Thursday, December 29, 2011

the physical

the physical

tunnels deep
holes burrowing

bandits

cutting backwards

cutting

cutting doberman ears
to hear the Sun.

stunning liberty

standing sane
with room to breath

bares little subsidies
for the damages filled

filling soundless

filling subways temperature

filling ungraceful substitute
before the body can feel.

your colors steel my sound

untouched
highway nails painted bite marks

track forward

trapping lungs in astroids
leaving

osiris to kill the moon for silver

and thursday mornings spent with ills.

and the mind can betray
the mind will always betray
the savior that hides

a sutures tangle

like blueberries picked in secret

or the light at the end of alabaster.

Friday, December 16, 2011

the flavor of celerity at dawn

the fear of luxury is mutual.
I can see it in their mouths, between

breathes of cold. it leaves with the last
bit of fog breath attachment-

but it does not last the wind. i bought in
once. the winter grey could not be seen then,

tasted then
painted on lines of sight then.

and the air was so clean

on december streets, blushing bootleg blues
emotion, but it could not last the wind.

the weight of debt is mutual.
I can see it hidden

in pea coat pockets
carrying elephants eating eggplants,

and paintings of still life-without eggplants-
bought with credit

extentions; so we all could have long hair.
its december again

and assembly is lost in the winter grey

like the taste of lemon seeds
in tonic,

or the flavor of celerity at dawn.

Friday, December 2, 2011

unknotted

im good at knots.
the problem, it seems,

is the twin-
with fibers impartial to
juncture,

impartial to circumstance,
and the curtains you will hang

when you get your shit together.

i eat simple,
sipping life through

slotted spoons dripping,
and the good

drops
beneath the lips

and onto the floor,
so the cat can know brevity-

her nose smells the breach
of decent.

losing interest,
she attends the

fake mouse
sitting still.

they are...

the both of them...bored.

and here i am-alone,
sitting with the mouth
itching,

hands, incased in air imprisonment,
and can
not touche you-

a plastic pillow case of sinless saunter;

coating confidence,

and i am found
wanting you-

unknotted.