"And on the eight day, God sang, 'Let there be gays!'"
good-spirited fast-track and fool of fracking,
leak and let leak, freak–
again, leak and let leak, the savagely beautiful–
Her name is the effigy I throw around to get
a little less attention and a little more fake sympathy–
O', you fakers, clear as the days of my caretakers,
are you good? fluid as the soul can be?
high as the revelation of some fortune stripped across your bow,
hammered like the Almighty oiled up and ready for a show?
good, good, let me tell you something, then–
every year, I find myself digging deeper ...Read more
"Unus homo nobis cunctando restituit rem.
Noenum rumores ponebat ante salutem;
Ergo plusque magisque viri nunc gloria claret."
First-time listener, long-time caller. A lover. A lover.
Two aces of New Year's eves like pinpricks refuting.
…Finding yourself entangled in the magic of it all–
Where the warcry needle is a fiery big hit, a beguilingly big minute,
Dotting my fiercely i's and splintering my e's,
Eavesdropping at any moment, in the red-eyed glazer like a synapse, like a sigh and a sign.
The gods of dogs never do tell you the reformative years are the dull ones.
It will hur ...Read more
You are walking in the museum of now-humanity's ancestors.
You, the descendant, smiles in your crooked way. They are in jars.
They are displayed from a far and being made money for.
And the fire casts to all a long shadow, and the shadow veils on you
Perfectly and still functioning. "You failed," you whispered to it
Like a melancholy chub no longer a longer, apricot-eyed.
"You failed back," theirs seem to reply, the nefarious pointing and taunting,
From the cylindrical glass where chunks were preserved, the bullet-topped
Chunks of history, chunks of your avarice in a pollenated sweatbo ...Read more
I annihilate men with my godsent tongue, this godsent mouth.
My lip gloss are diamonds like I'm the diabolical that rose a rose.
My hips, my arms– they are godless but they climbed down from heavens as light rain,
As the snow McKinley has never known, never had a problem for, never worn…
"I wish he had a blog, so I can read his mind, so I can judge his thoughts accordingly,
The things he won't dare speak direct to me, but shouts at me, directly…"
It only takes one re-reading of Shakespeare to learn of love again.
I learn of tragedy again.
My dear tragedienne, would you come back ...Read more
you sat in front of your homey tombstone, decorated by tears of the departed, the departing, and the newly born,
we are young in body but old in soul, whisked about and away by whiskey and the sunlight,
sun-dripped on milk in glass translucent as the second coming,
but deception, long as round-the-earth flight, slithers under your welcoming bed,
it rocks and asks for conformity, rocks and asks for stillness, asks for silence, asks for more, asks to be wed, asks for a lore
you were born radiant but duller and duller you become as the hallways that ushered
your caretakers, your future, ice ...Read more
Forks ‘stead of spoons– an upright imp, a herd.
“I wish, when I close my eyes, everybody closes theirs, too,
So we could all enjoy the darkness that glimmers. That glimmers
Far beyond our limbs and far beyond our homes.
“Our bones, they stutter– our cowardly, heralded.
There is no better route than having to escape the cave with ye.
No better feature creature than what's in yer belly.”
“People are sturdy things. People are fragile things.
They criticize and contribute to darkness alike, pray to our gods in darkness alike.”
“I pray only for ye.”
“Do you see them? ...Read more
The call to be a writer is louder than anything I've ever heard.
I wanted control, so I wrote the words to a closed-off world,
And it made me difficult, invective to unbind,
For there were three of me,
Maybe plenty, maybe unreliable,
And they each all desire a conflicted completion, shared down to the ineffective spleen
Of the yogi booty that fits in a cup, rinses by the towelettes,
And novelettes all marked the red and grays of what-it-says-abouts, what-become-of-its,
Have so slowly, so occasionally down climbed.
He was a professional who could never love a mindset as unfixed as mine ...Read more
Never touch the men in your city.
They scream through telephone wires.
They share everything. They hog over meals.
I saw all sorts of inconsistencies snaking their spine, making them all the more beautiful and all the less divine,
Rigid as what we’ve known of strife and gloria, singing in the accumulated form.
There is a sort of beauty to accents fading and intents coming clear, but intent has rarely come alone.
“I like where you’ve been. But I think I’d like you more when you’re mine.”
Why did the dog bo’er becoming a fool? Why, excited for in extremes?
Should have s ...Read more
we sleep like saints, be like saints
day and day in our by and byes
it gets old– me missing you, you not biting purposely
i pretty much only pertinently beseech myself now
only believe the ones that have little to do with me,
and a lot to do with you, substrates of you,
and all the particulars we are, refined as the twin souls we prune
people are synchronized storms some times
people are humid as vision quests in decline
am in a dizzy fashion, our anthems go hand in hand now,
we are into lowbrow love now,
keep-your-hand-under-my-sweater-kind-of-weather love now
never ought to nev ...Read more
That emblazoned tie looks good on you.
Should the wearer be so corrupt?
A photograph wetted by its library–
I’ve traced more books than in your background!
Does your soft white trigger like the forthcoming?
All secrets in this universe, could they bow?
How pow’rful, the stand-in locust swarm
Singing in his rain, tongued to his chain
I blame the men at work for motions fupped,
The sorcerer severed, gracious.
The masculine boat rock.
I am wooden as vessel, unsafe, unsalty,
Like watery trees, preoccupating,
A blindful forest where the grass go to die.
To where the end then lie ...Read more
Part I: Coercio
Don’t remember– Inviting you here, Swine, but here–
You are– Lusting over– Apples– But I am not Adam–
Notice my Lot– Distanced– From the Fourteenth
Trigger, the– Absent letter, the– End of my–
Shaming– Signed without– The irrelevant virtuosos–
Our ghastly immobilized adventurers!
Oo’, how costly are we? Oo’, how long ‘til we fall?
Part II: The Murder of Crows
heed not those who only have their body to offer the world
for all gets wizened, and beauty falls out by calamity of age
heed not those who pour by lure of the unmoored hands ...Read more
How was it that in the time they walked you home
you forgot who you are?
To you, a happy dream,
but to the sober: lit nightmare.
The future is bright, and dull, and white, and dank.
It’d be the gray overtones that both assure and worry.
“Keep drinking the blue milk. You need the calcium, you
Little fuck. You need
A little fuck.”
You’ve got me dreaming of smudges and your
mouth is sour where we’ve bitten, shaken and barren,
scared o’ where I’ve gotten.
Everything is about the homilies and the homilies say nothing about you.
The meadows, O’, the meadows–
They took ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.