Monday, February 28, 2005
idle in the water
"why do we fast, and you do not see it? afflict ourselves, and you take no note of it?"
-isaiah 58:3
"you have indeed become for me a treacherous brook, whose waters do not abide!"
-jeremiah 15:18
when i was very, very young i would go down to the stream with my best friend, sophia, to fish with sticks we would find and string we would bring down from my mothers' sewing drawer in my dilapidated house.
we took these fishing trips around evening, when the toddlers and preschoolers went inside, but our own parents hadn't yet thought to come find us. during our trip down the gravel, through the woods and out to the ever-slow moving water with gnarled maple trees crowding the bank and the mud still slippery, sophia and i remained silent. we'd exhausted our voices shouting, and now, in the fading light, i would finger my string and occasionally glance at sophia, who would continue training her gaze on the ground immediately in front of her. sometimes i would hum or sing a little.
once we got to our fishing spot, i would collect two sticks, about two feet long, and tie about five feet of string to each. sophia and i would sit on the rocks as the sun continued to set, sometimes our strings floating on the surface, lightly pulled along by the current. sophia would hang her feet over the water, her white shoes and socks slightly muddied by the trip, her pink felt cut-out dress often marred by burrs or twigs or strands of flax that inexplicably clung to her. we would sit listening to the water and birds and imagine the fish we would catch, planning the to build a fire on which to cook them, and to set up a house in the trees where we could live.
in august of 1989, the week before the two of us were to start school, we embarked on the last of our fishing trips. this time, though, i walked the new bike my parents had bought for me for my birthday, sophia walking beside me on the other side of the bike, carrying a pair of doll's shoes she'd recently recovered from beneath the bed in her messy room.
when we got to the river, i rested the bike against a tree, and began to look for twigs. "let's leave," sophia said.
"what?"
"let's leave. i don't want to go to school. let's take your bike."
"why not go to school? you scared? it'll be fun. we'll meet new friends."
"no, i'm not scared. i just don't want to stop fishing. i want to keep moving and catch fish and have a tent and live outside. do you want to come with me?"
i looked at sophia. she had dropped the doll's shoes on the ground and was looking at me. she put her hand out to lean on the bike that rested against the tree. the birds were singing, and the wind picked up a little bit, blowing leaves off the bank into the river and causing slight waves to run up onto the rock where we would fish.
"i don't know, sophia. i think, i don't know, school will be important. we'll get homework, and read stories..."
"we can have our own stories and not do homework. we don't need that. we'll learn to make a fire. we'll ride your bike to the library. what's wrong? what else could we ever need?"
"alright," i said, "if we catch a fish today, we'll build a fort and stay here."
so we tied our strings to our sticks. sophia unlaced the doll's shoes she'd been carrying, and had me tie them in tandem to the edge of her rod, then the string, giving her a far greater reach into the stream. meanwhile sophia hunted up and down the bank for worms, and found a couple, which we tied gently to our string.
then we sat on our rock. sophia flung her worm far out into the river, where the current picked it up and carried it, the worm slightly below the surface of the water, held at the middle by the string, the two ends rippling against the strength of the river's flow. i cast my line into a gentle eddie by a rock that sat in the middle of the pool, and my worm sat there, rotating slowly in the rock's whirlpool.
we sat in silence, me occasionally brushing up against sophia as she twitched her line back and forth. i began to feel the breeze pick up, and it seemed as though clouds were forming. then, there was a slight flash in the middle of the string and sophia's line gave a sudden jerk. she yanked at it furiously and yelled at me, "grab the string and pull it in!"
so i set my own stick down and rushed to help sophia, yanking the line in hand over hand. on the end of her line, fighting madly, was a tiny fish flapping and jerking about, its gills flexing and falling in a strained effort to milk oxygen from the air. i grabbed it by the head, but it opened its mouth and fell against the rock, flipping occasionally, but quickly losing breath.
sophia reached out to grab the fish, to throw it back into the water, or simply to touch it, but she pulled back instead.
the fish was lime-green with flecks of yellow that shone faintly in the dimming sunlight. its eye stared up unknowingly as it opened and shut its mouth.
