Yukyak

"Gotta go to work, gotta have a job"

2011-12-17T16:19:00.001-08:00

Bukowski was a mail man
and Eliot a banker
and W. C. Williams a pediatrician
and Adolpho is a maintenance man
and I find myself envying him.
With vigor and zest and his leaf blower
He pretends to shoot tennis balls at so called "pussy cats"

You can work at Pita Pit
but hell if I'm going to Jamba Juice.
A man and woman have to have pride,
I know
But I don't care.
You're King Leonidas as far as I'm concerned
and you pick a wilted flower to wear in your pocket
and ask for the smiles of civilians
and laugh with half your heart.

Goddammit, John

It'd be a little romantic to be a truck driver
or a janitor after hours somewhere
and that cabin I'd build,
you could go there.
We wouldn't fight all that much.

Mostly how Alcohol works...

2011-12-17T16:04:00.000-08:00

There were a lot of weddings on November 11th this year.

I feel as though everything is on battery life.
Like eventually this page'll run out, the pen's ink, my mind with thoughts.
The sweat of desperation.
That's what they call "writer's block", right?
John bought me a little white bag for breakfast. It was particularly full of taste and texture
and then meaning.
He bought himself a malt beer in a bright orange can
And for one fucking second
I thought he wouldn't drink it.
I related my dad to "By the way" Bill,
how he could come back for a while after living in a shopping cart and be okay.

My memory is leaving me more and more. I forget things I've just said. The feeling of recognition is less great, remembrance more few. I blamed it this morning on wine. I don't think it's true.

2010-02-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

I saw a thin man sucking a limp cigarette with a work apron tied around his bent waste and a lump of greasy dark hair tumbling down into a pair of puffy inset eyes. He's what we call a 'working man', a 'starving artist', a 'sucker'. Like the lips he puckered to that vice between his fingers, he'll give in again.
He'll continue getting gaunt
and hollow out with a spoonful of that sappy heroine.
There is something in the greyness of his eyes that made me stare, like dead men rolling in their graves. Now he's down the street in a taxicab and right to work with a stained apron on
coughing up moths from the back of his throat.

2010-02-09T18:28:00.000-08:00

Greaso,
you're lingering on the tips of my index and thumb fingers where I had plucked your mane from a box of thimbles and tumbling and opening to find you there, didn't you follow me home then? I paid a handsome sum to feel the soft hair and watch the glassy eyes you keep untamed because the caged beast claws from the inside-out.

2010-02-01T17:44:00.000-08:00

It looks like you burnt your hand
Those fingers are bent in a broken way
sharply into the palm, the thumb out stretching strangely limp.
I get maggots in my mind eating at the bandages, spitting up acidic saliva that burns each thread like embers on the skin
and I find myself recoiling like a handgun, a spring loaded ignition in a black chrome case.
(I hate thinking about it.)
Those fingers nub-
nod-
naked bone carved into finger tips on a stretching hand!
Lye scrapes the thinly-skinned place I was told to bare toward a hot door during a fire drill.
Lye curdles there and adrenaline cuts my line of sight into a sunsetting horizon
where I lay hand-over-hand coddling the lump of scar under my outer palm.
The bandaged hand is being held in a bandaged hand
and the eyes let the irises show shame

2010-01-27T11:53:00.000-08:00

"Explainations are in order for why these floor boards are always freezing. Guess it will all make sense once we get older and reach the age of reason and, until then, I'll have no reason to sleep in. Not even on weekends; Unless we're together because my willpower will probably weaken."

The main drag licks at Hedon.
He drags back
and licks the filter
to get the main tar taste.
Where Luis sits in a dirty shirt,
with a cup ring over his chest
he knows the answers to all your queries.
He is in the hottest seat
(know one no is it is him)
The main drag licks at the window
where Luis sits in a dirty seat
with a lick of know on his shirt
and the glass is the great filter
and Hedon is being watched there on the other side.

2010-01-18T18:54:00.000-08:00

I'm lost
foraging for something lost
nothing that wasn't there
I know I'm just spinning
and he smiled, concerned
but what else.
I'm the one.

I'm so tired
my eyes are hurting.
What does that mean?
Why can I still smell his skin?
and can see his lips?
the smile he waded in,
concerned.
I'm in love with him, I know now.
No longer do I doubt
He is the one.
like a sour candy on your tongue
like driving too quickly around a corner
like a flying bird overhead
(dark against the sky but fleeting)
He draws on me now
pulls difficult things out now
and I want him
like a woman's cravings
like a child's retracted toy
like hunger and then laziness
The today there was a sun
but only was it warm
when I stepped out of that light.

2010-01-13T18:37:00.000-08:00

Once when I was 9 I forgot how to write
then again when I was 12
and from then on miraculous things began to happen.
I grew long ears (...)
and walked into steering wheels--I'm confusing the story here.
'That music seems to get louder the quieter I stay here' and all the voices in that song lept out at me while you and I were dancing. We knew all the cowpoke in the room to be true and not blue, we trusted them with that sound and they rearranged it into a new scene there. You were deranged as long as I stayed here, so I threw 20,000 tumble weed through the barn doors and laid there until you came here.
'Eye mist yew' you allergies said, and all that was neon-like grew a pair of real tall, real long ears that rang real true.
'Eye mist yew tew' and there she went, springing green algae all over that place like it weren't a thing at all.

?

2010-01-12T18:51:00.000-08:00

How do you love me?
Are you unsure?
Is it some times and not others?
Does it go in and then out like when one drives under an overpass? Through a tunnel?
Does it peak? Has it flat-lined?
Is it anything like cell phone reception?
Has it ever drowned you? Made you vomit? Untied your shoe? Pushed you over?
Do you even like it?
Have you let it undress you yet?

2009-12-07T02:45:00.000-08:00

Before lunch I find myself searching,
padding down the crevasses of my mind
to find an incriminating memory
I can resent you for.
In the morning,
when I sit up,
coughing out the dreams of you,
I find myself cringing at the monument I reluctantly build in your peculiar likeness.
And then I find it weirdest, most uncanny
that the morning into afternoon changes you.
And there you are,
pale faced
light behind your hair
[a dangerously picturesque image looms]
ring of fire in your eyes
And there I am
finding you for the first time.

2009-12-06T22:54:00.000-08:00

Now I know why you stick up for her.
She's radiant, warm, lusty.
Her voice rings in the bell jar of your mind,
the tone condensates the glass.
Her legs are thin and full of golden down
covered in wool and torn jeans
to bear a subtle copper knee.
Her forehead slops in an exotic way
and mounted there are the eyes of a bride:
cyan and striking;
able to--wanting to mend the wear you've done to your clothes (soul).
She's a warm hand inside your shirt
that runs it's tiny fingers along the notches up your back.

I'm jealous.

2009-12-06T22:48:00.000-08:00

Debbie Dearest, I'd hug you.
I'd pop you kernel corn in my tinned roof mouth,
at any hour of the night
just so that you can watch a movie in perfect conditions
(I know how this is)
I'd even carry your heavy body from where ever you have collapsed
to a soft place
in a warm nest
where I can lay too.

