Unregistered User
(12/4/01 10:12 pm)
Reply tangles
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i don't wanna rape
my daughter splay her wide here
but she just don't understand
why she's so fucked up. i remember the curse
of my mother.
i love you mom
i hope einstein was right and time can travel in two
directions. maybe she's hearing i love you mom
echo in a deja vu kind of way
as i stand there screaming at her
for getting me out of bed cos the school bus
is across the street, waiting for me. she leaned
out the door and asked
the bus driver to wait now i gotta rush not even brush
my hair my teeth and climb on the bus
where no one speaks to geeks
like me so fuck em,
let em wait.
the blue streak in her hair is not as blue
as her dead brown eyes she practiced faking
mean tuff fifteen for two months after the divorce.
you all know how it goes if you're not going
thru it now you hugged it like a pillow
to your empty heart sometime.
aaii-yup
last no moon was on the edge
hair pull knife slappin wrestlin knife she
got a knife as much as i hated my daddy and he beat
on me a lot i never pulled no knife. maybe i should
a beat on her, some.
i should get her yellow roses. i should get her daisies.
i've been thinkin how love died
in my heart for her daddy and how it was so easy
to tell him-- no more. finally after twentytwo
years he gave me roses for my birthday without
me having to ask. by then i wanted wild
flowers. she told him, too. after i told him
goodbye how he filled
the house with all the flowers he missed
surprised that i cried. surprised
i still couldn't stay.
i told him this: our love is like the bitter
oranges drying in the sand out back and you and i know
why. you may think you're reborn
and believe you can be- i have hopes you will be
but your face is carrying the karma of the man
you say is dead. and that man leeched me dry.
it's the little things that end up pissin you off the petty
inconsiderations so i hope next woman you
promise to put a handle on the door
you don't make her wait three years.
Unregistered User
(12/4/01 10:41 pm)
Reply love
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the long
vertical blinds
twist in the wind rattle
her bones and long red hair. she waits
for him.
Unregistered User
(12/4/01 5:10 pm)
Reply love and rose
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
she stood with her hands on her hips
shouting at bobby as he jumped the bridge she didn't
see the bungee cord wrapped round
his ankles so when he
disappeared over the side she wailed and wailed
until she heard a disembodied voice
calling her name rose it said rose and what with
the new moon overhead and her love newly dead
she was certain it was a ghost she even saw
the mist rising over the steel beams
in a shape so much like bobby's
it made her stop in mid wail like the way her
rose hips nestled in the salad
of early greens she brought to the church
picnic stopped
all the conversations around then the congregation discussed the appropriateness for the family
oriented affair of the recipe she copied from
cooking for love
no one's eyes but bobby's
gleamed he liked the pink fuzzy things peeking
from under the skirts of green he whispered
in her ear and that's when she knew
the book wasn't wrong
but when the ghostmist bobby stopped
her wailing she heard his
not so ghostly voice coming from
way below
where she stood in the middle
of the rusted old bridge so she crept over
to the edge and saw him there, 3 feet
above the water and instead of untying
the cord she left him danglin by the fingernail
moonlight.
Unregistered User
(12/4/01 3:50 pm)
Reply at work pome
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
there rose a rose under pale moon
coveted by love. she plucked him
beat his petals velvety flat
with her knife cut
them round as her face and burned
the shavings. as the perfume
rose in the night sky she thought she was discovered
and hid under an oval stone pushing
his many layers into her mouth
volcanos stretched and spewed rose red
lava across the surface of the moon
auroras burst through nebulous
to become footprints in peat
where the rose had grown. the moon
searched the garden but her rose
vanished as she looked.
love emerged from the stone
and shuffled her feet under moons glare
hung her head in slave's defense
her burps, perfume.
