Friday, August 26, 2005

restraining order

he tells me to get one
when i kick her out

you see, he...
well he's right.

like today, she sneaks up
to my room while i'm in the shower
and steals the money in my wallet
then she puts my wallet in the car
and semi closes the door and locks it.

she's becoming a good theif.
i hope she cannot rob.
she'll get killed.

i deserve this cuz
you know, all those anon
moms i berated
for raising psychos.
i'm one of em.

where is my wallet iwonder, wander
round the house.. she is sympathetic.

then i look for it
she innocently suggests
that its in my car
and lo and behold there it is.

i keep thinking there will be
a change in her. but it's not
happening. i was wrong.
you can't be straight up
with your kids. they don't understand

they use it as a justification
for being a libertine. and without stucture
they're weedy and wild, burly and prickly.

they thistle.

my son actually has 2 examples
of how life can be
his sister
and his cousin

one is postive
one is negative
a jet ravels the sky.

tracks for the ceiling.
popcorn it up when i leave.
mold in the place
it gives me a headache.

i dunno what to do about it.
get a mold specialist.
that stuff gives me a headache.
a year of diving dancerously
a monad growing cancerously

sowhat if i rhyme, don't cast a dime
you big slime it's a harmless passtime
so gimme a crime.

one year
and 21 daze now. i have
never , really, been in prison.
just a li'l temporary jail

ah yes. it does pass.

it's a good thing
that i don't have it for a week
this web. that way i can get my temp
wall up.

woo hoo

k i'm goin to bed now
wit out cha again.

Monday, August 22, 2005

weasel pot pie

that one guy had a thought
and i stole it.

i steal it all. intellectual
property rights free for all

steal from me.

without property
there can be no thieves.

is that true?

ah i miss you.
stolen heart, stolen youth.
how do you put up with mes?

i try to not say the things
i'm scared of. we know
that story.

i think i run to you when she
begins to fracture me again.

drain. like a slammed novel.

i'm so undone by this.
all of it. losting her
losting you

without you.
her, it's time.

Sunday, August 21, 2005



that's how it'll be when we get
together again. i woke with a headache
and this feeling of doom.

the downward spiral of depression.
oh baby, why?

why do i keep clinging to you?
why you, to me?
that's the thing we need to heed
the cling cuz we can't/don't want
to move on. if you were
living with me
would be
there would be still
problems. you know? you
haven't even begun to work
on yours. you think
they don't need it.
i think you think that.
if you don't, then why
do you not work onthem?

this is difficult
but i've been thru worse
no time of skin in my bed
no sign of love in my head.

at least with you
i have the love.
be it i think it's doomed.
so is life so what?

ima ask specifics cuz you won't.
gawd that was horrifying reminiscent
of my greatest fear
re us

my horrible scope sez
to conclude something today.
the thing that's been hanging
over my head.

we should not try this.
i feel hopeless.
it's 2 am. the least light.

i want to cry but i'm not
gonna. nope. see, i just
think truth is, the way
you are now, i don't want
to live with you.

you continually lose jobs
due to your hubris or carelessness.
i hope you can make it with your
dad. you won't admit you're
an alcoholic. you've been drinking
for what, 5 years now and you won't
admit it. it fux you up. you're
careless of other's feelings
you won't see into them.
you know what you want
and you go for it, damn the consequences.

for me, is it lust? no
i mean i like it that you think
i'm sexy. but is that all?

i am gonna go out with someone else
i think you should do the same.

that's my resolution...i'm gonna go
when i'm bleeding so i won't be jumpin
into any beds. its only been what
a month? i can't stand it. i can't stand
that we have a year ahead of us, possibly 2

cuz i know that ultimately
you're gonna realize that you don't
wanna spend your youth with me.
and i don't want to be your sugah momma
any more. i've already decided that.
you have to have a place when
you come back. you have to have
enough money to take care of yourself.
can you do that?

me, i'm always a day late
with the resolutions. i was
sposed to do this yesterday
tell the whole truth.

but i lll.....

ah fuck.

i love you.
you got under my skin
you're my ken, the thing
the i wish for the albatross
the boss. i want to lie
in your arms i want to lie
to the world if i need to
but i won't lie to you
i love you but i don't need you
i need you but i won't.
can't afford to.
not 20 anymore.

i'm not a youth. i have
middle age concerns.
it makes me tired just
thinking about it.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

why won'ot blogg fit on my screen

sanwiched between the virgin
and the scorpion, i am the skales.
let them fall from your eyes

