This Land Belongs to You and Me |
One can buy moccasins all alongthe Oklahoma highway. Moccasins,beaded earrings, buffalo jerky.All kinds of jerky. Meat was meantto be stretched thin, tough and salty.Something for your canine teeth to...
Posted by Beowolf on Wed, 12 Sep 2007 11:25:00 PST |
The San Francisco Airport |
You held a bag under my chinas I vomited on the bay bridgein the driver's seat, trying to keepthe wheel steady between heaves.It must have been the darknessof the Treasure Island tunneldelving into pu...
Posted by Beowolf on Sat, 07 Jul 2007 12:46:00 PST |
alternate universe |
I am 25 years oldand pretty muchall my mom helps me withis filling out forms.Bureaucracyis the last hurdle to adulthood. In the bar around the cornerthe bathrooms have suddenlyg...
Posted by Beowolf on Tue, 20 Mar 2007 07:44:00 PST |
sewage volcano |
Somehow it has happenedthat everything is wet and dried upall at once.Sharp, flaky snow turns to mush on my car floor.Everything will stay hard and jagged until it starts to melt from the earthlike sa...
Posted by Beowolf on Tue, 13 Feb 2007 04:06:00 PST |
High Dive You |
I love the way you smelllike spitballs in the morning.Like raw, juvenile intensity.The way your hand wraps double around minewith soft, rounded fingertips.Built like safety scissors.I want to squeeze ...
Posted by Beowolf on Sun, 24 Dec 2006 03:39:00 PST |
The Writing Process |
You sit for hours,tense shoulders pulled tightlike corset strings,two-way mirror eyes,glinting in the blinkof the cursor. It mocksyou, 'the next word goes here...here...here.'Your legs shakelike it's ...
Posted by Beowolf on Fri, 01 Dec 2006 09:03:00 PST |
the stuff of nightmares |
I have never liked the woods,I picture little girlsin garbage bags, angry menin ski masks and flannel.There was a dead possumin the woods on our streetfor a summer, wreaking of a witch's cauldron.The ...
Posted by Beowolf on Wed, 01 Nov 2006 12:14:00 PST |
Dreams |
I have never actuallywatched another personsleep. But you sleepthe way I do, like someonejust flipped you overin a frying pan, limbsstrewn crooked, the shapeof a white chalk dead body.You do not look ...
Posted by Beowolf on Mon, 09 Oct 2006 09:44:00 PST |
Love poems have to be sonnets |
The whole timewith you,I am mentallywriting your biography.Brains were like labyrinths,easy, one hand tiedbehind my back.I smiled aloneon the bus today,your candelabratattoo in my head.I feel like a l...
Posted by Beowolf on Tue, 03 Oct 2006 10:08:00 PST |
Housefire, October 10, 2003 |
I stand barefoot.My feet are coldon the concreteas I watch fire growlike an unruly afroout of my house,swirling like brightred hair through water.Licking the skywith the differencebetween erotica and ...
Posted by Beowolf on Fri, 22 Sep 2006 11:47:00 PST |
