Saturday, August 29, 2009

poor donny

fish and rocks, sand on the edges
it's big, and the ocean doesn't care

what's left

i have a problem with
the hole in the backyard i
use to bury my sad
it's filling up
and all i have left
is this starlight, but it takes none
from me
i'll leave you with this

confusion
        questioning

for whatever it's worth
it's all that's left

Friday, August 28, 2009

just for quick

it seems like
8 a.m. a lot
his singing
this is
treacherous.
that
concertina
almost
makes up
for it

sometimes there are
subtle touches to it
and it's enough to
put you on the ground
writhing in tears
spasms of melancholy

but there's work, distribution, reconciliation,
rectifying, refurnishing, zip-tying, copying,
organization, socializing, rebuilding, re re re
8 a.m. and i think society could use this beer
a lot more than i could. it'd do a world of good

pellder

trees stand bare against
this treacherous fog
it's not night,   but you see nothing
          miles apart
separated not only by fog, distance
but by a looming cloud of
not animosity   ..  but of
emotional despair
i fear
   that perhaps they'll
never meet again
    they're gasping
         they're choking
and out of tune
but sometimes..   harmonics match up
it just keeps darkening
the brightest dark
               farther away now
gone

Thursday, August 27, 2009

oh dear

i feel like i'm swimming
in a really confused
bowl of milk
not only can i not see
the bottom
but also, this milk is
really confused
and i think i'm aggravating it
by treading milk

this is just initial expression smashed on a website

   thanks for the doorways
      moments aside
these walking motions in twilight
as for what it would be ► i don't know
if i actually had answers,
    or ideas of the future
       i could share
but i'm as confused as the rest
i'm cold, i'm shocked
even the deepest parts of me
can barely sleep at night, past
the initial passing out. i can't sleep
5:29, up at 4:00.              the sip of beer still
in the can is warm and stale now
but was beautiful, adventurous
   you were here

i suppose that's all i can say
except that i have this scratch
on my back
it's accidentally self inflicted
but i wish i had had some reason
to put it there

what i....//

       i want the rain
i want to stand in it, submerge myself.
soak my clothing until i'm shaking
and dripping, until drying off takes weeks
i want to walk in gutters while
            my shoes fill up with tears
            coat themselves in leaves, soil,
and drink wine from the bottle
    drunk enough to fall over while standing

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

see if this works

dawn, sunrise, dripping onto curtains
my frustration frustration
frustration bundled up

i want to throw it out a window
but i've seen this before
i know the end result
and i know the events

nothing is so pathetic
as a bike race
july 5th, 5a.m.        ...still not old enough
                    ...to really understand
                    ...(will i ever be?)

and losing
not only the race

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

skies so blue

under a florescent glow
in the heat of the day
still i shiver

i'm nervous, and it's beautiful
but it hurts
a dull roar

i can describe so many situations
that i can see
happening

but no longer can i sharpen
the lines between reality
and my fiction

i'm so still that i shiver

and again

feels like soup today

i want to drink in the trees
swim on the rocks
eat sand and shovel
back the horses trying to stampede.

i want to pillage those
painstaking hearts
of these painstaking todays
and throw back the ones
that don't fit into my chest.

i want to remember what
feeling is and i want
to remember what feeling
feels like.

i want to remember what
feeling is because i want
to know why i'm feeling
this so much.

i want this because i want
to know why not feeling
makes me feel sad
but what does sad feel like?

Monday, August 24, 2009

poem

is this what solitude is?
a crater in disrepair
and fits of the most
indolent turmoil.
it's just because,
just colored yellow
like fingernails.
remember
the son of
god was born
in the dirt

after the math


this is what your nighttime looks like
this is what the light can't outrun
when it can't run any faster

Sunday, August 23, 2009

dirt trails
and vagabond sailors
         we have the prince of dublin
      and his homeless brother
                raiding homes and pillaging
                hearts

and my shoes are dirtier than
after movement kept from    b eing cold,
  all of those answers went
untold. it was a good move and i can't stop thinking
   but night skies, river beds
     where do we go with what the wind tells us?
because throwing bones can only last
so long. and when summer ends where are we now?
where are we when the fog lifts,
the clouds part,
the long river
of confusion
  dries up

and a week of solitude gives itself some time to think
it's a walk down the dark roads,
street signs,
green lawns,
car ports,
backroads,
and so many broken bottles
that i hope don't foretell the the upcoming landscape