I miss my breath made visible.

on the balcony he says to me what
do you really look like? i can only
see the you in front of me.

then that's what i look like.
we only exist thru other. i have no idea
so tell me:
what does the back of my head look like;
my unmirrored eyes?

what about snapshots? do you look like them?
people tell me i do. they tell me i don't.
but a piece of time was captured, it's
you that decides
the relativity of red
wavelengths. even the meter must be calibrated
against an arbitrary perfection.

must learn to use the arrows.

he seems satisfied. but then
i think you must have a different body
you put on when no one's there

at seven,
she tried to pull
mine off when i had to say
no, this is me. now. this is what
i have become.

change is something
we do not see when we are in it
from the time i could reason
till the time i suddenly realised she was
my mother's mother never changed.

even in pictures, her hair white
purses around smiling lips
pill box hatted, gloved
stasis of small town america.

she began to pack up her house
give away her memories. yellow
handkerchief, embroidered with navy
wife, waves from the pier in san
francisco. she's travelled by train
with her infant daughter from texas
to now, to see her husband off
to war. he may never
come back. she loves him anyway.
the trip took a week. standbys for the troops
hustling to rendezvous with their dark
lover, splashes of red underwritten
across cheeks, peached fuzzy against the smeared
windows then leaning out to catch the last
glimpse of her on the platform, a cliche
in the making, sun strikes in gashes
across faces, making it all impossibly beautiful
and desirous. come back home safe! i love you.
navy wife.
watches the ship from the pier's
edge, wives not allowed on military ground
her arm moves on its own arc,
wide pendulum clutching sun's breath
against a foreboding sea.
a bauble lost on a receeding shore.
how do you survive? you do what you must.
do you survive? only
if you have something
to live for. hope is the reason.
why not say it outloud. if you don't have it
then nothing is worthy
of you

so then you go to it.


in each of us is the potential
to love the other in all its forms.
soul mates are the myth of sisyphus
i love how that rhymes.


Thursday, August 18, 2005


street maps of plausible

she seems to talk but here
is where the similitude
crosses over. lethe and trappings
of a next move. what do you want
to be when you grow up echoes
in the void that begins inside

stretches to the last beach
the last wave the last time
he kissed her. since then, it's
been a fractured fairy tale:
pumpkin rotting, godmother
wicked, stepsisters chosen
from listless bridesmaids, their pale
arms barely raised for the bouquet
which can only be dead
roses. she visits grandmother

in her red rimmed weeds. pollen
fills her lungs, she drowns in it,
spits it back out. the bell she brought
is cracked and flat. no need for wolves
to entertain her, she brings her own
monsters, projected/injected
a circular argument racing the parabola.

when she meets him he has extra voices.
they've been dribbling out of his ears for months
ivory thru scrimshaw. she opens her mouth
and loses her shoe. he neglects to pick it up.
in fact he doesn't even see her.

hair tips frosted. goatee
open mouth. how
did she ever love him?
how does she.

age three, a declaration : i'm going to fly.
at seventeen: i refuse to die.
in a backroom, the vacuum waits.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

dear scar

hey i'm sittin here lightin up
my native pipe, the one that broke
this weekend and i wanted to say it sux
that you can't do the kindness cuz
i think you need it. why can't she unnerstand
that you have your meds too? oh i know
you're all noble and stuff
but that's gonna build resentment
and then where will you be. i bet s
is just vomitting whenever she peeks in
your windows. eh, prolly not,
cuz after all, it wasn't the j that
was the cause of your betrayal. fuck
it wasn't anything really except your own tail
stinging you into an action
that was inevitable, given your circumstances
your history. surprise!
why did you always wanna marry someone
as fucked up as yourself? perhaps cuz
you knew that might cause you to put on the iron
suit, the power tie, the extra padded
elbow room. give you something to save.
heh, save one from oneself.
doctore, heal the heel in your eye.

hey scar
all i ever wanted to do was have you see
that it was me. but wtf, it's a done deal now.
now i write love poems to a never love
and ignore the one obsessed. well, i guess this
isn't really love a pome. more an exploration
of what my feelings were before the possiblities collapsed.

but what are we? black holes- grab onto the gravitas
and never let go? there's a ring of light
at the event horizon, photons that stretch
being here into being
rabbit. hole. crawfore in a crawlspace.

i'm sure it's cuz i've become so insulated
that i love you like dickens.

