Because I refuse to acknowledge death
I will write instead
Of unrequited love
Because while there is no hope
For the living
In death
There is always hope in love
Unanswered or otherwise
An engaging diversion
Some kind of awkward dance
That I will not hear
For I am not ready
Nor will I ever be
life in animation
veins thick with bourbon
taking what comes as it does
jubilant and stuttering
created to please
wide smiles and a jaw cut strong with satisfaction
to walk every road as a king
jingling in jesters shoes
...the bearskin rug and a forbidden corset by candle light...a third shot at midnight...someone is employed to reline our souls blind with drawn curtains every time...to recess constantly...to be still and foresee...to be humbled by weather patterns and micro climates...to dream of manual shift...to recall every passing moment...passing on....
it's stale in here
and all i can smell is feet
that feeling where your stomache
bends inside itself
i'm tip-toeing around half empties
whiskey, gin, light beer
everything's cheap and broken
the sun refuses to rise
Hunter S. Thompson
strewn around the bedside
and my mind is sleeping
my eyes can't close
that feeling where your stomache
bends inside itself
soon we'll be driving
Gravity swung upwards
and knocked me on my ass
So there you stood laughing
until I showed you I was bleeding
Just blood
When we come back here
I'm not staying
I'm getting my shit and I'm out
I can't swallow these razors anymore
Promises
Vulgarity
Malevolence
I'm made of glass
Cool to the touch
but when I Break hot and scattered
the cuts are yours
It’s a flick click and boom
The way that glass bulges like bubble gum
And wires snap and blaze
And the classical symphony fucks rock and roll
In the sparks that fall
That’s when we’ll be dancing
Walking smiling over broken glass
And it’s a feeling you just can’t hope to have
Without giving it all away
No.
no
It’s something else entirely
It’s the rough and tender ways of life
IT’S A JOYFUL NOISE!
And that’s when well be dancing
i'm gonna paint you a faded yellow brown
yeah like nicotine photographs of love below sea level
roll outta bed to find routine indigestion
i'm a trip in the wind child
everything endless
i've called your attention to the stains on my shirt babe to prove once again i've been up to no good
missing you at the end of the begining of your flight
i'm restless burning diesel and panama grey
correct me if i'm right cause i'm stolen broken bruised
and my shattered little dream boat bottoms out around the edges
but i'm trying kid
i'm trying not to get too far from me to get away from you
lonley night rediculous i'm perfect pictures carved in mud
you held my hand through bitterness and now you run the roads....
still theres dirt beneith my finger nails and modesty to boot
i'm alergic to the upperclass and radio sounds like shit to me
so theres hope for all that revolution and stale beer lipstick i miss in the night when i'm callng collect from the 7-11 i used to sleep behind.....
...just thought, big sis
you'd like to know
that yer lil sister rabbit friend
has taken up residence
within wildlife refugees plots of land
and oh the (w)hole she has dug
that sanctuary for the hare-ist ones
adorns the name lakewood
so you have moved
as I have too
through many moons
and back around
we remain the same
in name and town
I've slept
in this bed
on this floor
more times
than my own
yet tonight
I feel
out of place
I don't belong here
anymore
I lie
in your arms
with the drift of unfamiliar
old purfume
seeping out
of the sheets
between us
trying to
hold on
but our fingers
only
lightly touch
the ceiling light
once dull
now
brightens the room
the floor
the bed
it
hurts my eyes
maybe
I just don't want to see the truth
highway west 80
Sunday
the 3hr drive home
Saint Steven on the radio
and all today is
satellite broadcasts
trough little electric
streams of forever
the serious radio sings not fade away
and back into Saint Steven
as you suffer through
another attack of yer heart
your heavy cough
getting the better of you
I hold the wheel while you choke
It's a beautiful day
not to be driving away
from that bayside beauty
of life in techni-color dream visions
where the streets sing
and throughout the avenues smells
of tea stink and delicacies
from every country in America
and all the Americas!
lands of far far worlds of countries...
