Sunday, December 30, 2007

here on out

out past the
winter looking trees
and the naked cold gray
and the over the next hill
and the words falling
softly to fill yr footprints

from here on out
there's a moments view
from a perch on high
and flags stretched out
and snapping

from here on out
you've got a world
shaped by notions
and all's well
and after yr troubles
move on past the doorstep
all's well

so from here on out
lets burn all bridges
and speak explicit tones
because all our sins
are fuel
and hanging threads singeing
seem so cruel

Thursday, December 27, 2007

all these black and white still shots
of mid twentieth centurt authors
in their late twenties,
always in their late twenties,

always reclining in their late twenties
help me confuse em
with each other

in black and white still shots
under that exact haircut

and every one of them
their eyes
seem to wrestle
with the thought
or the dream
of some great american novel

except hemmingway
he is always
a mountain
and a beast
with the little bits of madness
readable in his cheekbones
and unpressed shirt
with his beard and cigarette smoke

and those drunk eyes without peace

the night
as metal
subtle and desperate


in stinging light
i struggle
to memorize
random patterns
of freckles
on the back of her arm
cuz later, days down the way
i know
i'll be able to say somethin
that makes the
in their
rhythmic patterns

sometimes i think the moments aren't real
sometimes i think the moments are metaphores

and here i am with this girl
and the car's all parked cock eyed
and i'm outside it, shifting my feet in the sugar sand
and smoking

and this girls inside
and she's fixing her contact
and the holy pine barrens are sprawling
just sprawling out and on and past
and the monotonous engine noise
but not perfect monotony
more like one plug is missing from the ignition sequence

the whole thing just starts feeling like a metaphore for something else
all together
and suddenly, i'm symbolic of somethin
and the sugar sand and the pines and
the imperfect car engine and all
might mean something
and there's this moral
that i can almost taste

and the girls not really a girl
or at least her contacts not actually a contact
and maybe
we aren't actually stopped
on some dim dirt road

(a memory)

the texture
of first light
the front seat
through the dew and the glass

in highway rest stop morning
like birth and gunpowder

and the tight life through which muscles stretch
in the cool still sleeping air

stepping out onto blacktop
and the sound of traffic rushing

(a sketch)

he was mad in that moment
hands a blaze with motion
thoughts flying as electricity
and i think i saw words
expelled as licks of flame

eyes in love wholly with these strange worlds

stars failing and falling to earth
seem more magical and eternal in that moment
rockets reaching heights successful

lets be
the sun glint
off satellites
and make 'em
think we're burning like stars

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

in the spirt of....

how cards do tell the true divine
like star crossed lovers
a choice to make
opens ones mind
to take a hand
or wade out the time
between these lives

i want your face in front of mine
i want your tingle in my spine
i want to be blown
spoken of in rhyme
i'm not one to deny
the truth in what i feel tonight

darling i could hold your hand for ages
on this you could place wager
and come out one top for sure dear
there is no other truth there
cause you're beautiful just the way yer
floating about our space here
i want you the only way you are
the way you are alive

now the flip-side to the card
is wondrous by far
a sweet soul to sit by
and contemplate the time with
a poet undercover
a complicated lover

now i dont mind the faction
of beauties interactin
or a star-crossed lovers sanction
from over-load satifaction
take a real piece of the pie
you know you know you will find a
bite most delightin

drop the beats now
this is

and the nights done
here come the mornin
and i'm thinkin
bout every face i've ever loved

and you're amongst them
forever end

flip the cards kid
i'm done waitin

Sunday, December 23, 2007

mike rice covers willie nelson

Friday, December 21, 2007

i love ya, girl, but i hate catching up in crowded bars.