Unregistered User
(8/22/02 12:31 am)
Reply momma
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
died sometime in these wee hours
23 years ago today, august 22 she was just turned
40 but my daddy says 39
as if perpetual youth still hangs
on her riddled bones i always thought
i would die before forty maybe that's why i stayed
with my ol man, and i called him that
to his face
my ol man he thought it was
endearment but that's ok he called me momma and until
his breakdown
i thought that was in dearment too but that's another
story i was talkin about my mom
and how she was experimental a rare cancer
for the doctors they flew her to bethesda
research center for the cure when that didn't hold
she and daddy did
laetril in mexico while
they were away my older sister, donna, was hit
by a motorcycle after a lengthy
hospital stay a stint in a nursing home what with
momma all cancerous
and in recovery she coudn't
nurse anyone donna died of a brain
anuerism alone
in the hospital with tubes running
through her body to keep it
alive so the doctors could take momma
and daddy out of the greentinted photograph
hallways the lights
at midnight muted by reflecting dark
glass whisper healthy young organs
murmur those in need
she was 17 but didn't remember
any of her friends past the age of 12
and anyway her brain was dead now momma had 2
years to wait
for silence to seep into her so profoundly
it rendered her mute 2 years until their bed
at home, morphine
bottle on the nightstand beside it,
received her final stain.
tang
Unregistered User
(8/13/02 12:23 am)
Reply bit
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
what a peach
what a pair
what a drupe of hot air
a fuzzy skin
a ripened sin
a minus in the stare.
what a pimp
what a gimp
what a dicklickin limp.
what a shame
putting blame
on the one that you maim.
Unregistered User
(7/2/02 2:08 pm)
Reply seesaw
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the sound of a confident man bereaves me.
the hours we must put in to survive.
tell me that you understand, that
you have been
on both sides of the balance.
it's hard to say
which is more difficult,
the push or the pull.
yes
Unregistered User
(11/7/02 2:42 pm)
Reply she is--
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
on the walk after the banyan
tree climb she demonstrates yoga
for me, a long slow
slide to the ground,
back arched like an irish bridge
head touching calves
i imagine
myself under those hips again
right now
in front of everyone
on the street .
Unregistered User
(12/27/02 2:33 pm)
Reply melancholera
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i could hate
take ecstatic pain
and burn it brickhard
build the wall past
could not get past
but the matchstrike flares
in me i choose
to run tears thru such flame
casmadpopup
Unregistered User
(8/27/03 3:10 am)
Reply parasession
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
there's spies outside
with gold plated pens
& lighters inside and cameras
everywhere. they're stealin my
bandwidth, casinos like vegas with a popup
it is a popup.
he's writing again
and it's about blood and all this rain
despite scandanavian bruises -
the fade of smash. a head wound
tied to home invasion. he keeps calling me
asking me to join him but i
just can't. i don't trust words much.
or my body. the cinch of lips before kiss
or pucker of tabloid living.
i hear a noise at the glass
door, grab a handful of adrenaline
prepare to defend.
poetesque
Unregistered User
(8/1/03 9:34 am)
Reply pms
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the quietitude of crowd
nestled in your heart
tears remove mascara best
they should bottle it.
i realize i never really had you
only your instructions
to yourself
over and over i fractal
the circumstances. light blonde
wood. ice blue skies. the color
of your need. the suckling
babe i was. you never meant
to be a mother. but you did fine.
it's me who doesn't want
to leave home. it's me who doesn't want
to make one. today i could
sleep until i dream ofyour arms
then fall into the void
of where you once stood.
rocklike, vertebrate,
you the river, me the oarsman
pretending i'm only flowing down.
you're past me now, stick
with me. a frog a fairy
tale the only forever
i forever wanted
closed pages of a finished book.
i rewrite the scene
but it always, always
ends the same. in the box
of crayons, i search
for the color of gone.
casinomadnesspopup
Unregistered User
(8/27/03 3:05 am)
Reply inversion
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
inversion
and if i'm jesus
then what are you?
nailed to something more
than a cigaret ash. a dennis
quartet. a redwood run
and golden skylite. don't make me
want. i'm used to sleeping alone
dont make me want unless
you're coming home.
yes, i lied. i do that.
i'm a goddamn saint
not a poet.
csmiapop
Unregistered User
(10/6/03 10:57 am)
Reply empty
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the glass half full
and i dump the rest
out on your feet
cuz i don't want you drinking
anything with me. i like
the taste of beer
when my head's dogtail low
and the cadaver of what i loved
rises in the atmosphere,
fetidly calling me to happy
hour solace; a barstool of fuckoff
and a glass of nothing
like we ever were.