"can we make a fire?"
"i forgot to take the matches from my dad's room."
sophia and i sat there a minute, looking at the fish as it slowly twitched on the rock, the lime green already leaving its scales. the wind gusted again, blowing the hair back from sophia's face. laying awake in bed, some nights i would picture sophia's head, completely bald, her eyebrows accented and her lips full, her pale face striking out against the darkness of my eyelids. she looked back at me.
"ok, i caught the fish," sophia said. "let's build a fort. i caught a fish, so now let's build a fort."
i picked up my fishing rod and the graying fish and the two of us walked up the bank a little ways, where we used our sticks to dig holes for the posts and the frames of our fort. after wearing ourselves out pretty well, we'd each dug a hole about six inches deep. the sun faded behind a low-flying cloud propelled by another gust of wind.
"it's getting late. i don't think we'll finish before it gets dark."
"what should we do?" i asked.
i looked at the fish laying beside me, its eye staring blankly at the sky, a little flake of leaf covering the yellow iris. it lay stiff and slightly muddied on the ground, the blood-red color of its unmoving gills cooling off now, and a red mark growing on its belly where somehow a few of its scales had fallen off.
"maybe we'd better just bury him."
"yeah, we'd better bury him. i think we'd better go home."
i picked up the fish and set him in one of the post-holes we'd made. we covered it with dirt. i broke my stick in two and tied it with the string to make a cross, which i jammed in the soft ground. we got up, and sophia collected her now-unlaced doll's shoes as i went for my bike. we headed back up the hill to the gravel road and walked home.
i saw sophia again several days later while i was waiting for the school bus to come. i moved my hand to say "hi," and maybe ask her to sit next to me on the bus, but she walked past me and started talking to some older girls. some third graders were playing catch across the street, so i joined them, concentrating on throwing the ball right while i waited for the bus to arrive.
"why do we fast, and you do not see it? afflict ourselves, and you take no note of it?"
-isaiah 58:3
"you have indeed become for me a treacherous brook, whose waters do not abide!"
-jeremiah 15:18
when i was very, very young i would go down to the stream with my best friend, sophia, to fish with sticks we would find and string we would bring down from my mothers' sewing drawer in my dilapidated house.
we took these fishing trips around evening, when the toddlers and preschoolers went inside, but our own parents hadn't yet thought to come find us. during our trip down the gravel, through the woods and out to the ever-slow moving water with gnarled maple trees crowding the bank and the mud still slippery, sophia and i remained silent. we'd exhausted our voices shouting, and now, in the fading light, i would finger my string and occasionally glance at sophia, who would continue training her gaze on the ground immediately in front of her. sometimes i would hum or sing a little.
once we got to our fishing spot, i would collect two sticks, about two feet long, and tie about five feet of string to each. sophia and i would sit on the rocks as the sun continued to set, sometimes our strings floating on the surface, lightly pulled along by the current. sophia would hang her feet over the water, her white shoes and socks slightly muddied by the trip, her pink felt cut-out dress often marred by burrs or twigs or strands of flax that inexplicably clung to her. we would sit listening to the water and birds and imagine the fish we would catch, planning the to build a fire on which to cook them, and to set up a house in the trees where we could live.
in august of 1989, the week before the two of us were to start school, we embarked on the last of our fishing trips. this time, though, i walked the new bike my parents had bought for me for my birthday, sophia walking beside me on the other side of the bike, carrying a pair of doll's shoes she'd recently recovered from beneath the bed in her messy room.
when we got to the river, i rested the bike against a tree, and began to look for twigs. "let's leave," sophia said.
"what?"
"let's leave. i don't want to go to school. let's take your bike."
"why not go to school? you scared? it'll be fun. we'll meet new friends."