2009-11-27T01:32:00.000-08:00

You drive me crazy
You drive me wild
You drive me out of my mind
It's all I can say to you.
There's this bubbling feeling that hyper starts my heart and you laid your head against my chest to test me and smiled a light, lipless smile--all teeth, really.
"You think?"
and "No, no" between kisses I whimpered
"I know I do".
Those were rampant, running, grabbing at each other, punctuated by full breaths, panting even. Those were sweet on my tongue; the taste of you drives me wild. I've never kissed anyone with that passion: uninhibited, unadulterated lust and then, love.
And you said "I feel the same way".
The eyes you peer through,
when you tuck the hair behind my ear,
make me lose my mind.
I find myself running the air conditioner in December,
and it doesn't matter.
I think I might be falling in love with you,
that you may have charmed my heart
and for that,
I swell up
like a bee's stink to a child
my heart fills with warm blood and get flustered, flutter like a pair of wings, hovers around the moment when my lips touched your ear to say those lovely things.
You
you
you.

2009-11-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

Similar to a vice
I feel pressed upon,
fatty at the sides (under my chicken wing)
Time here creeps
slowly
with tension under long fingernails
around a corner.
There is tension in the heart of the fowl
thats why the Stuffin' was in a dish.

And they showed up without their mom,
almost as heartbroken as ours
over a fucking dog.
At the table,
in a square dish
a heaping plate of delusion
plopped itself in my place
and a dabble of dribble landed on everyone's nose
but mine and mine own

And yes,
thanks what I'm thankful for.
A right mind,
often misplaced
but right,
and that keeling pressure that keeps me beat down,
the promise of outbursts in nonsensical reprimands,
the Angst--
oh the adult Angst--
built up over roughly 40 years
to one day send an implosion to our homestead,
then the debris clear over Mt St. Helen.
What a feat!
Forgive me here for finding the
constant oppression,
illusionary misfortune and
obstinate dysfunction
a matter to be seen under comic light.
Forgive me now for taking humor.
Where pity belongs,
but here I am thankful for
the will my mother gave me
to undo the tightened vice
and laugh at those left helpless
by it's pressure

Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T21:39:00.000-08:00

Sometimes she gets chills
when you touch her
she shrugs your hand away.

Mostly,
she sits by the back door
and looks out into the yard
watching for feet in the grass.

She's in a maze I fear
where the mind is wrought with memory,
dark images flash at the eyes
and she is lost
standing at a pair of gates
petrified.

2009-11-17T21:37:00.000-08:00

My phone's battery has been low for at least three days now
and I just noticed,
as I plugged a charging end into the bottom of it,
that I ached a little.
I didn't bother looking for it;
I was out of my right mind all night
looking for them,
scatterbrained
hanging out of a car window,
hoarse-voiced
wearing a thin dress in mid-November.
My blood was warm enough
from worry
then anger that curdled it.

We ran her car down to “E”
finding them.
And I said
“They always just show up eventually”
and I repeated it all night,
even after we found them.

Thin legs with tender soles
taunted the road before them
where they had been lifted from.
Her jaw laid open
as he touched her
“She just died a moment ago”
Pain did seer terribly.
My heart ached and I gripped at my chest hoping to cut off the poison the site secreted.

Blood on her lips was a movie's soldier
coughing up himself in his last breath.
A wound on her chest was a memory on the stairs,
tired from a run and a sticker bush barreled-through.

I caught myself screaming
in the passenger seat;
I stayed in the car
and watched him lift the blanket
and cover his mouth
and turn away
and he said all night
that was the saddest thing he'd ever seen.

I talked to her while we waited,
laughed a little at her, how stupid
told her how good looking she was,
then I felt sick
and I had to stop.

Laughter was my abuello's funeral:
my sister and I ate candy in Abuellita's kitchen
and my mother was furious.

We saw her sister walking along the roadside,
she stood shivering,
crying eyes,
eager into my arms.
I talked to her the way back,
she watched to road.

I left the house that night,
for fear of it
and drove into the city
and laid
tightly woven into his arms.
Many tears left me during the course,
and still I lay in a strange state:
my mind wrapped around reality,
replaying the darkest images to wear out the hurt.
My heart unwilling to see them;
she entertains a dull ache.

2009-11-10T21:36:00.000-08:00

I miss you
Most totally when the world turn winterly.
When I get the flu
I remember the gas fire
that burnt me through the blanket
with intensity.
And getting chills...
I ache now.
I need you to hold my hands now.
I told you you're the only one,
I party meant it.
I can't trust myself in that matter,
of you.
Your mother's dumpling soup
the broken windshield wipers on your car,
your grandmother's couch,
hot showers,
Tinkham road,
love.
I do this every time,
and I told you I wasn't ready too,
and I meant it.
But I'll get you in someone else
and try not to fall in love
like an idiot
and hurt another heart.
“You get bored too quickly.”
“So you'll always be alone?”
I can't remember the last time I was alone,
other than right now...
Goddammit,
my eyes hurt,
my back,
my lungs
my head
is whirling.
Maybe I'll find someone else
if I stop looking.
Insomnia,
recklessness,
torture.

2009-11-04T21:31:00.000-08:00

You and your pretty fucking eyes:

A gray sky did loom
he had long hair
and high cheek bones.

Then those green fucking eyes,
--so there were a million before and between--
but like a Persian rug
yours were woven.
Yellow for charm (speckled here and there)
Blue for intellect (underlying)
Olive for artistry (outerlying)
and Green for loyalty (all over)
They have been haunting me
at night,
alone to my dearest thoughts
like men working in the distance,
they call for attention---
at which you stare unwillingly.
God,
damn it. Goddammit,
God fucking dammit.
I read you a sonnet of my soul,
you delighted.
I know your future.
Fuck.
Do I dare ask the cards my own...

2009-10-31T21:36:00.000-07:00

The woman in the sky balances her hands between Venus and Mars
Your blue eyes paw at her endlessly
you gather speed
and begin to ascend.
You two drink out of immaculate china.
Swooning,
you gather courage
and begin to ask.

The Moon is pulled
and placed upside down
in the 7th position
“This is what you fear”

I hear you telling everyone about her,
that you two kissed
and she held you.

The Lovers are pulled.

2009-10-31T00:40:00.000-07:00

“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
And I said “yes”
to seem more human.
I have never though.
I've felt a heart's ache
and guilt.

“You're so bold”
“He's a guy with pretty eyes and a beard, c'mon.”
“He'll break your heart for another girl.”
“I fall in love a hundred times a day with every girl that walks by.”

I've been trying to make you miserable,
jealous,
frustrated,
fall in love.
I can't imagine caring for someone
so reckless,
such a fucking flirt,
so unabashed.

“I'm the strong silent type”
“I've never laid in bed all day”

“I've never done this before”
“Oh c'mon...”
“Laid in bed with a beautiful naked woman...one I like as much”

You drive me out of my mind
with uncertainty.

I stare out of that tall window beside my bed
a meurtriere on the second level.
I am the archer with a hawk eye
bow drawn watching the wind.

The agent you fawn over
the princess of tides
she watch you try pawing at her
she dangles yard at your kitten nose.

The cards spoke to me last night
though in a poignant language:
You fear mostly her absence.

2009-10-18T15:34:00.000-07:00

For you:

Sometimes you are a flying bird overhead
dark against the sky but fleeting

Often you are a wave
swelling up from the ocean floor
crawling at me

Mostly you are a tropic storm
ravenous winds and stinging rain
rape any chance at escape

You catch me with a shut door
gently pushed closed
gaping eyes open.

2009-10-16T01:18:00.000-07:00

God had a handful of creatures and he said they were all allowed one defense against the unholy and mostly everyone chose brawn.
The snakes: fire against fire.
The cats: cunning.
The birds: simply flight.
God willingly gifted them the sweet tongue to taste at Heaven's belly, at a wing's whim...able to lick at purity when a muddy thought does cross. What a delight a bird must live.

