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.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
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
Collab w/ Jon
High quality drinking surplus cardboard, metal
flesh, shining exposure.
Bulbs burst with jealousy as the homeless
Man behind your stretched face tonight
rips his corduroy pants to expose an erection –
The facility, a useful member of society
dared dark rooms waiting spoiled light shrivels upon
exposure the leftover negatives of a post-life moment
in time. Existential proofs considering pre-reality, flash
points to live by. It was framed perfectly adjusted balances
and we shuddered shutters in 1/3 the time –
blasting emulsion from our ink stained fingertips covering
each other’s throats and mechanical parts with sticky
ever-altered unloving cells basking in the glory of the
yet-to-be. Spoken moats, ever-collected remnants
estranged. Idyllic siren melody ringing like stray cats
fighting over the last scrap of skin in the back dumpster
while the neighbors watch porno at a cosmic volume –
Let’s do this – let’s take the few snapshots remaining
and burn them, send them into the atmosphere to
the Brazilian woods where, while we can never
speak of it, they will wait there until the trees
are cut down and turned into Polaroid paper.
flesh, shining exposure.
Bulbs burst with jealousy as the homeless
Man behind your stretched face tonight
rips his corduroy pants to expose an erection –
The facility, a useful member of society
dared dark rooms waiting spoiled light shrivels upon
exposure the leftover negatives of a post-life moment
in time. Existential proofs considering pre-reality, flash
points to live by. It was framed perfectly adjusted balances
and we shuddered shutters in 1/3 the time –
blasting emulsion from our ink stained fingertips covering
each other’s throats and mechanical parts with sticky
ever-altered unloving cells basking in the glory of the
yet-to-be. Spoken moats, ever-collected remnants
estranged. Idyllic siren melody ringing like stray cats
fighting over the last scrap of skin in the back dumpster
while the neighbors watch porno at a cosmic volume –
Let’s do this – let’s take the few snapshots remaining
and burn them, send them into the atmosphere to
the Brazilian woods where, while we can never
speak of it, they will wait there until the trees
are cut down and turned into Polaroid paper.
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