double archiving. can't find you

trashpo
ezOP
(5/28/07 12:00 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del All

puttin up walls

system of a down waterfall
is the quintessential reality song.
epiphanies in metal jacket.

arials in the sky
when you lose small mind
you free your life.


so i take a toke
of freedom, my mind gets large
enough to hold the dual rocks of desire
and bang them on my fingers.
bang fingers on the keys.


mothra, i loved you. the way you respond
to their songs. hirramirria, san gassa no. your
primary plexiglass colours, flakes carrousing about
as you tear the heads of godzilla tunes, gorilla moons
nama to nango risha. this is why i mutate
and return over and over to your little island
a beast to outline your beauty.



but mothra i want to be released. my bones
ache from metamorphasis, an isis tired of gathering
her mate, a bee weary of pollen.


i want to swim in the gulf of mexico
with full fins. a blowhole in my pouch. i want
a sail with full wind duct taped to my mouth
my hott breath.

i want a bad limerick to mate with a bad rhyme
make tyme a thing encased in polyvinyl chloride
or amber if you chose. i need a new moisturizer.
a jungle crash, a stash of cash i need i want i need
your sweet coccoon. you , um...were'nt gonna use
it anymore were you?





































so yeah sometimes jack
when i write i do lose this packet of skin
and even tho i'm aware of it
i'm not
of
it.
and i kinda like that.
that ever happen to you?





























brazil, i
wanted to hold you
but you carried a blow torch
everywhere you went. never
put it down, not even
to tie your shoes. said you were
on call
and i just had to live with the fact
that at any moment you wouldn't be back.

no wait, i said that.
you merely pointed the torch
at the nearest unsung metal
and melted the knot.

































i keep hearing garbage trucks
but it's a holiday. it's why i have time
to be cloistered in my violet room
with the shades drawn sun quiet
boys in the next room destroying the old
telephone stand with wax and fire.

how i need time to pass enough
for getting to salt water where i can
scratch my feet into the sand
and begin a sculpture again.


i could be cleaning.
i could be sweeping and laundry
and things i'd pay a maid to do were i rich
things i live without since i'm not.
\\hmmmmm. maybe
that is the valley i need to walk thru right now.

lose self in how.
what a concept. wow.






begining with iron

---

it rusts, oxidizes to the color of dried blood

on lips full of sacrifice. the sacrificial knife

stained with time's leavings. sharpen it

to wit, a throat exposed and giving

skin on skin and living\lost in time, a shriving.




















lay down next to me, a hindrance to be

overcome this space between us with a feather

lost from flight, an entrance into night

no wrongs to set aright/ until we see in different light.


















































































the red planet the planet of individualism

the symbol for male, dominance, the ram with a knife

in his hand. you were ruled by this

until they found an icier place to put you, lonely

and watching the two year dance with a frozen lust.

slowly you move towards the core, trying to become


not one, but the one. you hate it when i get all esoteric.





i'm looking for a healing ointment

a balm to soothe these self inflictions.

i try to call up venus but it's morning now

time to get up and grow my own individual snowflake.

the one who is becoming

says to the one who would be seperate

hello. nice to meet you.


how hot the sun's fresh greeting.









they call you evil

but you just come to my heart

differently from the rest. which is the planet

of the judges? o , that would be



a woman upside down,


a faster moving crown

a line drawn in the down

this planet that we found.

they call it tellus.

lolol. they called him thot

what the call is from a semiotic pot.

here have a hit.

you'll understand it better then


or maybe not but it's goodbye zen.




































































































the old one eyed god loosed his first raven

on the world. whomever the bird shat upon

was blessed with intelligence whatever that means

until the cells so honored died. many men

sought the unsheltered places of the realm

where they offered up carrion and other tasty scraps

for the bird then stood sky clad with arms akimbo

waiting for thought's limbo. but their mouths


were closed. their eyes, blinded by the sun's son

as they prayed for the shadow to fall.





the raven for his part laughed as the scraps

fattened him. the little men and their misunderstanding/

under- standing in the rain of his feces- him they looked

like courtiers worshipping fools. he carried their prayers

back to his master who shook his head shuddered his

shoulders then tired of it, tried again. she became a blue


lake with a border, a flattened out red spot on a the face

of jupiter who always hated that name and her mother's

sense of unnatural proportion which landed it on her--

she of the strawberry on her cheek, tatooed by a goddess

on her day of birth, lunging in the woods of oregon

between trees which forbade any blade. the way she



hugged the bark was sinuous the way she called the lark

abstentioumous the panels in her heart redemptionless


closed to all but those fools, sensuous. the old man loosed

his second raven, wanting some word of the scene.

but she and her children had eaten them all

and covered themselves with sound of green.





















































you know what i mean?




























































you will

always be my


star, individual

unique snow flake, melting

away



















































































one more hit on the pipe

because here lies danger--




the thought of comfort

in your arms. they're filled



with knives of bronze. a battle

in your skin, becoming in.



i let you go on a daily basis.

your glass so clear, i see



inside the sweet liquer, taste


on my lips. hands on my hips.



let me give you a tip. the smoke

i talk is mirrors waking up. i give you



nothing more than empty cup.

i'll always treat you like a pup



intensify your growing up. does that mean

we stop being children. up is airy, like a faery




godmother you can believe in, caught

in clouds of nether regions, dreams



n stuff for all our seasons. half a cake

turns stale in your mouth the other half



frozen in waiting. take it out,

time's thaw is beginning.






































































































































































he built his fence of iron

on the edge of the dunes

where the breeze from the ocean


could pass thru to his little castle.

built of brick. why a fence

i asked as we walked towards the open

gate. he paused, and leaned against

the flaking post. i like the feel

of metal on my back he said

and passed through. i tried to follow

but he caught the latch and turned his back.

the sun was going down behind him


a rusty stripe down his spine.