screaming at low volumes
there is rage that chokes me, really, forces something in my throat to close and the air becomes difficult to breathe in like walking into a sauna heated by a volcano. I don’t know what it is, where it is, i’ve never been able to pinpoint why it is, but the sky seems black and … Read moreRage
When your eyes burn with visions of Santa Anaand Brazil is laying itself upon all you touch,when every mystery has the same answerand the sun won’t set without a saint’s song,when all the words have run togetherto make only one last sentence,the flood of love will leave nothing behind,the currents of life will deposit everything.There … Read moreWhen your eyes burn with visions of Santa Ana
sometimes I have to yell; it comes out like vomit – this poison that sits so deeply made from too many years of ill conceived waste disposal programs. sometimes I need to scream; the currents of the continents smashing together in an ageless dance pushing rage out into the sky, into the ears. sometimes I … Read moreVolume
I have opened every box, every bottle;looked under furniture, laundry, dirty dishes,but no where can I find oblivion.Maybe it’s me, my own blindnessthat I think I can see and hence the confusion. Sometimes I want to extinguishmy own existence in this sphere;watch the blaze of insecurities andmake ashes from my lifetimes in doubt. Fists in … Read moredisjointed
It is me; It is not me: There are two sides: that which I owe and that which I want. Where may I go for what I want? I know too well where I owe; my heart craves importance, but must pay penalties as a tertiary thought of tomorrow.
Baby, let your hair grow out to tangle me into your body; spread your fingers over my sex and pull my soul into your web of kindness and safety in moist warmth. Baby, let your eyes see soft edges free from harsh contemporary distinctions between the circle and the square where we are not separated … Read moreMade Love
Do you know any lovelies that you could set me upon? Just to help me find my way across that dark River where we all must go
My butterflies are biting me and I’m still writing letters to the world but I’ve run out of bottles – they don’t seem to come to the island anymore – and no matter how strongly worded I’m still just lonely and still just lonely and still, I’m just lonely dreaming of soft arms and dark … Read moreLast Night
traveling; south then west over to the crater that was once a crescent moon for a party at the ends of the earth: I think of Morocco and Burroughs and the wasted deserts of West Texas. I hop into demons and scorch the sky; on whims as flimsy as balsa wood planes and the bella … Read moreTravel Days
Baby can I come home with you? Yeah, I’m not the first to ask; but there’s a thing you got – please don’t ask just what it is, it ain’t part of my five senses but every other man in here just don’t know what you got: oh, they feel it, but they don’t know … Read moreTo Hell With Everything Good