Oh this lovely!
forces you to exert yerself beyond yerself
pushed, willed
up over each dip and hill
excites the nerves
and flows blood proper
wakes you up, leaves you light headed
(and Oh the veiw lord! Forever blocks and to the bay and on on on into the endless ever everything!)
and burning throughout
the sting and snap throwback double-step
down trek, steep speed walk
the well deserved effortless decline
Oh lady SanFrisco
your life and laugh about the days and nights
Oh dear cultured maiden
you've stolen my heart
cleaned out my pockets
left me weak and broke and beautiful in light
Oh bayside beauty
how i will yearn for you
and curse I do
for even through
every attempted excuse
you have won
and just one day gone,
i feel your absence
you whom I love
I have fallen
....I've spent an intense amount of time tooling over our sweet little blog here, super vamping it out and here's how yall can work the whole labeling thing so that when you post it will will be stored under your name....
1. Write yer post
2. Use yer eyeballs to look down the page and locate (in the pinkish bar right below the writing space) "Labels for this post:"
3. Click the blue "Show all" thinger
4. Choose yer label from the list that will magically appear (you have the option of multiple labeling)
...it's a slice of delicious cake and just as easy to ENJOY!!!
yes
from time to time i do
think back to the night wrapped around us like a seductive blindfold
and footprints left in extinguished dust on staircases leading always into the early morning bruise
blue and purple hues threatening, eyes swollen from straining the black tea night, smoke and sweat
you at my side obscured in doorways
the fire alarm fuss trampling about in front of us
I might have stood pool que still in hand
your fingers left lingering on the keys upstairs
Drawn close together by the cold
in simultaneous shiver as that instant froze
I just happen, in mid conversation, to look up to you the exact same moment you lean down into me
our lips meet sweet and soft in the middle
innocent and respectable
cosmically intense and completely unforgettable
and it caught my heart the way those little things do
even after all the edges of memory
are torn and worn to fade out fuzzy
through all the landscape and weather between us,
that you do too
think back from time to time
June 1st, this year
I don't by anything
nothing bought
no money, only enough for there and back and booze and music with friends I call family
worked iron over the moon over Martinez
cloud wisps over the moon,
full moon over the industry over the industrial water moving like mercury through the industrial being,
rippling and shimmering hard and violent
and full
Marvelous Martinez!
the conductor proclaims
over loudspeaker buzz and transient noise
the moon hanging full fat bellied out the window
and my stomach slacking
(I don't by anything)
rumbling with the traincar over the tracks
full car
full moon
full mind
full pen
full industry
stomach empty
and waiting
to be full
of drink and laughter
in full Frisco
under moon blue
and full
in-between early awakening and back into afternoon napping...I dreamed of roaming Frankenstein and secret personal missions protecting farm animals, of hiding and agents in black suits tight tied, and peril and the smell of musty wood...moss growing upside down in splintered sunlit groves
shattered pieces of soul slowly pushing sharp and painful
to the outer folds of this skin leaving red roaring rivers cut in throughout and knowing that when they reach the surface the sun will reflect off those pieces blinding for instants only, making the seen and the seeing wide eyed and willing the soft touch of comfort and true meaning left thinking.....my god! and oh holy! Was it ever really real?...did you feel the electric air and taste the honey thick loving oozing from those open wounds as life keeps beating and beating like hearts and abuse and too much time spent prying eyes open with toothpicks....did you see it too? tell me please for I seek no fooly mirage beauty wavering my subconscious life walk astray! Did you see it! Did it rip you open raw and exposed in your naked child minds for whole colosseums of of seers to view...has it shown to you your pain yet? That stomach ache and rush of heat blushing, contorted facial expressions, shoulder tension....Did that light smack you in the face then hold yer head and stroke your hair as you cried....Did you feel it?....I think it was the truth...
Let us be religious
And hallelujah the night away sadly
Telling stories of the horrible things we’ve done in the dark
Slowly forgiving each other
Because it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why babe
Well at least I heard that from a wise man once
Those wise men
Are you one?