"no, i'm not scared. i just don't want to stop fishing. i want to keep moving and catch fish and have a tent and live outside. do you want to come with me?"
i looked at sophia. she had dropped the doll's shoes on the ground and was looking at me. she put her hand out to lean on the bike that rested against the tree. the birds were singing, and the wind picked up a little bit, blowing leaves off the bank into the river and causing slight waves to run up onto the rock where we would fish.
"i don't know, sophia. i think, i don't know, school will be important. we'll get homework, and read stories..."
"we can have our own stories and not do homework. we don't need that. we'll learn to make a fire. we'll ride your bike to the library. what's wrong? what else could we ever need?"
"alright," i said, "if we catch a fish today, we'll build a fort and stay here."
so we tied our strings to our sticks. sophia unlaced the doll's shoes she'd been carrying, and had me tie them in tandem to the edge of her rod, then the string, giving her a far greater reach into the stream. meanwhile sophia hunted up and down the bank for worms, and found a couple, which we tied gently to our string.
then we sat on our rock. sophia flung her worm far out into the river, where the current picked it up and carried it, the worm slightly below the surface of the water, held at the middle by the string, the two ends rippling against the strength of the river's flow. i cast my line into a gentle eddie by a rock that sat in the middle of the pool, and my worm sat there, rotating slowly in the rock's whirlpool.
we sat in silence, me occasionally brushing up against sophia as she twitched her line back and forth. i began to feel the breeze pick up, and it seemed as though clouds were forming. then, there was a slight flash in the middle of the string and sophia's line gave a sudden jerk. she yanked at it furiously and yelled at me, "grab the string and pull it in!"
so i set my own stick down and rushed to help sophia, yanking the line in hand over hand. on the end of her line, fighting madly, was a tiny fish flapping and jerking about, its gills flexing and falling in a strained effort to milk oxygen from the air. i grabbed it by the head, but it opened its mouth and fell against the rock, flipping occasionally, but quickly losing breath.
sophia reached out to grab the fish, to throw it back into the water, or simply to touch it, but she pulled back instead.
the fish was lime-green with flecks of yellow that shone faintly in the dimming sunlight. its eye stared up unknowingly as it opened and shut its mouth.
"can we make a fire?"
"i forgot to take the matches from my dad's room."
sophia and i sat there a minute, looking at the fish as it slowly twitched on the rock, the lime green already leaving its scales. the wind gusted again, blowing the hair back from sophia's face. laying awake in bed, some nights i would picture sophia's head, completely bald, her eyebrows accented and her lips full, her pale face striking out against the darkness of my eyelids. she looked back at me.
"ok, i caught the fish," sophia said. "let's build a fort. i caught a fish, so now let's build a fort."
i picked up my fishing rod and the graying fish and the two of us walked up the bank a little ways, where we used our sticks to dig holes for the posts and the frames of our fort. after wearing ourselves out pretty well, we'd each dug a hole about six inches deep. the sun faded behind a low-flying cloud propelled by another gust of wind.
"it's getting late. i don't think we'll finish before it gets dark."
"what should we do?" i asked.
i looked at the fish laying beside me, its eye staring blankly at the sky, a little flake of leaf covering the yellow iris. it lay stiff and slightly muddied on the ground, the blood-red color of its unmoving gills cooling off now, and a red mark growing on its belly where somehow a few of its scales had fallen off.
"maybe we'd better just bury him."
"yeah, we'd better bury him. i think we'd better go home."
i picked up the fish and set him in one of the post-holes we'd made. we covered it with dirt. i broke my stick in two and tied it with the string to make a cross, which i jammed in the soft ground. we got up, and sophia collected her now-unlaced doll's shoes as i went for my bike. we headed back up the hill to the gravel road and walked home.
i saw sophia again several days later while i was waiting for the school bus to come. i moved my hand to say "hi," and maybe ask her to sit next to me on the bus, but she walked past me and started talking to some older girls. some third graders were playing catch across the street, so i joined them, concentrating on throwing the ball right while i waited for the bus to arrive.
