Friday, June 11, 2010

Down Town

"Lost and safe"

Almost blooms ride bikes
wear down shoes
with paper sleeves,
knees rubbed known,
on by as parade balloons
blocked streets:
graffiti peck upon foreheads.
Lemon drop
shadows entice,
made most mostly of dust.

Rundowns ask for lighters
set fires, so and “she”
him impart cues with
of the wrist;
watch to what heights this
delight with a doberman
gentle drop—
bears a resemblance
to empty spots in photo books.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Come senses scrape
knee &
curl nec k bac k isses
About neck
thro ugh untied noose
body noodled
ragdolled dolledup Esp
ecially we
t a ‘round’ da muskrat
to o lured
two do oils ejaculate
hits short

Thursday, April 29, 2010

1, 2, 3

With about a box to-go, and coney island sets,
about a wall there rests some remains of the
second, or third to last, of my days: two teacup
kittens and a lion hung from its neck, a collage of
pigeons and limbs (a seashell resembling
its face) and grey, all grey imposed a white
wash slip; two months behind, again, three
times I repeat myself when I wish to be heard (this,
too, is a fragment pinned and crawls along the wall),
my favorite, then: an ex-lover manifesto hides
a banana which smiles, but through his hands
blue smeared marks and dead pots above the fridge,
then a fake bird juts out from a dead forest dry
on my empty dresser. Two animal heads upon the bed,
and finally a printer.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Love is

Love is unknown to a Morning Dove,
Unwanted by a wanton boy in lust,
Unneeded at the knees with a ring,
Unforgotten in the smallest of things.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

The Greatest Gift Hit My Eye

Gaily (would bark?) my love a-tumbling down a wished well—starch
skin, stark:
naked loose leaf
oblong scribbled in dark.
A Turner turned over onside towards winter-numb

thumbs pressed against, stainless volt; from, or after the meal starts,
Trembling tarts
the oval eye rips ripples
(as you were) a splotch,
—danced, goes my line mumbles nothings as signs above a dot.

Birthday lists (firsts of many I’s) notebooks pile higher, adored and
mounts: moans
us (masquerade a busily boy)
with horns as Beelzebub
around a thorn bush kept secretly as pressed to mourn;

a speck about the milky white—which alter? Why, with much
fortune falters
site: imperfect device
in negatives the nightness scolders—
my lens no more as torn by a BB or foam flown inside; order.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010


There is no fear here
ittybitty blondebird

you will perch
again as meaning

does upon a

Friday, April 16, 2010

D no

Wotton mirror, our marriage
as a playnside amidupon his
mistris, the bohemian queen
like nevereverland—wood—
you (framed) ring around the
faggot tree? Nutsnbolts stripped
like a slutty trunk cut too short
toward s the knees. We dis agree.

Monday, April 12, 2010

A Dimly Lit Place

In a lobby of sorts I just happened
to find a hand with no stake under
the wake of a gabbing bunch of drunks,

I, one, also unsure of what knitting
had come undone in your dress,
swore bats escaped from beneath

so the bell could slowly toll over,
while we witnessed (whatever the
opposite of a hole is) unthought lump

sums of tummies unable to consume.
Soon the room came back to, and
bats had taken to attacking the

waitresses with only ears, a warm
unsaid word turned to lifetimes of
abuse; old soul songs recalled to record,

past the rips of the bong. An ashtray
for later, unprotected butts wait in empty
glasses and paper to dissolve those who

were never there (in makeshift wings)
to unravel what (at best or worst) may
potentially reoccur. Now Dawn, again,

has risen the dream undone. Now we
drift in infinite bliss for the moment.
You, too, in the light begin unbeing.

Sketch Start

with a twitchy left eye
stitches coming undone
upper-middle little dreams
and her inseams unravel
a phantasy. lawling out loud
(sarcastically) about some little
uncharacteristic twisting, often
hairs pinched--loosely, beware of
afterthought in retroactive witching.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010


sque de
ly sole
ing a
n eccles
ic leit


Envy, with green—is which lawn?
And roof for fawn, with stroke brush;
a, in sky, across we which with, dawn
of grinds are palette (you’re) upon.
I, my, to apple. Thumb, my: to blister.
On rage, infinite lackluster twister.

The other (ms.) is not

The other (ms.) is not
A lonesome bit—star like
Dust inscribed desk rests
The shores: Fermi in an
Un-cracked nutshell.

Monday, March 29, 2010


You never
sleep anymore
what with
your eyelids
glued to
the break
of another
tail-end day
closed from
swinging doors
singing bored
sticking in
a stone
for too
long upside
down blood
pours of
course to
the head
where all
of the
damage is
done until
an unprepared
young lag
swaggers by
with the
idea that
maybe I
can pluck
you from
whence you
came sheath
you in
rain and
then I
can be
your only
one so
sings the
blade in
replies to
his cries
in a
calm voice
love is
not enough
I’m afraid

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Arrow Left

Bitten frost, the still greener only—lawn the
Upon soaked leaves, dead, the by (unhidden)
Downward head hangs—branches, tree, warbles
She; blade, small, her—with what? Ashes.
Blister, a with wait we. Howl a like unknown,
An of echo the and (dipped hand her has).