For so long I faltered
Then signed my life to this
And now I watch them falter
And I see the tops of trees in the rain
And I think
Of clucking old women
Or the fates discussing
And know
My good luck comes from the misfortunes of others
Love is a street light at a distance
And the road is rained upon and slick
And you do the things you do for it
Friends eat you alive
And lovers lay in wait to hurt you
And you loose your senses in the waking dream
And hold yourself up with the crutches you find
Young one day
But not the next
This ball
This silly ball
With all it holds
The friends there, the lovers lying in wait
And the cold and lonely
Only part briefly
And while it parts
The crutches hold
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
life isnt about finding yourself,
its about creating yourself
(publisher, don't use this one)
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
I thought:
Do you fancy yourself a muse?
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
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
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
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
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
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
just in this brightness
and the sting of the light
I'm glad to be yr prey
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
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
fuzzy, like the fade-out of a movie that takes eternities to end
lucid eternities these rem memories
I am the audience viewing delta wave drama unfold
sparking amidst the framework(brainwork) of my mind
like soap opera static directed by Charles Tart himself
In this episode the main characters include
1) the sweet smiling cityboy with his spicy attitude and
2) yours truly, slightly confused, yet witty none the less with nothing left to loose
finally 3) of less importance, two women of random with unfamiliar faces, yet significant to the main characters development
now the stage is set in this dream event
cityboy lounges upon a low lying bed, with the two unnamed women, the room in sudo-mood shimmering with dim candle lighting
he's expressive in mid conversation or relaying some part of his storybook past to them
and cue stage right yours truly arrives not uninvited, but still feels shes intruded upon some seductive maneuvers
the leading lady smiling wide and laughing, adding humor to the scene, cracking jokes and throwing witty stones in the cityboys direction in comical routine
somewhat uncomfortable in lue of their past and with more current events, between the time they have spent and the fluids they've swapped, feeling somewhat misplaced and lost in the faceless women's presence
she shines bright in her nervousness,
her light fevers contagious and infects the supporting characters so much that the other women in tune join in tossing stones at their darling male friend,
the poor little victim of his own throngal creation
Well by now, I 'm sure the reader is wondering where this story is going
unfortunately it's really just and over embellished(for your entertainment) personal record of sleep patterns and clairvoyant remnants laced with emotional components through neural connections
my dream waves of existence
And upon my rebirth into this waking earth
a moral of sorts passed down my roads, the dream as insignificant as it was
left me stuck on one thought like honey to it's own pot,
that of all the things upon which I could dream and remember even
the sweet boy of the city remains within the folds of my prefrontal lobe activity
In a short show summery of less flowery content:
Child, I dream of you often.
an old man's shards of nickel,
dusty
church songs
in his own time, out of this time,
praise!
how they stomped on buckling floor boards
how the notes ring out
out of step
time
keeps falling out
and how she leaned in because
tethered to
this old world, a seeker finds
that palace where we once sang praise
and children will see this lighting
red hues
and blush
Portland
they have the holy ghost there
he tells her
she imagined she could sense the timing as he said that
In a funny story
You and I
Sat upon the roof
And giggled to ourselves
As my cousin came and came again
Drunken in the cars that let him off
Over and over the clown that he was
Stumbling through the night
And from our camera angle vantage point
We shared the curious sight
Go slowly to an fro
We let our eyes fall suburban
We stepped out
And we let go
So to those of you who
Have shared my rooftop moments
I say there is change in the wind
The roof is mine no longer
But I’m sure something else begins
You have sat
On my roof top, and pondered with me
The meaning in the colors of day
You have enjoyed with me the giddy moments of girls
On this rooftop
And photos have been taken
And laughs have been shared
That this rooftop
Will be mine
For two more short, short days
Oh how I've watched night after night
dance away with my mind
stage lights in my eyes
reflecting
moods high
on this shwilly westside
every folk
a dancing
laughing
smiling
chatter
nonsensical
movements
like colorful
paint splatters
all musically driven
off emotional cliffs
and all the insides
raw
with awkward beauty
old and new faces
existing
these harmonious
moments
together
The backs of stoney whales
In a prairie oceanic