safe
Unregistered User
(11/20/03 3:00 am)
Reply keeping
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
it wasn't what Sweet said but how he said it
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Before the word is was light
then tone and in tone lay seed
lies the seed of what is and will be meant
as defined as is by God as what was and as will be
and it is as the moment rises to meet you
will be is and was up to you to find the right word
and the way to release its tone correctly
thereby expressing your secret name as it was
and your sorrow that is for all death...your own in particular
“…"Get thee back, O thou Eater of the Ass, thou abomination of the god Haas who dwelleth in the underworld. I know thee, I know thee, I know thee. Who art thou? I am................."…”
…
...
first time Sweet died
the moon was fixed to the roof of another house by a string of small crystals
leeching over a memory of mine that the sun had already made pale
a once flowery violet bleached by phases to mauven slips
more and more a creeping pastel
finally spilling a de-tinted trail of powdered milk
and glass chips leading away
from not a shred of evidence that there’d been any colour
who would ever know an iris had grown invisible by his side
unable to resist the draw of his claws as they contracted
ridged round once vigorous jade stems and blades
that grew brittle at grasp and flaked away
so he held less and less as he pulled closer to death
“I am the Lord of Thy Mouth…”
as he withdrew all breath with his last clench
i bled my final fluid moons over him
bathing his body with filaments of invisible vows
using my mouth for my hands were bound
by his constricting last wish
to be rootless
but we were
eternally tied
and my roots his
…
in white linens physicians
in black vestments priest and assistants
anointed Sweet with oils of arithmetic
coating him in bitter myrrh
and fine balms of crushed amber and amethyst
in math to prepetual
re-creating a likeness of him
a ghost over a icon i burned a handful of ephemera
scattered seed from a gauzy shroud
until i lost count
when it was time i followed his coffin
where he was not
but his body pulled by six black horses
that were not his
nor their eyes that were cut from them
so they wouldn’t see
their heads bleeding glossy red masks
weaving in pain
leaving a trail of vermilion
leading to smaller and smaller circles
lost
i had to lead them home
were I though Sweet would be waiting
“…”I fly like the mighty one, I cackle like the smen goose, and I alight upon the beautiful sycamore …”…”
to your tomb i thought to find you by the path were we’d first spoken of this
where home would be through the small door of death we had prepared
past 21 buoys on a celestial sea
and 15 more doors to houses that weren’t ours
but that we might have claimed
that hadn’t existed since before us and all time invented
since before the moon ever hung from a thought of a roof
before a roof ever was house then home
through the 7 halls where 7 prior reincarnations of Isis and Ishtar sat weaving
threads strung with moon’s looms tethered to crystal peaks
their bright facets bleaching violet from 7 rainbows
lying upside down like flung horseshoes on emerald fields
this was close enough we knew
we said
we planned and prepared
this would the promised home
where we'd meet
“…”Tell me my name.”…”
not a soul
I left the seven horses blinded to pasture there
and would have stayed with them this felt enough like home is
as what we'd said
but without you a field
an empty house
so I went on alone
by leg and thigh further
where the hell
where the hell were you
“…’I know the abysses’ is thy name. …“
i came upon
where Sweet in his hell was
waiting for me
in his beyond
unrecognizable vast
leprous
his soft skin that use to envelope my world
stretched to four ends
an unfolded field of open sores
and at each a small beast took a meal of him
and by turn disgorged Sweet’s own self
back into him
lines of them
his mouth overflowing
pouring himself out
“…”I have not wrought evil.”…”
“…”I have made no one weep.”…”
his body swayed as if suspended
the breath of two out-stretched arms with a moon at both ends
as if un-raveling and binding up knotted strings of lightening
discharging from him i could smell his flesh burn
“…“Oh my heart, rise not as a witness against me.”…”
but couldn’t feel the heat
for this was Sweet’s hell not mine
and i couldn’t stay
when he died the next time and the next
i stayed behind
lay on the bed letting the cold stiff sheets seep into me
examining the concept of home away from home
along the lines of umbilical cords
letting him go
his six horses now knew the way home
as did Sweet
but in his far ahead
in his dreams going too far and too fast
for his love of flight
Sweet wouldn’t go home many times
many times
he chose hell
I know thee, I know thee, I know thee. Who art thou? I am................."…”
Edited by: nove
nove
Registered User
(11/20/03 12:19 pm)
Reply ..
