screaming at low volumes
jgtaylor It’s a cold dream on grey days where slippery slopes make slippery ways to question what these things are for a slice of love or pudding for the poor? No one but me seems to see these thoughts that I once thought should get a sane person locked up. but not for that, not for … Read moreScreaming Dreams @ Culture
an act of genius has proclaimedall lands between the tracksand the fence by the streetto be the dumping groundsfor throwaway children of disemboweled lives – I know this because I’m on the train and the lives are scattered down hillsides to meet me traveling south, waving hello just as the children did a hundred years ago when the U.P. came … Read moreTrain Trash Tracks
April 3, 2005 – 135 commin’ through Phily. It’s a harsh color of life this Phily offers. It’s not the pink swimingo of youth or the sweet lemonade stands where thirst is killed off with a dime or a quarter. There’s beer here in these dark runoff rivers left over from the deluge of the … Read morePhilly
Win and I talked last night I wish you’d have been there. We spoke of friends & friendship and this culture lacking love. We went on about our questions to devine our true selves – —gay or straight, bent & broken. We agreed the greeks knew best. They knew that gay was happy with the … Read moreHappy
I thought I might make the poetry reading on Sunday, but I was put off by Henry’s editorship of “Open City” with a grand envy of fallen fame. He’d told me about it, asked if I knew bukowski – what the hell, who doesn’t know a drunk poet who’d given up on life shortly after … Read moreCouldn’t Make the Reading
NO POETRY FOR THIS SMOKE just signals for life to turn direction to clear this world’s complexion. I’m asking for stasis in remote places with my silly smoke signals that more won’t die – each breath is part of me gone I want to live so I hope they see my smoke.
Watching gardens bloom watching them die full circle surrounded by stone faced bricks that have been bled dry; illusions for my eyes. But what of them? Do they feel trapped; their roots tunnel under where I can’t go? A refuge of nature that is less refuge and more show than all the mini-motors that torture … Read morePrison Garden
The lilies are dying too quickly to be real raindrops on my skin are better than a pinch to know that I feel so I lie about sonnets I’ve never written and my print gets smaller as the days pass -a manifestation of the heart? skip meals; make deals study our lives from real to … Read moreState of the Heart
I say the things I cannot say with words in conversation on these reams of torment from my teeth that keep those words held down. To put this down – here on paper – requires at least two cigarettes. I have given more than my heart to these sad pages; I have given my very … Read moreCost of Doing Business
What are these thingsthey have all said?Is there lifewhen you’re dead?What does it matterif you’re already dead?What is todayif you only see tommorrow?What a strange brandof future sorrow.