Jun 28, 2009

 

And Gojira falls back to sleep
while looking into my eyes;
I see one pinprick point of light
reflected, disappear as Gojira
purr-sighs. What a strange death
this life is. What love engulfs
these desolate islands of ego
and housecat. And in two days,
I will be homeless and Gojira
never seen again. I surmise
he will be heartbroken; as I.
And in his feline mind expanded,
Goji-goji-goji is who I am--
What's in a name? Understanding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 26, 2009

 


datasal eorgu windmill

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

If you want to do great things,
start small; pile and compile--
recompile. If you want that good
likewise done to you (insomuch
as you are likewise me) I haven't
anything but ocean to drink.

The serious silliness of a-
rrangemebt. Et&re. Why

And there on the other hand
is the other hand--

Suspecting inspectors.
Raincoats.

is the line
This

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

Wordless, motherfucker.
And what, what were we going to talk about?

--it takes, it takes, it almost has to be
Wordless, motherfucker.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 22, 2009

 

the plastic sky







a horizon elastique



the grounding detritus


& you
& i

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 18, 2009

 

The mountains snows are the hands of giants left wristless
under starlight.
The plane is silver, and the cargo hold is warm.
There's opium in the air, and the acid we've just dropped
has begun to hit.
I throw my head back to kiss you upside-down.
And we twist.

You move my hand upon you and God, you are so feminine.
You say a thing I do not understand, and I open you
without understanding.
You say it again and it sounds like 'lower skin'.
And angered at my unknowing, you name yourself the angel
of death.
Blue angel, death angel.

Yes, it is cold outside and we are all venomous.
How fast do I have to fall to burn away before I hit the ground?
Yes, you may use my parachute.
Watch me fall. Wish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 14, 2009

 

And my first thought is of dandelion
upon a hill so green your body aches to know
the dark clean cold of the ground below--
And my second thought is of breaking storm
misting thru the screen of a window opened
that you drunken upon each inhalation--
And my third is of love that restrains
anyone from making irrevocable mistake--
And my fourth is of lizards on a rock
while cats sprawl too contented to play--
And my fifth is of kissing you in a room
warm with smoke and our own anticipation--
And the sixth is the last I dare think:
That wisdom is more than a turn of phrase.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 13, 2009

 

She went across the ocean
and sat upon his bed;
she hugged his dad and brother,
drank wine with his friends--

Her pictures lay about his house
tho they had never met;
she'd undressed herself to the marrow
and now that he was dead--

His grip is unrelenting
and his love is unreleased;
her love, a pearled destruction
and agony, consumes relief.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

It is night,
and tires scream neath the silver green
out on Treetop Drive

where Zen is polluted
with scripts of conversion and sorrow
gives rise to song;

where starlit stones glint
cancerous; where what echoes
does not disturb;

where the names of gods are as meals
that feed nothing but hunger
and truth fails;

where beauty is an animal cut
in the pause of reflection; where Death
the homunculus of soul--

It is night,
and fires stream over the slivered green
out on Treetop Drive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 11, 2009

 

repeat pool

lawnmower car
robin
electro-acoustic glitch
breath

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 9, 2009

 

The Sentimentalist

whose presence I avoided and abhorred,
swearing destruction my only valuable
valid recourse, has no canticle to intone
from his unreachable and sallow throat.

Do I moan, as well as sigh? I despair
of these fires that are flower; of flowers
born as stars of indeterminate twilight;
of prisons best believed to be a pivot

upon paradigm of plasticity cum womb.
Here the circus camps; here the blackbirds
choir; here the sentimentalist posits
matters grey and moired. Oh, to slit

those eyes with serendipity never sanguine;
to devour self-congratulatory refinement
and shit out an ocean moon. Oh, to strike
as lightning from a purity of blue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jun 5, 2009

 

 

the hyperbody of the sparrow flock
is everything i need to know
as the hawk calls out