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
thank you oh great gatherer of things ephemeral.
you flatter me.
and yet. i would like to take this verse that's now locked and shake alot of fluff out of it. maybe shake it hard enough for it to disappear. at best, it's something like the first draft of a couple dozen.
nevertheless, thanks, thanks, and thanks.
here, have a pizza pretzel
x
n
seasonal
Unregistered User
(11/24/03 1:24 pm)
Reply affective disorder
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
it does no good to write to you
who doesn't listen, who prefers
to be elsewhere. so i won't. i just
send this out because it struggles
against abortion. one thing
i thought
about- love, and how it takes patience
or really how it takes knowlege or how
it takes acceptance or trust
something that it takes
but from what? take, not give?
ok then, how it gives all these as well.
lowering down the lip
of the well, i can hear her wispy
on the edge of consciousness
if we dig the earth from around her
she will slip into collapse.
fire is no rescue, it's a transformation
and i burn. infatuated with little
else but the need to be a jones,
you are mine & i am
a 12 step program.
i don't want to wake up thinking of you.
but in a dream one morning, i hear you snore.
the gravelly sound of i love yous
pour through it.that nite i think you
whispered lets see if
what
you think is real, let's
see how close i am to the edge
of your cliff.
mine? i wouldn't be
here without you.
i'm tired already of courting
some idea of you.
i know which side of the scale
tilts in gravity
and which side holds the bird.
reasonal attitude
Unregistered User
(11/24/03 5:19 pm)
Reply disorder
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
oh sure
give and take
make-up
made-up in the fictionalized version where
snow white wakes up
but where
are the dwarfs and their little house
where's the sweet squirrel and deer helping
white clean up fictionazlied mess?
who you spoke to boo?
was it some disney ghost of love
whose body left you
but not your walt haunt
not where you live there by anehiem
vaulted up
a soul what won't leave the soul's old abode
a bodee
a boday
jumped
gaunt as
happy holiday
all the frocliking in a single bar of a jingle
in the commerical for fred meyer's turkey
oh _this_ is how it's done
all ye faithful
and hark
what gay boughs
wreaths
pears
tree and a part
parsed ridge with sprig of ubiquitous parsely.
oh silly you
how well done it is
how do you measure done
by patience and thermometer?
i do it in groups of five
five fingers
five years
ten fingers
ten years
15 pounds
add the toes
so patience untill five winds into decades
sews this patchwork of seasonal woes
up to twenty back and forths of the oven door
see-saw see-saw
oh please turkey skin
please crackle some more
stuffing
the festival of obligations comes everyday
my feast day once every 35 years
and my birthday
buried by scoops of five
hurried minutes of shoveling
off and over a madeline usher's pale as a virgin
oh shush her parted lips her unmarred brow
don't wake the dead
from some briefly imagined holiday past
i know
the same problem every year
where to put the seven dwarfs who were so good to you once
but oh how they sneeze and droop and fart and blush and get grumpy and bashful by turns and by starts and sleepy on every chair and couch in the house and you just got the one spare futon and the feet how the stink from the little booties covered in squirrel and deer poop and the washroom oh if they'd only consider flushing once in a blue like once very 50 years and put the towels back on the rack and if they'd only come just that often like as you would count to ten five time by earth years you could rent a suite at the Carlton for them and ...so yada on yada in some fictionalized version of somebody's life....no not mine
boo
Unregistered User
(11/24/03 6:37 pm)
Reply joo
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
guy pan.
i speak to the fictionalized
ritual of science, chemistry and over
reaction, the gone of nuance, and phone
calls that never work out. i don't speak
anymore to absentia, dementia is my companion
wearing a sidecar and a tutu.
hutus and their genocides, fruitcakes
and their candied cherries, cycling in a late november
moonscape or taurus or other horned animal.
torn he says, torn. yea tho i walk thru the valley
of needle blue sky river, tearing into the south
of sow and soughing vines, a slough of born
yesterdays and always words words words
behaving as if they are life,
i fear nothing as much as the evil i do
unaware. forgive me a thousandth time-
encroaching on a nest of fire ants. pay
the soldier who stung my toe in goodly money,
for his life was forfiet. the stinger of bees
and my jealousies. the jalousie of your mind,
baby, i can call you that now can't i?
