holy worlds of culture lie undead,
divided, cocooned,
near and dear
in pristine
hermetically sealed jars.

profoundly deceased artists
greater generations
cryogenically frozen;
wait for disease no more,
erased and forgotten by history.

Make room for new records,
consciousness too
streaming through
your tube,
my tube,
our tube.

Cut and paste:
Save the ****, save the pop-ups, save the ads,
save the text, save the papers, save the bits, save
the bytes, save the one, save the zero, save the site,
save the facts, save the mirrors, save the mother,
and the father, save the dots, save the
photos, save the mood, save your game,
save your thoughts, save the time, save the
plot, save this show, save the world, save
the breeze, save the key, save the music, save this song,
safe advice, save the space, save this spot,
save the ages, save the screen, save your pride,
save indulgence,
save your dream.

we spent our days
locked away in room-
plywood levels of madness
with red lights lacing the top

i was always seeing double
through camera lens and
whiskey goggles

these were my friends,
the bearded boys that could
have passed for homeless men

butkisses and parades,
that's how we partied,
day in and day out,
sun up and sun down

when one left, he was
never replaced, but a cutout
of his face stood as a
reminder that we would
all eventually go

gloved hands held
cheap bears, and cassettes
filled up all of our fears-
did you? covered in
shaving cream, bras in
the oven, deep fried
monstrosities called
ice cream

we fell in and out of
beds, onto wood floors
filthy with forties, and
labels reminded us of
the difference between
windows and walls

hands printed memories
on flesh and fabric,
as organs were kept
alive in the attic by
a stroke of their keys

i could return to the
porch with no railings
and relive each moment,
each night that reeled
us in and spit us out,
sloppier than the saliva
that landed on the sidewalk

these were my friends-
wasted, wandering and free

even with the full display of shine from sun
this town feels like english rain
i ate a cold sandwich today that was too much for yesterdays lunch
i am not sure where this is going
only knew that i had to get something down.
i've been feeling as though life is a ride,
and mine has become one that goes around in a circle
and never gets quite exciting.
the freedom after the break has now lost it's allure
and i am stuck in a habit that i just cant shake
i miss her, and when i say that,
i miss the feeling of thinking you've found something you've been looking for, i should stop looking
good things come to those who wait, great things come to those who fail
and the most wonderful things can happen when you've fallen flat on your face and you can get up and laugh about it.
i'm not sure if dreams come true, however life is no nightmare
find things you love and hold onto them, if following your heart is the worst thing you ever do i envy you

I wish that I had written sooner

though I can still feel the warmth of
your smile, see the crows feet by
your eyes, and hear your deep laughter,
all of your tattoos have begun to blur

I remember seeing you and needing to
know you, or maybe it was that I
already did, the universe pulling
me back towards an old friend

you kept me alive with coffee and
grant slams and the reassurance
that I would never be alone in
questioning everything, and even
though you're gone, I'm not alone

I think of the moon and I see you,
I feel us smiling and swaying as
Kerouac took us back in time, to
a place where art was all that
lived and breathed, our bodies
just vessels for the unveiling

you will always remind me
that there is no such thing as
too late, that endings are beginnings
bursting with beauty and
that happiness comes with
full acceptance of self, and
above all else, love

i avoid pen and paper
i can't stand the sight of it
when i'm not able to get
the words out right

lately i'm an oldsmobile,
sputtering smoke and
coughing cogs as i
attempt to make my
way up a hill that seems
to have no end

i'm desperate for horizon,
but all i can focus on
are the next four inches

today, I was asked,
by a machine,
"what's the best thing
that happened to you this week?"
and, it followed up with,
"don't be afraid to brag."

I spent awhile wondering
how you might
compute and crunch
just what it means
to receive your first hug
from a third grader
who you're harder on
than most
because you know
behind the lack of focus
lies genius left unexposed,

but I'm pretty sure
that's made every
sloppy, sludgy, snowy
trek this month
more than worth
my while

'switch off your humanity,'
said the vampire to the newborn,
'can't **** humans dry when
your compassion is your compass'

trying to take on terror and
tremendousness all in one is a task,
satiating the desire to succumb and
strike those who desire you into submission

if life isn't a tight rope then i'm not a
bloodthirsty woman ready to pounce,
practicing patience and practicality,
wishing i could just rip out jugulars

are the first among us
in early spring to notice
the flowers, taking notes
and comparing posture.

they look strangers in the eye
like no other, as though the least
amount of recognition
were the most familiar.

they sweep lonely men off their feet,
just one encounter and the lonely men
in turn go searching for the trail
they've left through this city,

in crowded alleys, in libraries, in the park
at dusk, in a statues rust, at a trafficless
intersection. everywhere there are traces
of their presence, like a dustbowl

in its aftermath, if only the dust
were silver and the violent winds
intruded on the stillness to hold
up shelter against the oceans
of desert.


i met the loneliest of them all,
the postulate that nature offered
was now her ex-lover and recovery
would be backtracking.

lonely women are the last to be pitied,
and lonely women were not always
lonely. you must have experienced
the kind of love that is unbridled
to experience that kind of lonely.



Lonely women will be lonely
until they die, so that by the time
lovers wake up together she will
have already offered herself to the soil

so that by the time they take their first
step out of the bed she will have
already become minerals.

All this time I had thought
it was rock versus air
and then came the day
we exchanged names,
because there was no other way
because all those others we adored
were no less than infinite
and you cannot trap sunlight
in your hands.
Our communion was instinct,
a song from the deepest cave
and our love is like the friction
of bowstring against violin,
there as long as green vines
continue to crawl up bricks.
There as long as the cynics
ignore the saws of radiant light
that cut through the fault lines
of their enemies skin.
Our love is the final resort
of metaphors, the place they go
to rest in peace, the farmers
overalls. You greet me
without a smile, at your front door,
paint chipped, hair that tells the story
of your difficult day and I remind myself
that means and ends
are both offspring and kin.

We met like they all do, second
glances, eyes wearing the best
kind of suspicion, an exchange
of names, insidious
and innocent.

Today I encountered the most holy
of holies, all cloaked in ordinariness,
sawdust, flowers, and paper clips,
and our love is like any other,
making us feel as though
that we are the last
to witness it .