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

There’s a shirt reads: Eclipse and a pad for scrawl,
Two smoke stacks puff children by the dozens
And ya’ll are obviously crazy, just listen to that drawl
As we drag a yellow finch through surround sound
Up and down a backwards headlong, up until a
Michigander Cherokee slips a drip of lemon in
The coffee and two creams and a water, again?
Will it be another minute, or would you prefer it
Go directly to the company waste bin? $5.98, plus tip!
And the Hulk’s face deep in dirt in the front yard
Of some middle class family who can’t keep track of idols.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

great release

in a freeing blow)
stricken by lightening, rough
like the stucco of an attic roof
till--departed as a branch
split after the glow; afterthought.
Ward, to
the grief of afterglows. Soft
words slipped under a floral
print sheet retrieved in the
great release.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Plumpfull off winterthumbs
Againstthe afterthought
Ofa pussing springday
Decidedby the lilachalo
Anda pup on yourchin.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Return to Sender

Remember that the end is built in,
Not derived from any senses, but
The end of any sense at the expense
Of an experience. Everything else
Comes from chance encounters, chance
Flounders when it comes to expectation.
The lick of an envelope, shoved into a box
To be sent off elsewhere, where it will be
Received by a less excited party, to then
Get thrown with everything else that’s
Been sitting on the counter. It envelops
Space, until eaten by a can, where forgotten
Materials enjoy the sunlight from the top
Of the trash mountain. Burns in an explosion
Sending off fresh embers. New suns, which
Revisit with a stamp saying return to sender.
Remember, that the end is built in. No accident
That you can’t encourage a greater difference.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Thank you James

Two pills:
the pain of birth
the tear in two
the litter bug nun
to shrug it all off
and a pony to boot.
High nine, a cloud ride.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Blood Orange

She drew a picture of a blood orange, said
sliced, this is your entirety, visibly awake
and blinks in threes. Visibly awake, and misses
something. But inside, unpeeled, waits a squishy
wheel in constant spin. It does not need its other
end. It does not need to stop again. It only needs
a color such as this, to be squeezed and squeeze
and spit seeds into a bin. Spits a sour drop into
a shattered glass and begs and begs for another
passing comment about what an orange is, and
everything that center could possibly have meant.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Un titled

I don’t wanna know what goes on in that ol’ fish bowl.
I don’t even wanna think about the drink, some mix of
beta, gold, iridescent of the overhead lights hung low. Swirls
of small waves. Stunts, only cheap escapes. Motherless conception, at best.
I do wish the ocean held your eyes, and the reflection of
a slow rise on a bitter orange morn. Vast enough to yearn for more.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010


What lack a melody
words. Words kick it
pattern like on tarp.

Foreskin rug of bliss
Wish I hadn't. Hadn't
gotten smoked alone.

Let in wish kin two
brothers bone. Step
back back towards.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

dog god is a sunset god is a

dog god is a sunset god is a little old lady god is flower god is

god dog is a good dog no matter what the color dog is flower

is largely nocturnal and only where populations are relatively

high does one see them frequently in the daytime rarely one

getting fat is the common name for any large member of a family

of rodents the best choice for a new roommate for an adult male

on fire i'll be camping with no circus what's the buzz exclusive

reports gadafy's big tent is no circus august 8 not worth purchasing

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

And that has made no difference

On a back porch lit by embers

a tree tilts and splinters with a

whip-crack of drums on bark.

Wolves decide quietly, instead

devour dinner under a shady canopy,

which soaks street lights up like a cotton

shirt does blood. Hark, a soft thought

littered rises and sways: in what way does

wind wisp old leaves away, wipe

roads clean of any ambiguous destination?

Might we travel together down all

trails, tread long laughs as a quarter

in motion lands on both heads and tails?

Or would wizened women and men

run headlong backwards towards themselves

for mere instant gratification, list worries

and regrets upon a napkin folded in small doses,

clean messes made when minds spill over

from too much dwelling on empty spaces.

Between bare limbs, arms outstretched across oceans

of brown grass, a sliver of hope diverges.

A vessel sits void of any intimate urges.

Take the latter, forget the former. These thoughts

will only assassinate, as if time lasts forever.

Friday, January 29, 2010

No Form to Recompose

I wish the ocean was the color of your eyes
and the pavement the gentle grip of your fists
hidden under tables; wish this cigarette was your
tulip lips and the ash your words emptied out in the
blood letting of your mind, and that the wind would carry
your scent were there a way to put you in words. And I'd lick
a dollar bill if it'd remind me of your skin. I'd be fond of other
humans if only the world didn't have you in wandering through it.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

VVV 2009 VVV

Sum r
The little leaves that dance
If you love me
Fate tempts
Vancouver passions
Oral excrement
Shake the empty space
This box is only temporary
Dead hand deafness and...
9 am ugly mug 28
Mod: MC-6915
Why deprive such sudden...
Never did anybody look...
The roaming cat
Turn left to stay on blue...
Practical lips
Ten: ten tulip fingertips
If you want to be happy...
The art of dramatic writing
Sally man
She looking outside me...
African boombata. Plane...
The rate site of a single...
The overpass at night an
When in doubt look up
I lost a lot of things in la
Some wooden benches le
69" (65"). 43"
Am I humble or humbling?
It was on this day (but...
My sense are sleepy
It doesn't have to be any...
I have been decadent
You've had too many good...
Thurs. 4:00 appt with tu...
Ash ditch
A synapse fires and reco...
Jumping over needless...
What what what
The mid part should sou...
The future will be kind to...
You spread like butter
Box of rocks
Constructing a class nar...
As the people slowed to...
Non pocket
Because there is probabl...
The memoirs of a 20-not...
Why, Susan, murder is...
Lecture is fine, but pure...
When we would line in bed...
The past is a trash pile (h...
I don't even want to smel...
Where it used to be
It just wouldn't be very...
Blue eyesongs
Three tiered black tower...
Airwick- those stupid CG
Title Legends - PS2