UntitledMore Like This
A torn up newspaper blows into my face
Black glue drooling down my chin from my gums
Leaving splatter marks on stolen white leather shoes
As I edge a lock-pick from the bottom of my tongue
I'm sucking in the air and daydream that I'm ---
In offbeat twitches I'm banging my fists on concrete
Kicking parking meters and rolling around in traffic
The honking cars brings me back to memories of
Atonal madrigals I found on dusty records
There's pigs on bicycles shouting my name
I stop to watch a young women swallowing a sword
For quarters and dimes, on the other corner
Kids playing hand made timbre instruments
--- Shipwrecked, my chest full of dirt
The roots tied together to my ribs in bows with ribbon
Looking out and through a kaleidoscope
Not knowing if your drowning or swimming towards me
I'm soaked, but it's not raining yet
Your hand stretching wide, merging into mine
You pull me in and I drop my anchor
The entire universe sinking with us
Naked or dressed in seaweed breathing ocean tides
When It HurtsI'm lying here in bed after throwing my own head.More Like This
It never seemed to settle,add more water to the kettle.
Maybe you'll feel better.
I'd feel better if we were together instead of seperated like the sides of a feather.
Three glasses that took away my class,it all fell apart so fast.
How did we get off-track?
The lack of things to say is a curse.
Standing idle is so much worse.
Tell me to stop when it hurts.
how to get out of limbo aliveexceptions have been madeMore Like This
in a bowl with some well beaten eggs
and used to sharpen blades
machines so simple even us dimpled
fools can flaunt their sway
born in swamps and
sipping wormwood lemonade
contrived to wonder
what real harm
infinity can do anyway
silver-tinged twilight owlsMore Like This
with the help of lofty, fresh leaves
so too, do the summer's evening
winds whistle around
the empty park bench passing
through the pits of my almost bare knees
and straight up my spinal canal
filling the hollows of each of my busted
bones that were once meant
for the beauty of
Gatos NegrosBlack catsMore Like This
and mysterious women.
That's what's on my mind.
All the time.
As I lie here thinking
drinking about you.
And what we do
when we do
all that we do.
Oh, what we do.
potemkin villagethis nuanceMore Like This
is no mission
and without a mission we are not men
forged voices that would halt glaciers
forgotten: the things caught by fresh eyes
reconciled into the small roles of devils
every minute we stay
in this room we get weaker
cajoled by the wind
in ninety-nine different anecdotal directions
like god's old erection heaving
false life into the herd