December 2010
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No. 95
He was able to live his antiquarian love song. He put together snippets he liked.
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No. 94
Life is cruel, usually.
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No. 93
All is but a dream when we loose feeling.
I well with feeling and slate many houses with my sentiment.
But still I am no longer earth bound.
Normalcy seemed rooted in the walks I made on certain pavements, and now only my embodied pulse seems to have me grounded.
Nothing seems real because I have no pain, or shame.
There is no waiting with a screaming silence in the night.
There is no...
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No. 92
An outlandish rabble
We search, & scream and yell
As we sit in silence
All wearing shades of yellow.
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No. 91
My father called me a silver tongued devil today.
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No. 90
I drink to make the minuets go faster.
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No. 89
Walk home, and love the distance.
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No. 88
Grass does not think, and I envy it for it.
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No. 87
Reading is the key. Without it what is there? Stagnation. I have no innate knowledge of the world around me.
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No. 86
To be lacking a moon in September and to find only stars winking in steps and saunters that city dwellers only dream of describes a grain of sand I found and like those delights just described it had friends all shining refractionary smiles along a road I’ve been sweating for. Time too danced lazily with the asphalt and found special cadence with an endless yellow line as it caused the air...
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No. 85
I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling
what thoughts mingle with your being
& I know my rhythm isn’t yours
but I know your smile & how it makes me feel
It’s like a drug to those you love
& I long it like before
What can we talk about?
The jokes we laugh over
the songs we dream over
the songs we sing over
I was jealous tonight at the concert -
with...
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No. 84
In what world could I write in order to make you love me? What words could find form in the molds of your desires? Could characters and a plot unravel the fringes that scare me most? The trite usage of rhyme gives me no bearing in my sea of questions, and you cannot be my vessel. I don’t want to find shelter in you. I want to ripped by your kisses and smothered by your eyes. There is a hole...
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No. 83
Music put me on the streets of Hamburg. It put me on the terraces of my dreams. It put me on my feet. Power flowed from the fingers of tan hands as Venice errupted. It was a deluge to drown our souls in - something more alive than I ever will be.
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No. 82
The world seems all the same this night. As the lamps glow and feebly spread their light. The colors, dull and pallor lacking. still dance on the walls. My sheets still appear similar to nights before and their warmth seems no better shield against the outside cold. The floor still simple, the pages of a million books still stacked. Bottles lying, and pitchers of unsavored tea sit. All is but the...
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No. 81
To a man of the stream
to the fisherman in me
the man from Montana
the old Mr. Maclean.
Can I share your house
to live and to sleep?
I’ve read your book
but it did something to me.
I have a friend now.
I like her a lot now.
But she called me a snob now
because of me knowing you
and you knowing me.
It’s something in the eyes she said.
In the way I walk and talk she...
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No. 80
An olive leaf finds solace in winder winds
in creamy breezes of sugar and sweets
thick with the lips of dogs and purple robes
push it with your
penis in my mouth,
the cold and leafless branch.
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No. 79
The needle said to thimble,
“I’m looking for some string, something
to tie the thoughts in my head
of love and of dread
to interweave them
to bridge some chasm
to build, to mesh some net, some scarf
something to keep me warm,
free from cold & dark harm.
We sit here in this wicker basket
a small sewer’s casket
knowing nothing but each other’s ferrous touch,
a...
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No. 78
The air is a little colder tonight. That suburban glow lights the sky around the edges and it seems half the stars are trying to hide. I’ve known many sidewalks, and I suppose many sidewalks have known me. I have made love with some, even on some. This wasn’t any of those. I was uncomfortable sitting on this one with my back on the book store. I was being groped. The sidewalk had my...
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No. 77
Andopolis fell first.
His crimson oil
touched peach soil
with his armor not long behind.
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No. 76
I feel a great pressure to be something you can’t punch holes through.
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No. 75
Why don’t I live everything to the hilt anymore?
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No. 74
There is a simple concoction I know. It is filled with friends, sauces, and small helpings of herbs and beef broth.
I serve it with soft, ripe bread. I make sure the bread is capable of yelling before I serve it. Its crust is a symphony under ones fingers. And when it hits the broth - silence. A song of white softness rolls over into a brown world.
The stew. I like to use purple potatoes; they...
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No. 73
Alright, fine. Do you want me to confess that all my ambition is naivety? That all I want is really a desire for want? That I desire a world built upon my shoulders without having any knowledge of how to build it?
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No. 72
I feel like diabetes took a shit on me.
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No. 71
I do not give all to you for nothing in return. I will not. It would be absurd.
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No. 70
Things that can be shortened: hair, stems, orgasms, hues, binges, readings, poems, nights, lunch breaks, kisses, hospital stays, tubes, French royalty, visits, towers, classes, showers, stools, cigarettes, heels, dates, intercourse, walls, intimate moments, fences, loving whispers, cliffs, looks of longing, the Ming Dynasty, relationships!