2009-10-12T15:31:00.000-07:00

Crooning,
A crippled cat carried cards in her back pocket.
She whimpers and softly, she fades.
The damp light is attractive;
she turns on.
Her mouthy purr lingers like humidity under your clothes;
he turns on.
Headlights silhouette on a Siamese twin
In his ear she lingers, “I'm so lonely”
his skin crawls at her.

2009-10-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

Lets hear your yarn:

Gritty, sun bleached cement hell on fucking Earth.
I was enamored by the hills,
desolate but never vacant (of garbage)
Ambitious (undeniable) but scratching at the surface
surviving twice as much as you're allowed to live,
you crave the dream as a puppet
attached to marionette strings,
you walk a straight line.
Thirsty, passionate, driving yourself insane for a chance to breathe
a gulp of the gaseous.
Disobey the obedient,
fear the fearless (fear less the fear)
You concept inhibitions,
snarl at the billboard
(because it isn't yours).
God, I want to scream.
Your lack of reservation is not refreshing,
and you spoil like curdled milk
but somehow, in the recess,
I reluctantly respect what you do.
Unhand the girl to chase the woman
so he did and we both sighed.

2009-10-05T01:11:00.000-07:00

I feel the singing alley cat rocking its souls
back and forth
on the fence's edge.
Eyes peeled back for the blinding white at the end of this dead tunnel;
time scolds me,
scratches at the jugular
gets a drop of the drink to make you drunk.
And I swagger like a mule
tripping on the uneven stones into your cave.
Reciting, digesting, figuring
untamed, unabashed,
you instruct with a smirk
on the wills and wants of life.
I receive them in charm,
charmingly I coo.
Howling alley cat will not sing,
as vulnerable as a tad
on a lily pad.

2009-10-04T01:12:00.000-07:00

A boy white
a collar blinded black
singing like an alley cat
at the hood of the apartment
hanging at the balcony
Drunk, just drunk.
A kitty cat twice as tight
and as scrawny as he ever was
joins the flying force
and it's alright.
Mama grows the proud on the front lawn
and Papa drives Camaros right around town.
He lives in a tall fucking tube sock from AA,
(another wouldn't do him monster wrong)
Get a job,
tell them why not
you're not like anyone else
AND THEN GET PAID FOR IT.
Sha-shit.

2009-10-02T12:55:00.000-07:00

Too drunk to tell you what day it is
and I cut people off if
on the road
with my car in white.
I get into bars before I'm 21,
and I kiss anyone who looks okay.
I think I'll drink a sunset tonight
with more tequila than last night
and make sure the sweet and mean oldies are rocking me back to sleep.
I live in Los Feliz,
and as happy as I'll ever be, the street names remind me of sex.
Cumpston.
Mexican't men round their faces at my protruding assets,
and I mind it less and less;
no matter whatever
heavy fucking nigger lidded
honking at a green light
and I want to skin your skin.
On my left side,
a barber shop with an Irish name.
McKinney.
An Indian yelling,
a kissy mouth
on the window between cars
at an intersection
twice the size
and a Target on either side.

2009-09-30T12:48:00.000-07:00

"You stupid fuck, I'm in love with you."
What a cluster fuck.
A day with a headache,
caused by a headache
I gave to that guy.
He drank it out of him,
I cut it out.
That fucking gem I keep scuffing,
every moment I spend staring into it.
Today he wore a green shirt
and when he opened the door to me,
he smiled without smiling.

[Exhausted]

I kind of like you and I like your legs when you're in boxers, the hair that creeps up at your collar, all those crazy red hairs your face has. Well, your lips...they're perfect; they make me lose my mind a little. I try to tell you these things every once in a while and I just sigh because you're a goddamn fool and you just got fucking lucky about those green eyes. Those gems'll never dull.

2009-09-24T00:55:00.000-07:00

I feel guilty,
here in the pit of my stomach.
As if it were a greasy fucking hairball;
I scratch at my swollen belly to force it out.
I feel guilty for that shitty food I ate,
for that phone call I just had,
of course, for the heartless things I said
and to whom I said them.
I feel the thumb of a stranger traveling into my panties
and pressure on that greasy hairball, it makes me nervous.
You know, only at night do I indulge in these 'unhealthy allowances';
during the day
I keep myself busy by flipping through pictures of who I'm supposed to.
Also,
I feel guilty about never fucking writing,
about spending too much money,
or not doing the dishes.
See,
you,
why aren't I feeling all that pressure when I'm touching the wrong legs,
or stealing from the Goodwill?
Why not when I cut people off on the freeway
(or anywhere else for that matter)?
What the fuck is the deal here?
And then I want him...
The green eyes...the green eyes...
the fucking green eyes that see straight into my guilty soul,
that make me coil and recoil.
And even writing won't save my soul.
I feel guilt like an anvil, restless legs and a pair of horny hands.
AND I DID IT ANYWAY.

2009-09-02T16:02:00.000-07:00

Those gorgeous horse teeth you chatter with drive me just bat shit crazy.
And by golly, those lips your mother made you
taste like a country breakfast,
as sweet as you can stand and just as bad.
Not like I give a rat's ass what's good for me
but honey,
them green eyes you keep tamed against those scowling eyebrows
cut me every god damned time.
I've got these wounds all around and lord knows I don't want em' to heal.
The way you hold me like I'll blow away, tight as all hell.
The way them hips move when you want me,
even those sloppy as shit, dog kisses you give me,
I don't reckon I'd know quite what to do if you weren't there to give em' to me.

2009-08-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

At their house,
in my bed,
under my pillow
she laid tiny Mexican people to sift through my dreams
and when she slept I heard them screaming.
When she opened her mouth I saw them crawling.
They lived in the tall lamp outside of Grandmother's room,
in the adobe houses
with little white dogs
and at night she pried them away to work in our ears,
collecting our worries like bricks.
In my left over dreams
I saw them building cradles
for their innumerable infants,
weaving blankets
to drape over their windows at night when they're away,
and their children jumping from rooftop to rooftop like a train.
When I started to fall asleep,
when they screamed at night,
I immediately turned over my pillow to let them breathe,
laying perfectly still they gasped for air.
I inched just below my pillow and watched the sunlight move through the blinds, every morning.

To Remind Me:

2009-07-05T16:15:00.000-07:00

A pew of tall wheat grass ripples to the wind's doing. Crickets and June bugs howl well into the darkness. The place I am now is a memory; no longer am I in the rear seat of my road trippin' girl group's car. I'm in the passenger seat of my grandmother's truck. Reality's afternoon whirls into a warm evening in Idaho a few years prior, and I am comfortable there.
The grass whips at itself as we drive by, crackling loudly, becoming buzzing the faster we move. Grandmother's perfume is monstrously sweet and full of alcohol, and when she cries her powdery makeup becomes milky, so I can't watch.

In her dusky living room we perch on pastel furniture and don't dare recline.
"He was in a hunting accident."
A phantom face from a disturbing ID card slides into my mind's view. She moves toward me but we never touch. She's been comforted many times before but I am an acception.

Coffee in old mugs with goofy sayings, we sit around the kitchen table, every morning. Once, I asked for my own mug full and with surpirse in her pursed lips, she set a cup on my placemat. My grandfather and she watched me watch it, smell it, taste it, retract it. They watched a failed attempt to age.

I follow her out to the patio that on the edge of it's odd shape, is framed by that same tall grass. An old motorcycle sits fading against the shed; I ask her.
"From when Grandpa was a policeman."
I ask her.
"A long time ago, when he was a young handsome man."
In the dry heat, I draw close, warmth on my bare feat; I ask her.
"He'll call soon, Mijita, have faith."

