this job will make you crazy (an older one) |
I see my end
in every rusty old mailbox
battling the infinite madness of spiders
while the displeased stares of bumpkin kings focus themselves
upon me.
their bad breath showering down...
Posted by on Fri, 15 May 2009 16:37:00 GMT |
fanfare |
jealousy.some coagulateddreamsin awet headamidstboar snortsand motorcycleenginecrescendo. it is time.it isalwaystime.when lookingat a sheepyouonly ever seethe wolf.this is not normal,said the doctorle...
Posted by on Sat, 02 May 2009 19:02:00 GMT |
shit |
in the bathroom,
the sun outside
working in through the frosted glass.
the cat sits on
my shoulders
trying to see what there is to see
while I am busy
pinching one off.
I ...
Posted by on Fri, 24 Apr 2009 12:58:00 GMT |
a laugh that grew roots in my brain and sucked the foul water |
we were eating mushrooms(the introspective kind)when she asked mewhat I saw"all the creatures of the world,"I told her"are pouring out from an openingin the skyand the groundis a bed of rusty spikesan...
Posted by on Sun, 29 Mar 2009 12:33:00 GMT |
while waiting on the poem to rend my guts away and offer them up in the waning light |
you would think I wouldhave welcomed it the stillnessthe silencelike a cat strutting down anendless alleywaythat I'd invite it in,put on coffee,fold away the paperand speak pleasantly about the daybut...
Posted by on Tue, 24 Mar 2009 13:50:00 GMT |
broken game shows of the heart |
the walls laughthe laugh,they know my real namebut i am aleporous bugleplaying a hurried tunerun out of fond rememberancesand a1 steak sauce.i am tired like it's my joband drunk like it's an art formt...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Mar 2009 18:38:00 GMT |
waiting on a friend |
standingwith blue feethere amongst bluebirds singingtied down & callousedfrom and by the daywith time enoughonlyit would seemfor a drunken incompletenessthat bathesthese hills with...
Posted by on Wed, 18 Mar 2009 11:55:00 GMT |
sleep (tinkering, ignore) |
a stoiccirculatory systemgrownflush with imaginingthe heavyhollow framesof lettersto wordsand thespacesthe spaces inbetweenthe words, theygrow very little meaningno flowersin swayno saltor sugaror c...
Posted by on Sun, 08 Mar 2009 23:17:00 GMT |
the landlubbers |
a gold19 eighty-twoCutlass Cierapulled up to thepump.(it's 2009)the two inside were wearing matchingyellow sailing jackets,L.L. Bean.he cut the enginethen they got out. himto pumpher to pay.they spok...
Posted by on Thu, 26 Feb 2009 21:09:00 GMT |
heaving rocks at the sun |
dragging it along like a one-legged dog down a busy city street,I feel sometimes the dirt sometimes the pot but rarely the flower. a wilting realist in this "you've got to be fucking kidding" world wi...
Posted by on Mon, 23 Feb 2009 12:19:00 GMT |
