My Father |
My Father's spirit smells like winterIced breath collects on his beard and moustache Blue eyes flash under snowflake lashesany moment now a laugh will rip from his lungsshattering the quiet tundralik...
Posted by Fool on Tue, 01 May 2007 03:26:00 PST |
White Hands |
Your white hands remind me of bleached branchesand wondering about their strength leads me to think onwhat would break the will behind them,as they smooth out an imaginary tableclothpunctuating an oth...
Posted by Fool on Mon, 19 Mar 2007 10:39:00 PST |
Rituals for Habit |
In this city I am hardened by right angles, concrete and wired skyNeon signs insinuate...that here I will be reduced to sellmy treasures for pocket change and my rituals for habit
Posted by Fool on Thu, 15 Mar 2007 09:16:00 PST |
Ice |
There is a man in a maskA mask I painted on his skinskin so blue-white it glows like living ice.I am watching him work this roomsmooth and gentle he is with his secret, untilthe manic mood inhabits hi...
Posted by Fool on Mon, 12 Mar 2007 10:29:00 PST |
Cool |
I was never cool in high school. I was almost cool once, there was a cool guy in my summer school math class. He wore blue eye shadow and had bleached blonde hair. one day he asked me if I wanted to g...
Posted by Fool on Thu, 08 Mar 2007 08:46:00 PST |
Mata Hari |
Mata Hari with her smokey eyelids the colour of bruised veins used fog for veils.She could break men with the light of her small brown body.Refracting shards of honestyuntil cut,they spilt their names...
Posted by Fool on Mon, 05 Mar 2007 09:15:00 PST |
Holy Poet |
O holy Poet ...O muses of my soul's sane instrument ...O clever barkers of fast flesh affairs ...I am calling for deliverance!Take me whole from this place of compartmentsand return me to where in one...
Posted by Fool on Tue, 20 Feb 2007 11:21:00 PST |
Dance |
Dance for your pleasureDance for your dinnerTake up the boney rhythm for a whileEvery gracious second takes us further from conceptionSo pick up the invitation with a smile.
Posted by Fool on Mon, 19 Feb 2007 03:08:00 PST |
Ode to a Drummer... |
Syncopated dissipation Can't find the rhythm Stumbling stuttered stops trip me upside down Everywhere I dance starts a countdown
Posted by Fool on Mon, 22 Jan 2007 01:37:00 PST |