Monday, February 21, 2005
on being unfair in a fiat in morning
"And immediately the cock crowed."
-John 18:27
judgements passed around the campfire
and i judge this joint to be rather proper.
it feels wet in my hand from the lady next to me,
whose hair weaves down her shoulders in misshapen disorder.
did it again and flew back on my plane
and forgiveness, sweet mistress, was to be my delight.
but the scrambled addled adder that sat in the corner
shook at the crumbs on my seat and did bite.
discipline is miniscule and criminals are crepuscules,
but light fades, eyes opened or closed,
so to bed i might go, and pass out asleep,
but the night will keep calling me out,
"you sorry little creep."
"And immediately the cock crowed."
-John 18:27
judgements passed around the campfire
and i judge this joint to be rather proper.
it feels wet in my hand from the lady next to me,
whose hair weaves down her shoulders in misshapen disorder.
did it again and flew back on my plane
and forgiveness, sweet mistress, was to be my delight.
but the scrambled addled adder that sat in the corner
shook at the crumbs on my seat and did bite.
discipline is miniscule and criminals are crepuscules,
but light fades, eyes opened or closed,
so to bed i might go, and pass out asleep,
but the night will keep calling me out,
"you sorry little creep."
the truth never
"have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil designs?"
-James 2:4
vicious little girls,
barely thirteen,
parade in their panties and shoot guns at me.
"have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil designs?"
-James 2:4
vicious little girls,
barely thirteen,
parade in their panties and shoot guns at me.
the wiring on the wall
"Many shepherds have ravaged my vineyard, have trodden my heritage underfoot; The portion that delighted me they have turned into a desert waste."
-Jeremiah 12:10
such vitriol
from such a young soiled brat
how underestimated
and flowery the language
a spit in a cat's eye
and a balcony overhanging
the hair falling over
my coif floweth over
undulate and prick the needle
into the doily,
hem it up proper or
dive in beneath and
oh my i haven't brought myself to
the station in years
don't mind my cobwebbed undercurrent
my face has been splashed far
too much for that.
such vitriol
from an undeserving servant
swinging from the bare wire,
his hand curdling under the current,
converted volts.
a bake-off ensues.
"Many shepherds have ravaged my vineyard, have trodden my heritage underfoot; The portion that delighted me they have turned into a desert waste."
-Jeremiah 12:10
such vitriol
from such a young soiled brat
how underestimated
and flowery the language
a spit in a cat's eye
and a balcony overhanging
the hair falling over
my coif floweth over
undulate and prick the needle
into the doily,
hem it up proper or
dive in beneath and
oh my i haven't brought myself to
the station in years
don't mind my cobwebbed undercurrent
my face has been splashed far
too much for that.
such vitriol
from an undeserving servant
swinging from the bare wire,
his hand curdling under the current,
converted volts.
a bake-off ensues.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
the treehouse
"The man and his wife were both naked, yet they felt no shame."
--Genesis 2:25
the treehouse
sits across from your
abandoned house.
the orphans. lemonade
of abundant fruit, father
crashed,
heaps of iron
hidden in the garage.
climb branches
with safaris and rhinos,
the lining and the mating
of the beasts.
"are you different from me?"
"dare you to let me see..."
older boys hide in the leaves
and watch, while
we parade as such.
"The man and his wife were both naked, yet they felt no shame."
--Genesis 2:25
the treehouse
sits across from your
abandoned house.
the orphans. lemonade
of abundant fruit, father
crashed,
heaps of iron
hidden in the garage.
climb branches
with safaris and rhinos,
the lining and the mating
of the beasts.
"are you different from me?"
