When we lay in the brown bed, with the purple sheets, warmed
by disconnect static and pill buzz, (I loved this song with a scalding loyalty,
the way he sings,
even Richard Nixon has got soul.)
every day a slow mo fall.
Sweet cloying opiate twenty-one, its
nauseating cokefiend boyfriend drawl,
horrid sight night terror,
fell asleep in my impress-you-dress,
happy birthday los angeles bastard,
southern california took me down down.
Coulda sworn I -
"As Long As I Can See The Light,"
"I Cannot Have Seen The Light,"
slow heartbeat in a dry heat climate.
Card house of cigarette butts for to deny I was alone
and so alone torn by Corsican time zone.
I hardly remember a thing, dull wound no sting,
I hardly remember a moment, brain-dead drug-drone,
innocent in a film noir live socket.
Caught with no slicker in a shit storm,
to await the gavel smack.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
The Paramount
Young men are slow-walking,
drunk, past the Paramount
a few tumbles into their
whisky nights,
attempting to quantify
their mistakes
as one tallies up a bill
and settles it.
Everyone's singing
of throwing I-Ching
these days, darling,
but for you because you
sing of nothing
but an ashtray and falling to sleep
still-spectacled.
Have you never noticed
the blooming dancer?
She certainly can
can-can.
drunk, past the Paramount
a few tumbles into their
whisky nights,
attempting to quantify
their mistakes
as one tallies up a bill
and settles it.
Everyone's singing
of throwing I-Ching
these days, darling,
but for you because you
sing of nothing
but an ashtray and falling to sleep
still-spectacled.
Have you never noticed
the blooming dancer?
She certainly can
can-can.
The Hello Fall
Painfully I am attempting to make myself
large
and full of holes
that instead of being tossed
from hand to ambivilent hand I might be
run through
Dear tiresome invertebrate love,
I am still in you
still swim within you
I am simply sober
and no longer know some
"pheromone opiate sting,"
And our hello was murky
as our goodbye
was never drawn
large
and full of holes
that instead of being tossed
from hand to ambivilent hand I might be
run through
Dear tiresome invertebrate love,
I am still in you
still swim within you
I am simply sober
and no longer know some
"pheromone opiate sting,"
And our hello was murky
as our goodbye
was never drawn
Dear Dissident Sweetheart
At the beginning,
where it hurts,
(not like a slap from a spoon,
I wasn't a bad child, was
too good,) I have scrawled
your name in the sheet of
fog
and been marked by your seal.
A puncture wound, it hurts
a puncture wound, so beautiful
was it.
The ageless generosity,
gold coin of the moon,
spoke of something of
something--
but we
did not
understand.
I had what I have.
Will I always be pulling yellow
hair from my mouth
Always, one old
door creaking
where it hurts,
(not like a slap from a spoon,
I wasn't a bad child, was
too good,) I have scrawled
your name in the sheet of
fog
and been marked by your seal.
A puncture wound, it hurts
a puncture wound, so beautiful
was it.
The ageless generosity,
gold coin of the moon,
spoke of something of
something--
but we
did not
understand.
I had what I have.
Will I always be pulling yellow
hair from my mouth
Always, one old
door creaking
Monday, August 20, 2012
on some faraway beach
I found another place to fall in love with
and I do,
each day do I
.
?
I found another feeling
new,
a different kind of
wet-eyes,
I am looking
for a way
to destroy
my seething arsenal
of hate.
A way which leaves
minimal dregs,
which wont clout
my atmosphere
over its
lacy little
crown
and I do,
each day do I
.
?
I found another feeling
new,
a different kind of
wet-eyes,
I am looking
for a way
to destroy
my seething arsenal
of hate.
A way which leaves
minimal dregs,
which wont clout
my atmosphere
over its
lacy little
crown
Friday, August 10, 2012
Flora
When I look for myself I find
that I am sitting
in a bar
with a face which has lost
the energy of expectation,
irises unfocused behind
an opalescent fog,
sipping a tonic through the thin line
of a black straw.
On all sides
surrounded
by my autonomy,
allowing limited discourse.
If you are
a friend
your words feed me orchids.
Without Flora
no impressions
leave watermark.
that I am sitting
in a bar
with a face which has lost
the energy of expectation,
irises unfocused behind
an opalescent fog,
sipping a tonic through the thin line
of a black straw.
On all sides
surrounded
by my autonomy,
allowing limited discourse.
If you are
a friend
your words feed me orchids.
Without Flora
no impressions
leave watermark.
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