Soda in plastic cups with ridges and rum, we lay in bed to pray, every night. Once, I asked for my own cup full and with surpirse in her furrowed brow, she jumped to say a furious "no". My grandfather and she listened to me ask for it, beg for it, cry for it, put me to bed because of it.

Plane 1

2009-06-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

An endeavor undone; so much is to be done.
A lost at soul (soulless we drive),
to sea he sails and far out he is begone.
So she warns me, "never write about it again".

A turbulence shakes me,
rattles a couple thoughts right out of my mind and to the actual floor they tumble.
Furiously I recall a dream of myself searching under the crowded seat of an airplane (strangely straight over the sea)
where nothing is found but a blistering bite mark on the pincer of my hand.

I recall the oil stains on the water to the East,
a frustrated sebaceous gland Mother Earth is fighting with
(I agree to feel the less fortunate "t-zone",
for the name I myself and again the difficult virtue both share.)
Like crepe paper the ocean ripples out to cellulite-full cumulus
where her under arms reveal unshaved-ness ( as lovely as those who treasure her most)
and I, a bird in a tin
watch her scrupulously from my vantage point.

Likewise I do to the saplings when soil-bound;
a vision of height precedes me as a dreamed allusion.

Moldy and full of puss!
Her clouds billow beneath me, grimaces ensue; a cringe is initiated between saplings.
To where finally a lone (lost) fish dangles before the allow beak.

The cabin darkens, throats become pitted olives at the bases of bellies;
We circle, arch, descend, and then ensnare.
The galley quivers as the insatiable captain rears for another.
At the nose the entrapped are teased (played to entertain a powerful complex)
and carted through the belly, unpitted we digest them as ravenously as fear will allow.
Cellulite grows in the honey combs of our thighs.

A sinking sedative heavies lids enough to undo any damage
and the last memory lingers
as a bracelette of desert turquoise unraveled,
blown apart across the hillside.

2009-06-13T05:21:00.000-07:00

Disinterested
I'm upset
We were so excited to talk tonight
and that's all I did, was talk--about you
because you're imperfectly consuming.
Happy for our closeness,
Sad for the distance--
For the distance home I wandered
wondering about you.
Disinterested,
Consumed.
Asking without asking
When would we resume.
Ok: I cleaned, cooked, played and watched to pass away the dead time.
Then it gets late,
then we won't talk.
But you were just watching a movie,
No problem.

You don't feel terrible because you didn't do a damn thing
And you don't think so either.
I'm the one who feels terrible

I know you know all about it but
Sometimes I just don't want to text you back
because then I won't feel so terrible when I delete your number
and it wont be so hard to never hear from you again
and maybe then I won't feel those chills you give me anymore--
the cold ones out of fear,
but especially the warm ones out of ecstasy.

Today was so nice, too.

34

2009-06-10T21:26:00.000-07:00

The fluidity suffers, the young chap glides by (orange lotus), now I wander. Shall I digress? How dare I...I never...for shame!
A lipid lid black at the hairline, drowsy as a sullen set of poppy leaves, trickling, lets a fluttering, extra fleeting thought run (You'd better go catch it!). The coarseness of his hair is telling, it sands down the rough air around him with every disjointed thrashing, every false set of harsh words dribbled out his lips (He often unconsciously outbursts into fire). He takes me against his legs, he wants me on my back. All the way through the gritty gray light I watch his skin pour over the muscles built by terrific work, for which I touch, for which my fingers work. He sang out in his sleep one of those nights, maniacally pounding clenched fists, fighting the springs in my mattress. I clawed at his bare chest, though tenderly spoke to his furrowed brow, his down turned lips. A drawing memory slithered twice around my ear, "I love your nails," in a smoke burned throat up came these words as hushed as they were written. So my heart reluctantly swelled. I turned from him and lovingly nursed the wound he had burned into the back of my neck, soft, as to apply anti-aging though time never did stop. Sleepless, heavy lidded moments drudged on. Eyes rolling, most especially in a furious way, I think of my next step.

33

2009-06-10T17:14:00.000-07:00

Hands 10 O'clock, 2 O'clock (9 to 5)
but actually 3pm to 8pm.
I get lazy and use a finger to steer. The rig coasts because it's heavy and cigarette cravings nibble tenderly at my voice box, projecting a subtle moan. My head starts to reel, back and forth my eyes bob like dead fish in a wave pool. The pavement is vast, black as a volcanic beach; dashed with life-like turtles it sprawls as a dropped piece of fabric. Fences of trees frame the billowing landscape and I am lonely. Yearning wraps itself against the walls of my throat and I am choking. Breathless, a poorly circulated mind flashes faces before my eyes. There I cringe, begin to moan, fighting the strength of memory--squinting--boiling up from my soul, a howl breaks: a wailing, rocking, succubus singing cry. A lonely cat that moans on the fences overlooking empty backyards of suburbia, I am she. Veiled in black, in the cab of my car, I allow the welling of my emotions with an aching grip to hold my heart out for the moon to judge--the soul of the lonesome, the eye who treats the troubled. I cannot stand the glare (too bright, too shining); I'm not hungry enough for its fullness. I ashamedly retract, become compact to keep out of sight, to where I send a distant and abstract message to a sleeping lover. He never gets it.

32

2009-05-21T05:24:00.000-07:00

Getting caught in the tide of teeth between tongue and bowed ties,
I stutter a stranded sound,
let it out to sea,
where it's left afloat on the current that catty chatter conjures up.
A wave of breath batters its breast,
and the conch is sounded in sweet resonance,
an alarming shriek;
the vessel is struck with silence.

A lull we frantically fight to fix,
a thousand gulps of very gone air are loudly taken
and choked on.
Repeatedly we excuse ourselves from blame.
Peering through the eye sores of our irises,
one another look distant and disheveled.
Sweat in porous places, sized plump and poorly, build in ears:
a red film forming formaldehyde callouses
caught in grease droplets all across your right side,
left untouched by your right mind.

How similarly seductive you reign,
in dripping displays your smile showers endorphins over and again.
Now with the crease of my breasts exposed,
I dilute time and our obvious space with a weapon unknown to men,
and that stuttering sound slips
and a rush of warm wave riptides through selective vertebrae,
very disjoined a jolt I encountered.

31

2009-03-03T21:27:00.000-08:00

He bites his lip as a catalyst.

His mind wanders as his feet do too.
First on the carpet around his bed, to and fro
his thoughts are playing Pong with the solution.
He is restless
Unending movie reel--
replay the sin and the sinned.

The door falls shut behind him,
The hallway hisses length at him,
wandering ensues once more.

She rolls over,
Head after heal,
She balances his heart heart in the nipple of her breast.

His mind runs as his feet do too.
the door falls shut,
the sidewalk hisses length,
Chills ride his spine, to and fro
and the buzzing begins a crescendo.

"How are you?"
"Did you hear?"
"Oh, I know!"
"How are you?"
Laughter.

He sinks in his steps
Outside the building he knew her in,
the room he kissed her in,
the sheets he touched her on.
His head leans back and the window's shades are drawn.
The glass flashes white above him and he gets a clue.
He gets determined
he gets an idea
he gets half of a brain on what to do.

That boy grows 10 inches right on the sidewalk where
his step had sunk,
his eyes had welled,
a movie replayed.
His spirit stretched its arms and out of his hair grew upward toward the window he stood beneath.
The wind swayed his height
and the buzzing was just before climax
and loud as a yell.
There was nothing else in his rambling head.
The pads of his fingers felt the tiny rocks scattered about the edge of the window's sill,
and a bead of sweat slid down the front of his ear
behind his jaw,
and down his neck.

