Thursday, August 28, 2014

Semantics






THIS 
MEANS 
THIS





(Whatever that means)










Saturday, August 16, 2014

Waiting For the Phone To Ring







I’m no Petra von Kant, now,
dancing down the street to the tune
of The Pretenders, still, but still, I don’t
call myself worried or worrying or dead,

Yet, still, I bound down the street
as a way to meet you, or at least
to get a look at you, and I see you

and it’s not all that, but still.

Any part of us can meet somewhere
neat, somewhere where we can
somehow be good for each other, right?
somewhere we can meet each other right.

And now, back at home, I study the
sturdy home I’ve now made for myself
and sit there, watching the TV, drinking
a beer, and

                    definitely not waiting for the phone to ring.





Jump Cut






Jean Seberg – fingering
what’s left
of her hair

passes

but doesn’t

pass through
our field
of view
around us
and,


a boy
on a street
passes by, on
his bike, not
passing the
things


you’d be hurt
already, if
you weren’t
already dead

no one’s not alone

and above a blue sky,


a boy
on a street
again, passes
but doesn’t

pass through
our field
of



a shot
is just a thought
in the middle of


something. 





Sunday, August 10, 2014

A Perfect Storm






He is the twink-
le in the eyes of
the Nordstrom
Rack stupidity.

She is the finger-
bone, constantly
twiddling the dried
cunt for a cum stood still.

He is the bald face
of it all; the face that
holds the face, in place,
like he was your empty

plaza


forever drumming up nothings until nothing stands still.





Thursday, July 31, 2014

The Fear Record






Like a moon,
thinking, this night
leaves me able to
hobble along
the way.

Don’t step on
the crack, says
my mother’s
back, and I take that
as truth, like night now.

I don’t wanna
‘oh, god, it’s just
the furniture
about it all, yet
I don’t wait for white.

The sun’s on the
surface and it is
warm and we all stand
together, unable to tell
the difference anymore.

And so I fear
the peace
of mind;
the accepting &
regretting


a world left letting.





Sunday, July 27, 2014

Heart-Shaped Bruise






We’ve all been bruised
because that’s just what
happens to people when
they go outside themselves.

There are different ways
to deal, to heal, to mend;
a sunny day or disposition
each enough, but almost.

The fate of a life lived just
isn’t left to the mold of our
usual words, rather, they
reach outward, always reaching

towards something where words just won’t do.