Sunday, April 24, 2011

on a day like this

i wish i were a mitten
that fit your hand only.

only you would have
those special number of

and i'd fit you so perfectly
you'd keep me on
all through the summer.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

flah ni em dlof

emit hguorht depael lrig a
htrof dna kcab redro gnippilf

did you feel it -
like an itchy baby scratching his chin
inside his mother's belly

the sound was invisible
the deed was innocuous
thgirla dlrow eht degnahc ti tub

soahc fo tib elttil taht deyojne i timda tsum i
esnes emos ekam ot nageb yllanif sgniht 

things like you
and me
and age
and glory
things also like faith
and flexibility

for a second i was just a thought
and then - bleep - that too was gone
(esle erehwemos devirra dah i  naem tsum enog)

s_o_m_e_times ||    being 
not always         ||








                 everyone's          while

Friday, April 22, 2011

my ego is a banana peel i trip over constantly. some lessons we don't learn through trial and error.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

everything deserves a name so I gave you this

everything deserves a name
and so shall you have one too.

it will simply be lovely.


just like you
it will have the most beautiful beginning
and be altogether witty
and when people read it aloud it will roll off their tongues
and roll right back in
so that it can come out again
and again.

that is how the good ones go. people just read them over and over. ask anyone you know.
and with a name like this, you could never go wrong.

and when you are tired of you
your name will still be there printed in public memory
like a logo on a little girl's shopping bag as she carries it with her when she goes out to buy potatoes.

and you will think to yourself.

" name is definitely better than 'potato'."

but you know inside
that even boiled and served without salt or pepper,
potato tastes better than you.

but you have a name, a dear little name, a happy home, so you cling to it with all your might.

and you remember how not so long ago, a 25 year old girl gave you a name as she wrote you down on her moleskine notebook that was a little too small and cluttered for her liking, but that rested comfortably on a Bukowski book she'd been reading and was taking more than just physical support from, a book which rested on her panties that had been drawn down to her thighs as she sat on the toilet pooping leisurely at about four in the afternoon while feeling her teeth with the tip of her tongue and thinking how they'd need to be brushed soon.


on most days you're a friend
but sometimes you're also a rambling little mouse.

thank you for rambling things that would probably mean
nothing to everybody else

like daily vitamins (which i don't take)
you're essential
and nourishing.

and you're still rambling while i write this as an aside.

somebody blew my trumpet and it made a fine sound

and i snapped
like a rubber band
i burst
like a balloon
i fluttered
like a pack of cards
let loose
by the contracting fingers
of a magician's hands.

i must have turned into many
many little pieces.

i don't feel liberated from ugliness

but from this tense atmosphere that licks the corners of each page as it flips through my book of narcissism.

my narcissism is always too aware of,
always a little incompatible
with my ugliness.

but today i encountered
the ugliest beautiful man.
he was so ugly
and so beautiful
at the same time.

i think it set me free

tomorrow i will begin to worry
about how to let my ugliness
go unnoticed
but today i feel free.

and that is how i let a lot of sloppy ones (like this one) flow through me.

i know you're all sad fuckers staring into your screens

i am too.

so much of tenderness
this intimacy on the internet
with potential strangers

should i be happy i made my grandmother laugh in spite of her anger and that i did it face to face? all she wants is a little bit of attention. all we deny is a little bit of attention. when she told me she wanted to tear her mouth to shreds and hurl it away, was she just asking to be heard? my grandmother is a rumbling belly, full of sadness. she gurgles, and grumbles. acid burns inside of her, sounds tumble inside of her,  full of sadness. she wants simple, little things to be happy. we will not make concessions.

always ready to leverage
to take for granted
to carry you half full
no, to be brimful of you
to salivate over you
to think you are the answer to all the universe's unanswerable questions
you are fulfillment, you are contentment
you are celebration, an affirmation of the good things in me
you make me beautiful
you, tender you.
ultimate you.
you you

to even think you are.

holding, touching, caressing
my mind is a double decker circus emporium street fashion super market carnival thingy.
can't keep track.
my mind is active with you.

you are paint, furniture, wood, transparent, you are warmth, a light fixture on the ceiling, a naked ant marching on its solitary journey, paintbrushes, half burnt candles fading color, fading perfume, dust, permanent, shadows without stories, to-do lists on mirror made with temporary markers, you are that warped window and that empty mug with memory of last night's impetuous storm and yesterday's rancid coffee, you are my clothes, unwashed, bed, unmade, book, unread "sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way", you are an old path that winds and unwinds in the alternate universe i've kept folded and tucked away in the corner, you are also last night's dream where the sky was the shore and the rain was a wave and i looked at you and i drowned. then the moon turned into a boat, and i sailed into the morning, and when i woke up, i was still a little wet.

i've booked that special room in my mind for you

for you are familiarity.

and i am empty handed.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

my mind is oozing spaghetti.

what drips between my thighs

obviously has got something to do with you.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


stay off contrivances.

how is it that words attack the soul with all their determination to mean?

stay off words.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Rhymes of Another Summer

music. wind. I think I'm beginning to fall in love with the sounds of the night. and they sound better in the presence of yellow light.

tonight. mass. momentum. levity. action without purpose. crescendo. yet another crescendo. a series of crescendos. and this song will never end.

Galapogos:    here and there                   I try not to mingle
                    a sweet song                     this sweetness with memory
                    hits my ears.                     but that face...                                                        

I am a complete aesthete. I see everything in terms of beauty.

twig to twig.
leaf to leaf.
flower to flower.
soul to soul.
we all are
microwaveable elements.
when music enters soul
flowers fetter
leaves tremble
twigs spin
my young head feels a dizziness
resulting from its own absence.
is it a charm?
no, I don't think so
it's just this state of normalcy
an ordinary moment
that has become all too rare.

what does one say when one wants to say all that can be said.

                poison. mono.
fingers, gasp for breath
the meaning obtuse
the single sorrow of this diverse humanity
this piece of music.
it wasn't created
it came to be.

earth. rooted.
floating. buoyant.
simple. crisp.
utter solitude
multiple solitudes
when ten digits perform their dance macabre
on the stage of black and white keys.
like the drip, drip of water
and then a dog whining.
bass. low
then high pitched pain
the fingers press out their cries.

one person
two hands
ten fingers
perform a symphony
one person
two ears
so many minds
all grasp the single essence of silence

unified. solid. collective. together. we. us. gathered. whole.

mastered                                                                                naive
innocence                                                                               ignorance

why is naive so appealing to me.
naive as a state
that supersedes innocence.

am I that child smiling
at you when you're playing the piano?

these are the things I see
when I hear the solo.

solo concerto                                                       I am always unaware
solo symphony                                                      of formalities. Readily     

The Colours of Music

            'Comptine d'un autre ete'

purple. yellow. green. red. turquoise.
                                                      maroon (?)                maybe maroon
                                                                                       after all                                               
                                                                                       maybe not.

I cannot move.
I wouldn't put anything past this music.

it's a fountain of whispers.

I could not move.

I'm listening to the amelie song
and the breeze.
my heart is going crazy.