screaming at low volumes
I want it all, and why shouldn’t i? it is so sublime, only the insane would refuse. I want you! on a sunday afternoon, lazy in sunbeams while desert dunes whip. And when I go, I want you, bittersweet in empty sheets your voice still pure in my mind. We’ll sing on bridges to worlds … Read moreI want
her voice is ghostly, breathy and light: No one has ever pronounced the “H” in Thank You before. And the softness, the gentleness: were it the voice of an inquisitor one might be inclined to tell life stories. The conversation is not important; they rarely are – but the kindness conveyed in her tone betrays … Read morethe H in thank you
i wish you would tell me beautiful things. and you do. More beautiful than I can conceive. and still I am sour and dour and unremarkable. i would tell you of the disarray, the fear of losing it all if you wouldn’t pin it so squarely, so rightly upon my breast. It is what soldiers … Read moreand we never fought
i said that the Indians had their culture stolen, and then thrown away by the thieves. She was lighting a cigarette. she said she thought i had the wrong Idea. there had been several bottles of wine, and several joints. There had even been tequila. i leaned back and put my feet on the table. … Read morethings easier than
the night’s silence strips bare the screams of hearts lost, while rain pours down we declare, Love’s residue cleanly washed. Our souls no longer burdened, our feet free to roam: where shall we send the heart, when the heart has no home? And in the evening hours, the twilight dwindling grey, the whores of Babel’s … Read morethe residue of loving
Write me a song poetess of my dreams. No one else will. Milk Maid’s skin pale in the candle light sing me a song — at the very least. — — it’s enough, I suppose, to drink the beer you poured. (steal glances tipping the bottle up) you may never know the light you bring … Read moreOde to a lost bartender
I know who you are, No matter your form. Come to me at my death and we will kiss. You play the shadow, each moment, each now, better than you play the sun on green leaves. Come to me when I wake, that I may enter you alive from our dances together in my dreams. … Read morePsalm of the mist
“There is no understanding.”
“Who’s the fucking Nihilist here?”
she left without a trace, hat on the back of the couch, cigarette burning in the ashtray, drink barely touched, not even a good-bye …. and I hoped she ran into the best, all that could be good ____ when she flushed the toilet and came back in, laid on the couch, lifted the cigarette, … Read moreuntitled #831
such contrived complexities, these dreary dreams of loneliness, standing crumbling from eons past. No, i will not look at the clouded sky, nor remember the Dandelion’s wish, but instead content myself to wasteland that i might decorate simply like a frontier wife, waiting to die. Oh, we’ll meet on border fences, say goodbye a few … Read moreat least there’s bad poetry