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Sometime between night and morning,
I steal minutes from my bedside,
turning them over carefully
in my hands.
As the sun engulfs this small, cramped haven,
as the beats stir to life, to warm the small places,
between my fingers and toes:
I crawl outside and to the roof,
I let the light tuck itself neatly
around the world,
and I miss you very elegantly.
Nothing is sweeter than cold white wine on a hot summer morning.
Nothing is finer than the rich and well-lit dawn.
The day yawns open to greet me,
as I scratch it behind the ears;
I measure love in the time it takes
for me to crumble.
The game is on,
my nerves are lit:
under heavy fire
and fuel is this writ.
an unresolvable dynamic resulting from
a tedium of dreams combined with
a few isocoles triangles,
who watch my movements from
shaded corridors
as I take out the trash.
Taking out the trash,
I catch your reflection in the glass.
One must stop caring about such things.
Oh call it off!
call me crazy.
Take your world rainstorm by rainstorm
into the bright and painful light.
I will sit here and write.
I will list my loves on one finger.
I will spit and snarl and howl at the moon.
I will throw the frail bodies of joy and suffering
mercilessly against the brick walls of this place!
Leave it to be,
be it to grow,
grow to be more.
I am tired okay?
I am tired every day.
I am bored without a drink or a bowl.
I am psychotic and sane!
I am your neurons your fire your pain!
Through neglect, ignorance, or inability, the new intellectual Borgias cram hairballs down our throats and refuse us the convulsion that could make us well. They have forgotten, if they ever knew, the ancient knowledge that only by being truly sick can one regain health. Even beasts know when it is good and proper to throw up. Teach me how to be sick then, in the right time and place, so that I may again walk in the fields and with the wise and smiling dogs know enough to chew sweet grass.”
– Ray Bradbury
On a night when the fog looked so dense that all the forest was merely a scattering of charcoal smears on the canvas of Nothing, I walked tripping and falling. Landing on soft wet snow, I pressed my skull to the earth and gazed in wonder at the clear cold sky. The stars seduc-
Wait- come back! I was lost. It happens.
We hold our breath and hands, beneath the blankets to keep out dawn’s light. Time shakes its feathers around us, squawking and chortling in our ears. Carefully, carefully, I circumnavigate your body while all the world wakes up, alive and twitterpated, restless and eager. Secrets whisper to me from beneath your skin.
They have known you since before you were born. They have always been hiding, just beneath the surface of your flesh and blood, in the ticklish spot beneath your ribs.
Before you were born they hid themselves in your veins,
where you would not see.
I say, when you cannot wish on stars
wish on streetlamps.
Another story, another romance,
another dream sits waiting at the coffeeshop
on the corner,
tapping her toes on wet, tired tiles,
watching the puddles form faces
on the streets outside.
“We never sit ourselves out.
We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled.
The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.”
Slinking toward a crowded, anonymous bar,
willing my heartbeat to have constancy,
tasting only salt and my trembling pulse,
all the way down, while
swooping through the scenes-
beautiful skinny-hipped Asian women,
drunken lurching rich city hipsters,
my hair flying around my face like flower petals.
I wish for home, fucking or exquisite beauty.
Will I find a scrap of hope
in the midst of this city blooming
children who have no eyes?
The train stops often
and refills by the minute/
my fellow adventurers become
skinnier and harder, younger
angels waiting under streetlights,
half-moon eyes and heavy smiles.
January 1st, 2005, New York City,
Center of the Universe,
Land of the Periphery,
an ominously sunny sixty degrees.
My head aches,
my mouth is ash,
my heart yearns.
I bleed all over,
my eyes streining to blue,
light shining from my pores,
Product of Love,
testimony of passion,
a teardrop on an eyelash,
a whisper in my wine glass,
collect you all and scatter you
all over the streets,
to travel in the breeze
all the way to infinity.
My loose ends have come back to me,
tied knots around my wrists,
pulled me in one direction
or another.
Come back to this:
hands typing feverishly in the cold,
a story unraveling:
the real romance is found only in
your idealized fiction.
-as dawn creeps we have yet to sleep,
crawling under covers toward semi-darkness and you;
all the light is blue.
Your voice, the sound of rain,
the scent of promise, tinged with
darkness and the unraveling.
in spite of everything
else, all that stirs and crushes,
all that is devoid of feeling,
i always return to you.
bittersweet empathy
will no doubt be
the death of me
i have explored the depths of my psyche:
fear of abandonment,
desperate need to find self in others,
tendency toward self-destruction
i have known the boundless pain of love:
frantic kisses beneath a barrage of tears, two languages,
a one-way ticket home,
three thousand miles from the real thing.
here i sit, untethered and alone,
fearing, above all things,
that you do not mean what you say.
oily creature crawling through small window from atop
a house, into warm inviting nest of
pillow and blankets. all is enveloped
in darkness and quiet.
speak now
or forever hold your peace:
the infinite pendulum
hanging on your heart
keeping time to it’s beat
(beat)
it’s to time it’s keeping,
keeping time beating.
oceanic passion current
pulling me over and under.
staring up at the fierce glowing face
of the sun, through the endlessly
shifting flow of the waves above:
a brilliant sanity.
Born Alive Dying Dead
Start at the tail and end at the head-
I am waiting to be born
I am waiting to break free
I call out to the moon
but the wind strangles me.
Just a fly, caught in a jar;
thoughts collide, coalesce, form
a fireball in the sky,
that burns a trail of tears
strung like a rosary
between your fingers.
you cry out soft notes,
like a child’s tender wisp of hair,
caught in the breeze.
**
contemptuous stares
and liquid snares
your shoulder bares
no resemblence to
the monkey in the middle.
taurine!
hippity zah
yip yaw
blambastic snap plastic
bracelets from Wild Bill’s:
one dolla, your face
on a grilled cheese sandwich.
Pass me a plate
of that wily scag.
The wind is whipping your whiskers.
**
Butterflies and
wonder eyes,
hummingbirds caught
in your throat
**
Lying down, heart to the sky,
mind to the earth, e pluribus
unum
(out of many, one)
and the sun is a warm breath
on my eyelids, beneath me
rocks meld to my spine,
the ground is cracked
and voiceless, my
blood slows, curdles in my veins.
interro?
bang!
A sonorous boom, a lifetime in an instant,
exhausted, melting and fusing
with the frenetic pulse of the universe,
on the brink of utter annhilation,
the crazed beast frothing at the mouth
utter lies!!
webs and webs of them,
weaving through my ears, my eyes,
tugging at my stomach,
smashing my entire body repeatedly
into the pavement.
**
A thousand birds flying through
the sky is white noise
upon close examination, i find
that the thought of you fills
me with joy.
make your life extraordinary!
may you never be complete
but completely free.
**
in the untelling i feel the
pace of your pulse.
in the midst of your mind
i’ve found a nest, feathered
and soft, your eyes
have their quiet, in the center of
ecstatic yearning there is a note
only you can play.
rolling thunder in the distance,
brilliant flashes of heat and light,
the illimitable sky, your eyes,
the deep and infinite darkness.
this is all a fleeting moment.
this will be just a memory:
your hands in my hair,
my heart in your teeth,
a face in the remnants
of dreams,
perfectly mad and
furiously beautiful
intensely beautiful.
we were not born for death,
but we were born for
ecstatic rebirth.
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