River
thank you, for being
the river where poetry floats,
and bobs its way to life.
Nibble
silence comes after
we nibble on
peanut butter sandwiches
Conversation
Please, don't go!
it's too late; I don't
want to trip over you.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
whatever
you say
"there were
plenty of people
there last night"
I say
"plenty of people?
thats intense..."
you look
happy
content
her giant picture
invades space.
like the
heavy early morning
pollution
that hasn't been
burnt
by the sun
or evaporated,
gone.
"But
what kind of
people?"
you say
"artists, designers,
beautiful people, people that matter,
because they're famous
and they make money."
"she's an artist.
they way she walks, talks and
drinks red wine. It stains her teeth.
She is vampire-like in her hunger.
the way she craves his blood
like she needs it to survive."
he's in to
getting his blood sucked
his money stolen
she consumes him.
"there were
plenty of people
there last night"
I say
"plenty of people?
thats intense..."
you look
happy
content
her giant picture
invades space.
like the
heavy early morning
pollution
that hasn't been
burnt
by the sun
or evaporated,
gone.
"But
what kind of
people?"
you say
"artists, designers,
beautiful people, people that matter,
because they're famous
and they make money."
"she's an artist.
they way she walks, talks and
drinks red wine. It stains her teeth.
She is vampire-like in her hunger.
the way she craves his blood
like she needs it to survive."
he's in to
getting his blood sucked
his money stolen
she consumes him.
oh, catapult baby
"yes baby
ill build it
ill BUILD it!"
For Mah Quiby.
oh
yeah, bebe money
my bebe-monhey
tastes like
de hunny
of de cows
when they go
funny
on farms
so sunny.
mah bebeh
likes to
go
uh, ohhhhh
when he goes
ohhhh, uh
on dah street
in dah middie
of the sizzlin'
morn'
on the tip of
de tongue
mah bebe
go
uh, ohhhhh
and I gots
to know
he'z
all mine
cauz
my bebeh
go OHHH, uh
ill build it
ill BUILD it!"
For Mah Quiby.
oh
yeah, bebe money
my bebe-monhey
tastes like
de hunny
of de cows
when they go
funny
on farms
so sunny.
mah bebeh
likes to
go
uh, ohhhhh
when he goes
ohhhh, uh
on dah street
in dah middie
of the sizzlin'
morn'
on the tip of
de tongue
mah bebe
go
uh, ohhhhh
and I gots
to know
he'z
all mine
cauz
my bebeh
go OHHH, uh
Thursday, September 4, 2008
tribute to voice
i pull her covers off with my mouth.
i'm tasting it with my wagging tongue
tastes like her.
i taste, taste,taste. I taste sugar and vanilla. Oh and I smell something; it's seeping under the door. i drool, drool.
Oh, it is that yummy sliced meat with smoked flavor and that red stuff they dip it in with those shinny pointy things.
it is. I can't wait. they place it were I can reach it. I will have to look cute before this happens wait for the ohhhs and ahhhs. and aw, baby's. I love them.
that thing that makes the cold is making noise. I hide in her covers. I lay in them and curl up like a macaroni or burnt hot dog, the kind that shrinks and curls but still tastes good even if they want to throw it out and I've drooled on it and its slobbery so they have to give it to me.
they give it to me. oh, dreams of hotdogs on meaty mountains of the brown stuff they put on chicken and those milky sweet things that come in those boxes. I see her now. Sticking her hand in, it gets lost. I get worried. She's lost her hand! oh, no. Wait!
It's magic. Her hand comes out of the box. I can feel my ears twitch as she says it "Here, baby." I drool- ools all over the place.
"Oh, that's it." She gives it to me just like that. And, my mouth is full. I keep licking and licking.
"Oh my baby's never satisfied" She says, her high pitched voice hurts when she says things loud, when she gets excited. She runs her hands through my hair. I roll over. She scratches my belly. My leg twitches. I can't stop laughing; it feels so good like the time at the beach when I was yelling at those moving mountains. They were going to eat her I swear, but she stepped right into them. She didn't care. She's the bravest of all the pack. I yell some more. I can feel my hair rising. It rises.