windows opaque and carelessly silhouetted
with the arc of my back, a vargas girl
in the magazines under daddy's bed, you read
it for the articles, yeah and me you read
for the wow, but how bout now you close the book
cos you're not buying it
and the store is blinking its lights that means
closing time. open late till xmas but it's late, now
and i want to go home. cash or credit
in lieu of what the girl really wants.
tortelli
Unregistered User
(11/24/03 10:16 pm)
Reply pasta!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
what she really wants
should i care
would you about what would i
if i had wants like ordinary guys faux
fox let's say peanuts in a plastic bowl
shelled at an open house
just bought but the lights is out
nobody there but a dear wee ghostie
and the dear
the little dear is
let's call the dear bambi and since bambi is a boy
lets say bambi's is mentally shopping for a GI joe
and a how to book on karate
chapter one
aaaaaiiiiiieee
masterful calling on upon the spirits of the
brick-chopping hands one flat one a fist
smack just like this
now pose
clack-clack against the metal rack
legs apart as big a threat as you can stretch
puffin chest
shoulders back
and the little GI Joe
holy mackeral would youlook at that
he cuts the plastic twist-ties from around his ankles and his wrists with his little seregated rubber knife and
runs a crouching dash to your exposed and naked feet
and fixed in a stance and slash and slash
your ankles bleed
and then as you about to timber down
a more through attack upon your toe
a mighty X he makes
the GI Joe and sucks the poison
like a ho
and
yes
saviours come in little sizes
open eyes that never move or blink
but 8 bends and heros big in their poses
dreaming of black belts and the newly crippled
lying helpless slimeballs and villans like a ring of crime
crushed and mangled to petals
of some that's for sissies flowers oh yeah
daises pnasies and the like
we run disguised
as girls and boys
in camoflaged tutus deep in Joesph Conrad country
shrinking heads
and threading jung lips to freudian chins
then dancing the watusi cause it use to be hip
like the 60's never ended but what else new has started
friend
i'm losing 35 years of reality in 12 months
allow me
one science fiction
one harequin romance
one fashion magazine
and a bag of peanuts
in a plastic bag
and i'm on my way
see
a wave
look the bare knuckle
look the empty palm
buckle up
mama's got a bonzai to cut
aaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
shroom soup
Unregistered User
(11/25/03 9:20 am)
Reply kewl & me, i'm
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i misremember what you said
about those poles, dancing in the alley like
black kittenish mcdonalds how she
and you were finished how you and she were
finished but you"re not, best friend. best friend.
you take a plane to new york, your old block
waits for you, business in the day, bwaba jones
at nite. light the spliff, play a riff, tell them
about the swamps and the birds, no, don't-
it's a malaise of chirping to go here.
in paragraphs of porno you watch erotic
and tease. it's easy to forget me, you do it
all the time. and me, i can't get you
can't can't get through to you or maybe i'm
like an inuring blast from videocast.
so you pump iron and write to metal
nettle me workless, shirtless
i want to bare it all for you but
u say here's a dollar baby, you can
leave your clothes on. and me, i 'm walking
in the door, walking in the door, walkin in the door
blinded by the replay, the snaking move of your mouth.
so i eat to keep from smoking, add pounds
to taylor durden, blow the skyline mild high
a lugey in your shroom soup, enjoy the cream
cram it down keep it down don't let the grill bit you.
you don't know what i'm saying more
than have the time and me, i got the 14.50
an hour blues, a macadamia cookie, paperwork
and the memory of paranoia to placate me.
the superclean machine scoops the poops
it just does why say it any other way
you step out of the way and me i
get sucked in again, best friend.
crackers
Unregistered User
(11/25/03 8:37 pm)
Reply thanks
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i got the gift in the mail
a sleeveless fleece vest
with the logo 'best friend'
misplet post fiend
and that's cool
cause when i put it on and zip it up
no matter what it says it keeps me warm
even at the pole and it's polar opposite.
