as yet untitled:
midway through november
more hills caught fire
it feels like summer
starting--
crickets droning madly
in the night
hot air rustled only
by hot wind
and a moth found hiding
in the coolness of the refrigerator.
summer is supposed to be
dead and freezing
its legs stuck out
in various disturbing angles
but it stays and holds us
pinned in its strong arms
until we grow weak
cease struggling
become stagnant
and dry
and our grass ignites
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judith
judith cut his head right off
cradled it in her lap
like a housecat
her white arms bare
and fingers lost
in his dark hair
and her face was without expression
just lit by an ethereal light
as if she was made of flames
i can remember the time
you grabbed my shoulders and shook
allison allison allison
until i had to look back at you
how i should have scratched your eyes out
but sat like a lifeless toy
forgotten stepped on broken
and forgotten again
i was no fun anymore
i feel your grasp on my shoulders
your annoyed sigh
as i sway backwards forwards
beneath your hands
not enough judith in me
to devour you with my flames
to damn you for defacing
what used to be my own
pure and honest heart
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november morning in berkeley
not just because of you
but for many reasons
i feel i may have
put my mind through too much
it shakes like a leaf
in violent winds
and threatens to snap
saturday morning woke me up
hungover
from a friday night
of vodka in berkeley
and my mind came to a memory
of you
(lately you've been
coming to my mind)
and it seems it never stopped
the thought restlessly paws at me
if i had a buck
for every time i thought of you
i'd be a rich lady
headed to the opera
but it rains
and i'm headed to san francisco
for the day
i've lost my bearings in
the sea of fog
and the smoke of
too many
(poorly rolled) joints
and i grope but cant feel
the beginning or the end
to all these blues
only you and you
whether i am here or there
or in transit
between the two
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