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.