new jersey quicksand |
I sat so long this dirty strip
of broken glass New Jersey quicksand.
The rotting wood that washed ashore
enclosed me in a tiny house.
The masks that we now learn to wear
were carved so fair from ug...
Posted by on Wed, 07 Mar 2007 06:41:00 GMT |
makes you feel tired. |
After 8 hours of Nyquil sleep the world remains unchanged except for the daylight and the snow and my heart which has only a slightly better understanding for why it is beating harder than it has ever...
Posted by on Wed, 28 Feb 2007 07:16:00 GMT |
not quite a poem, not quite a letter |
Fantastic frustion anxiety captivity blue light blue freedom? Where is the fucking sky? 6" by 18". The sky is small. Maybe if I stretch this 6 by 18 blanket over me, it will cover m...
Posted by on Fri, 09 Jun 2006 07:24:00 GMT |
piece of a story sort of |
"The only way to write a book with any actual meaning at all is to write it by hand. You really must see the development of each letter. Each word. And it must come directly from the direct motion of ...
Posted by on Sat, 07 Jan 2006 10:33:00 GMT |
part of a story that i'm writing...maybe |
"This place is a fucking dump," I said looking around Hukkah Sahn's house. It wasn't really a house. It had no floor. The walls were stacks of cinder blocks which the light of the western sun penetrat...
Posted by on Tue, 13 Dec 2005 12:47:00 GMT |
