literally sick of a
dizzy world
            spin
ning spinn
ing spinnin
g sp
in ni
ng

out of it and
not quite sure what it was
in the first place

fade on down the road
spotty recognition

flaccid intellect

My jaw hurts because it might as well be wired shut. I have nothing
to say for myself, no, nothing to say.

And my thoughts tend to come in tiny red boxes,
when they open all I can see is a wisp of smoke
like a lightning bolt it's gone and in the air again.

I busy myself by keeping my teeth clean, menial things like
licking stamps and sending 'thank yous' and resting too much but
not sleeping enough.

I don't think about things too often, I try to get lost, more often than not,
I try to get lost.

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold." - From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,
wide as a watermelon,
but wise as birth,
there is so much abundance
in the people I have:
Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,
Joan, Marie, Dawn,
Arlene, Father Dunne,
and all in their short lives
give to me repeatedly,
in the way the sea
places its many fingers on the shore,
again and again
and they know me,
they help me unravel,
they listen with ears made of conch shells,
they speak back with the wine of the best region.
They are my staff.
They comfort me.

They hear how
the artery of my soul has been severed
and soul is spurting out upon them,
bleeding on them,
messing up their clothes,
dirtying their shoes.
And God is filling me,
though there are times of doubt
as hollow as the Grand Canyon,
still God is filling me.
He is giving me the thoughts of dogs,
the spider in its intricate web,
the sun
in all its amazement,
and a slain ram
that is the glory,
the mystery of great cost,
and my heart,
which is very big,
I promise it is very large,
a monster of sorts,
takes it all in--
all in comes the fury of love.

how have you been?
we never talk anymore
god knows I was stupid enough that
afternoon to give up on frisbee and
throw it all away in a few words plopped at your
feet in the grass and sun

and I do regret it, but
there's nothing to be done
to remedy the situation now

I just remember the texting marathons at
two in the morning with phones
plugged into walls because our
batteries couldn't keep pace with our
excitement

I remember Bo and Jenny, your matching dogs
Bo was always the chill one, probably still is
and I remember convincing you, making sure
you knew drugs were never the answer to loneliness

and now it has all
been thrown away for so long
and you've embraced what you will

I only wish I could take it back

You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile


.

When man,
enters woman,
like the surf biting the shore,
again and again,
and the woman opens her mouth with pleasure
and her teeth gleam
like the alphabet,
Logos appears milking a star,
and the man
inside of woman
ties a knot
so that they will
never again be separate
and the woman
climbs into a flower
and swallows its stem
and Logos appears
and unleashes their rivers.

This man,
this woman
with their double hunger,
have tried to reach through
the curtain of God
and briefly they have,
through God
in His perversity
unties the knot.

Sometimes thoughts of my own
seem able to imprison my words,
break them in half and try and become
someone’s fantasies.
They cast sleeping inspiration upon my morning
with a murmur falling by the side
of my heart’s mysteries.

All of my problems glance easily
off different sides of stones
placed in the dust
I tend to keep beneath my feet.
My eyes see them come undone
until they are no longer fit
to sail with me
or drink from my cup
where all beauty is sweet.

Shamed by care Fear smiles and flutters
behind every forceful word heard
through the translucency it retains.
All of my confidence that has separated
then faces itself to meditate
on all that is brightly lit,
here to remain.

The ground does not pass judgment
same as a soldier leaps to exhibit nobleness
throughout this hemisphere
full of thinking men.
However, greed can leave you
half-empty and ill prepared
for thoughts that will imprison
your words like the wind.

I make headway over the side of dominion
ruling the air of darkness
where fairness becomes one
among the living.
I find I am passing over
what has become sand
within a waterfall,
falling from on high,
due to my misgivings.

I am aware that beneath the taste of a last appearance
the deepest thoughts
can cover those minutes we use.
However, little do we see,
time and time again,
sometimes we tear the best there is
within a man, right in two.

Your arms cannot hoist me from the well,
your hope echoes, cheapening the sentiment,
the moon may be full,
but it's dark down here alone.

Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******.

Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.