pool
a cold day for a swim
but the lovers are at it again
i got some warm words for young lovers
that they haven't heard
but they're so into it
they cut both ears off
not listening
to anything but their
heartspeak of bleeding thump-thump
and their tongues
as they go under for the third time
so i crumble the words
and sprinkle constanents and vowels
on the snow for the birds
that veryday faithfully
swoop their little chickadee selves beaks and all
take as many i'e and e's and k's and p' and l's and q's
as they please
oh yeah
i feed the birds
but they don't consider me their friend
and i am not such a bird-brain that i consider them mine
oh no
we be all free babies
here go fly cause i almost felt your warm body in my hand
yiles! that was close
almost loved a ghost of a oh winged thing
shoo shoo into the bush with you
you amorphism
i know what you said
how you said it
why you said it
the bare bone of it
but i don't care
i don't take bones from your re-past
don't re-dress them in doll flesh
i don't play with your discarded body parts
just glean what seeds i find in free fields
handfuls i half-cook
gritty starchy
not enough to keep a bird alive
but i feed the birds
my soul
so small a thing
fits in the cup of an inherited poison ring
dies a prolonged death breathing in arsenic residue
traces of powder left by the one before me who
wore
a
....
and
left to bide there oh soul!
- entombed -
oh spare me!
another horror story
in the offing
i can feel your bones dropping on me
tell me
and i'll confess my trouble was
is
not as bad as your's
your misery is worse
your sadness spills it's niagara's
daming farms and small towns
that's how great your sorrow is
the Nile and the Amazon entwine
but your sorrow reduces them to streams
your sorrow is the seven seas on caseiopida and the burning oceans of the sun couldn't dry they up but drown
your sorrow aflame
all the trees depressed about it
loose their leaves
stars in the precence of your sorrow dim
the poop-scoopers in the suburburbs still
in urban centers clocks fall off the walls
mine in comparison
a heck of spit
a bubble of phlem
ah pardon me post fiend
for even thinking
John, dear, that the P in your moniker stood for pussy
when i see P was a chickadee's tricky dialect
[half a cracked seed away from catalonian]
meaning PeeK meaning in chickadee parlay eeeek!
meaning that's not kitten you keep in your pocket Mr. John P.K. - that's a damn fat hair-ball is all
splint level
Unregistered User
(11/28/03 12:16 am)
Reply architecture
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
you need to write on the metal
soon or these last rays of manhood
dim down into the crank you thought might kill you
doctors and their lazer tags, a dullish meal
beamed under bridges begging for escape.
you've never driven the jetlagged undersides
of trash bin fireplaces, placed your frazzled frozen fingers
into a cliche of bum. you were never a prophet
only observer. always coming home for more.
party at your house and if you're hip enough
mr cruise, u just might get the girl. problem is
you won't know what to do with her. fucking
on trains is risky business for a permanent
record, stats and oscars aren't won in porn
birthed at the cop shop. shop smart , shop often.
so you fuck her to keep from feeling, her red hair
spreads like a sneaker pimps virus thru the moneyed
hip. she wants the residuals, never mind the gilden man.
she wants a piece of your action. sends you messages
tattooed to clouds. sounds like piracy under ambien.
don't forget your dose of zythromax. you think
escape. think velvet handcuffs and shaved torsos.
the sound of ski, cutting ice, on a two mile
downhill, and the rubbery feel of your legs
robbed of endurance. she is so much less
than all of this. pocket pool in a trailer park.
the delicate slide of armeggedon, down your pole.
idstaff
Unregistered User
(11/29/03 8:42 pm)
Reply invidious
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In*vid"i*ous\, a. [L. invidiosus, fr. invidia envy. See Envy, and cf. Envious.] 1. Envious; malignant. [Obs.] --Evelyn.
2. Worthy of envy; desirable; enviable. [Obs.]
u tell me i'm not
worthy when i mention obsession
what u mean is
don't.
go there. don't. obsolete like the personals
i put in the mail, postmark: hang tuff.
postmark: dead end.
postmark: not returned, unopened.
i don't wonder what you're doing.
the concept of doing. anything. today
this morning, someone in your city
wants to talk. to me. he runs with bears
and bulls but mostly bears. i grab him
by his nothing and hit an x. closed. down.
you're melon on the plate. inviting cool green
and legless salamander. waffle into the leverage
buy out a big fat green one. they all know
what's going on, they rarely care, really.
i told her about you. she rolled her eyes.
justifiable. when r u gonna wake up
and give me a boot? all i know is i miss
u like something i never had. can't wait
till i don't have u again.