Go by their secret name
plunging anticline
Everytime I hear the thunder
rumble
I think of that muggy, summer
night
on your hammock
drunk on cheap beer
our
bodies
lightly touching
watching the stars slowly
fade into the
clouds
waiting
for something to happen
and when the rain began to fall
we
reached out for each other
our bodies
clinging
together
on the grass
holding on to the moment hoping
it would never
end
the bright red
in your sweater
hurts
my eyes
the guy to the right is
more soothing, in baby blue
but yet
i can't seem
to look
past
you
don't feed
this broken romance
tuck away
those bulging pants
like hiding from the morning
rays shatter windows
breaking hearts
shimmering across
tangles
of naked body parts
eyes peeking
over compliments
distracted night vibes
sparks in the dark
life's busy fingers
leaving
libidos less
neglected
still
intimately
unreceptive
minds stagger away
defeated strangers
philosophies
currents of electricity
we've passed between
in agreeance are we
too come to be
For I, the Grand Smiling Cynic
a broken hearted lover
laughing at our flaws
in the bedroom mirror
And you, a statue of establishment
carved romanticism
ranting anti-aggressive
progressiveness
waging war upon our government
as I claim my right to free mind enlightenment's
tasting the ripe earth under my tingling toes
seeing the smoke on the breath in my lungs
recording your movements
along with my own thoughts
booming through my good ear
making your strong voices point clear
while I,
discovering my weak sides
listen and observe
the king to his court
slurring drunken intellectual musings
you,
the statue tall standing
proclaiming
and I
an open eye
with an ear to fill
still standing,
standing
still
many dieing night hours
I have spent beside you
sprawled out
between your covers
listening
as you pass into sleep
to the changing patterns of yer breath
and snoring subtly
depending on how much you've had to drink
snores thundering
before tuning out completely
you move still
feet tapping against the sheets
rhythmically
sending you into
musical
dreams
of tasteful notes
off screaming strings
and ball to palm
enchanting beats
echoing
across stretched skins
pounding drums
moving feet
into
moments
before
the lucid chorus
April 16th '07
ripped from my lucid dreamings
12pm Monday afternoon and
the sun trapped outside the cold window of this room
not cold as in hard or unpleasant
just frigid
outside the chores are attended to noisily
trying to find my days motivation in weak wavering early rise first thoughts
scattered and contemplative
I say "get up girl and paint the world of what you've seen and how you've felt. Make the money move to the city if you want, where it may be a headmess but at least you'll feel...."
where the strange boy lives and reels you in
constantly with his smile
then I decide to paint without precision
without prescription
paint without eyes that see completely
wear less of an optical illusion
lazy or not...I wonder....
It's still cold
making my sheetmess bednest more attractive than the
floorboards
then I notice
There are no floorboards, only plush green carpet
but it doesn't matter
It's still cold
and I'm completely awake now
and thankful for life's lite annoyances
the little pin pricks that motivate
today
in this sun window shine
I am somewhat bitter
lethargic broke alone
a dive
alone
each time i leave that darling whirlwindy wild cityboy
even after all his pin pricks upon my skin
I find myself
caught deeper in addiction
alone
the mowers stopped
the chores are done
finally
I pull myself up
I've collected 22 years of social indifference
22 years of neglected enlightenment's,
mind flips brought to life with
massive amounts of sassafras
For good Lords sake I've just recently gripped
the concept of perspective
and then I forgot it
and I'm a goddamn artist
so a barrel of monkeys
had me convinced of
and to tell you what
I don't think they have any idea
what they're babbling about
22 years of painters block
canvas upon canvas stand white as starch
completely untouched
not even a drip off the brush
every image of inspiration
each conceptual thought
trapped in my cranium
under padlock
and a misplaced key
Well at least
I 'm not a writer without a pen
wandering drunk in the night on the streets of San Fran
searching the bottomless pit of my bag
for any utensil to record
the overflowing rambles that
I know I won't remember
when the day breaks through the windows
forcing itself upon my retinas
begging my tattered body to "get up"
and start this shit all over again
Oh yeah, that's right
I am
22 years of monkeys screaming
be better at what we know you can be
22 years of head trauma and backache
22 years of heart break and mind rape
22 years and wasted tears
so many now I'm all dried out
22 years and I'm a laughing cynic
a romance critic
22 years and I don't know what love is
or where one would find it
22 years of monkeys
22 years on a short leash
22 years of prayers and pleas
searching for the direction of release
bringing 22 more of peace
I hope at least
I am 22 years only
completely cocked
3 in the barrel
with 1 shot
aiming for 23
1 to blast into infinity
and the last
to knock those goddamn monkeys
offa their feet
I’ve posed the question baby
Are you gunna scale the sides
The shear cliff face of my fragile façade
Or are you gunna
(Calcium carbonate)
Melt this away?
