Monday, July 28, 2008

Alone in Doorless Igloo (Three Months and a Hundred Years are the Very Same Thing)

Making desperate love to space heaters
in yer lonely winters, smoking filters
you find on the street corners, and wandering
aimlessly for hours around your apartment
in search of half-finished sandwiches or
novellas, considering an opera career
as a respite from the overwhelming usefulness
of your daily tasks; the importance of hygiene,
the essentiality of consumption
in maintaining gdp. Growth;
there is growth in the plants and the power plants
and the swim trunks you left on the floor for too long.
What is the opposite of growth? Shrinkage?
Cold wet penis and a gym class group shower?
Repression? Memories of that gym class..
Like with dense, there's no appropriate antonym
as though even the diametrically opposed nature
of the English language
can't take itself seriously for all too long.
Death isn't the opposite of life, because your body
is there the whole time, and its always changing.
Sitting isn't the opposite of standing;
you do much of both, with no principalistic conflict.
Insanity isn't the opposite sanity,
just the logical progression of personality
as a consequence of the incessant scheduling
ten fifteen brush your teeth,
the development of what some people call a soul,
but they're idiots because it's no more than being a person
and you have to ask them what else they'd expect, an onslaught
of broader metaphysics- undoubtedly the creation of insanity,
a bipolar man making up things like good and evil-
as such entertaining and useless. To be human.
To cackle lustfully at the air conditioning unit come spring.
The brilliant undensity.

Friday, July 25, 2008

moving for history

paintings of buddha
drawings of god

i swore you did not believe
in departed angels
but i was wrong

so many more
could be like you
indifferent and moving

its understood
this distance
still growing

so you keep on turning
in any old direction

with each footprint
in time

substantial evidence
with nothing come something

i welcome history

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Dark patches of hair

shivering in the breeze;
today is your camera
today watches longingly
today is reflected in a tepid glass of water.
What garbage wafts from the street
and into the open windows
is brushed away swiftly,
painlessly, into the absorbent surfaces
of a ghost dark room
at two in the afternoon;
tomorrow is bound to your headboard
tomorrow is begging you for more.

how perfectly god-damned delightful it all is to be sure

my destiny is to live
between hangovers and warm 'hellos'
and go from an angry sleep
in your brothers bed
to some time spent alone
which i capitalize on by doing the dishes in the nude
collecting as many spare socks as i can
and longing for the green lake,
and the time when we talked about it.

good grammar and your girlishness
wont save you today, or even tomorrow
even if the hole is shallow,
we'll still bury you
because i'm making friends for life
the kind that go out of their way
to save me,
and let the wind do the fucking you over.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Do you listen to Steely Dan?

How about Donald Fagen?

Real Snarky
Snark Level 100 %
The Nightfly.
Get oun that shit.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

the names of your enemies

vision of the end
a wreckage of kitsch, and a fragile paper boat
swirling past us

a babbling creak of vodka, full of Swedish Fish
sugary bloodstains on my shoes, and in the back yard
another day to get it clean
what a catch, made for trophy

the main problems have been negated
because wrought iron men never bend

lying feels so good, when you're beloved

like elbow length velvet gloves
the sky is pulling back

a zipper made of stars, and bone-china
is blinding white

the fear is palpable and pulsing like a radiation migraine

the holes we cut for our eyes
are sometimes back-lit
sometimes gone

the suburbs and the city
the front porch and the balcony

i could be yawning, or i could be snarling
but my facial expression makes no impact
on any Yankee conscience.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Chicago, This Time Of Year

You only had one piece of advice
Relax you said, take it easy

In repose, in narrow jealousy

I wanted truth
As much as I still want it
What I know now, though
That makes it different.

If you get locked out of your house...

I broke the window
With urgency that glittered.
And now, I'm down the street
My pain is fresh, as much as it is forgotten.

Shards of glass across the stoop,
Stuck in my fingers, under my nails.

Whats on my hands,
Is also in my heart.

My advice:

Bleed, Sir.
You need to bleed.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

what the shit?

does anybody read this thing anymore?

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

2 works


i heard about a bank
who's money was stolen
by men in masks
from Seattle, I reckon

This story i heard
did not phase me
my interests still lay in other beds

this day was once
a day to remember
like birthdays in summer
"you've been meek for long enough"

kept waiting repeatedly


i've met many a person
some like yourself
they forgot the innocence
of age

taken for granted
your sisters and brothers
they do not take pride
in knowing these things

dissolve your hate
and be free
of these weights
trust me

these days are eternal for us
this day is prospective each year