flit away free
the length lingered upon hesitant hands

now where you are heading
is Not who you are
behind paper and quill
and the Urge you can’t kill
cause colorful ties only get you so far
so remove those Shoes
with the Afterglow’s hues
and walk proudly back into
your own Backyard

I love to hate my Love

i would have cut my skin clean off
to get your essence off of me
a mild cleanser
never did the trick
nor the clorox bleach in the closet
a long couple of months passed
i still won't let you see me
the caress i feel of you against me
it doesn't wash off
it never will
i can't fade the moments
Me won't let Me
you on me
bloody, messy romance
it clings to me, Always
pain from you stirs my heart's lust
you tortured my love, now i torture yours
we share the same broken, black heart
the pain we put each other through
i'm in love with only You

Jack Said

there is no hope
but there is bordeaux

RLW, shuffling my feet at his grave

the sun on the rows of marble blocks
the way the W is cut into this one
the birch waving at my back

stumbling over words about myself and this world
for the silent man I'm ending up like

conjuring him in my skull as a leather bound flask behind the seat
as a voice calling back from up front in the car
as a desire to just drive a truck- turning a continent under his rubber
as a bank president in stories
as a smoke stack of Vantage exhale
as a war tale where the Germans suprisingly surrendered the barn
as a black and white photograph of a man
cigarette dangling, beer glass in the left hand
each arm perched on the shoulder of a woman

you see the handprint he left was the stories I forgot
you see success is a funeral
like his where the bum from the bus stop
shows up and listens to the eulogy
and cries with the men in buisness suits

native american cheekbones
come to me in my dreams
whispering secrets
of the feeling of what i've seen

the queen of the mechanical bull

on two feet, eyes might simply
roll on down the bar
but there she was in full horseshoe strobe
in bedroom shattering throws
her hand and her hair rising
the moon courting venus
then wrestling with gravity again
the way this barroom angel's
thighs and pelvis
danced so close
with the back of the hulking mechanism
but then the other hand went up
and she pitched
the first buoy in the storm
with all the waves and momentum