Tuesday, October 26, 2010

november coming

I can feel November pulling the rug out from under me
from where it waits around a festive corner.


Meeting new folks (mood set by the lovely Mongrel Jews)
the past pushes from their mouths
with barely an initiation,
the rafters are itching with implication
& your mouth is making my fingers crackle and dance
as the conversation falls too close to the sun.

Like melting wax
handshakes drop from the sky,
the conversation hooks it fingers into moon craters
she winces to a thumbnail crescent.

Astronautical hearts drink deep,
a starry intoxication,
pointed brightness cutting deeper
in familiarity's skin
the words bleed out hot and wet
& after those winged lips give me their drop
I'll be picking wax and scabs for days.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Found another console, hope to find another soon

Meditation on the Front Row
Only the fearless take the front row
or the fools
and by fool I mean the desperate kind
the kind of soul that stays in the ocean tides after their muscles have turned to fried eggs and salt.
In the front row you'll find bits of teeth
broken by a blissful shattering.
Necks craned back to the farthest arching
this layer of watchers harbor a hunger so strong it disregards the body
like the starving stranger who breaks the baker's display window
intending to down every confection.
Front row souls inject energy in the shape of a jumbled alphabet,
Small breath marks boiled away in the charred spoon bowl of performance,
the chemistry makes their faces ageless
as the words rush off the stage like a river of angry lemmings.
At the edge you can feel the carnage breathing hot in your ear
so close your body can't remember what the fuck was pristine anyway?
In the front row every utopia shatters
like the proverbial wine glass in an opera singer's fingers
there is no distinction between wine and blood,
the hungry ones drink it all.
You either crawl up to it
or leave your seat crawling.
Those willful suckers
bent on being unsettled,
poised for rupture
somewhere ear & mouth & ear.
They hold open their hungry triangles,
front row souls
waiting to be rung.

Wearing Purple (in response to the youth suicides in September)
Their bodies became a series of ghost towns
punctuating a paranoid highway
beneath the cracks caused by too many wheels
they planted their fearful children
like ivy their shadow hands strangled the difference
from every incongruent thought or feeling or expression,
jagged fingers
bruising the human architecture
and our children are crumpling like origami hearts,
Beautifully chambered whispers missing any rightful canvas
these words are only echoes
their bruises hang in the air like broken ghosts
whose mouths have been sewn shut by childlike violence.
Hate's wastebasket became a megaphone on national TV
as the newsmill & its puppets suddenly decide that it's time take notice.
They invite purple into the light
because every bruised soul deserves a canvas.

We smiled over a green breakfast
I sipped the coffee diluted
as he filled his hands with a glass of coco-cola and 4 slices of bacon
the yellow walls breathed assertively
Yes- I am awake,
and I love you Dad.

She always gives me too many beers
and feeds my body pancakes
after being convinced to stay the whole night through.

Delicious Brains

The conversation go so damn good
we nearly upturned the party mix
and placed our brains in glass bowls on the table.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

finally a computer

legs moved like criss-crossed lips
heartbeats growing larger fell from our journeyed mouths
a cobbled-together consistancy makes a vibrant reality throb
the sunlight is merely a symbol of our story
the words falling maeasureless through the distance.

Bloody Sunset
Pigments let loose
and screaming across the sky:
a horizen the color of your liver
breathing a soundless fire into the heart of sky
where each hue smolders to a pitch.

in the sommersaulted afternoon
we exchanged innuendos in the backseat
and chuckled all way to the supermarket.

Some Satudays occur
only for the rain to rupture.

Reading alloud makes my throat ridiculous
pushes my tongue to dangerous speeds,
this poem wants you so bad
forgettting to breath.
And the words shove on,
topple over the flimsy body of logic
any plan spills out into milky puddles
no breath left to cry for them.
The storm builds behind my teeth
and shakes nervously, too heavy for my jaw
the words are atoms splitting to an exponential song.

the need to scratch it out makes me greedy
punctures the curtained world of sounds meant only for you
a recording device which speaks to nothing but the needle,
grooves devouring each
beats sidestep the earskins
far too drunk on threadbare syllables
these words swing
straigh into the electric recognition,
sounds spark bright between pen & page
the light is just enough to expose the motions
our shadows make as they hold in our loneliness.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

look I made an awkward

Stilted the words come out
painfully rehearsed
crinkle the air
with intentions becoming acid,
don't know
what to say to you anymore.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

tech troubles might muck up the daily posts

The coliding conversations
made delicious stops in the swerving music
you could almost taste the dance moves.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Tomato seeds

under the knife
the tomatoes separated into shining red doubloons,
the kitchen breathes quieter
between each slice
nearly convincing me
I had strawberries at my fingertips
as the tabletop mumbled over seeds,
I was nearly deceived.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

um... hangover

Between the dishwater, and errant moppings
our fingers exchanged pages in the basement.

My feet helped me fake it
on the bubbling dance floor
I discovered the closeness of my comfort zone
dissolving trust into touch
spinning reckless joy in every direction.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Costumes make up for lost coffee

A bit of fabric can save you,
especially when pulled over the those dusky shortcomings
fishnet breaths lead you to a laced back story
and together we forget what might be missing
look for it in the motions between motions
its magic is a heart-strung catapult:
a loaded love song ready to release.

wrote a poem on a friend's cast

Swathed and elevated
the afterbirth of a motorcycle catastrophe
makes its bolted sleep
stilled muscles will rise again!

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Poetry exercise

Pick a point and fixate,
chew out each color,
and extract every possibility,
rearrange to satisfy your senses olfactory,
kiss in a ticking heart,
and breathe those words to life.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

groups of 2

Even after picking out the sour spots
the free bread was delicious.

The old smiles instantly became congruent
we laughed together and dug for costumes in the dusty closet corners.

Under all that sunshine
October has become roasted and ridiculous.

Saturday, October 2, 2010


Our shared sweat choreographed a feeling so strong,
that the afternoon got lost
and crashed down around our togetherness.
I learned that day
that a heart dancing so frantic and full
can only perspire through the eyes.

running on empty

a dizzy spending will take you all the way around the block
the pavement generates a righteous hunger
and pushes open an empty center.