Artess |
You're most beautifulwhen your lips are still,when you quiet yourself to admire,not teach.Not all who wander or wonder are lost--they appreciate the yes,instead of the noor the nonsubjective,the index...
Posted by on Tue, 21 Apr 2009 20:08:00 GMT |
Untitled and For the English Majors |
meh, stupidness I wrote in class:Untitledthe air is metallic these last days of winter,skin cracks and flakes,knuckles and knees ash--in nature's petty silencebits of color are obscuredin no ordinary ...
Posted by on Tue, 17 Mar 2009 11:50:00 GMT |
Seasoned |
If I could be,I'd be a summer to see youbelly-down, bloated inthe salted sea---To coast over foam,to relish in the metaphor of currentsand waves,send children to wadein your filth,confuse your fingern...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Feb 2009 12:08:00 GMT |
Clowns with Long Faces |
with stars in their eyes,these lovers.I was one to mockwhen I married a glass,carried myself over a threshold,knelt down in a stall.Off-white,D found me and drenched me in sun,a burn less familiar,and...
Posted by on Mon, 16 Feb 2009 18:19:00 GMT |
Paradise Misplaced |
I shed a coat of humility,plucked from a sheltered winter,cabin-logged--a drip-drip sound from the kitchenis driving the dog mad.Tinkering with your tools,I think of mildewed books andsexy librarians,...
Posted by on Fri, 06 Feb 2009 15:47:00 GMT |
Navigator |
I don't trust myselfwhen you are not around:experience intrigues me more than integrity,or honesty,or other virtues promised to me in sacrament.I'd like another man to cup my breast,to taste a new fle...
Posted by on Wed, 07 Jan 2009 22:08:00 GMT |
An Honest Sex |
I. Some nights I liketo lower my head and pretend you don't exist:that love never bloomed from dirty sheetsor your hands.Other men may cradle me to sleep,know my nakedness better than my mother.I coo ...
Posted by on Sun, 02 Nov 2008 18:37:00 GMT |
Chronicled |
Fashion myself an artist with a new pair of boots,a funny hat--I'll only drink red at dinner,two more glasses in the bath.I thought about writing,but I couldn't;thought about a southern boy,he didn't ...
Posted by on Wed, 15 Oct 2008 10:27:00 GMT |
Stream of (Drunken) Consciousness -- 9/28/08, 3:58 am |
i feel foreign in comfort,lost in translation amongst commoncolloquials.i know i can't make you laugh,but it doesn't discourage me from trying,fashioning myself the fool,paper mache so easy to paste,w...
Posted by on Sun, 28 Sep 2008 06:22:00 GMT |
My Lovers in Ms and Ds |
I find significance in namesas my grandmother does,consonants attributed to hexes,curses spat by funeral attendees,those who never mourned.My catalog, a few letters shortof an alphabet--all of my love...
Posted by on Mon, 01 Sep 2008 21:47:00 GMT |