Open, retrieve, close.
Search, love (got), loss
Get, got, lose

When the glass and wood and paint contraption was widest in its open
a bird flew,
feathers and all.
His hands rose wildly to grasp the fluttering life
and for a moment,
like a hummingbird,
she lingered to flap a tiny goodbye to the flower.

But there in all his flailing,
he had ensnared her.

She laid as calm,
as silent,
as demure as all hell
before he opened his hands to their widest and she flew,
feathers and all,
without a flap.

In the distance, a chirp.

30

2009-01-21T21:11:00.000-08:00

I was scared, running
from whatever that it was chasing me.
Exiled: I felt an emptiness.
You helped me with a place to lay my head.

I drove my car deep into the hills and parked at the peak,
ran down,
clothing in hand toward the thought of you (nothing else).
An empty house we filled with drawings, sourdough bread, marijuana smoke was happy.

The first night I feared sleep;
I hadn't slept in 3 weeks
and I hadn't been right in 2 months.
I wanted only to by your side,
To help dream your dreams.

We approached the bed frame,
crawled onto the mattress
and I undressed.
I'm glad you did too.

I slept with no left over dreams of Isaac,
no nightmares of my emptiness;
I never awoke in fact.

You stood in the morning's light dreaming (of the girl in your bed) with a fog around your head.

That's when you asked me, February 14th, for a Valentine's kiss,
and I obliged
and you crawled over my body,
over my face
and a pair of smokey broken lips touched mine.
I wished it weren't so.
Again we tried, frustrated you became.

The light against your shoulders was shimmering.
Your spine was a thread of pearls I reached out to grab.

You smoked every day.
I had waited,
sometimes stayed in bed all day waiting
(I think you liked coming home to my laying face)
for you.

Once
In the peak of the night,
You grasped me and held tight in your arms (a nightmare).
I laid still and fell asleep that way...
I miss it all:
The dread,
The dreaming,
The terrific desire.

29

2009-01-16T21:06:00.000-08:00

The bottoms of my feet are browned...
From standing on,
From going to and coming from
(From all the places I haven't been).
I am perched on 20 years of calloused soles from walking in one place,
from here to nowhere at all.
My first thought was on only how to remedy,
my second, "Why?"
I manipulate the non-malleable (dreams/wishes) to no avail.
If my thoughts alone decided my locations,
How dark would my soles be then?
What shade of duration would they bare?

28

2008-11-28T20:57:00.000-08:00

Beautiful Vue:
The city bees buzz even after Spring.
The city flowers are frozen in bloom,
One thousand dollar hummingbirds drinks from them too.
The age old workers ants are enclosed,
to only be let out in the darkest hours of the evening.
The sight of soiled hands is at once heart-warming as well as heart-breaking.

27

2008-11-27T16:59:00.000-08:00

You were a worm I plucked out from the soil and washed clean with holy water. I taught you to wriggle all over again. I loved you simply for being what you were, and you loved that. We talked about dreamy things. I took you to all the placed I went, introduced you to my life. I held you tight, squeezing that feeling you always got right out of you.
You felt like me, never a worm again.
I wandered...
I dug into the soil and wriggled, but holy clean I stayed (remained).
I wandered still...
Broken in my soul you sat, unknowing, confused, and waiting for my answer (reply).
I wandered away...
For months I fell into the winged cover of crows, I drowned in the smoke of burnt feather. I wrote of my sweet worm.
I returned...
You were not my worm, I was not your love. From that day on, we missed each other and continue to.
My darling worm, I will love you still. I will try, I will try, I don't expect much more.

26

2008-11-27T16:46:00.000-08:00

About Last Night:

"We were just babies" I said
and your chilled heart warmly agreed.

I thought you'd never warm up,
that you'd always just be stiff with me from now on-
Just like I was stiff with you.

In the heat of it,
we talked about you-
that was actually me-
and we agreed every time.
I blame it on being Libras, I explain.

It's true.
The games we play:
We see them in each other
and revel in our mastery
of vision and of soul.
Soulless we drive undriven:
"I have talents with no drive" you explain,
I know this in myself (How uncanny).
How similar we'll always be,
even after our endless years apart
we grow still as stalks aligned.

Come here,
away from all that trouble you live in.
Come away and turn innocent again,
I miss you.
I have much to miss of you,
your heart is huge
hidden by a dark and frozen cloak to mask its size.
You frighten me.

I used to write your name 200 times
for the sake of rote learning,
now I wouldn't dare to speak it.

You and I are strange stars
that revolve around each other,
passing then igniting
every 200 years.

I feel despair for your image,
but still in love with your voice when you get embarrassed:
When you shrink,
like the baby boy you were when I wrote you those letters.
You'll reread them if you get the chance,
you're so unpredictably predictable.

25

2008-11-26T17:26:00.000-08:00

"Charmer"

Your eyes grinned at the thought of me;
I felt them when I passed-
I shied away.
You knew very well I was weak to you-
And you grinned.
When your hair fell against your face,
your image touched my warm skin,
you know I'm weak to you.
Quit playing,
Quit teasing.
I think of your lips,
your experience,
your voice.
I think of your back,
broken down the center,
your blades work it out--
That kink in your soul,
maybe mine too--
That kink in our souls that make us blind but sniffing.
We hear the moan in each others' voice,
our ears are trained to that sound.
We smell the blood on the bandages of our wounds,
and it reeks.
When your hair fell against your face,
my body chilled.
You made me grin,
working your hair out of that little pony tail you keep;
You made me laugh to think of that tiny little body you keep wrapped up in a pony's tail.

24

2008-03-07T22:15:00.000-08:00

You were everything my life had seemed to lack and you seemed so simply a lacking life.
You were hopeless and troubled; a romantic child with gorgeous sound that only I heard.
You were a puzzle piece I had been so desperately hunting for, any reason to run away. I had found you, so fucking twisted you were a dangerous and callous entity that excited me with his piercing words, whether a puncture painful or in ecstasy.
How often you were unsure.
How often I denounced your insecurity and told you a sad story instead.
How often I reminded you of a real person.
How strange the things we did.
You are simply at too far of a distance for my introverted arms to reach. But my half heart broken heart still shudders in delight when my torturous smile engages your memories, and it all leads me back to reality. Whether the reality I want, or the surreality I keep pushing out of my crooked picture frame.
You are still on my mind, never on my lips and strangely in the center of my black hole of a heart.

23

2008-03-07T21:45:00.000-08:00

Would it be so strange to say that I am fatigued without you?
become impaired,
my sight blurred,
my fingers senseless
when you are away.
And so it seems I'm here, on every occasion,
on every evening
between the sewn sheets smelling,
thinking
then dreaming of you.
The you I never knew I would care.
The smile that curls and pleases me,
then the lips that speak and tease me.
How strange that I would fall in love.
How strange that I might one day involve myself in the imperfection of love,
the weight of love,
the unsurpassed divinity of love.
I feel you when you are else,
I feel movements and words and simple turns.
I feel you are still in me like you had been before.
Against the red light we laid,
pressing,
pulling,
screaming.
We embraced,
spoke soft sounds that calmed and erased fear, sent comfort. I
could feel you, I could feel you,
I held your fingers tight between mine.
I've loved you generously,
you loved me tenderly.
It is you,
finally you who I feel deeply.
The skin that covers me shivers when you touch,
melts when you breathe--a heat so divine.
You are a sensation unpredictable, that fills me whole.
I am, I am, I am, I am so sick of the potency, I am so blinded by it.
I feel so consumed by feeling, overwhelmingly passionate,
so fucking head over heals in love with you.