"dare you to let me see..."
older boys hide in the leaves
and watch, while
we parade as such.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
job offer
an office acquaintance asked me
to go down
to make copies
and i obliged.
so i sat on the screen and
copied my acquaintance, shooting
file after file.
the back office fun
had to end at some time
but i didn't want crums
crusting my pants.
so i sat in the office
by the monitor with the chicken
sandwitch in the back and my own
head smashed on the keyboard.
she coughed. the whole time, she'd been bored.
an office acquaintance asked me
to go down
to make copies
and i obliged.
so i sat on the screen and
copied my acquaintance, shooting
file after file.
the back office fun
had to end at some time
but i didn't want crums
crusting my pants.
so i sat in the office
by the monitor with the chicken
sandwitch in the back and my own
head smashed on the keyboard.
she coughed. the whole time, she'd been bored.
my first kiss
pants missed the fit
koreans reading the koran
and i'm in the back seat,
my pockets falling off.
slapped a little child,
gave another the finger,
sat on the subway and ate
dangerous amounts of chips.
four years old also four time,
always four lines, then
sixteen to make the pattern
wrap properly around heads.
snakes make great bird-feed,
no known solution but
a tired way out and
i was sixteen at that time anyhow.
pants missed the fit
koreans reading the koran
and i'm in the back seat,
my pockets falling off.
slapped a little child,
gave another the finger,
sat on the subway and ate
dangerous amounts of chips.
four years old also four time,
always four lines, then
sixteen to make the pattern
wrap properly around heads.
snakes make great bird-feed,
no known solution but
a tired way out and
i was sixteen at that time anyhow.
Monday, February 07, 2005
i think it's safe to conclude that i was not prepared.
dunno.
dunno.
fast food
so hungry i demolished three whoppers
i came out the other side.
where were you when we were ordering the fries?
no sandwitches left now, eat your own legs.
i am quite sentimental when i pass by
car wrecks
and nostalgic when i pass by
the ocean, of course.
off forecepts will it tumble back down again?
it wont' because of the throne thimble and the quintuple zero
following the figure of my woman.
the picture of a man unraveling
and tanning under the fluorescent bulbs
and i really live among them, sucker,
so get your bread, i'll bring the butter.
hehe.
so hungry i demolished three whoppers
i came out the other side.
where were you when we were ordering the fries?
no sandwitches left now, eat your own legs.
i am quite sentimental when i pass by
car wrecks
and nostalgic when i pass by
the ocean, of course.
off forecepts will it tumble back down again?
it wont' because of the throne thimble and the quintuple zero
following the figure of my woman.
the picture of a man unraveling
and tanning under the fluorescent bulbs
and i really live among them, sucker,
so get your bread, i'll bring the butter.
hehe.
my lil plant
i have a lil plant it
sits by the windowsill
soaking up sun like a sponge
and my lil plant cannot fail
to spread roots and sink tooth
right into the soil.
i play my plant jazz and it dances
i play my plant punk and it withers
i quietly shush my baby plant at bedtime
and i often catch it up reading under the covers.
my lil plant quit playing piano
my lil plant planted a garden in back.
i loved that lil plant for sitting on the sill.
i never wasted a second glance after that.
i have a lil plant it
sits by the windowsill
soaking up sun like a sponge
and my lil plant cannot fail
to spread roots and sink tooth
right into the soil.
i play my plant jazz and it dances
i play my plant punk and it withers
i quietly shush my baby plant at bedtime
and i often catch it up reading under the covers.
my lil plant quit playing piano
my lil plant planted a garden in back.
i loved that lil plant for sitting on the sill.
i never wasted a second glance after that.
more and more
seems easily we've gotten
better but che's dead long ago
the CIA killed him, he tortured
tortoise-shelled kids for doing their jobs
and i quit reading the how-to
when i realized the pointed frame
the picture came in actually
had twenty distinctive jewels encrusted.
who said anything was any fun?
seems easily we've gotten
better but che's dead long ago
the CIA killed him, he tortured
tortoise-shelled kids for doing their jobs
and i quit reading the how-to
when i realized the pointed frame
the picture came in actually
had twenty distinctive jewels encrusted.
who said anything was any fun?
still orooni only no slim
and no virginia
and no quiet dark underlying heroin addict
covers the drapes.