To form cavernous places
In my
Inner sanctum?
I 'd also like to say
very well done E. Baird aka the Dewey Decimal Queen
our sweet little librarian
you yerself create quite a lovely read
and it's a pleasure to know
after all your relentless peddling
of that trash heap lit zine
notoriously lost or tossed Idiom
the man who claims to "charge it to the game"
has finally published something of interest
so maybe you've saved that shitmag from the compost
for this month at least
"Hey how bout you and I tent it up for the night in those oh holygeeze Redwoods with some well produced records and a sack full of mushrooms, see where it takes us?"
deep deep in the Mission heart
with shining faces lit up like art
two Italian flowers dancing alike
stumbling by the hour, runnin around the night
enjoying the seediness of our current location
the semi-dark deserted streets we've been wandering
and the severely swilled state we've come to find ourselves in
as the local pendejos wink tequila lit eyes
whistling at the crane-legged senoritas that swinghip by
we are each others perpetual drive
and we exist momentarily within each others minds only
you whirl about me and i alike you
as we're driven through more dive bar doors
just following the music that tends to enjoy us
clinging itself on us like lichen to rocks
pulling or souls off the weak street
attacking our wet feet with groove scat jazz beats
we are victims of our own
lack of inhibitions
two too boozed singing disasters
floating between disjointed memories
waking to scattered afternoon light rays
falling upon nylons running where the trees scraped
two tangled bodies, minds intact barely
two romantic night life tragedies
1)
two blank pages
one for worlds of words
one for visions, faces
still, two blank pages
2)
I close my eyes
see reflection days played back
on black eyelid movie screens
3)
dreams of days with you past
and dreams of days with you
and all the tomorrow's' dreams
4)
i see you muse beside me
in the grand Golden park
just vapors of my hearts longings
blown free from thought
5)
i may indeed
start to speak
as if you stood
right next to me
crazily
and if wary eyes glare at my direction
i'll scream my mind, arms wide and tell them
"There's nothing strange to see in this direction!"...just another girl singing her hearts confessions of love across distance
In the ballroom of the Berkeley Carteret
Dimly lit and sweet with decay
Like nostalgia borrowed
And then made mine
In an antique city on the shore
I was given a plastic flower
And saw my building had been sold
I was not sad or made resentful
I only wondered
If in old age
That clock measure would have a place
After you’ve forgotten your manners
And the names of your teachers
With all those things
To wherever those things wash away to
tell me a story fabled grandfather of ink and paper back, i'll miss the subtle little ways you digested the world with acidic prose and perfect disdain
great grandfather i could set my watch to
goodnight one last time...a little humor went every which way but ignored...dearest anesthesia to a crippled old world begging to be euthanized with sweet truths from the tip of a sharp tongue
tell the next life that being tired is no excuse to stop trying
and make death look like a cake walk compared to life.
kurt, i love ya brother
keep em rollin in the isles
craig
so much like all those souls
Jack usta scribble about
the simple tradgedy of the beast
wide in the hips
and drunk eyed
and the here, this is the awkward line
a new kind of glistening magic
with these peaceful eyes
so mercury
and that one holy thing
luminescence
wisdom and war and a statuette of Athena
dissolve the world
the setting sun is an atom bomb
talkin bout killin dreams quietly
in the dim late night haunted light
wrap it all up in bed sheets and appendages
till its simply you in the moonlight
cuz tomorro the wide world might shine a little less
as she holds on to the sensation of flight
as thick copper bells
when something beautiful dies
Cha-right in the mornin’ with the warm waitin’ breakfast
I’ll cook for you kid
I’ll cook for you
Just sit and enjoy your coffee
And let the sun
from the wide window sweep
sweet twining beams
When they reach your feet
That’s when you let the day start
Good to start the day with you
It’s a fuckin’ wreck in here baby
It smells so stale sour
And it’s all so heavy and tired
Why you so far away?