hey scar, it's like i've got a young you.
without the grades. but i don't have him.
in a way yes, in a way no. he's not you
at all. only in astrological sign. i have
no doubt that he is only half
as neurotic, being as he is only half
our age. i look deep into this
due to your influence. let it all hang
let the garbage can lids fly off
and swarms of flies lay maggots on your privacy.
the things you hold for yourself.

what is moral. is thievery wrong?
why do we have to go to such lengths
to teach this? see an apple, grab it.
what the myth of the myth fails to distill
is that He said, i own this.
and We said, but why?

it's not about temptation
it's a blueprint for capitalism.

umm, scar, has this been discussed before?

hey, just had the height of hubris
about not lettin my online buds see this
it's all about the future. sum delusional recreation
where in i imagine-just as i did when i was 15
16 17 and couldn't sleep nites, told to turn the stereo off
so dreamed of meeting elton john on a train
in europe and turning him hetero-
that the future has arrived
we are at crux in the shifting verge
the lapiz and the bone
and we find the same story as them
writ on our faraday fields
and we do the same thing.
again. never comes out differently.

how stipend that is. is she pregnant?
that would be
some scar.
your child.

don't you think
that might be the very
final thing? rimbaud
to rimbaud? forget valerey
who ever loved him anyway.


to remember that.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

but why delete the comments? just cuz you and i don't agree on a reading of the poem?

subtexts. i think i'm sensitive to that word, and the reason i say bugaboos is i think that we can examine only our own subtexts. when we try to try to parse out motives for the narrator or even the author, we stand on shakey ground. i mean it's difficult enough, as you point out, to truly eye our own influences.

you're defensive b/c you see the dancer as putting down 'your' profession. the dancer could be being offensive cuz she assumes the exact same thing. but you don't know that, not from the poem-you don't know that she thinks the wives put down her profession. what i get from it is that she thinks the wives put up with this kind of treatment, willingly.
and yes, believe the men's lies which she sees thru. so her disdain for both the men and their wives is evident.

that she wants to escape by detachment, calling it holy, well, that does to speak to some sort of delusion. but i think she's well aware of it. she knows what she's doing, and she knows why. as my brilliant niece once pointed out to me, pretending is good, delusion is better.

what is true about this profession is the dominant view is exactly what you project. and for good reason. we know from reading jenni's poems that most of the women are exploited either by the owners or the johns or both. this is a fact of the sex trade. i maintain that the fact this dancer rejects the lies of these lotharios with, they assume, purchase power
speaks to awareness, not delusion. she simply wants to escape them, if not their money. and she understands that to accept lifestyle over cash would require more delusion for her than she is willing to accept. does she think the women of these men are deluded? well, yes, that's obvious in the statement "lukewarm paranoia".

as a worker b in another industry, i can totally relate to the desire for fantasy to take me away from the source of my income. but i also know i can't get too far from it. that doesn't mean i have to buy into it. i just have to perform. and yes, i have disdain for the people who do buy into it. but that's my projections. they could perfectly happy. they probly are. the dancer never says the women are unhappy. she never says she's unhappy. that's the leap we fill with our own subtexts...

a mark of good poem, imo.

but yeah, on the men thing. i really didn't see an indictment of men as a whole. just a certain type of male.

i'm likin this discussion, why you wanna delete???????

Monday, August 15, 2005

current local timez around the world

when i move this time i need
to get rid of the ants
in the desk. it's alright
as long as i don't have sugar
but when i have sugar
wow. the tarot.

what does it say about us to day?
we have the high priestess
exalted knowlege, spriritual
revelation. i keep thinking
my chance at that is past
because how i've been reading
the tarot sez if i go with you
spiritual is out of the question.

how silly is that? you are far away
spiritual is how we have to live in each other
most of the dayz. that i chose to believe
you, when our flesh can't touch
is a matter of knowing that your clear eyes
see me, no matter the distance.

i love you.

let's see about me n her.
there's a double thread in our lives
in my life
and that's the one i'll pull.
when j becomes a large intensity
then i'll do 3. or maybe when he
bcums a teen. hhmmm that did not
go like anything i can understand
at this time. creative process...

my own creative process is sad.
it's lost as if it were ever mine.
i read my stuff and wonder if it was
ever any good. based on what some
tell me, it's good. but based on
what i read, it's blech. i used to at least
liked it when i wrote it. now...

well, you know? did a spread on me n poetry
it sez, look, you're good. but if you dn't
put some work into it, it's all gonna fade.

duh. as if i that isn't the way of karma.
work is essential.

ok, gotta try to wake ja.