"let's get shit-faced tonite," she says
still hungover from the previous night
i hesitate
but she twists my arm
and we end up at a crowded bar
trying to catch up
reflect on old times
but i can hardly hear her
through the crowd
i'm on pint 3
while she's on her first
pint still 1/2 full
for the past hour or so
beer now warm
the formation of condensation
on the glass
blurs the objects
seen through it
blurs the purpose
of why we are here

Thursday, December 20, 2007

tuesday nite 10:10pm

i take in the atmosphere

as i surround myself by old and new faces
all sipping caffeine
i ponder: what exactly is an alto-shaam
as mac pours me more coffee
from the waiter's station
while others contemplate the blackhole
i scribble abstract images on my placemat
the publisher calls 'therapy' not 'art'
as poetry publications are passed around
amongst the music cds
anticipating feb 2
and next tuesday nite
as i make the long trek home

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Black Planet

I had a vision of you
strung out and chewing pills
like a drunken dream
wandering hospital hallways
like a christ angel
fallen from the kingdom
wings clipped and burned off
in the atmosphere
of child earth
lost all memory
of the war in heaven
hair & eyes gone black
singed from the
flames of Black Planet
named black for the
color of Man's soul
named black is the
child planet earth

Saw the moon
As god's searchlight
reaching down from
kingdom heaven
but blocked by
black cloudy skies
here on Earth
and maybe
that's just why
I feel more lonely now
than in all my life
'cause the batteries
are runnin' out
on god's searchlight

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

I dream of prairie wind
of long dark roads
and great big sky
I dream of honest work
and art and music
I dream of the sun
kissing you in the afternoon
I dream of coming home
and collapsing
into my most comfortable chair
I dream of thunderstorms
of cigarettes and rocking chairs
Barn swallows Deep woods
and silos
I dream of walking home
and seeing you there
eyes shining
like polished brass
and skin glistening
I dream of the scent
of dried flowers
you're great big smile
and all our love

if you're gone
you're gone
and that's ok
just go
if you're here
be here
my heart strings
they only have
so many threads
and I'm afraid
I heard something

I want to wake up

stinking of your laundry

and feeling hot breath

against the back of my neck

'cause you're the only one

that's ever made me feel

like Casanova

Velvet and Velcro
You and I
And amazing how we stick

Your friends out there
Might be “kinda like me”
But they ain’t me

And the history book
They’ll talk about us

And they’ll say

I don’t know what they’ll say
But I’ll be ‘bout
You an me
And It’ll be amazing

Monday, December 17, 2007

the ring my grandmother gave me
was silver and simple
but sometimes, when i turned my finger
a certain way
the ring shined
and reflected light into my eyes
and i didn't see its value
until it fell off my finger
and was nowhere to be found

with the touch of a finger

the stroke of your fingers
across my bare back
evoke pleasure and pain
like a pianist
gliding his fingers across those
black and white keys
playing major and minor chords

Cobalt Boron Oxygen

I hope I didn't scare you
taking you to such great heights
or gripping your little body
in my hands
I just didn't feel like explaining
that smell
to a couple of birds

you cut me wide open
I forgive you
little darling

Rot Gut

thank you for spelling it out for me
been in this state over 20 years
you must already know about
all those things I have forgotten
rotten gutted hipsters
know everything about
music language space and time
we're all such great philosophers
we all carry so much weight
shed it off my shoulders
take alittle off the top
I'm no righteous unique individualist
I'm a team player and I'm going to sleep

It didn't feel much like I imagined Colorado might feel like...

It was just then that I realized,
it wasn't good clean fun any longer.
as she gyrated and rode it out
and the conductor smiled
like I imagine a man at a donkey show would smile
but there were no donkeys
just drunken asses
and a mechanical bull

he didn't want her to let go of that kill switch
'don't let go of that fuckin' button!
ride it baby ride! donchyu dare let go!'
I felt like maybe I shouldn't be there.

she finished
got off
fixed her pants and walked back to the bar

I looked around and saw the men
begin to salivate
at the sight of what could only be
fresh meat

I wondered if she'd let herself
fall right out of her own shirt
Thank God
atleast alittle dignity left in the world.

she cut the ride short.


I've been kickin' 'round your face all day.

Tryin' hard to grip my brain on your voice.

Can't even begin to describe those eyes.