Saturday, August 22, 2009

drunk when i wrote it, the words fell slowly off the page

i'm not sure if words are
  even amiable at this point
but i'll give it a go

i love you

can i even say this?
  i'm not too concerned
after you watch yesterday
stride slowly into the rear view mirror
and exhaustion settles in. you're ready for

a bit


of peace and quiet,
heavy eyelids, giraffe,
stop sign, fuck

and all this dirt on my sweater

sunset on the oaks

sunlight drifting in trees
      meandering casually
she, winding emotionless down
the road, striped dress, light green bike
black hair.

   it had been drunk, and dark
   i had stopped to think but the
   truth of the matter was apparent

the sound of rain
just for me,
          although it's clear out.
  misnomers, and honest water
just silent whispers but it feels
    like where half way around the
    world would be

and back to her, would she even
remember, would she care that i don't care?

^_^ + ^_^

makes me want to fall, sober, sobbing
without recognition, precognition-----
reminiscent and repulsive
my black vial has filled
with tar, and left me
cold in a ditch by the freeway going
nowhere

^_^

i'm not alright i'm not alright
i'll tell you again
it's like these stitches
just keep coming out of the wound
and the cotton stuffing fell out years ago
like your old beat up teddy bear

where?

the old ways didn't keep working the way we thought they could
but we kept it up
growing them in the jar on the window until the crystalline porcelain shattered
amongst the lost flowers in a garden.
the one turned upside down. should have stopped growing.
           like years of history grasping at
so many of those older memories. the times. faded green
on the panels hung to the rotting fence posts.         going. going     going

the last

   
   
        with  glass   and it's half empty now
     with the stains in the concrete   and the walnut shells just working hard to forget
  that they've withered and died without a spring
if they could have seen one more december, perhaps
                                          it's nothing

Saturday, August 15, 2009

I'll put all my regrets in this little box for you. Happy christmas

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

i'll take this in small doses, thank you

as i awoke. rude awakening. hello tom
an hour before the sunrise but light enough
                          to find my way to safehaven.
peeling off the soot, the dirt and memories
in all other cases, likely to have been forgotten.
   left behind on the bench that          (and who the hell was she again?)
watched the first creatures of morning
crawling.       writhing.     flapping and falling

so on the road in a hotel on the road
and that wine tasted good didn't it?
two bottles bought with the elephants
                            observing with their
            cautiously optimistic distance

and i staved off sleep for so long
like some type of prize fighter
      my goal: the end of the bottle,
another set, another dance
i'm ready for                  friday
and i'm ready for conversation
    coffee, drinking, jumping and more
    dancing

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

it's nothing, really

tumbleweeds on green plains and fields
sunlight lighting up its satellites barren wastes
harsh tundras and dim forests
a small spring running through carved rocks
decaying, over time, the history
it took so long to build up. vanishing before
it knew it was there
rags and riches laid to rest in an ocean bed

but it's so beautiful you could cry forever
and if that forever was something
     you had
never would you give it away
even for all the knowledge of the redwoods
or the nocturnal vision of the most distant stars
stretching their voices across the void of
nothing

roll

hello rocks, i don't need your permission to take this photo.
just
    don't
          move
                ...

edit

curtains on a monday
and hair-brain thought
what are these empty cans doing
why can't it be me, and why is the how
that brings them to where they should be    it's an informal banquet
everyone is invited, but there is nowhere to put it

so i'll put the shovel back into the shed the general frustration back onto the rolling cart
push it down the hill to hide it from prying eyes and gawking mouths
and there's this thing, 'letterlike symbols' what the fuck is that?
if you'll ask what time it is, i'll tell you to shut up
just once more.