quietly gerbils whirl the wheels
back in the cage while the gilded
ragers feint at one another
it's still dark outside.
i painted it that color
cause all i got is a broadstroke brush
or do i broadly stroke the bush?
no i have no cushion to do that anyway
so perverse and
distorted the face
with teeth the size of softballs
and mothballs instead of testicles.
is it fair?
i don't know.
i will share, though.
have half a tuna sandwitch and i'll get some
hot coco and if you've noticed food stands
for domesticity and cleaning and feeling
great about the whole damn scene
and i just hit the delete key fifteen times.
and no virginia
and no quiet dark underlying heroin addict
covers the drapes.
quietly gerbils whirl the wheels
back in the cage while the gilded
ragers feint at one another
it's still dark outside.
i painted it that color
cause all i got is a broadstroke brush
or do i broadly stroke the bush?
no i have no cushion to do that anyway
so perverse and
distorted the face
with teeth the size of softballs
and mothballs instead of testicles.
is it fair?
i don't know.
i will share, though.
have half a tuna sandwitch and i'll get some
hot coco and if you've noticed food stands
for domesticity and cleaning and feeling
great about the whole damn scene
and i just hit the delete key fifteen times.
hahaha stop staring, share
so i quoted the arabs
and nobody quit my eyes
spunk and understanding
quiet and blue as i sit there across the room
always across the room
or under the boom or
caught in the frame but never holding
the mic
pinned to my shirt
cause the illusion must work
the tv blares on and i watch myself
cuss about the cowboys but
the crabs were all over that from the beginning.
so i quoted the arabs
and nobody quit my eyes
spunk and understanding
quiet and blue as i sit there across the room
always across the room
or under the boom or
caught in the frame but never holding
the mic
pinned to my shirt
cause the illusion must work
the tv blares on and i watch myself
cuss about the cowboys but
the crabs were all over that from the beginning.
i want to keep writing until i reach the resolution that i really want to have but i don't think it comes it's as if i wrote an infinite symphony but i can't hit the note that finishes it off so i'm sitting and playing my ass off but there is no end in sight and all i really want is to end the whole stupid project.
prose is boring and verse is worse
and words are not real
they are just little glyphs on the screen
and i am underneath the whole business
watching as ugly things shift overhead
and the clouds turn to dark and i put her in park
there is no private there is only public
and i got divorced yesterday
parents don't break up they wake up and say, fuck man this sucks,
and look for other lovers.
so i sit on the rollerblades and drop
down to the south pole where the controlling
babies who tell me everything
smile under the penguins and polar bears
because my ecosystem is simply that blown.
the wind and the snow and twenty dollars
under the bar and i can go to bars now, mama,
i can drive cars now mama,
i ate candy bars and painted five-pointed stars
on oll the famous landmarks
but i'm cut now down to a regular size
and i can't fight anybody cause i've been upshot too many times.
so i sit with tight fist syndrome
watching everybody go by
giants and quiet little ants
spinning back and forth under the magnifying glass.
so screw in the screws to the two by fours
and i'll put it to you like a jamboree squealing
prize clam chowder. i ate it all while you were
out in the park and i quit the game while it was still dark, silly.
is it still this way?
tone fantastically dreary.
prose is boring and verse is worse
and words are not real
they are just little glyphs on the screen
and i am underneath the whole business
watching as ugly things shift overhead
and the clouds turn to dark and i put her in park
there is no private there is only public
and i got divorced yesterday
parents don't break up they wake up and say, fuck man this sucks,
and look for other lovers.
so i sit on the rollerblades and drop
down to the south pole where the controlling
babies who tell me everything
smile under the penguins and polar bears
because my ecosystem is simply that blown.
the wind and the snow and twenty dollars
under the bar and i can go to bars now, mama,
i can drive cars now mama,
i ate candy bars and painted five-pointed stars
on oll the famous landmarks
but i'm cut now down to a regular size
and i can't fight anybody cause i've been upshot too many times.
