i linger too much on the exhale
my eyes get lost in space
table and the desk are unfocused
and i choke and i squint.

i wake up with ancient stomach aches
slow and deliberate and warm
and subtle i might say
not like someone's poking me.

there's death in my mouth
dozed off again without
following proper hygiene
i watch old dreams drift off.

air pushes down on me
i'm not who i want to be
a war against gravity
is to breathe in.

let me fill in the boxes for you
get me my crayons, get the blue
get the red and yellow
and i will mix in some pretty lie.

get me the critics
i want a deeper look into my heart
i want cyber conversations
with the soon to be dead.

find me crossfires of too old
to be this way parents
and crossed eyes of unintentional
interruptions of voice.

and how could some vibration
not faster than a color
become a rusty old wrench
and break me in half?

but a dog barks outside
cars whizz on by, honking sometimes
breakfasts still make metal noises --
you'll brush your teeth later.

my face like the moon
her meteorite words

i'm a *****.
look, the sky is blue,
the water is blue,
her eyes are blue
and i am blue.

my head is flat.
curls of my hair
are ironed out
through week long pillows.

fascinating,
it hasn't even been a day.

Yes, said Rabelais,
and went on wiping his ***.

let them mis-
understand,
never try
to explain,
if one looks
for problems,
they'll find it
everywhere.

2014

right now.
to bath or not to bath.
it's saturday anyway
and life is an empty chocolate box.
what time is it now
that this rude sun still gets
in my pores?
just when did i pay for this
macabre cabaret at the mirror?
i don't remember.
let's go tibet.

they have made fools out of themselves
to take the given inside burning mess
and digging gold from it from the loving work
and put into order the mess of the second
and still they would turn their heads into stones
and know ***** little secrets with their eyes.
secrets that have never been born.
they would just stand there and acquire the gold
silver and bronze of the air
and become the pillar of some badly lighted room.

pinned to the cushion like a promissory note
how do you enjoy an avalanche of overshot gestures?
in the distance are the fields where the dancing clowns
feast upon your shortening lungs.

swim back to the air.
striped pajamas in a window can change the world.
so can good ventilation and humor.

throw away with a flicker of the hand.
what does it matter?

ballroom weights upon single words.

sly voice in the door
creak on my chest
shut up, shut the **** up
you smart man,
you concentrated linear
sly snake
--- i got nowhere to go,
i will melt into this bed
with my red eye and shut sinuses
and half a drum set at my feet
and thinking, unbelieving, scared
eyes, eyes, i'm tired tired mouth
. got nowhere to go. did i let my brain
be shut by sly sly sly snakes?
did i exchange free music and free floating
vibrating bodies for secure swamps
of weak discriminations?
constant obstructions behind my neck,
a constant itch in my throat and aches
my left red eye, and broken right arm
and collapsed stomach and groin -- i walk like
i just walked out of a war,
i'm just walking out of a bar.
in 2019. in this forgotten swamp of frail
nothingnesses.
feel like on the tv all the time, feel like
i'm on some documentary giving out the unspeakable
secrets of my life, diluting and watering down
every last bit of authenticity and mystery and
strength that life naturally grants us -- i see
microscopes in eyes and spiky lashes in every word,
and futility in hoping for a smooth walk down the road,
to have each note of each music you listen to be a small
universe on it's own, a microorgasm that lifts the chest
the feet and the shoulders high, carrying you off
with fluorescent angels through the night, into the warm
place of dreams and scents and magical beauties.
nowhere to go but to melting into the bed.
and no new grammars that approach like battleships.

--- i cry but my face is stone