Saturday, March 20, 2010

separated at birth

Posing in front of distant city lights, deadened wood hands reach up to furtive shades of visionary oblivion.
Encompassing abated emotions, aggregated beneath the sound of feral stars. Among menageries of clandestine heartbeats, posterior paw prints and sleeping breath. It peers out from distant hills, we share with each other, phlegmatic in our interest. Dead. Arrant animals through the lustrous brush, we tiptoed through your kitchen at night coming through the delicate screen doors. We crawled into your farm equipment to cultivate our selfish lack of reason. Slipped past the daunted houses squeezing themselves closer to one another as if ahsamed, they were looking down not looking at our eyes.
Moaning train passed in front or behind, the sound carried to us from years ago, from places no one knows.  Strange beings emitting sounds intermittently passing, considering limit seemingly ceremonious, as such were distant.
I touched the planets and arranged them around, caressing as a passion and we created the shade and the trains kept under oceans forever, smitten with cabalistic vibrations hunched forth by slabs of rock that set on my soul among whale and krill far from any shore.

Hold your claws within me for I no longer suffer.  I have found myself scattered about the roots of thistle and wild garlic and even outside basement windows where I watched, my stare never extended emotion, my dysorexia never intrigued for I have found my love within your soft fur.
I have found it with a complete neglect for the dwellings within that forbade our wandering with discernment. Found purpose with a complete disregard for them.  Found warmth from the fire.  Now we learn how to make shade.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

"i have no one to talk to.  i'm running out of options.  i only have two of them left.  The gun or the swimming pool, the gun or the swimming pool."

bar talk

explain beauty in one endless sentence.  subject and predicate, adverb and faucet water.  
brush of horse hair, ran wild with earthy breath now dipped in paint on canvas, 
green to deaden the blush.  
gauche, face laden...patterned skin through shades of printed windows in dusty bars fading,
as afternoon nears evening, and dialogue loses its usual cadence.  
wonder made damp, paltry, disguised,
over in the corner by the jukebox machine, reflectin’ solemn eyes.  
crippled among cripple is done, I guess they're crows are they? 
band of instinct, as brothers are one.  
one among apart and running water runs.  
rising death in orange set sun.
kitchen appliances pushed as perimeter to white counter tops, faucet trickle, 
is that red wine in a jug among tin pots its contents in weight fickle?
is that murder outside the windows, a sea of drown cat calls caught.
in the branches of swaying buoys with the wind balanced and taut?
never christened at birth or there foreafter, I love a lot still 
but empty as chalice under wood cross, shunning hands from shaw.  
dirty as clean as wine in water, dreamland of death, love and war, cannon fodder.
secular as wine cork to undo and thus open,
rock from roman, from brushy thistle and footstep from cave
after purity, after betrayal,  after resurrection, after three days,
to drain from unplugged ocean,
to take away the waves.
i am dead and I don't care, placement or shape
take me from earth,
jewelry from purse
from stillbirth.
how waterfall over jutting rock cleft,
living life left or trickle of rightly darkened death sets.
all the beauty gone in the exhale of one endless,
subject, predicate, adjective, breath.