When these fingertips are memories
everything I hold burns within these hands.


it's a contest.
waiting for the other side
to break
fall asleep
or leave

are we all after
the same things

I thirst
for truth
I want
the experience
I want
whats new

I'm not playing this game

I'm just fine with my
wine or my beer
I'm just fine with my
plain ol' cigarette

I'm fine with myself
all alone.

make note

i want to be the strings of your guitar
tuned and beautiful
and yours only

singing my heart
as you glide your fingertips
gently over me

spent the first night

woke up
after strange siteva inspired dreams
all laced up like a roller skate
tight in your arms
and it was cold still in the house
and the girls were milling about
prepping their hair for the work day

wide awake at eight
for once
a glass of water and a smoke on the stoop
watching a neighbor roll his car windows up and down and up
to clear away the condensed morning fog
he spits out the door onto the street
then notices me
I spit in return
letting him know I pass no judgment
I myself am only a human too
and a smoker

back inside
I kiss the girls goodbye
and climb back into the warmth of your arms
stirring, you smile
and I smile
and we sleep till noon

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Safe Place

This wind on this beach
in this off season
of burning cold digits
and smoke without smoking
has us wound around
each other
a piece of one another
you're my blood
and skin
while I'm your cocoon
organically intermingled
and we stand here
defying wave and wind
confessing our sins
to the stars
in a joyful rant
we trade shouts out here
and lips make lips sting
the best way
and eyes trap eyes
in soft light over darkness
where shout turns to whisper
and whisper gives way to kiss
so warm soul air drifts
from I to you
and you to I
with slow toungue to guide
secret need
to a desperate home

Friday, December 14, 2007

Spanish Ladys? Really bad eggs?

How long have I waited in shallows
For my sturdy ship
Call me captain now
Or forever bite your lip

Yo Ho me hardies
Drink up drink up
For when I
Am your captain
Never wanting
Will be
Your cup

Mad Moments

My life now for mad moments had!
The kind you know to be grand
The kind you have on the brink

Like that time we threw
Off the strangers balcony
The music of mad moments is splintering furniture

Or that fire we built
And hoped not to control
The perfume of mad moments is smoldering tinder

And those times
When my smile
Came curled wicked
In the corners of my mouth
Those were mad moments too
and I want to taste them again!

I’m waiting ta know whose name ta moan
Whose shoulder ta sink my teeth in ta

And when I find my man
Name and shoulder
May he be kind and mercifal
May he be brave
And just a touch mad
And may he have charm by the bucket full

An may he know
I got nothin ta offer
But my name ta moan
And my shoulder
Ta sink his teeth inta

her face looked
like an old country

blades of hair
cutting at her skin

and her eyes were
all echo
and enormity

and you were rattled
to yr bones

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Empty as my wallet
that's your head
harder than a break up call
that's your head
but also happening to be
something sacred
not your head
I mean
maybe losing things
I don't remember the last time
I looked back to check
to see if what I'm running from
is still chasing me

Good Signs

She said that there weren't enough
with numbers in them
s0 1 threw 5ome 1n
she liked it for a while
and then it was stupid
so i started writing about
blunt things
but no matter how many times
she died in a poem
she'd always
pick up the next one
so I think we'll be alright

It's all the same in the rain
It's all instant copy
Total deja vu
Lights glisten for the fog
to find itself
How else is a fog
to find itself
in all this fog?


your spray on smell
and my candle lit one liners
set us up for one hell of a night
as your eyes grapple with mine
over wine and breaded talk pause
we can find each other here
or you can let me out a week from now
and I'll stick out a thumb
waiting roadside
for a shiny new ride
as warm inside as you were
as we coasted through
all this talk
with your spray on smell
and my candle lit one liners


they snipped my fucking wings
and the ground
is not safe
for guys like us
who were meant
to stay in the sky

I got spies watching
everything you do
with the glitter
trailing behind
they can never lose you

Wednesday, December 12, 2007


I was only an adjunct so I never got a key for the bathroom
and it was always just a little awkward to be peeing next
to a student who I would be teaching within the next
10 minutes. We gave each other the nod all guys give
approaching a line of urinals. "So you're here to pee too,
huh?" "It sure is white in here, huh?" Then the sounds
we make with our voluntary muscles and the thought
of having to explain later about the inaccuracy of using
two independent clauses on either side of the comma.
I only hope he doesn't notice that I always forget
to wash my hands.