staghorn fern
Unregistered User
(12/4/03 2:54 am)
Reply patience is a moniker
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
oh monkey monkey grab the branch
go canopy over to imbecilic
and rat wasted. post the junkie
junkie the choir next. i'm in church
listening to a swear mon, and the tall man
in the blue suit leans over to me
with a plate in his eye. passes the buck.
call me he says, i was thinkig of amsterdam
in december. huh, and me without a passport.
decent cheese
Unregistered User
(12/4/03 4:59 am)
Reply havarti
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
so it's you
your the one
got him in a
oh that's good for you
nice too
true love
i love it like i lub lub
and i like you and i like the lubber
but i'm no go'damski go'dmother
with angel's wings but smaller
i don't have the fates' forecast
for you just the weather news
big wind warning
hurricane style
button down the whole west coast
hold on
you two you come sexual
but i'm not coming contextual
to your oft-postponed wedding
not without a gaurantee of at least 6 feet
of living breathing flesh
and a nice suite at the ramada
with a complimentary bowl of fruit
not likely is it
yeah my nemises got my by the throat
sent me a dead preacher in a boat
i nearly choked
he said i could take as a warning or a threat
i liked his choice of epitat
"she had her nine good lives"
let's gut the damn cat
so here i'm tied, hands legs ankles the whole bit
i've been left on the south bound track
there's an orient express due any minute now
my world is down to some expanse of rail and one fucking villian gone now a good two hours
help help i plead telepathically cause the mouth's full of the villian snotty hankerchief
so the heavens above in a pique send the fussiest window dresser in the world
and he kneel beside me
me i'm just lying there
tide that waits for no an
tied to the iron binding
i'm desperate for a good word and a good deed
and the window dresser he says, you know lady if you got a decent cut and a manicure lost a pound or two and re-decorated our room i could get helmut netwon to do a shoot and whoooo whoooooo i can hear the whistle warning
is it dianah
j[ust me losing my mind]
dresser he's taking about the last spread and he doesn't mean margerine and i can't say a word in edgewise due to the gag and edgewise
well.
so what you're telling me is
there's not a single person in the world that's over six feet tall? I should just drop dead?
ok. thanks for checking
i'll sent some monogramed bedding and my copy of the wedding singer starring the barrymore kid and the nothing fazes him comic what's his name and i'll make my last will settle my affairs [i wish] ...
hope you'all live long long and happy in prosperity
blend your 15 kids from your seven aabbreviated marriages
i've had my nine
lives
oh the days of them
son'ofabitch
he either wants me mad or dead/
amsterdam...
honkkonk
newyork
bombay
jamestown
winnipeg
toronto
bogata
montevideo
mombassa
capetown
brisbane
you name the town and i ain't got a single friend in it
and the fact o'dat on some days
is just enough to help me through another day.
you know he with the plates in his eyes, reminds of a fella i once knew had pewter plate in his skull put in ona kinda he loved to serve...me?
I used to love to lob
until
and one in his
oh an i don't mean golf.
on a wheat
Unregistered User
(12/4/03 10:52 am)
Reply thin
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
no no u got it all wrong
i told him/her/it.
i'm not a for sale sign in the red window
i'm not exchanging exechequer for liquor
or even a bit o irish greenmint spring
christmas trees? o christ.
there's no weddings white or otherwise
in the future, i bb practice a tartette
slalom on the internet, find patience to be a hard
sell. well, that and the idea of actually
beginning. to. well. anything by lurve, love.
the price tag's unwritten so it must be un
affordable. in any language in any country
he could walk up to me but he doesn't
he just doesn't. i'm beginning to thomas his
existence. in fact, let me at them, these
writer's of grimmness,
these cinderfellers marketers.
i'll show them a girl with a depression
in the middle of her day, teening a romeo
tristaning an isolde, deep black earning blank
and never needing to share a three to a seat
ain't that neat, no speaking anywhere, deferment
neat and caystic, you bought it?
you paid for it, sooner and later and all the months
and years and lives of atom spin. the mole
in the bottle and molecules to solder
make a whole thing new again
sweet, like a baby's eye
before
dye
.
knowlege
Unregistered User
(12/30/03 4:39 pm)
Reply if u know the future y live thru it?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tears wracking up like pencil marks
across a ticker tape. truth, truth, dare.
when you left the bed last nite,
my mind told my heart beware.
walking u say, that's what i need
well y not, i reply, you've got some seed
of despair in you, i can feel it, weed.