Monday, August 10, 2009

charging what i can
and piling the remnants back into
cupboards and closets
tidying up now. and leave it alone

this is for form not function
but i'll take love and lust

remembrances occurrences and lights
at the end of tunnels. welcoming home
the day when you passed out
and she told you it wasn't up to you
it's good to fucking be back

is it 8:00 yet?

back.          to here and now
to why and     when
to the ifs and buts
but i think      i'll keep this one in
to myself.      it's not for anyone else. perhaps you wouldn't get it
i certainly      don't. but it's probably not for me anyway

but you see the people go by outside, who are they; where
do they go?     at night
when you're    asleep and no one is listening.
where are they?

Sunday, August 09, 2009

hopping the train

skipping stones, throwing roses
        a rock wall and jumping in puddles
you'll remember the tree forts, grass hutches
the trails and groves and the cold,
meandering breeze that puts your
           sweater on
and back to love and loss
the lonely days, tiresome winters,
afterthoughts      premonitions

but a creekside babble, cold
beverage to remedy the tired sentences
          of regret as the sunset
brings on a separate bit of reality

the night air, moonlight and blindness of
the treeless meadow.         and when
the car can't get any dustier you
brush aside the past and carry on;
   always ascending

Friday, August 07, 2009

who was me?

give me water, and the cold
ocean breeze and salty air bracing to hold
your lungs for a pause, a moment. an instant;

drawing back what conclusions gained have for sought
bring back the arrow and release and watch the
future crumble backwards back down the cliff where
it started. hold on
to the listless gaze of whichever eye held your
attention and think just for a moment
where did i go when this all started?

Thursday, August 06, 2009

kitty in a box

got me thinking
the mind sinks roots of carnal
evisceration. exasperation.
confused with exhaustion in a cold
expanse of alpine climate.

and for just a split moment, the ice
melts - -
comes off in sheets, long winded chunks/////
that fade across the valley and raise the
level of impassibility in the
western reaches

All the while an escalation in
that deep chasm, corroded banks, edged turf
and the uncertainty principle
wins again
unless wavefunction malfunctions

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

waiting for the bots

the old times and how it was
how i was, who i was. it's gone
you get tired, always thinking
that can't be possible
this isn't possible
i'm not tired!
but i will be, i've seen it
and i've felt the autumn before, and again. i'll feel it again soon

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

up up

it's through doorways, back forth,
down stairs and up again, secrets there,
corners and darkness hiding and whispering
it's back from where you're from and into the wild
searching searching, searching and finding
not what you wanted, but you found it regardless
to there and from there into this out of that and around this corner next to the next one but still in the back if you don't stand too close it won't burn you as you cross your legs trying to look proper but there is a swimming pool that just sits dormant because the pool man forgot the chlorine and instead gave it a miss back to the bar where he waits for tomorrow for lack of interest in today.

suppose you found what you were looking for though. what would that mean
to everyone else after the day was over.
would they be happy
would you?
is it the right decision?
how do you determine that exactly?

Monday, August 03, 2009

not too much fun now

if it stops this will last me all night
there's the motion of leaving
             the perpetual abyss of freedom
       not freedom from living
   but swim was right
i don't want to be in the area of short-sightedness
   we only have this time
       we didn't have last time
            even when you've seen this night
                  upon the precipice of eternity
               we can't stop you from leaving but it's to be so staggering
             earth shattering
           the tears fall like footsteps coming down a mountain
       that couldn't have been the last time
   but that decision isn't up to us

Sunday, August 02, 2009

how am i posting without the internet?

new words for learning purposes

spangle - v: to cover or adorn with spangles (which are little fancy metal ribbons as i gather)

speleology - n: the study or exploration of caves

enjambment - n: the running over of a sentence from one verse or couplet into another so that closely related words fall in different line

williwaw - n:
                   1: a: a sudden violent gust of cold land air common along mountainous coasts of high
                       latitudes

                       b: a sudden violent wind
                  2
: a violent commotion

Saturday, August 01, 2009

yesterday when you got so old

sailing always brought about
this satisfaction
the drifting sense. doing it anyway
but no boat, shoes
the waves aren't water though, they're the fluctuation
of day to day matters. here and there. as you stand by
blue like the tears spilt [the auto-correction thing said this isn't a word but it so fucking is a word]
from the lack of presence
presented in torrents of categories arranged into
pigeon holed
universes just behind the shelf on the last left near
the drinking fountain