but i just lughed cuz of course
it would take work to begin to publish
but if i do that so what? a li'l volumne
that few will read and some will envy
but mostly just a churn of the page.

this internet stuff is better
but it still doesn't address the central
desire does it? acceptance of self?

i have a love
that's miles away.

we are separated by the need
to have peace with in our lives.

not that we fight with each other.
no, that's a thing we only do
when the chemicals become too much.

eh, what i crock of s\hirt.

i have a love
that will never love me.

i had a love
that loved someone else

i had a love
that i fell out of.

so tired of writing for love.
that's why i can't write anymore.

my domain is love, that's my planet.
if i reject it. then i have no home.

he 's running a different way.
and maybe towards a vision of what
might have been but i doubt it.
he's running a different way.

i have a love that could read me
daily if he wanted to . he doesn't.
why? he assumes he knows all about me.
this is dangerous to a relationship.

this relationship will most probably fade.
but you know, he loves me now. i love him now.
perhaps this can get me beyond the need
for possession. the ownership i masculine out of me.

i dunno, but my shoulders still hurt
where he grabbed me.
ok, time to wake the j for real now.
after this cigarette.
hey, you aren't done yet?

Friday, August 12, 2005


well she idd it again
totally took advantage of the situation
of my trust.

why do i keep trusting her
as if one day
she will suddenly go bing
and get better. but she won't
not even with her confessions
and talking about her inmost joys

as if i don't know when she steals from me

it's a good thing i don't keep actual
money around. i hope she gets a job soon
then she won't steal as much.

i am not gonna say she won't steal.
it took me a long time to understand
that working for what you get
makes it sweeter. and i still want that
instant gratification but
i understand that in this economy
when you take from someone else
then you damage them. trust is bent
if not broken. sometimes i guess
i just want to believe in her but
she fucks me over almost everytime.

i will be glad when i can tell her
to take care of all of it herself.

she has no conscience where i'm concerned.//

i want to call justin and ask him
if he really wants to spend the extra 60 bux.
i should stay home tonite and then
go see him early saturday. but i don't do
early very well...

i think this is the some point
where parents let their children just


it's like ok, i've taught you best i can
go find your own worms li'l wing.

and what have i taught her?
based on the results
she learned all that she needed
to learn. pilfer, lie, cheat.
i know somehow under that she has

i don't know anything.

really , of how she will be
of what her conscience will be allowed
to tell her. it's all so fucked up.
why does anyone become a parent.
you always fux your kid up.

unless of course, they understand
that you love them. but love should not
have to mean putting up with abuse.

i think at least i've learned that much?
no, i haven't. i'm still a fool.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

not pissed

so she goes out of that house
down the street where some peeps
she knows have beer, she has a couple
walks the perimeter of the complex
and thinks about this latest developen\ment

mom wants her out of the house
but no one will take her in
not lydia, not amanda, jackie is out
of the question. dad is a distant ghost.

what was that mom said, something about
courtesy? why she wanna be offstandish?

she thinks about the pottery barn on 53.
she could hike there in a few hours. maybe hitch
a ride with the four oclock teamsters on their
way to the rest of the continent.

last time she was there she bought a green cup
with violet spirals in the glaze. it reminded
her somehow of the time she was at church
with spanish guys and thugs, white boys and stoners
regular families even and how everyone was asked
to close their eyes and sing this along and every
one did! they raised their hands to the sky
and felt beyond peace beyond acceptance
some ulitmate connection suddenly feeling the torn
flap of insole in the thugs right sneaker
across the circle, breathing with the abuela's
lungs, looking with her own eyes at all of this
she sticks out a thumb, tentative. no one's
in the parking lot. there's a stack of twenties
with her name on it in the register at the barn. she could
go somewhere. but fuck that, why? why

did she skip skool today why did she start crap she made
her mother cry her brother, crying in each
other's arms just wanting it to stop

does he hate her? her li'l bro? o woah man woman
what are you doing? stops beside a curve
the palm is supplicating. it begs a coconut moon
and a firefly from the evening. some magic
in the twixt of moon and star. that peace

so she goes home. that house. home. she finds
her mom and hugs her. lets the mother speak first
she says i'm sorry i
don't know what got into me

later they understand the lone light
it was tinkerbell's cousin, flitting across
her balcony, looking for a shadow

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


ok so
she is in my room
on my computer after tearing up hers
telling me how it's so important
for her to break the curfew
cuz becuz she skipped skool
and so now needs some math
assignment and i'm supposed to
just say ok? nope
she fucked up the whole 15 minutes i'd have
with him and now she wants my sympathy.
too bad.