weak, weakly, you push, you push the feed
8 x 8 cling, you begin to wake
and a fool of me, you'll surely make,
tho no more than i make of myself
before i become the gravid shelf
from which you'll flee, horror stricken
you'll wonder if i am a wiccan
casting spell on you, now lifted by kiss
of fair maiden- i'm not. a frog, not bliss.
wakeup
Unregistered User
(5/22/04 1:18 pm)
Reply cotton
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the mist of the morning
rises from puddles of anti freeze
recycled sprinkler ponds
in the middle of the parking
lot. the black tar
hardened and keeping our tires
safe. suvs gleam in the sunrise.
tall and proud. nfl gladitorial
and a skull on bones
waving in the early acrid breeze.
lynze
Unregistered User
(6/26/02 8:19:13 am)
Reply i have a scar
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
it's on the outside base
of my pointer finger. i've worn it since i was
nineteen, a talisman and a reminder
of how i blind myself to the way
cuts occur and heal.
the night it happened i was wooing
my man. cooking and cleaning
like the woman i didn't want to be.
the glass fell apart as i twisted my hand
inside it, sudsy slick i didn't even notice
until the water turned pink, until the two halves
revealed themselves one in my left
hand one razored into my skin.
he slept full of my fried spell
i shook him and spots of blood
pools of blood splatters of blood
marked the floor beside him. his eyes
opened wild jesus christ what the fuck you doin
you trying to kill me?
prescience or memory.
it doesn't matter now.
i ignored the signs.
dear dad,
mom is at me again. she says mi abuela
her madre, not yours, needs a television
not the one in the basement. she's
got to wheel her down there every afternoon
to watch the novelas. dad,
couldn't you send her some money, just enough
to buy a used tv from the pawn
shop or something? i mean, that's a dangerous
trip, and what if mom ends up needing
a back operation and we all end up in court again?
i can't stand to go over there
anymore all they do is talk about money money money
and what a rotten shit you are they seem to for
get all the years you gave to them
when even i could see that you felt dead and trapped
but she did clean offices all those nights
and all that work she did for you so
you wouldn't have to hire extra
staff....isn't that worth a tv?
just a used
one?
dear daddy,
i hate
to bother you
with this
but could
you send some
of the money from the asthma
treatment reimbursments
i ran out of food
yesterday and mom
brought me
beans & rice but what
i'm really hungry
for is a steak
and since i'll
be twenty next week
i was hoping
for enough money to buy
a london broil
and a bottle of wine.
please don't say i only
want money from you,
please don't tell
me that again.
i wish you would come
visit me at school
next week
and we could
blow out
my candles
together
dear daddy.....
organism
the sky is gray, wrinkled, flaky-
an eczema of water.
sunlight fades to a pale yellow,
nearly as gone as the Dollar Store
sign. it flickers on the edge
of the strip mall where diners in bucs jerseys
and loose sweats parade through Ryan’s
All U Can Eat plate glass doors,
heading for comfort distilled, steam trays
and tvs. a woman sits
in a red toyota,
lights one cigarette from another,
fills the car with the sky's colors.
she's back inside a beach house with her lover
where they blew smoke that curled
like surf in the still winter air,
turned gold in slatted slices
of sun, drifted gray
below the light.
traffic sounds, jets become muffled
at dusk, headlights
take on mass as the sky’s
edges blush.
seven blackbirds reel out,
form a wire,
follow the leader to a stretch
where the hum is better. one almost flies
on, banks sharply left,
then settles. there's only one
yellow now.
stars blink on.
Unregistered User
(10/26/01 1:36:27 pm)
Reply you speak of god
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
you speak of god
as if there's something to hold
onto besides the play of shadows
and light sparkling yr eyes.
come light the wood-
the orange wood and palm
fronds we've collected from the back
yard-with this lighter, this flint, this burning book.
i brought marshmallows. find a stick
and burn them black
or toast them brown and crusty
and melted inside to a goo
that holds your lips in an mmmmmm.
and the darkness that wags its tale
at the corners of the flames is the guest
you thought you'd rather not see. to your surprise ,
you find yourself holding the out the stick
with the most perfect sweet tonight.
the teeth are sharp, breath hot and stinky
like the dog's , like fire, burning
low as the fuel collapses.