22

2006-04-27T21:24:00.000-07:00

The red sea smolders around me, surrounds me. The fish, they twist.

21

2006-02-28T15:34:00.000-08:00

The cosmos speak,
the cosmos speak
and under my lost breath they sing.
A martyr in the shadows who holds a secret beneath his wing
acts a stingy pest as well.
A human figure dancing
aimlessly below the falling waters of a river,
who calls and jests and rocks the notes from left to right
--he sings as well.
A star so distant,
so perfectly essence'd,
a danger he himself hold;
the caution sky takes when creeping in circumlocution about his tips,
pointing tips about the shining color.
Do you see their similar? ...their satirical matter?
A courtroom of folly tantrums who laugh when shining color is unpoised.
A ranch fitting a verse of one,
too big to expand,
filled with cosmos future telling...

20

2006-02-22T19:50:00.000-08:00

The skin I crawl through when I hear that sound--
that simple sound of voice that hits the string I hold.
Skinny little inch that skims the top of my face;
who's watching you?
Who's watching you now?
Do what your skin permits.
Do what your sin accepts.
I do what I accept.
The cover that lifts off at a deadly speed, how tender you think you may become--
how subtle do you think a needle would be?
Not so, skinny inch.
Skinny skin in a satin cover, with metal spikes--
how do you react?
How strange a sound, how strange a thought, how strange a mind may permit!
How mischievous and rampant and deserving such a wound would be.
So exist before us and be visible to the language we speak.

19

2005-02-15T21:26:00.000-08:00

How strange a time you scare a single hair out of my soft spoken head.
How strange a love you cast out and reel back in.
How strange you feel when you laugh.
How strange you make me smile.
I love you, you know.
I promise I'll love you if you let me.
I promise I can't spend a night not dreaming of your lofty face,
not skimming over our latter plans,
our intimate times.
I swear that everything I say is true,
about you
and everything you mean.
I can't tell you a lie, I can't look at you honestly.
I can't be happier.
I could never have hoped for anything better.
I feel right in the right places of myself--
in my finger tips where I've felt you,
in my eyelashes that I've seen you through,
in the tiny blushing heart below my chest.
I feel amazing.

18

2005-02-07T14:32:00.000-08:00

Soft satin shoulders under white schemes and brothel sins. The sun that ponders a day and makes insects curl under it's rays. A dead man sitting--a learned mind rather contextual rather than experimental. Out on the outside rug where the blades flow accordingly to your kind's footsteps, I'd have to say I missed you if you could hear it. You save me--saved me. A seat among the green and breeze, a sour carnation placed above the blush and hair that wraps the ears and ends the eyes. How dare you say that. You are unimaginable, inconceivable. Would it be wrong to pull the sheet away--see your pretty face. But we rest in lemon tea time where sugar hangs from the upside down grass and salt from the leaves. Dessert lips like vanilla--cold, kerosene fingers but I kiss you. You keep me. I'll live forever beside you in life; where I find another in death. I'll paint you white.

17

2005-01-09T20:35:00.000-08:00

You're tangling and dangerous and thin--a stem who cradles the sin of cinnamon and dips a bit into a desperate fantasy who's made me a paper tragedy, out of a candle who burns a porcelain wax that turns and licks the center, of a dangerous tangling stem so thin it cradles the sin of such cinnamon. A mysterious outburst of fit and fright who was there to tell you to stand and wade and taste a dangerous paper crane who cradles the sun and whips the sky like a fitting catcher and a night. What a thin battle at the porcelain wax center of a tangling student who breaks the sudden wave of tension in a
crown
royal
stocking

16

2004-12-08T05:08:00.000-08:00

Your mouth, may it grin and bite, tease my lips, taking small rounds about my chest. I can't help but tremble when I feel your teeth wear at my skin. Shoulders pressured forward & down to lace two figures together. You find your fingers between fabric & satin, streaking the edge of my hips. A warm contact when I've unveiled a porcelain sodomy. A fever who lays flat about your body, drifting and pushing upward to undress you. My eyes roll back & disarm you. Palms surge up and down, facing sin, a soft sound breaks. Your breath whispers about my ears and I inhale your seduction, one gasp at a time. Your hands seize my inner thigh and dare I not say more.

15

2004-09-09T17:41:00.000-07:00

I wish that we all were normal again. Where no one has to doll up and dye themselves dark and pretend to be envied--we all hate you, I really do. We're a tiny slice of future in a desolate sweat of eyeliner and lip rings. We should envy intellect and diversity, not the shit and shit we put on our face to take an awkward picture. I miss when we could be lazy and lay unclean like worms in the dirt. I want to be sincere and concede to your wishes, instead of to stand alone, to be so blankly original and to my carbon.

14

2004-09-08T21:26:00.000-07:00

You're tandem like a rock carved--eroded from waves that rip the walls that hold a home you've lived in all your life. Six hundred years ago you walked on bear feet across a salted dirt tanned brown to match your skin. You pray like the mammal and you stalk like a reptile. You're gorgeous fingers skilled in harboring water to cleanse your dusted face. We lay together in the sky where we bark and scowl down at the sea and across to the moon. I ascend into the horizon and my belly stings and sizzles at the tip of the ocean, and my lips kiss the amphibians beneath just before I tell you I'll miss you, and you wave goodbye.

13

2004-08-27T02:17:00.000-07:00

it snows in my yard, like tiny men that fall from the sky and arrange themselves in fleets to smolder my home. I want to stand with them; they're leaving, though. They sink softly where they land and soon will call others to cover their places. their remnants is sweet and silver; just visible is emerald of grass and of pine--they let them breath, it seems their mercy is lightening. I could sit at my window and watch them march, in hundreds they ascend, but i latch my clothes together and listen to the stillness; the battle is wading..wading like hunger in marshes. They wade for us to step and dangerously, quietly, I step with candid perches--and all at once they pound. a noise too loud--they notice. fall fall fall they drop out of clouds and cover my face and hands and arms and tops. everything visible is theirs for the taking! and they take it, oh they take it. they are stealth--victoriously they tumble slanted, and they notice..all at once..that the sun peaks over the edge of the waking earth. they seem to pause--i pause, i can feel the tension building and crowning the dark. I search for my zipper and pull it straight up to my chin; I'm ready for them, i attack now. AND I BURST INSIDE--the snow soldiers are taken aback and they try to hold me, but i run and pummel their white corpses; I'll never stop. I throw them up and mix them; the lines are broken. I shake the branches and millions of angry lieutenants crack and sparkle onto the ground. I am the ambush, soon it will be light and my battle will be won.

they may come another night; another struggle in the war.

12

2004-08-27T01:06:00.000-07:00

One day, I will smell like your skin--of an oats&dairy smell that is faintly unnoticeable. When I eat, I will taste you, as you've sown yourself into my every muscle so tightly we'd dare not separate.

11

2004-08-23T01:12:00.000-07:00

You are a boy with no braces.
You don't talk to the girls and you don't play ball. You stand still and tucked beneath a shadow all your own. You have barely laced shoes who kick up tiny pebbles that have strayed from their concrete whole, and a gray sweater that you so often sport, with soggy eyes and a pumpkin's belly. You and your mother eat macaroni at your coffee table--so tiny--in the kitchen, with a thousand and eight magazine clippings scattered about your apartment's floor. You don't wear glasses, and you cover your dusted hair in a navy blue cap that you'd received 3 Christmas years before. You sit in the fifth grade, the left center of the class, and no one picks on you, and no one calls you names. They do not care who you are, and neither do I.