i MUST have this call it's very important.
as if my call isn't. as if she can just go do
what she wants whenever she wants it.

gawd. 13 months and 6 days.
she'll be 18. ima send her to live
where ever she can live. maybe
she can go torture her dad.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

dear j

this is the trying hour
sizin our love,
thong along and push
up, looking at the before
and this after.

i am so torn. what i am is no
good for you. even when you tell me
how it was on your single
bed in ybor. but you're not there
anymore. how we sat in the car
and bridged a chasm without kisses.

what happened to that writer
that boy who didn't know
what he was gonna be?

you're not the same person. everyday
is a new incarnation. i mold you
into stasis. your feet are bound.
but they don't have to be. tell me again
why we choose this? love

oh yes. love. this clench in my heart.
as a fist, as a root, as a boa's caress.

dear j

it's really tough being here
without you/ when we don't talk
for a couple of days i think
of you falling from a tower
or falling
in love
it can happen so fast
a glance down
eyes blinded your foot slips
your heart bobbles
and you're diving without a net

the mature part of me which should be
the largest part reminds me
not to cling to you. when you're on such
fragile standings i could pull
you down. heavy.

i want to talk to someone tho.
i wish you would have called
but i bet you're sleeping well.

i think
i think i will pretend that you
will not grow out of this love
that i will not feel the pull
of time against it
let it be carried off
before the current
i think i'll pretend
that we are waiting for a new

until the day you call
me with the bad news or maybe
you'll just write me an email
attach a pix. i can believe in you
as long i feel your hands
and your lips but
oh this doubt. i'm so sorry i have it.
why do i have it.
i know why i have it.

it's too late for you to call now.
i'm lost in one syllable words.
except for that one. lol.

gawd i'm not funny.
i want to not write you for days
see what happens. why do i
give you up every nite
and forget about it when
i hear your voice.

nothing new under the sun.
not a damn thing original
or mold cracking
crackling under the weight
of what we're trying to forge
in our seperate crucibles
these little cubicles, cubic cells
we call life.

i'm falling not you.
despair is a short way down.

Monday, August 08, 2005


she wants it her way
i tell her go to burger king
get a job. she says no
i'm lazy
i says oh well, no fun
for you. she says i want
to be a criminal i want to be a bum.

lissen, don't think momma won't move
if you don't get your act together.

i'm sorry she's a sociopath, sir.
it must be the lemon and the tree
a sour li'l cuss.

hey, hayden, mr carruth
remember when you went in the hospital
for slit wrists. i think she's
joining your entourage. or maybe that's me.
so easy to just fake it out

oh wait we don't have that defense
anymore, the "hospital" where you can lock
up the loonies and the toonies
and the people who just don't have
what it takes to conform .

okay, ummm, this boy.
seeing you this weekend
i realize how young you are
fresh skin, innocent eyed
you shave and i barely
recognise you. even your eyes
look like they did
when i met you

our lives begin to veer
there are memories you'll make
without me. and i'll inhabit
the functions of my life
without you. it will never be
like it was. you don't know this.
you still believe somehow
in miraculous changes
and things working out.

out. that's where it's bound.
oh i still house you in my heart.
you give me home. home is where

our hearts beat, like a distant tattoo
summer time and the livin's easy
rain on the windows, pain at the part.

i've got to have poems for tomorrow.
the show must go. on. and on.

my deepest fear is the loss
when it will manifest. i
can't get there from here i've
already lost you. when i confront that

the fire wells up again
engulfs me in its tears

oh. moving on. it's what we're meant
to do. but you say you love
i love you too.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

it's 11

and i'm tired
of waiting for the phone
to ring. ou could be
in the hospital
or on a bus to miami
you could be already asleep
and gone i could be
also. i want to talk to someone
and if it's not you
nothing else will do?

ah why are we wasting our time
with this trying? it is too
difficult already. bad as giving up
smokes. i hope you are remembring
the last time we made love

holding it close as the scent
of your new lover. it's odd how
everytime i sense something
with you , it has occurred in some way
or another. there is trouble
because the tarot had good things to say.


good nite.

your philosophical goatee

i miss the written word
your arguement presented as if
you were able to catch a flame
record it on the next passage home.