Your weeks from now
Why you so long away?
And I’ll be there in that soon to be
It’s only fair
I’ve done the work
And you’ve already forgotten
What it took
You so long away
being a bard is words flowing out of you in instants
"child you fit like my oldest pair of pants."
Comfortably
maybe the vices and their devious spiderweb ways captured in the hairs on the back of our necks
romantic thrills chilling to the bone
cactus fires under the cold sweat blanket of New Mexico's moons, above and reflected
to use both sides of the paper
vices raw and fulfilling, torturous, climactic
the sweet release of sunlight off porch floorboards speckled with laughter over spilt wine, sky streams, jet lines, crossing state lines
the background music of our lives
Puzzles are prepackaged and come with all the pieces
you put it together
now, how often do you find, in the end, a piece is missing?
to finally find a line to store your memories of what sounds like 2000 bees and the vibrating air beside them, their humming waves of pollen
or the voice of a tiny mosquito in yer ear singing with a violin wing accompaniment
Tripping over bottles and words on the way up, falling into love then walking out the door leaving it open for the wind,
maybe whispers or scents will curl up your skin every goose bump reminding you of a different dance move
realizing your ear's still bleeding from the change in altitude and you think about how it'll effect the notes from a flute so you sit straight up in the spine, chest out soul first with yer heart on yer sleeve and a gun in yer purse, a bottle of red glued to the hand at yer hip, a cigarette lit, bare feet to the ground and a riddles wit,
to pass through time
making words rhyme with themselves
desire
electric
jets
Queen
corrosive
cowboys
dollar
and the way you breathed with the sun and the spray of the surf, red cigarette cherry and all the west
11:07pm pacific daylight time
eating romain lettuce and asparagus smothered in honey mustard dressing
saving the tops for last because i don't really like them,
and in the end, eating them anyway, because they're good for you so mother says
then followed by chamomile tea, wheat Mattzas with cheese, and homebaked tarts with fresh berries and peach
tonight I'm not stoned or drunk or under any influence other than my own chattering thoughts
I think about Ginsberg and the Ignus
and then Dailey and dear Michael flying down the east coast like a lightning bolt behind the wheel of a semi-reliable dark green Monte Carlo, the back seat piled high with empty wine bottles
screaming at the top of their lungs heads out the window, lyrics of Cash, or Dylan's or the New York Dolls slipping off their tongues through purple lips
cursing about Atlanta and remembering Savanah with storybook passion
pooling the end of their change for one last wine taste
stumbling around vineyards offending the torists
searching for true sweet elusive Georgia peaches
I remember the monotonous cartoon backdrop desert of highway 10 through Texas
cactus after cactus and the unbelievable amount of barren orchards, each hand painted sign reading "Fresh Peaches"
wishing they were in season
and tasting again the fuzzy skinned, South Carolinian treasure of nature the boys finally discovered and stowed away for me, a juicy little treat to share back in Jersey
Wriggling
Legs that look like
Rolled out clay
Or dripping polymer
Bending in the thinnest spot
Dancing
Like in a flip book recital
Like a record with a wobble
Like a vinyl woman
there's been a bright star hanging low in the sky of late
not long after it gets dark
I don' t have any star charts, and I
don't know really know any of their names
or even if this one was there this time
last year
lets get away from the lights of this town
and watch it race across the sky, and maybe
throw some rocks to see if it'll flinch
at fools like us
I pictured you upon the fallen pieces forming a direct and respectful plateau, the perfect stand for a grandiose man such as yourself, tall and flailing is the mimic you cast upon firelight back-lit cavernous caverns, the enchanted ones pound, pouring out earthen rhythms on stretched skins howling, singing dancing topless, dancing, the slap of their feet at yours.
You fabricate the myths intensely making open ears want to listen as the movements of your voice booming, the madd look behind yer blazing eyes, grab the walls and souls and shakes them.
