Monday, December 14, 2009
when i am happy i have little to write.
i woke up laughing.
i woke up with a dream of greatness
in my lungs you stuck like tar
i cried laughing and died trying
i pounded my fist against the wall.
language what is language?
the compounding of words;
the mold to the clay
like the shape of a shoe to a foot.
as you can see i took notes.
i wrote down everything i saw
i wrote down gibberish
i even drew pictures.
What does it mean?
maybe, it will mean more to you than it does to me.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
50 state street apt. 1
12 in the morning, first draft in a long time.
This typing on a sheet of almost-white paper, late at night when one has time to think, is good for
The therapy of this night time, of this gray time….when there is not a place to put the past in the past, when there is only now and no future, when you realize you are really living, oh but how is that so
Peaches period a spot on the paper neat dots elegant font THAT font that RIGHT font on labels on brandnames on handmaidens and tales of peanut butter and mango trees.
Exotic names food for thought elahe oh elahe oh oh oh seena three e’s a oh no a vowel three pieces three pounds of food blood three pounds of flesh owed owned by another.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
You used it. Spewed it like venom, so ripe with the possibilities just discovered. The stale food smell, the ripeness of smell. It all came through, balled up in snow and rolled down the hill, came at me. The anger, the frustration, even the irritating smell of food lingering from the next room, you brought it all to me and threw the slop bucket in my face. I was glad, I could take it, but I knew you couldn’t- so I did. Oh the moon, do not weep from the heart of your icy surfaces, the fingertip pressure that is applied for that perfect sound; that sound that is akin to twinkling lights blurred in the distance, they turn into willows, willows of the wisp, they are bringing you into the darkness, that you don’t know and aren’t thinking of, you follow them, and in this tunnel of light you faintly sense foreboding, but your conscious is sleeping, you continue, the little lights say, you don’t have to be afraid…you follow you follow, but you know that if you don’t open your eyes eventually, something bad will befall you, a still soul ready as prey, for the darkness, for the unknown.