Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Update
Hm.
Been a minute since I've written here. Let's see:
Same house.
Same job.
No money.
New lady.
School.
Music.
Does anyone read this thing?
Also. Anxiety abounds. Behavioral changes. Must be real. Want to share. Why can't I?
The end.
Been a minute since I've written here. Let's see:
Same house.
Same job.
No money.
New lady.
School.
Music.
Does anyone read this thing?
Also. Anxiety abounds. Behavioral changes. Must be real. Want to share. Why can't I?
The end.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Autumn crisped sweet dripping Indian summer
Dusted the shirts on our backs
Oh Colorado-
The rolling patches
Wheat, thirst bread, fills
Like smoked remains of honey
A plumage; watercolor rust
Blues and dotted reds
Making love in the sky on melting mountaintops
Our muscles filled with acid halfway up
And we summitted, submitted our
Bodies to the wild-
Forestation, ancient language
Molds of a tribe,
We are the natives
Dusted the shirts on our backs
Oh Colorado-
The rolling patches
Wheat, thirst bread, fills
Like smoked remains of honey
A plumage; watercolor rust
Blues and dotted reds
Making love in the sky on melting mountaintops
Our muscles filled with acid halfway up
And we summitted, submitted our
Bodies to the wild-
Forestation, ancient language
Molds of a tribe,
We are the natives
Wood. Hard stone electronic circuits
I am the passage of your youth
And the skin beneath your fingernails
Grazing over bulbs and flashing screens
Abright underbelly, character of telegraphic wire
Constant time, use.
We’re connected- copper soldered to empty sockets to assure
a more perfect union
where the brain and the fingertips
intertwine we camp out for hours
teardrop mechanics on sunlight
human motherboards widespread intercontinental consciousness
speaks for our use like a careful person
with a pretend bandage
still barely sticking to skin and metal and bone
we might be further apart than we thought.
I am the passage of your youth
And the skin beneath your fingernails
Grazing over bulbs and flashing screens
Abright underbelly, character of telegraphic wire
Constant time, use.
We’re connected- copper soldered to empty sockets to assure
a more perfect union
where the brain and the fingertips
intertwine we camp out for hours
teardrop mechanics on sunlight
human motherboards widespread intercontinental consciousness
speaks for our use like a careful person
with a pretend bandage
still barely sticking to skin and metal and bone
we might be further apart than we thought.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)