a definition

passion is simply
the friction
of two things beutiful
colliding and scraping
for a moment
in this world

well baby
you and i
we're just a white hot spark
in a deep forever cold

and my life is just fluctuations
of the vacuum
and the stars too
and everything you know
and love

i imagine
gone eyed girls
sitting, smoking
and lost
in America's
and cornfields
after the Incident
broke up
and the scene
broke down

all these girls with ghost eyes
and loose skirts
seem to be from Brooklyn these days
with slow words
or warm tones

and each one turns me on
with ghost eyes
and visions of the drugs in their
raspy voices
smokey apartments
with tapestries
and resin in fine glass
and wanderin hands
and ghost eyes

and their loose skirts
with slow movements
to folk lyrics or eastern instruments

and all the new light
accentuating old dust
in still air
in Brooklyn
for their ghost eyes

the moons a product of inspiration

when that comet hit
the sweet potential
of molten ball earth
with all its wild
of freedom in the big big universe
and mad travellin rushing

she jumped ship
for the great expansiveness
and all those holy eyed stars

the moons a product of inspiration

dreamt of a beer can
full and frothy
dreamt of a big love
dreamt of a hit and run
with a girl
that swayed with the wind
dreamt of a war
all glistening and moonlit
dreamt of seasons and handshakes
and thunderclaps
dreamt of us and this neon life

lets be honest
for a moment
about jealousy and regret
and the moon

about how she
fearlessly chased
that wild comets
hit and run love
away from home into the black vacuum

about how she
defied gravity
and got free, all reckless

about how that ole comet
never came back
and she waited and died out there
alone and free and cold
staring into the sun
and the earth and the stars

and about how beutiful and serene
she looks as she rises and drifts
with all the brilliant stars

Saturday, December 08, 2007

first snow.

covering the tiny village that we call home is the finest blanket of olympic white. all the tiny blades of grass, autumn's fallen leaves, and our car are made to look uniform this time of year. soon, we know, the blanket will be retracted to show the things that we once forgot in times of wintry celebration. spring will devour the cold and force our jackets aside for lighter clothing. but it's no more revealing than that of our normal wares... scarves discarded, sweaters left at home, and shivers maintained to stillness and smiles. the first snow is almost gone now, and likewise are the raw days of loneliness, nipping at the noses of our hearts, and making numb our fingertips. but frostbite will give way to sunburn and salty air... while we are indoors warming by the fire, we are leaking out from cracks in doorways and window sills, our heat forcing the freezing back to its home in the north. and the first snow... it's almost gone now.

Friday, December 07, 2007

coaxed out coyote question
fence rattling
and the links get smaller
and the metal freezes
and the coyote echoes
and his throat strains

Thursday, December 06, 2007

I just stood there
being made of meat
and thinking about
how we are all covered in mites
and what they must think of us


that borrowed brown hat has fallen to the Mission steets more then once this evening
she loses it as she tips back her head to meet his gaze
he makes love in the streets of every city
while her old fashioned frills keep her cautious
but she weakens in his presence
and finds herself shipwrecked in his arms
for moments

when he stares
he beams through her
with eyes of blown glass
and an unreachable fear
but as the sun hops from cloud to cloud
hiding itself from the city
it catches in his eyes
setting small fires
warming her inside

there's a pattern here
that they both recognize within themselves
pride ego infatuation
the "idea" of "love"
it's the one thing they are afraid of
for they fall hard and fast
and passion, an addiction

so he's under the assumption now
that she loves him
that she is in love with him
giving him control of the situation
but truly, on her end
she knows where her heart is
and that it could be his
for the profile does fit
her usual attraction

but does he know what he does?
and could he accept an explanation?
could they finally let it all out
everything they've kept bottled up
so many answerless questions
crowding their heads
though inbeded deep in their subconscious
a natural longing
and a spin they fall in
time and time again
regaurdless of love
they don't commit

on the other end

maybe just once and a while
the phone will ring on this end
and somewhere in the static
made from crossing wire after wire
blue red blue gray yellow whitegreengray red red black
those voices of old worlds and wanders
will flood through the receiver
leaving my heart soggy
with reminiscence
and a swimmers ear

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Dec 3rd 2007

The first lines the most important one
So now that that’s taken care of
I don’t care if I bore you

With personal garbage
With longstanding baggage
With fears of tomorrow

And I’m sure I could write a lot of pretty words
Or meaningful ones
Or at least ones with some kind of meaning

But I just spent a day
Watching 3 seasons of an old cartoon show
And cleaning the apartment
So I have nothing worthwhile to say


You had better not
Go too close
To that lit

0000000000000the cats got the keyboard
Jher87 all figured out
But if she chases the mouse again
I’m going to flip