your take on the domestic life

I want to bathe away
the DNA
that makes me
part of you
fade those
black and blues of
mother-less love
pour you my emotions
to swallow
and choke on
because you burned
our relationship
with your Camel cigarettes
flicked the ashes away
on my tea set
and left me
gasping
in
the smoke

my mile long
fingers
grab hold of the wheel
glide
down
winding roads
stretch
across
new territories
and
touch
a part of
your world

fake myspace quote

life isnt about finding yourself,
its about creating yourself




(publisher, don't use this one)

so there you were, sunrise
and this is new life
or slow burn

those birds
singing,
when you been up the whole time
they sting

and he was
casting
awkward on the beach

trying to catch some fish
or hold
back on his tailspinning life

patted his belly
saying "handsome"
thinking all the while
of fish and cocaine

one's weighed in pounds, the other in grams

these visions
in parkinglots
on streetcorners
in barroom night
filled with echoes
reverbirating
through my 27 yrs
of pieces of memory

every girl a memory
each word a reminiscence
of something else gone

to some wild beast of the past
so hungry

and we are each ghosts
of footsteps laid before

in history's unending parades

haze
sad eyes
heavy
haze

Thoughts on minimal lighting off I-70 west of Pittsburg

Hills, and roads carved tight through curves,
gravel seeded, and the sound of
yr tires, assaulted by jagged bits
of scar tissue, little flesh wounds,
the night settling into halos, yr
history's fiction, yesterdays prediction

all those trails and all only to wind
you through, substituting rhythm for
sleep, lighting cigarettes to remind you
how to breathe, playing with highway signs
and you wrap yourself in movement,
tumbling, who didn't see this coming,
you always flow towards the sea

flowers wilt
but roots grow deep

you make tuesdays too much

I was happy that someone had
a destination so I could blink along to
the soft lights of incomplete combustion,
all the houses passing by shared
the same few numbers and look
like they belong on cereal box
or left in an ocean of parking lots.
Your keychain's empty rings couldn't get you
much to pawn, so you took your doctors
orders and then sold them to the law.

I told my friend the driver to pull over
and let me off -
"I think I hear a jukebox
sounding a dollar light somewhere".

They tell you to mind the moment
when lonesome turns into songs,
when stories turn into stones
and when nowheres turn into homes.
Everybody talks about wine and jailbreaks
and you bent the universe back with
your eyes closed or maybe we were
upside down.

Revolutions on record players and the magic of gin
and tonight I'm fragile as pencil shavings and
I don't know where to begin.

Wild static whispers and time is out of luck
you always make Tuesdays far too much

Bliss is deaf and blind, running into true life without the clement light to overcome

I'll remember you in every afterthought of motion
You who tinkers only in smiles and over indulgence
Who speaks for their own comfort
Who wades only the shallow waters
Who fears life's dark forest corners
Who struggles through muddy words
Who has ears for only the sweetest birds
Who loves with masked feeling and a laced heart
You who will never accept their own fault
You with some truth in your soul neglected to rot
You drowning
You sad thing
(...and i thought i was alone)

I will remember you as a wayward crystal blue stream of electricity and the naive explosion ending
you in every afterthought of motion

just a simple vessel messanger
there is one whole truth...
you will see

tabs on four bars

I ponder on your intentions
sweet child of privilege
what do you seen in this
old world mirror image
which eye do you look into
which breath of air suits you
why this mouse?
has she built a hole in you wall
to balance out the one in your heart?

3 there and back (a total of 6+-) and we're electric static skipping form fingertip to fingertip excited,
we get right to it

~introverted kitten katz
pinball lighting, studded belts
black lace and face metal
20lbs of eyeliner
factory ripped jeans hot off the street
hipster sister puck rock mister
razorblade haircuts
bangs and mohawks
red walls and sloppy
shoe soulless memories
cliche anarchy
angst and apathy
trash made glamorous
institutionalized inhalants
the artwork of barroom admissions



~down underground
where the well insulated sounds
are kept crisp and fresh
from the spores and
fog slosh streets above
once again with the red
wallpaper low lit and wood
beer, cocktails, shot and again
drunk patrons stumbling
a hot spot for sure
with a decent dance floor
and it does
dance that is
to the looped funk meanderings
and the laid down bass beats
of a simple smiling boy and
his faceless helmet head friend
as james brown skips and lip sings
across the projector screen
right in step (and surely on key)
bustin it hard
I tremble like the walls
in picturesque dungeon crumble
buried beneath this bliss fit

A WALK...(to say the least) IN-BETWEEN

one two three, back on our feet
autopiloting swing styling
hip with it thursday nightcity streets and
Home can be found on the corner of
church and fourteenth



~proceeding with the mission
laughing with a living christ
from the doors on the walls
and hanging over us
pinatas have colorful fights
straight out of '75
from the checkered stools
to the clockwork that reads my mind

these walls fit snugly
we talk comfortably
our places switched
your hard liquor kisses
my flirting carbonation
hot hot hot!
habanero pepper flakes
upon the ancient wood door frame
a lucky horseshoe hangs
i watch it swing
as i with it
jazz funk and big sombreros
the world in flash card art
laid out the back of the bar
these mission dim lights waver
from dublin to jamaica
streamers and chinese lanterns
a borrowed pen and
fortune cookie enlightenments



~we bust in drunk smile stumbling
with wits about us and class enough
to bee line immediately for the bar
to order a few more
like a scene from an old west flick
where the door's left swinging
creaking hinges
spurs jingling

a man sings
beautiful scat
while the rest keep track
of one another
violently wonderful
respectful....
shirt tucked in his trombone wailing
the drummer a constant studder
symbol flicking
and that trumpet for sure
blows out green sleeves
dug from his deep brassy memory