10

2004-08-22T01:43:00.000-07:00

I slowly configure myself from scattered pieces about the floors of this place, and as I limp up these rusted stairs with the last few limbs, I breathe deeply and try to expect the worst. My eyes begin to flutter, only as I try to steady them, and everything I touch seems to grab out at me as if with anxious sweating palms. All the rooms I open doors to, she is in; like a phantom, she wants to only be where I am--we find somewhat comfort in each other. Our eyes always meet, through whatever fate that may be, and every time, she strikes me deep beneath my bosoms, and down into my heart. It's as if I see a tiny body behind her lid, waiting only to gnaw at her from the inside-out, but tragically, I must carry myself further.
I can't stand in one place for too long, the effort in unbearable, like a bruise you don't want to stop pressuring. My bent knees take me to a water room--I thought I'd wet my face, brush my dirty suckling teeth. The paste dulls the bitter remnants of a bite I'd had not a night before, and my bones&skin drip dark water down into the sink. I can feel him moving behind the wall. I can hear murmurs delicately rising to the ceiling and seeping like smoke through the sown seams of this place. The walls tend to bow&wade from left to right, as I find myself spitting tiny pebbles into the wallpaper and leaving ripples where I could see into the next room. HE strikes the ground and my pulse stops. His slow, anxious steps grow to a dark pace, and my heart pounds in unison. The closer his sounds come, the harder my chest throbs, until he stands beside me.
"Dear man, you are the reason I am a subtle puzzle of atoms, and veins, and water. Would I dare be so distracted in my sleep, and yet so alert in such a fragile reality?"
He steadies himself on one hip, and lets his eyes pierce me. He could hear my insides shifting as he spoke gently, "You are the fragile."
My legs broke beneath me, and I only stood as a hook against my back held me from the smoke murmurs. I hung watching the ripples. They dare not speak, but only whisper obscenities. Through the wall, I could see people stuck to platforms, and the cat of nine tails having a secret rotten way with them. I feared that my punishment wouldn't be so bad as he stood beneath me.

9

2004-07-07T00:40:00.000-07:00

I want to meet people who are stale and only rustle in laughter, not bathe in it excessively like heavy cologne. I want to read and read and read. I want to be blatantly selfish and vain, and only do things because I feel like it. I want to pollute my body with cellulite and caffeine. I WANT TO BE SMART AND WITTY AND UGLY, and never care why I wasn't pretty.

I just want to be 20 something and modern, where I have dark brown hair that is sharp around my face but so unnoticeable. I want to drink viciously and wear stilettos and starch black dresses. I'll have no one to sleep with on weekdays, but men in dozens on Friday evening. I'll laugh only briefly and bask in the scent of male constantly surrounding me. I will be jealous of you, and die when I'm 31.

For right now, I want you to hold me as close as this skin and bone case will let you. I want to feel your chest thud against mine, and your palms face down on my lower back. I want you to kiss me quickly when your brother is looking in the closet. I want to mess up your hair and then wrestle on your bed about it. I want to tickle the small of your back, and refuse massages from you. The only thing I need is a memory--of us laying together and your eyes, just for a second, met mine.

8

2004-07-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I get these tangents where cigarette smoke fills up my cavities, and at first, it was really painful and it tasted excruciatingly bitter, but now, it's just like the smell of butter&toast--refreshing and almost sweet. It's like a little piece of every person I know is ground into powder and blown out into the air, where I just so happen to breathe in. My chest gently warms in the center, spreading slowly into my cheeks and down to my fingers and stomach. Something like when you're waving goodbye to someone you really wish you didn't have to leave.

7

2004-07-05T22:55:00.000-07:00

im going to kill you like ive never murdered a shift before, WITH broken cable across the throat and wires to tangle your face. razors and binds for your lips, cut and sown to never breathe my air again. this is exciting to me; like glass im waiting to embed into your thighs, so you'll never have to run. LIKE METAL HOLES THAT PIERCE YOUR SKIN AND PUNCTURE VESSELS FOR SAFETY; tearing out the lining to your teeth, one by one your nerves seize and convulse and burst like cans in hot air. altitude and salt for the skin im going to shave away, baring your red side--like baring your fucking soul. a strand that id prepared for your torso, laced into the button ive set to penetrate you from the outside--in. your intestine like ribbon for balancing this gift; ive set you a standard, i want to see what youve readied for me.

_1

2004-06-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

we wake in the morning
clean our dishes white
walk unpaced to our buses
and wait for round headlights
to stop just before
and open it's doors.
we step up and over
making gestures to work soldiers.
We are doe eyed,
deer like,
lovely,
darling,
grappling to a thread too tight--
we snap and fight.
We bare knuckles with metal straps
tied down in the front
knotted in the back.
We kiss
we lock lips
force fingers where fingers don't go
start at the top, end at the bottom
touch and talk, slut and fuck.
We run laps after school
eat lunch with the cool
kids only want taste
it's something we waste
and again we take for granted.
Stopped at the heart
we drench and start
wake up in the morning
end in the evening
routine just has to wait.

6

2004-06-05T18:47:00.000-07:00

He tells me everything I need to know, and if I ask, he'll tell me to listen.

The walls have blank faces where dark shadows paint themselves new clothes, like shop-lifting&hand-me-downs. A dresser in Oak stands on the edge of it's four legs, with a mirror decorated in strings of field flowers. My eyes glaze and center themselves into the patchwork ceiling slanting like an attic--not so attic cold. The fan buzzes helplessly beside the bed, and I kick my feet up&out to avoid constriction of heat. For 14 days I have been stranded in a desolate town where there are more pine than people, and I'm begining to get the hang of this post office-bakery-market-routine. I lay as still as these tired arms will let me, and I rewind&play the sun up-sun down day in stereo, because my mind is an ampitheatre to a couple hundred seats. The dust folds into the creases of my hands, and the constant hum of portable fans breaks me&the cashier, who handles the money for the newest box-office thriller. The air around me is thin&clean, as is the thousands of billions of nothing that sifts through my hair, in semi-circles about my mild chest, and down under the fabric that lay across my hips. A cloud brings beads of subtle rain, who stitch& pound the dirt ground. I left my window open so that I can turn about my belly and watch the invisible people walk gently--not abruptly, carrying their invisible children, who tangle their invisible dolls with hug.

Today I come home, and the beads are hail. Across the tops of lucious canopies they sprawl downwards to the ground floor where I rest--always a fireplace burnt. Our lips burst only indoors, out of cold, out of trouble--never bodies as naked as we came. Never a field of tall grass, covering youth that are in lust--YOUTH THAT ARE IN LOVE. Never a horseback example of passion. We take for grantid what we do not want, and the Earth who whispers Goodbye every time you cough--she is a bride to be wed&devoured by a universe of density and of the science of sin. There is nothing more fatal.

5

2004-05-09T17:31:00.000-07:00

Soft flutter specks in sterling white blow west, and drift densely upward. The cotton kisses glide into faded blue tattered sky--graze and consume the oxygen where ever the leaves let it out. You rest your head on the evergreen plastic chairs, and bark when the dogs bark. You search as impulse for the crystal orange lighter you picked up at a gas station a mile back, and beat the Malboro men against your palm. Your fingers pluck a delicate stick from the package, pressing the filter to your lips, and letting the lighter flicker&catch the tobacco. Cantidate 1 drives a stick shift, in the same green car, as the green in your seat. The engine purrs, and his joints tighten&strike the pedal. Everything combusts, and the motor explodes in sound and speed. The stench of noise weaves through the streets, the houses, up into the pines, and far left to the patio where we lounge in summer solstice. You smile and tell us how you would've won him in a race last night, if you two had ran from a stop; but if I remember correctly, you did run from a stop. The wind whips me between my chin&collar, and I can't say a word, so I hold my breath while you finish the story. She grips the end of her arms, and pulls herself up from the seat. Her feet slip into the black sandals in cloth, and she shuffles back into the house without another word. We forgive and forget, lest I remind you.

