a gull
 i saw myself in a gull
wet and tethered wings
spread the span of my life
as i knew it
as i blew it into the ebbing tides
drying the salt of summer
through the fading sun
struggle and suffer
until the south wind blows again
i cannot wait 
i cannot wait
much longer to fly
i cannot wish
i cannot wish
to be carried

we march under overpasses much too low for our own concrete heads
w/ so little time left over to spend any of it thinking about our future
mistakes & what we'll never do about them.. a journey without
a destination, a marketed smile without a cost:
these are things that just don't matter (in a long series of ends..)

& you can tower all you want over zen skies, I will not answer the call
that is expected of me - change(s) flattened out the horizon & clarity
is my new virus, my new vision, my new void to fill up to the rim..

I have seen & felt the distance that is thrown on me once
that blue sign is crossed.. I want to shout at #11 for ages
because we can't keep being strangers in such a familiar place..

we can't keep being strangers around such familiar faces (anymore)

autumn lake –
leaves rocking
in a trout's ripples

--

birdsong –
how it amplifies
the dawn

They say
we all have
our down days
and I have
many depressed days
about twice a month
when the mind
gets sad, then angry,
then sad again,
but then one day
I wake up
and everything
is better,
and everyday life
becomes Nirvana to me
once again,
so I can't find
any cure
for this yoyoitis
except sitting alone,
smoking cigarettes,
and thinking.

In the schisms of light changes,
Between the honking horns of crying babies
And angry mothers,
The cars hunched in anticipation
Like the smoker’s tongue rolling
Against the teeth for that nicotine speed.
A starry-eyed woman blinked with no destination
In her husband’s Bentley.
The rumbling is the crunching grind of helmets
In a pigskin scrimmage.
I can barely stand the
            Stop-Go
            Inch-Worming
Of brake-lights.
Car’s trembling is the twitching squirrel
Panic-caught in a lightsocket.
Even if the slim traffic-conductor
That burns like plastic on the fire
Yields us through like a coaxing father,
Hollow eyes don’t yield the lethargic feet.
Remnants of the second millenium’s gas-scorn,
Our can-do attitudes goad our chariots to
            Hack
And
            Spit
Dust-Sludge in gridlocked gossip.

Always ask or you shake eternity
Manipulating rips of your bare life
The womanless milk is picture TV
Why this when our heads foretell
Only wanting
Luscious delicate urge
Stare at the true wind spray
And their produce is bitter iron
How you go must flood lies from power
Let a thousand frantic madmen
Whisper gorgeous smooth chocolate
Stop, leave, ache worship void within
I say you will cry & fall beneath
They sleep under the blood sun
Like lazy enormous sausages