tryin to de sake-fy

yellin at you
for what you can't help

you can try many paths to poetry
dark wooded, thru the blossoms, stony
steep, on an unmitigated beach,
flamenco on the rise.

it's not fair what i do to you
but it makes up for the past


la guitarre on the half shell
minarets in the distance mere reflections
in the passing sky scraper of
the tale told by an idiot.




there's drum outside, scant playering
and performance direction. the neglection
word on the radio, resurrection perfection.

we got the isms from a prism of hands
they split the light with a diamond you pulled
from your six gun.



you're in a different detergent zone.
comedy is black, pretty laughter
in the twitterscape. we need light
and granules of the thing that happens
when u fail at living alone.

trafffic patterns captured in a whorl, barcelona
castles, the bells of st. cecelia. forsaken for a kiss.
nothing you can own. give it up. you don't like me
on sake cuz the truths mix and grip.





the songs come clearly or slight.
music we could have made trickling
like a veil across the moon--gearing
into the space i
opened for us. too bad you
decide it's not time --clapping
stones in hercules passage
have a frequency that won't wait.
the little drums
remain nebulous as a secondhand.

remember analog? time smacked gently
into tomorrow morning where a new
interest is interested.

india is directly opposite
latitude wise. you ask for patience
maybe forgiveness or something like a path
into and out of where you are.

there's nothing i can do,for you
but i'd like you to understand my flesh
is a curdled ignition
and someone has the key.