Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Drawing the Shadows

So now we see the shape of the disaster
a rising note that changes everything
but still, you must go on walking...

That's all there is.

Put your eye on the form of the air
instead of the outline of the heart
it's a lot less painful this way.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Practicing For Winter

Define the color that means between
A sound on the way
from something to nothing

Unexpectedly the marks were made
to dissappear

Understand the joke

Find the path to ridiculous

Friday, September 26, 2008

If You Love Me, Take Me To Grooveland; Part Two

The things you eat
will soon eat you
everybody's got to go, sometime
might as well go happy

and full.

the rule is to dance
as much as possible
given your given talent
and the amount your stomach allows

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Dumbass Opera #12

Sukarno finds himself in hell
with various other villains
"all I have done I did for the people,
and this is how I am repaid!"

The Devil now admits his impotence
(he was an unsubstantiated rumor all along)

Turns out, the rumormongers had something
after all, they were the people.

Balance of justice a trickle of light from a distant galaxy
"Why am I made to suffer?" asks Sukarno in the darkness.
"Why not?" reply the people.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

The Big Now

Age of darkness
designer of randomness
with inconsistent heart
only constant in its disappointment

and the yearning I thought I left behind.

FuturePast is only now
the hardships of learning and leaning into
the wind I begin to
forget myself and all I am gives itself away.

Now, the foot becomes the journey
in return to that reptile-state where grief
is counted

then factored out of the equation.

Friday, September 19, 2008


Where the beginning may meet the end
the villains mix with the innocent
everyone is innocent, now.

Though you may have destroyed yourself and everything else
in a flash of light and metal and spit and shit and blood
the meat of lost heads sprayed along the pavement

you will meet with the destroyer of worlds
who might wink at you
and invite you to tea

Sunday, September 14, 2008


I have work to do, today
Making this or that much of which
Finds its comfort in a long ago forgotten fact of
an act of astonishment where you, not yet complacent,
made such a beautiful sound, a moan, really,
that drove me to this feeling of sadness.

I have work to do, today
Producing ore in the shade of monuments
To change and the blood-sport of killing off
The present right as it becomes the past.
This we need as we eat our seed corn
In an effort to deny the swirling, roaring whirlpool just around
The edge-
Now coming into view.

I have work to do, today
Forging chains in advance of the coming auto da fe
When heretics, fresh from confession will finally perish
In an ordeal by fire- are they frightened?
Or are they rich?

I have work to do, today.

Friday, September 12, 2008


In the instant of penetration
is the moment of liberation
because of iminent incarceration
we find the essence of ultimate salvation
can't see above the limitation
of the danger of over-excitation
in the flattery of imitation
and the constant stream of immigration
causing fretting and consternation

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


In the matter of distance
in the physics of the heart
in the earliest moment
in the smallest space
God is a long way off.

Sixpointfour times ten to the power of minus fortyfour... let there be light.

World without end

design with no maker

a curious toy

rusting in the wind.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Another Bowles

A rescuer of feral cats
not lost
(she lives in her mind)
Swirling circus, being shot from guns

mysterious, half-formed,
roaring ashore- a merman/ringmaster
calls the winning numbers.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Tripping on the Velvet Elvis

Where did it say we would see?
From the top of the stairs?
the feral beast now sick in the
garden lays in the sun,
wants to be left alone

These are the months and years.
They won't be taken back nor will
they be erased until we arrive
at a new arrangement with the rain.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008


Sometimes we speak in lost languages
that have no words for;
a shirt of hair,
a cry of the heart,

it's easy to get lost

the ritual of practice of ritual of practice of ritual of practice.