so i sit with tight fist syndrome
watching everybody go by
giants and quiet little ants
spinning back and forth under the magnifying glass.
so screw in the screws to the two by fours
and i'll put it to you like a jamboree squealing
prize clam chowder. i ate it all while you were
out in the park and i quit the game while it was still dark, silly.
is it still this way?
tone fantastically dreary.
i had another one but it got lost somehow which is too bad because it was kind and i was beginning to lift myself out of this orooni trough that has plagued everything for too long and it's more complex than it seems in the meanness of everything, so i will try again tomorrow.
stay off of drugs, everyone!
stay off of drugs, everyone!
maybe it lasted ten minutes
an odd feeling of guilt
and a perturbed little trip
i ripped up my uncle and cried
like a bitch.
so sorry again for all of the vents
they clog up the airshaft and drive up the rents.
people can live wherever they want
just drive down the block if you want me to talk.
i ate and i drank and my pen fell from my foot
and i quielty sat in the saddle for twenty more
days.
a.boy.is.a.boy.is.a.boy.is.a.boy.
do it that way.
do me away?
how was your weekend?
how was your day?
a ? at the end of every?
? the ? at the end of the story?
broken a few too many rules today.
see you tomorrow when i'm less of a
chump.
light up the road, you blondish scamp.
an odd feeling of guilt
and a perturbed little trip
i ripped up my uncle and cried
like a bitch.
so sorry again for all of the vents
they clog up the airshaft and drive up the rents.
people can live wherever they want
just drive down the block if you want me to talk.
i ate and i drank and my pen fell from my foot
and i quielty sat in the saddle for twenty more
days.
a.boy.is.a.boy.is.a.boy.is.a.boy.
do it that way.
do me away?
how was your weekend?
how was your day?
a ? at the end of every?
? the ? at the end of the story?
broken a few too many rules today.
see you tomorrow when i'm less of a
chump.
light up the road, you blondish scamp.
i guess i'm still sorry.
i do not enjoy knowing
it does not endear me to you
i am not a likeable boy
i have the revenge of a swordsman
and the sword of a toy.
a knight of pert tits
a chivalrous boast
a father a son and an unholy ghost.
my pointless young quest was to find
a great grail,
instead i found futile
beer cups filled up with snails.
a river and a creek and two
chiefs down the path
i finally stumbled;
i'd run out of gas.
can you do this? she said
i whispered aloud,
how the hell should i know?
no, kids. i'm not proud.
i can't quite deny that this record is true
shut the gate for me, baby, then i'm done with you, too.
it does not endear me to you
i am not a likeable boy
i have the revenge of a swordsman
and the sword of a toy.
a knight of pert tits
a chivalrous boast
a father a son and an unholy ghost.
my pointless young quest was to find
a great grail,
instead i found futile
beer cups filled up with snails.
a river and a creek and two
chiefs down the path
i finally stumbled;
i'd run out of gas.
can you do this? she said
i whispered aloud,
how the hell should i know?
no, kids. i'm not proud.
i can't quite deny that this record is true
shut the gate for me, baby, then i'm done with you, too.
typing
i have no talent, no palette
all my colors shades of grey
and pointed brushes shy to
the canvas.
pantless i write on my own ass
and cramp up my hand and saran wrap
my tits in a tight little ball so
no one can tell i'm a woman at all.
shirtless i aim down the middle of rome
and quietly shirk my troubles at home.
a little girl took my hand, said "leave me alone"
and i quit under auspicious notions.
i ate all the acid and drank all the paint
and now the world's a rainbow the color of brains.
i could do this all day but it's in rather poor taste
to pretend i could scatter as far as i say.
guns do the trick
but so do big pricks
i've had enough of both
so i'll swallow the stick
and blast into my own mouth
while the trigger goes click
and the oils shoot out my nose. the
candle flickers, burns out at the wick.
suicide and still birth
and proportion and blood,
and thirty-two heifers
still chewing the cud.