4

2004-05-05T16:23:00.000-07:00

Metal of tangy, snobby silver wraps itself around me like the lead in a bullet, and cold like wet soles. A belt that whips and tangles from my belly's button, to the dull of my hips. Charcoal that burns in dusty meat barbecues, and salty smoke up through the second story window, that bursts in clusters far above the grill. Father and friends, all in Corona dresses who drape and costume their bills and debts. The sun who rests and the eve that dusks, among trees that laugh with the lips so dirty--full of lush. They saunter and cinder--dance upward--while mother and company recluse. The wooden blind doors stay open all night, and the dogs wonder, always up. Night is warmer than day, and the width between age is infinite. Saucey lights dangle in play around the bottom of the deck, in red and orange, and yellow--casts a peach color onto the third level, where the "18-" watch. The sliding glass door that brings in the only cold during the night, stays closed, while the "18-" never sleep, always up. The night like palms that close in around them as they kick&sing, never dreaming. Movies that grace the big screen, and games that take competition in virtual teams. I rest my head, and again we tread a dangerous evening of night.

3

2004-04-27T23:05:00.000-07:00


Everything we write is in a handbook that folds ten wide, and eighteen deep. The letters are stamped with mallets slaughtered in ink. Braille pierces the space between the lines, and only they know what we're talking about in real time. The cover is mohagonny leather with a strap about the top, and you carry it under your inner arm's muscle, turning up to grip your carriage. Your textbooks glisten in the trim of sun that spots the grooves in the roof, and you squint vaguelly to capture a face out into the concrete field. The cars combust, back up, and for left or right, turn on until parked. The life-like matter of a brunette passes your gaze, and you catch her, scoop her between your thumb and index, and nip gently at her starburst skin. They don't stand a chance, and you know--I know, you know. You've grinned and maybe somewhere after reading the language like reading a wrapper, you'll be okay again.

2

2004-04-07T16:10:00.000-07:00

There's a little bit of angst
Little British villians tie knives to their rifles, and run face first into the forest. The trees extend their limbs to whip the skin that dashes by without a second look. Leaves prance from above the anxious heads, that speed straight lines. Feet that barely touch the ground, and the fall is catching up to them. The Oaks breathe in heavy, and all the branches blow back--ruffles of fallen cinders drain onto the floor. The black rubber soles kick and rustle, faster the heart clasps in & out. Your fingers get caught in a shrub, from the behind you dangle and tear. A violent scar rips through your vinyl skin, and like invisible becomes visible, you bleed. Sacred sacrifice from the outside in, you don't stop. Your legs push up and bend, push up and bend. The air strikes, vicious trips from your nose to the bare your clothes leave from resistance. You're not even running anymore, you're grazing the scare, to the other side of the forest--you've been a passerby, and the bark is biting back. You raise your gutted palm, and sheild yourself from the thatch ahead. The vines stitch you all across your bones, but the dull sun dips from above, and the trees aren't around anymore. You slow, sigh & kneel, as the rest catch themselves. They tend to fall from the width, like the leaves from the hind. You breath in, and deeply--there is no winter this year.

1

2004-04-06T19:45:00.000-07:00

Dark waves push downward, gently against me---I wade, and let my lids tease.
"You know, these fingers have minds of their own." I gauge.
Relaxed, jubilant figures, prim & proper, rub small circles into my skin--against my thies, and up above my chest, below my chin. The texture like satin and a minute muscle pulls my lip into a grin. Light slips through lashes between my eyes, where gold shimmer leaks down the bridge of my nose, into my eyeline. The world is endless around me--vivid orchid in lillies that grow around the lake in buchels. The sun bursts, sinking holes into the lucious, undefined canopy. The hues are dense, in sodden shadows that creep only for exploration--backways into tip-top trees, where the houses are built, so far above water. I am an ivory sliver in the gut of a dark, deep beast, but I am still--not to wake myself here. The figures kiss their ditzy utensils, and flutter, glitter, spinder a fake cloth around the sun blanket. My feet point straight up, and my eyes are beginning to glaze over, as the opal dips down into the air, from the wind that passes by with force--a strike of a child, gently stinging. Mushrooms grow about the rocks upward, in lavenders, then dots of chartreuse dripped on their heads boldly.
The wind bites mildly, and my mind wonders to movement beneath--water as crystal as tears, a bulb rises from far below.

0

2004-01-27T07:13:00.000-08:00

Magazine posture--lips gloss more than summer and if I were in sandals like those, I wouldn't smile either. Armani sluts in imaginary black tops that cover only one bare side at a time. Never less cemetrical; the cost feathers in weight and tangles in fit. Waists in single digits that are used, less material--maternal, another way to help us under the macro. The photo and photo that takes us a centimeter off our lives, and if I had everything like her, I'd pressure only ten times more. Prada faces with pout eyes and burgundy lips--I guessed only neutrals this season, and if I wasn't any less right, I'd wonder if I was the man herself. Dolce & Cabbana the same fingers that had never sewn a button, stalkings in 60's rage, floral like peach and firebrick. CARTIER STONES IN TURQUOISE AND GRAPE DIAMOND; Dior rock life, hair like electric. Gucci blondes, hampered suits on stolen men, perfect gold accesories for the sex of the money wise. VERSACE NEON--Louis Vuitton anemic dunes; cutless blues, summer fuck flowers. Donna Karan gorgeous, Hugo scent in water--Hugo shirt and shimmer. Alberta Ferretti, Chanel, Coach, Chloe', Fendi suits, VALENTINO GARAVANI KISSES IN ROSEMARY; Missoni amazon emerald shake stripes. Roberto Cavalli print in jungle indian tan; dances in wrapped knees, shoots in New York.Los Angeles.Tokyo.Malan.San Fransisco.Palm Beach.Chicago.Beverly Hills for fall spring winter summer. Skin tight sweat, figure line straight racks. You are everything I dream about when I sleep, human art and emotion, cost and currency, age and debt, sense and sex. Colour static fabric thread metal steel gray zipper pin button hook formal collar cuff casual center of my eye, style. One day I'll win.

-1

2004-01-18T02:54:00.000-08:00

]

tiny button lights like molten, tip at the edge and pour onto wooden tables. knots for seeping; for our fingers to touch, for our noses to rub. our prints like rows for produce--corn and tomatoes, beans and pumpkin; oranges like soft skin against another square inch--mile. Tastes for selling, and juice in colours like coral and peach and green. dreams that are sown with hands of singe onto pillow cases on beds for traces with no reply. I've got a flavour in the back seat. I'd gotten a kiss on the mouth for me; and when the difference is still-life matches that burn in shades of night time glow, im smiling and my teeth show. we are vines from the ground that dive out, bearing no flower but length. NO FLOWER, but length.

-2

2004-01-15T02:57:00.000-08:00


the sun pulls back; reels a quarter of an inch and whips forward. His rod pierces the air as the hook is cast out into the lake. The clouds like lillies that float, and sky like ocean, like river for a boat. All the men that walk, like fishes for food, the women in fashion, for framing his mantel.