I picture you here completely content with the land and life gathering, preaching to the colonized casualties that miracles and myths, shooting stars angels and wit were born in and grew out of the earth with a low hums dream of crescendo, how they made their voices heard in the fresh night fallen light at the same time the wolf learned how to howl at the moon....everything stops to listen.
You, slumped over a fading fire, embers bathing you bare in raw light, wiping cactus wine from yer lips with yer wrist, the end of the jug still clenched about yer fist, babbling on to the last lingering ones wide-eyed about the top of the world, in-between, whispering little dribble bits, late night myths of dive bars and diners in Jerseys deep corners.
...the coyotes are raggin it hard tonight waking up and making the sheep scream with might and the hounds, well they don't like any bit of all it so they throw out their fists grit and howl out of tune while sparks off canine tooth burn a hole through their wool...and when the dust stands still with the hum of the night by its side, the bottom of a bottle one more than last night, just another disco dog fight down the hall till yer right...aware the girl is in town and it's rare she'll let you down, we're going big it's New Years and the kids aren't home crack open the bottle thats all ready half gone grab a glass and the keys, there's more where that one came from....1/2 in the bag (or sack) and tweeked to yer toes, loaded up hoovering above yer own shoes, that fuzzy wool warm shiver streching around in yer bones, everything shines like the glimmer reflected off the heat waveing river of road, lingering ciggarete smoke back lit by the light seeping through tiny cracks in the roof, the full moon in a cats eye...stalking fireflies holding high lit crystal-like rims of glasses filled well with wine...wathching moments in time expode like fireworks and falling stars...a white hot dolop of whipped up delight over orange chocolate cake...
Of ways i've learned the west coast
amongst personal reflection and through third-party perspective
today I used pieces of wheat grass like paintbrushes,
for the finer lines of life's details
and tiny stones around the pump house, (my current canvas)
make for great shaped impressions
...looking around, past the strong tea, cheap wine and the pot smoke sneakin about my mind...
a piece of the earth comes to realize
that she can utilize, and in turn affect, the surrounding aspects of her life
feet bare, I walk over rocks
it's the way you move without thinking that helps push through sharp feelings, or just avoid the harder ones compleatly
and the live oak leaves are no match for these feet
their prickling edges crumble under leathery weathered soles
time makes itself and you can use it to yer advantage as often as you like...
finding it is where most folks get lost
bananas are indeed wonderful...so is banana bread, homemade
(aside: i enjoy almost all loaves, on a whole.)
I'm leaning to throw my shoulders back often
most of the day really,
and in the evenings
crossing the yard with a hot cup of Mate
passing gently over the stones
avoiding the only real threat (besides an occasional hovering helicopter and the pesky root-munchin gophers)
the phantom rock hidden from the moons light
not directly on the path, but close enough
to elude yer eyes where the other side is just a trip away
energy spent possitively delightfuly works
women are a different species
i don't need to be a man to acknowledge this
in a manner of opinion
for it's sake i guess
and clovers have the most truly beautiful miniscule flowers my eyes have ever seen
plain in color maybe but sturdy, detailed professionally, delicately
the sun will shine if you ask her to,
ask nicely is all
and if she doesn't feel like showing up
the moon is always not far off
waiting for his turn to shed some light
it's nice to know that in some places
water is still free
and wine and champagne and bottom shelf bourbon are still pulled straight from the bottle accompanied by a smile and an occasional escaping drop down the corner of yer mouth rolling off yer chin falling and collected by the earth...or your shirt
I 'm learning,
it really is the little things.
Do you remember when the world was flat?
And monsters lurked in far corners?
When you could go to the end
But only for love
None of that has changed.
honey
lichen
missing neal
the boy wears no shirt
and i, no shoes
it's always felt better that way
the sun burns my legs
the wind owns my hair
this precipices fluorescence reflects the texture of my soul
plain trails through the baby blue
for moments i feel like falling in tune
but i'd much rather see those California cliffs
shear and dramatic...unforgiving
two flies fight or make love
the bird is a shooting star across this alien atmosphere
and i like the lichen,
cling still