to play on the grass
you need to dry out the mud.
i have no talent, no palette
all my colors shades of grey
and pointed brushes shy to
the canvas.
pantless i write on my own ass
and cramp up my hand and saran wrap
my tits in a tight little ball so
no one can tell i'm a woman at all.
shirtless i aim down the middle of rome
and quietly shirk my troubles at home.
a little girl took my hand, said "leave me alone"
and i quit under auspicious notions.
i ate all the acid and drank all the paint
and now the world's a rainbow the color of brains.
i could do this all day but it's in rather poor taste
to pretend i could scatter as far as i say.
guns do the trick
but so do big pricks
i've had enough of both
so i'll swallow the stick
and blast into my own mouth
while the trigger goes click
and the oils shoot out my nose. the
candle flickers, burns out at the wick.
suicide and still birth
and proportion and blood,
and thirty-two heifers
still chewing the cud.
to play on the grass
you need to dry out the mud.
what do you want me to do?
Sunday, February 06, 2005
was that some kind of joke?
"lust not in your heart after her beauty,
let her not captivate you with her glance!
...
can a man take fire to his bosom,
and his garments not be burned?"
--proverbs 6:25
is everyone alright?
this bomb on my chest is giving me an awful rash,
wouldn't it be brash of me to brush it off?
i have a brillo pad and a purse full of pussy.
give it to the headless donkey,
and if i go obscene,
leave my babies to the can of paint.
and don't be mocking or cruel,
spite and spit hurt them as much as you.
so go gentle into twilight with
ointment and a generous tongue,
forget the dancing ladies,
and give the handsome men a run.
"lust not in your heart after her beauty,
let her not captivate you with her glance!
...
can a man take fire to his bosom,
and his garments not be burned?"
--proverbs 6:25
is everyone alright?
this bomb on my chest is giving me an awful rash,
wouldn't it be brash of me to brush it off?
i have a brillo pad and a purse full of pussy.
give it to the headless donkey,
and if i go obscene,
leave my babies to the can of paint.
and don't be mocking or cruel,
spite and spit hurt them as much as you.
so go gentle into twilight with
ointment and a generous tongue,
forget the dancing ladies,
and give the handsome men a run.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
no bible quote, asshole
needle to the knuckles, fuckers
every vein tapped
and small pimples
riding on edge
in red stockings
paging upon
boon lost his mind
hammer to the skull
and bottle to the neck,
just ask assane ndjaye
the fable of the fuck
and i, hypnotic in my chair
blue plates and razor blades and underwear
show under my thumb as my shirt
lifted a scar on my stomach
as if i'd given birth by cesarian
so compassionate a poke
and i'm blind.
needle to the knuckles, fuckers
every vein tapped
and small pimples
riding on edge
in red stockings
paging upon
boon lost his mind
hammer to the skull
and bottle to the neck,
just ask assane ndjaye
the fable of the fuck
and i, hypnotic in my chair
blue plates and razor blades and underwear
show under my thumb as my shirt
lifted a scar on my stomach
as if i'd given birth by cesarian
so compassionate a poke
and i'm blind.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
moving out
"Would that we had died at the Lord's hand in the land of Egypt, as we sat by our fleshpots and ate our fill of bread! But you had to lead us to the desert to make the whole community die of famine!"
--Exodus 16:3
put it in back,
by the leather books.
last time, the frame's
glass nearly broke.
keep the lens on the desk.
the phone rings once,
a disturbed voice.
"will you come along?"
"busy today, i'm afraid"
no.
leave the desk alone.
"Would that we had died at the Lord's hand in the land of Egypt, as we sat by our fleshpots and ate our fill of bread! But you had to lead us to the desert to make the whole community die of famine!"
--Exodus 16:3
put it in back,
by the leather books.
last time, the frame's
glass nearly broke.
keep the lens on the desk.
the phone rings once,
a disturbed voice.
"will you come along?"
"busy today, i'm afraid"
no.
leave the desk alone.
