listening to brian eno 'the big ship', 'i think it's going to rain today' randy newman, and 'jolene' ray lamontagne.

trouble river trouble troubled mind
sometimes i think hey
i made it

then become so confused
because i can't remember
if i took my pills today

all of my friends, they're
so good to me,
they know

allison doesn't remember.
and all of my friends, they're
so good to me, when i trip
up and break

because i remember.
it sounds like the dead grey dissonance.
i remember remember some

trouble river trouble troubled times.
got troubled times on my mind.
maybe it's too late

for me hon it might not do any good.
it might be you should take off like a shot
in the direction from which you came.

for years i thought that
i knew what i wanted but
i dont want to show you my broken face.

here i am feeling sorry for my self,
put that old volume back on the shelf.
it's trite as magazine trash

and it's goddamn old news.
but i guess pretty
baby i just haven't got booze

and all the bull shit's dissipated
that i used to hold on to
and now it's just me and over there it's just you

two tin cans and one long piece of string.

i feel perpetual

listening to: cocteau twins 'wolf in the breast'

The nauseous fire is awake. It courses down my limp limbs.

I used to speak of rattling like a pinball machine. 

Now my shaking is quiet but 

Like a wind irrepressible and pervasive. 

“I feel perpetual. I feel perpetual.”

I told him of the comfort that I find in the feeling

Of knowing, that one day

A dog will be running over my grave.

I cannot tell you what is going on in the world. But
 The smell of pines and rain. 

A cave of cold water and red earth.

Reaching the sun. 

The shaking settles. 

I fell asleep like a child,

In Grandma’s bed, some 

Things do change.

And in the aqueous blackness

Of night 

“I feel perpetual.” 

Breathe easy. 

'damn you, girl, if i wanna fantasize, that's my problem.'

katebushalldayeveryday

When I was a child
Running in the night
Afraid of what might be
Hiding in the dark
Hiding in the street
And of what was following me

Now hounds of love are hunting
I've always been a coward
And I don't know what's good for me

Here I go
It's coming for me through the trees
Help me, someone
Help me, please
Take my shoes off and throw them in the lake
And I'll be two steps on the water

I found a fox caught by dogs
He let me take him in my hands
His little heart it beats so fast
And I'm ashamed of running away
From nothing real
I just can't deal with this
But I'm still afraid to be there

Among your hounds of love
And feel your arms surround me
I've always been a coward
And never know what's good for me

Here I go
Don't let me go
Hold me down
It's coming for me through the trees
Help me, darling
Help me, please
Take my shoes off and throw them in the lake
And I'll be two steps on the water

I don't know what's good for me
I don't know what's good for me
I need your love

Take your shoes off and throw them in the lake

Do you know what I really need?
Do you know what I really need?
I need love

the mind keeps me down

'i did my best, it wasn't much.
i couldn't feel, so i tried to touch.
i told the truth, i didn't come to fool ye.
and even though it all went wrong,
i'll stand before the lord of song
with nothing on my tongue
but hallelujah.'

lc





when the front door slams that way i just
grow frightful. been spending too much time in my bed.
the mind thinks the body is sick. the body thinks as much
of the mind. the willows ripple. i don't

know what i'm doing to myself. but i've done it before
and before that. i just never stitch together a word for it.
i could put on my white slippers and kindle the kettle and
call it a day done

i think i'd rather go out to dance but when the front door slams
that way i just grow frightful. ought to know by now a lot
of things by now i ought to know. and the body does
the mind just keeps me down

but i love you helen of troy

yesterday i kicked the door open
and now it swings like a broken arm

i do not think of what i have not
i do not think of what i have

i suppose i have not a drink.
i have not got a drink and god

damn it if it doesn't sing to me sweetly
of its taste that helen

of troy. i suppose i have not got
helen of troy though i dream of her breast in the cage of my hand

and when i see her sometimes i see her--
helen of troy and i want to swear at the stars and get

mad but i turn it inside to curdle,  the milk of my long
lethargic sadness.

yet i have this window big window and beyond it
flowers nosebleed bright

i have this little grey cat sleeping silently beside me
and ginger in my mouth

it's a sweet thing my anonymous mama says
a good thing, al, indeed

that helen of troy reminds you that your heart is
just barely stirring, waking

seethe for her eyes and weep for the cruelty of it
stretch our your wrists and commence to embrace the snake pit

you are splayed on the ground you are already leaving your
pyre is lit

and just as for helen surely for you
it awaits

untitled 4-23-11

The tangerine tree trembles, its white blossoms

Shake with uncertain shyness, young women 

Frightened that they bloomed too soon. 

When I arrived here, I thought,

I am concentrating on all the wrong things.

Meant to be writing a piece of analysis dry as dust.

And instead-- 

The meat of olives.

Pungent as a memory that only the body can recall.

Cumquat juice slipping down swollen fingers.

How, there is no other word for alone.

Not really.

A rippling purple iris caught in the lens of the sun.

Exhausted straw hats, terra cotta water jugs.

A fish made of bronze in a chalky fountain.

A painted quail. 

Soft cats roll their clean fur in the baked dirt. 

The photo of Joanna at the beach. 

And tonight,  the 

‘Best Dessert This Side of the Mississipi’ 

After crawfish, red potatoes, a filet. 

The blankets here are really shawls 

To wear around your shoulders.

I have danced beneath my kaftan.

Listened to a song about smoke and ashes.

Collected more Durrell volumes.

Seen my father’s eyes

As Louis sang “What a Wonderful World”

And every time he did,

We raised our glasses.

mexican blanket 4.16.11

once buried beneath 
sand six feet deep 


(now uncovered within)
resides an unruly beast


eyes as sharp as hunting knives
and bared snaggle-teeth


i fantasize of nights 
jarring hot and black


imagine incisors 
lacerating lazy hands


and the quick blade of fact
tested my bloody lip


it did not find me wanting
lashes lowered and words slipped


from the mouth of the creature
that never whispered its existence 


until new and clear-eyed 'neath
my mexican blanket she stirred