(i hope you call soon.
i want to sleep.)

the occupant of one of the royal tombs of Ur asks
how to survive these everlasting
hours, 48 more, help
i'm decomposing, the house
is cracking, cockroaches are taking over

i've built myself a fictional you
whom i adore

as u stand beside ur naked body
surrounded by many medical students
none of which u know... they point and they touch u
...and u cant do nothing... yet u remember everything

(being with her is how
I imagine a dog feels right when you
attach his leash )

this reminds me of
what i felt about
my life in this world
a couple of years back.

eventually i stayed -
i want to have names
for my everything

dear jeff

dear jeff
i saw mrs robinson when i was
in my early teens. she was a sickness

invented by patriarchy. i do not
have a daughter your son loves nor do i

ensnare him with sex. he is quite free
to have affaires d'amour with whom he pleases
however he pleases
with me

dear jeff,

i'm sorry you feel as if i'm a bad influence on your son
who once wanted nothing but to please you
who was suicidal when i met him, as close to death
as you or i , drinking that ole janx spirit
till mack trucks became the hoochie momma
he wanted to embrace

i'm sure you want to put him back
on the straight and narrow where he can hide
his porn vids and bondage toys
in the closet, overindulge
in hours of neroesque television viewing
with his

dear jeff

i imagine it's difficult seeing your son
wanting to "wait" for a woman old enough
to be his mother. i hope he's being a good
boy though. he always wanted
your approval
of him as he is.

i find that's all
my daughter asks of me.

i understand
you're a harley guy.

you should be proud of him. he's going
to be fine. everyone
needs something to live for, neh?

dear jeff,

it's the pot, isn't it? you gave it up
for your family and you feel i should too.

what kind of bs is that? you should be
fighting for medical marijuana, your son

needs it, he's much more stable with it
albeit a bit, umm, lazy but so what?

a man who listens to jimmy buffet
must have once smoked pot. tell me bill

clinton was that him passin that doob
around to you in that orgy of exhale?

listen, i don't want to take your son's youth.
the beauty is we'll never be tied up

with kids. no need to explain why mom is older
than grandad. i'm sure this is just a phase

he's going thru and frankly i still love him.
we're going to be long distance lovers or in

todaze parlance friends with benefits. you know
he thinks he could be with me forever you know

he thinks he's gonna be a roxstar he's gonna be
a therapist he's gonna be millionaire the anti christ

he's got so much life in front of him. this is where
he needs to be right now. so um, i guess just keep

telling him the alts. but don't make him feel bad
for loving me. if he finds another who makes him

feel the same, then sobeit. i can bow out gracefully
cuz your son has the capacity to love widely and these

lessons we're learning will serve him well in his future alone. these are our classes. we take them togther.

as for me. men tend to scare me. as if they know
what a door mat i am. push me into being what

i do not want to be. a lover for them to show
off on the dance floor. a mirror for their diamonds

to hang upon. please try to understand but you
will not understand you are one of my generation

misunderstood the boom, took a broom
and swept away

dear jeff,

i hope you will give justin a chance to work this out
with himself. perhaps this is best for now. i love the boyman
he loves me. don't ask us to deny that. it may fade
it may grow. but don't get out the roundup, please?

let him live there,
train him, show him
what a family does
i will do the same with my children
it's the least we can do
for damaging them so much

let us love each other
as freely as we can
within our restrictions

i hope he's being tolerant
i hope you're getting to know him
he's a great guy
he'll let you in


mo dizzy
the red led engages
intermittently i look at you
r picture the one
from in
side the shark's mouth
skeletal angst at this force
d departure how did they do it
the ones who went to war went off
to college a prison of separation
how do they do it the ones on the red
eye express flying across
oceans & continents to be for a few hours
us in fact we in fact
may find the secret or we may find
emptiness at the core the red
pulse of glitch
but whatever
comes i am ready
to acknowlege the power
of the weak force
that binds us.

capacity on a footbrige, 250 lbs

thundrous summer
ions carouse thru skies veins

tumble to thimbling
ground, cupped in a cusp
of becoming.

when we speak i can't get past
you into the clouditudinous vertigo

the industrial sky pushes humidity
to a last stand. we wear this blanket
hidden from the sum.

water baby
i woke up in a sweat
and handed it to you but
you had already taken your sponge,
watercolors, the last of the brandy
and a lick of salt to the coral reef.

from my vantage point it looks as if you're
conducting an orchestra.

i woke up in a daze , went to stick
pinfeathers in the glaze you'd
put on the chiffarobe, but you were
floating on it, imagine that, in the middle
the pool, with your spf 30.

you, me, the water.
distance never felt so far.