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No. 69
Knives to my knees/ scabs breaking from new ware/ the same wounds.
A system/ of scars and corporeal furrows/ of blood oranges and their wet seeds.
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No. 68
I have no remorse. Spin the bottle sounds fun.
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No. 67
Some boy just came in and wanted to cook.
I told him I don’t speak and gave him a look.
We lost ourselves in translation,
lacking compatible gesticulation.
It seems though we have lots in common like hands and feet,
and, apparently, a mutual love to eat.
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No. 66
“I used to walk backwards all the time.”
“Until you walked into a Dupont door knob?”
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No. 65
Everything was plain she thought. “Everything is plain,” she told her friend. He confirmed her account.
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No. 64
I just saw a spider hanging in front of my window and as tiny as it was I thought: little fucker. I hope you die of a virus.
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No. 63
Those guys couldn’t find a horse in a kitchen.
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No. 62
Her hair was short and the color of new teak. Slanted bangs rimmed small glasses and a wide set of lapels rimmed her neck. She was an interesting French doll - a toy. Her freckles, I painted on and her blush the work of natural brushes.
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No. 61
Grass once grew in a pasture/ I knew it well/ I ran my hands through the loose, ashen gravel of its paths/ and many times it turned my hands white.
I saw the magpies nesting/ the stalks bent gently from either side/ to shelter the brood from simple rain/ small mouths groped for innocence/ and many times I saw it delivered.
Now the innocence I once knew/ has stayed and faded/ as many simple...
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No. 60
I was really disappointed my mother never owned a bull whip.
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No. 59
Snow is meant to be bitten
Lips are for mimicking paper
in their thin delivery of sustenance,
for wrapping palpabilities
like Christmas gifts.
Tongues are for attacking dogs
when they should act like reindeer
for slathering others
with your chains and trains of Iron.
Snow is meant to be bitten
use your teeth
it is rewarding to chew
what falls for your digestion
so soft and in front of...
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No. 58
The sun rose 13 hours ago. It had warmed the sands that wrapped around Tahim’s backside. He was sitting on a hill over looking Tel Aviv. He was sitting alone in Allah’s single light. He drew deep and smoke melded with his person. He exhaled over Israel and the breath of the earth took thin bands of smoke back up the hill in it’s caress over Gaza. Some was taken to meld with the...
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No. 57
With a must come the streets of Granada
With a musk come the touches of a man
running his fingers dilberately down the spine
Running down cobbeled streets with a pipe looking to loose his mind.
Emigrants smell sexuality
as dedos sucios dig with force into your notches
do you find your legs in the race down dark streets
or does a pobresa find his way between them?
Alleys are great places to...
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No. 56
I once said that you could break my heart, and you said, “good.”
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No. 55
Give me the passenger’s seat of your car. / You don’t have to drive very far. / Just let me get lost all afternoon. / Just let me get lost with you.
A night spent driving by a city / you and a gas pedal flirting with a limit
Lights only shine where they want to / and darkness hides the dirty.
But you want to by tricked by the beauty of a light / through your window’s eyes.
...
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No. 54
I live in Washington, DC. I can walk to the Department of Labor and file for unemployment assistance. I have never felt more American, and I’ve never felt more alone.
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No. 53
I’m concerned that I may enjoy adultry.
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No. 52
I love you, would you tell me your name? I love you, let me tell me your name.
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No. 51
I am the holy man for he knows the majesty of belief.
I am the holy man for he has seen the serenity of God.
There is good and there is evil in this world. Only when you are steeped in one - like ripening tea - can you speak about the qualities of one or the other.
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No. 50
The moon peaked over a 15th century dome.
Hawks, Sparrows, Indian Magpies are all loudly sharing song.
Families are leaving - shame it’s just as the park really came alive.
The dynamism of those remaining can be seen to be self-sustaining
as the human tide is waning.
This old mosque. The park is alive.
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No. 49
“I’ll explore other places tomorrow,”
the boy said to the moon.
“I’ll explore other mosques tomorrow,”
through thronging sparrow’s swoon.
“I’ll enjoy other purpling skies, & other sun warmed stones soon.
But right now I’m only thinking of you.”
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No. 48
“I wanted to take you back to California. I wanted a broken cigarrette hanging from the right side of my tan lips, two acoustic guitars on the speakers and a smile as expansive as the unobstructed sky. I want you.”
“I’m sorry we had to stay in Chicago.”
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No. 47
It’s interesting. I want to kiss you. I want to say I’ve done it. I want to know that taste. I think it will be sweet like unsweetened black tea is sweet. A soft black that makes the tip of your soft tongue play with the back of your teeth; flirting with the edges, nearly visible over that white ridge.
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No. 46
I am the perfect modernist man. I am a canvass to my own social constructions. Blank to the paints and brushes of unconceived others and my mind. Blue and red paint my white body to create logistical structures of immense proportion. Edifices to the onlooker; I create perception for those who choose to look. I create glances for those who don’t think to do so. I am a social space in a world...