25 January 2013
Blackberries plucked from pricker-bush twigs
wound into frantic skeins
branded my palms a summer’s purple.
Scrubbed bald with steel sponges,
my hands rinsed print-less and raw
more suitable for important carpets that walked plush
under the toes of beast-flesh couches
that waited on me, my child stain.
I was born with my crouch rooted in growth,
the thick of dirt and leaves,
that edged the driveway; it boiled black,
rapid as a current.
A pulse thumps rhythms
The chord progression rises
hums and mutes whether strings or tuner
Resonance, evidence of existence
The wave arches
and crashes–a circle
it blinks, but knows no end
Creation, death, reincarnation
Blame the doer
It’s been done
With victims, we need a culprit
Pull the trigger
The fruit has been devoured
There are no more answers
We won’t know the end we’ve built
for our children
Pass out, rest easy
It will all be over soon
You started with the unknown
You ended with not knowing
I forgot to ask about the middle. You never showed without question.
You never had a tell.
Don’t fool yourself with the newness. It’s all the same with different timing.
Diving is for the wicked
I hated you for not taking chances
I drowned taking them for you
What am I?
Would you like it if I hired your blank decisions?
Would you sleep if I strangled you needs?
Break me – I’m restless
Hear me now – I’m no where near knowing who I am
Conviction – I wish I knew how to own you. I always forget.
Forgiveness only reminds us of what went wrong
Simple. Keep it simple, smooth, unambitious.
Keep the years short, hair long, thoughts blank, wistful.
Carry your neck straight, small bites, small breaths, big needs.
Know your yearning. Shut it up.
Dreaming up your punishment.
Dreaming is your punishment.
Dreaming for a final punishment.
Glamour huffing hairspray and gasoline. Simple. Keep it simple.
Bloated wants, victories, nose-ride moonbeams
Hallucination tox screens. Guilty with no one watching.
Alone with rage.
A lonely rage.
A longing for rage.
Signing a contract before its been written. Muffed ears.
You know your own ambition.
Some people pine – you know you know you’re right
I’m wistful meets captivated, a contradiction unrequited
This isn’t heads or tails – we never placed the bet
9 January 2013
We set them up.
The four glass birds perched on splintered ledge
to wait for our swooping palms that clenched
to lift and drain the life in them;
so we drank
all they had to offer, slipping
worms down our throats
and we burned, yet still water-eyed
were wistful for the next two,
noxious eyeless and bald.
9 January 2013
The moon sunk heavy, a man’s eye bulging
a stranger’s baggage – where did you sleep last night?
Egg-eyed white and pulp heavy
carrying itself like it wanted to be left
behind, dragging itself
stars left to dot a path
in a skid marked sky
blacks and blues galloping a punch
I’ll describe to you an aching sky.
Rage pops! It boils–filling your glass to a spilling brim over lavishing in itself devouring its surroundings and swallowing all pieces of life in a trembling gulp–the ground shakes with screams of doom trussed gravity. Grumbles ripple out in aches through scratching scraped fingernails dripping, seething rage, it’s leaving traces behind–the real–the sensed. All sensing know this grand explosive. It asks you on a walk and turns skipping daises, a massacre.