Home is where ever you are in your transient soul

you may not have yer fathers whistle
but you can sure still
catch a cab well


your hands fit well tonight
in mine
key by key sharing our lives

One Night Stand

two bodies
intertwined
tangled in a mess of
lust
seduction
seeping
out of her
pores
his
dark-haired infatuation
slowly
touches his
red-wine lips
one
last
time

fearless leader

If your smile was phony
My eyes would bleed
But to view me a Madonna
Would be mistake
For I swore
Never a martyr to be

Same game new players

In a flurry of relocation
Hasty and half-assed
The letter struck me
Your gift

Seems long ago
to have illuminated the game
The game played between poet and muse
A game of circular logic
Where the foolish win the prize of fools
A sweeter prize
Then those with wooden legs
Or heavy hearts could dare to dream

And today when asked if I fancied myself a writer
I thought:
Do you fancy yourself a muse?

Forgive

If it all seems new

And I mistake
The you
In those quick vivid dreams
Forgive
For I balance a thousand news

And as the foundation settles
Cracks form around the elevator

Using the truth

When you blink
I use the truth
To cover the tracks
Of lies
I told to impress
Like concrete kisses
That were meant to be softer

one after another

Hold me

New darling

And know me now

Like a lie practiced in a mirror

Or quick vivid dreams

Wonderful and terrifying

Seeping into a new pillow

20 miles past the pier and the the
record skips, just the way I have
with needles, but it's alright I can
read those grooves myself, it's
like using a scalpel in the dark

All the soldiers have crazy eyes and
the summer leaves it's mark. I
remember it from when I was a
kid and electricity danced over the
streets and you couldn't breathe
for the tar distilling out of the road.

but it's not quite like it was when it was like it had been

epidermal woes

I wanna dance around in my tendons!
free of this skin and it's restrictions
I wanna shed it like the lizards
watch all my muscles glisten
in the sunlight as it hits them
I wanna bare raw corium
without hesitation
and feel deep tonal vibrations
literally pressed against my bones
without these epidermal woes

this skin
I want out of it!

"everyone can see you out of your skin"
free regardless
strange and free

...never really left portland

Tues, 3/13 this year


through this inner ear infection
everything sounds damp and rushing
voices lost under pressure



ghostly white eagle hotel
the night maidens light violently blown out
between the walls where we'll sleep tonight
broken body sprawled across these very floorboards
Euphoria painted in plain sight
"do what you do, don't do what you don't: be what you be,
don't be what you wont"



A fine establishment
dark and intimate
music flowing freely through the heavy wood moulding
Italian falsettos and Celtic verve
in light starved lofty nooks
little ceramic creatures hide
peeking down upon the patrons
guzzling away the days rain
with rouge with broken halos



an old man in thick rimmed glasses
sharing the resemblance of woody allen
with a soft face behind all his lines
sits to my right,
towards me
slowly munching turkey
I scribble, he reads
aware of each other
eyes never catching
one another




our table has been placed in a set back nook
rectangular in shape with a chunk cut from one corner
across from the missing part, where a support beam has been fit
i sit alone and blow my nose and try to ignore the increasing pain in my left ear



The boys talk about grass and politics
the towns they've loved and the ones they are in love with
and all the ones they hope to meet
the bar fills up a bit more
distracted
i've barely touched my drink

thin words like
a thin line,
a lit filament
bleeding through
the porous air
around

maybe I
can watch you
spin,
darlin,
because sleep
is such a sin-
forget
chemical contrition

this night
there's a song
that I hum
and tap out
reflexively

and all we see
is just reflexes
of the light

....dragonflies are born the same day they die...

i'll remember it like that
like the speed of their wings
hovering instant life
and gone
just as fast

coffee flowin
and smoke blowin

an infinite blinkin of eyes

stories rollin
round, profound

heart beats countless
and nights sleepless

thoughts that poke and burn

the pitch and force of the wind
the very very sound
of nothing forcing itself
into and against
reminds me

i am nothing, it is all nothing

and from noting, nothing comes,
and returns to nothing

and thats sort of reassuring

you were psychedelic kalidescopic
in the dust and late day light
air so heavy it flowed, molten and lethargic
but the glisten of lips
and romantic story of time
and the whole race
just kept on echoing

dragon's fusion
spit from drums
echoing down dead streets
and the soul of old pavement

here's where language goes to die

I'd like to be frozen in mid sigh
because the sun leaves ever
stretching shadows and soon
only photons matter
images tumbling
fingertips stumbling

the ceiling weighes down
how I'm in love with the sights of spring
and they fight with the
radio's hum and 2/4 hip sway
how I wish the world could drive
past the shine of brass
the way that steel means whisper burns

yr predatory eyes

yr predatory eyes

just in this brightness
and the sting of the light
I'm glad to be yr prey

untitled

I wasn't quite with it
those days
in a daze
all
out of tune
uncomposed
rhythmically unsyncronized
to the beat
until
you
came along
and
strung
my chord
my senses
now
augmented
and I'm
singing octaves
once unknown
tappin' my foot
to the rhythm
of
you
my violin
crescendos
and our
symphony
is
complete
I'm harmonious
and
my note
is
whole

hillside lullaby

in-between
sips of bedtime tea
I hear the frogs
hum slowly
whole notes
becoming
of their fat bodies

while overhead
flocks of geese sing
in flight
to the night
confusing a rooster
he crows
waking the hounds
down the road
simple verse
they bark
at the dark

and as if on cue
the lazy cows moo
right in tune
with the evenings moon
conducting
the animal choir