She always kept her back very straight,
and the men would drape
themselves across her shape
and around her waist–
take on the form she gave.

Fleet fingers wave the same way,
leading about
all of the strays.
Me, I'm some sort of prey
for this creature, kyrie.

Coin-covered costume with colored cloth
combing coiffures
into a froth.
Gypsy girl getting dressed.
Them eye's beheld n' them eye's lost.

Coocoo Callay, what did I say?
I gave it weight,
now she looks dismayed,
betrayed I'll stay.
Maybe see her some other day.

Always, always's so full of maybes
from where you came
to this ****** maze, reasons the same,
to be somebody's baby.

Comely daughters, go through the square
to play your games, don't go elsewhere.
If you look at him, look at with sin
cross yourself, care for that cross you bear.

Wily Jane, how'd they get you caught?
How'd they swindle you on all you bought?
Didn't come around to be the clown;
but I think your streak is still going hot.

A face like a looking glass,
Which gave back whate'er I asked.
I gave her smiles, she gave me laughter.

A roving life delivered her here,
bussing back home, crying no tears.
This type: something I'm after.

Spending my time trying to memorize
every line you gave me so sweetly.
I ain't no pretender n' I ain't no big spender
but have to put up the cash n' believe to the last in the gift that I send her.

Dreams, they're dangerous things.
And their triggers' hairpins:
too much faith or too much stock
and they go off half-cocked.

They are all hope at first
but in short not what they were.
¡Que va!
Regardless, there's something to learn.

What was glimpsed in dark eyes
leaves me yearning inside, so fiercely.
I can't help but give in and see what she's seeing
and put up the time to move down this line and kiss her again.

Lux en tenebre.
Waiting for the break of day.
But my lovely on the bus
doesn't arrive timely. I trust
that she's still riding on her way.
But there's evil amidst
this city, I suspect there is—
some alleyway or shadowcreep will take
my lovely away.
Hope she's coming home soon.

We're both sorry, we both say it;
we're both sorry to say it.
Don't accept the sorries
nor know the complaint.
She's never wanted her pain
to be felt fully till me.
Means: I just don't get,
I need a lesson, get taught.
Maybe then she'd expect
me to understand.
Hope she's coming home soon.

[earlier]
Can't stand me to call you "baby,"
because anyone could be my.
Where is the name you taught me to say?
Lux, dear; look lightly, I fear
what you share brings me closer
cuz what I know's there 'neath could hurt me.
I cower at curious looks:
what's earthed by tremor's still invisibly shook.
I'll dig like an artist to find you out,
to breathe above ground, breathe dirt from our mouths.

[night]
The moon has a light,
tonight it's bright.
But don't it feel dark, my friend?
The moon is a mirror,
gets the sunshine here.
Don't it feel like moon'll never end?
The night's never been this young,
don't want it to get away from me.
Been drinking malt too long, now
my belly's gotten away from me.

[passing out in the car]
Making my knees buckle,
like a newly born calf or
kids trippin' in the desert:
stepped on a cactus
and bit the bristles out.
I commune with the moon,
ask whence, wherefore the doubt?
What sorta secret have I got
that shows in my eyes, my hands, my locks?

[asleep]
It's the moonlit kind of blues.
I can't—I won't choose.
The moonlit kind of blues.
Nothing left to loose.

[morning awakening]
I was nothing but lies last night,
and now in the morning light
don't it don't feel right, my sweet?
I swept all my prints,
I haven't gone there since.
I don't even know which way to creep.
This too shall pass
but want to feel bad lil' less.
The lapses come so fleeting.
**** it, save yourself, ride the feeling.

[back in dreams]
Lou Reed died today
while we made okay.
Boy, he sure knew alot of ladies,
and they sure all had alot to say.
I commune with the moon,
ask will I be alright?
What sort of song must I write
to get pieced the pie, to make it out alive?

Moonlit blues...

[awakened, spiritful]
California drought!
Suddenly I'm running out.
Try to cry or laugh
and lose yourself in cold, cold draft.
California dream!
Born with it, it stays it seems.
I try to explain,
not much to say anyway.

California drought!
How did I get out!
California's south!
And with it my running mouth!

All I've done this past year
is relive, relearn, rethink it here,
everything I've ever known.
So far so free it's shown.
So free as to be any path path bar none.
So freely came to be I'll ask for none.

Like every youngblood in love
I want to write something
that gets away from me,
the next Great American _,
sprawls like the city I live in.

Still these Northwestern scapes're contained
by rivers, valleys alike, and mountain range.
these lands are fertile, the soil tangible,
dig your fists deep, bring up handfuls,
the people tenable, shrouded in the times,
still waiting awhile whilst consumed with fever.
Feverous of injustice as done by Evil.

Amongst all these radicals and activists,
must wax progressive: hell, I can fix this.

Crack the can, a forty down to sixteen,
still the same American Malt I've been in.
No poems but my belly's getting swollen.
I don't wanna write no odes to bottles.
If I'm drinkin' in heaven I haven't the heart in
which to dwell upon our...

A sprawling poem leaves lines undone
to be penned in, in half-heart, without
a care that I gave them.

I've seen the best m-
Oh what have I seen?
What I knew, nothing new
just the cacophony of windy trees.
But'cha wait for these moments
when it's clear.