They've swallowed her those yelling mountains; they roar when they touch the rice like yellow ground. I feel them under my toes; they turn into white stuff like the white stuff in the sky but only when they hit the yellow stuff. I feel them; they feel ich-ich-ich; I lick them just to see what they taste like. They taste like that white stuff that's on that place they put the food. They shake it onto everything. The ground tastes like that probably because of them and their white stuff like clouds.
I saved her from their white stuff. I yelled until they spit her out. She came out drenched in their drool-ools. She was safe. All because of me and my yelling.
The thing that makes the cold is still screaming like that lady that was stuck inside the box thing that turns on and off. She screamed for all long time once, because the box was left on. By, the time I had figured out how to get her to shut up like those moving mountains. It was too late. Because, my love was already home and she had a box filled with treats. She gave me one. Her hand disappeared. "Oh, that's my baby" she says. "Sit boy." She scratches my ear. My tail wags. "You are such a good puppy!"
i'm tasting it with my wagging tongue
tastes like her.
i taste, taste,taste. I taste sugar and vanilla. Oh and I smell something; it's seeping under the door. i drool, drool.
Oh, it is that yummy sliced meat with smoked flavor and that red stuff they dip it in with those shinny pointy things.
it is. I can't wait. they place it were I can reach it. I will have to look cute before this happens wait for the ohhhs and ahhhs. and aw, baby's. I love them.
that thing that makes the cold is making noise. I hide in her covers. I lay in them and curl up like a macaroni or burnt hot dog, the kind that shrinks and curls but still tastes good even if they want to throw it out and I've drooled on it and its slobbery so they have to give it to me.
they give it to me. oh, dreams of hotdogs on meaty mountains of the brown stuff they put on chicken and those milky sweet things that come in those boxes. I see her now. Sticking her hand in, it gets lost. I get worried. She's lost her hand! oh, no. Wait!
It's magic. Her hand comes out of the box. I can feel my ears twitch as she says it "Here, baby." I drool- ools all over the place.
"Oh, that's it." She gives it to me just like that. And, my mouth is full. I keep licking and licking.
"Oh my baby's never satisfied" She says, her high pitched voice hurts when she says things loud, when she gets excited. She runs her hands through my hair. I roll over. She scratches my belly. My leg twitches. I can't stop laughing; it feels so good like the time at the beach when I was yelling at those moving mountains. They were going to eat her I swear, but she stepped right into them. She didn't care. She's the bravest of all the pack. I yell some more. I can feel my hair rising. It rises.
They've swallowed her those yelling mountains; they roar when they touch the rice like yellow ground. I feel them under my toes; they turn into white stuff like the white stuff in the sky but only when they hit the yellow stuff. I feel them; they feel ich-ich-ich; I lick them just to see what they taste like. They taste like that white stuff that's on that place they put the food. They shake it onto everything. The ground tastes like that probably because of them and their white stuff like clouds.
I saved her from their white stuff. I yelled until they spit her out. She came out drenched in their drool-ools. She was safe. All because of me and my yelling.
The thing that makes the cold is still screaming like that lady that was stuck inside the box thing that turns on and off. She screamed for all long time once, because the box was left on. By, the time I had figured out how to get her to shut up like those moving mountains. It was too late. Because, my love was already home and she had a box filled with treats. She gave me one. Her hand disappeared. "Oh, that's my baby" she says. "Sit boy." She scratches my ear. My tail wags. "You are such a good puppy!"
Monday, September 1, 2008
not ever for a day
I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Pablo Neruda
OH and then THIS for sure!!! for sure...
Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint
Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.
If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master,
never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.
- Lorca
DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Pablo Neruda
OH and then THIS for sure!!! for sure...
Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint
Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.
If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master,
never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.
- Lorca
this is what i look like
the gypsy man's self image with the still life of that framed picture of the couple dancing reminded me of the time you took my self-portrait for me. you smiled as i sat beside that stack books and twirled my hair as usual. take off your shirt. what? it will be sexy. but are self images supposed to be sexy? they can be if you think you are!
Well, I don't think I am.
then you found what you were looking for--a real solution to the problem; my mole above my left breast. You said look darling it breathes like you do. it smiles and cries. it's a dot of life. it contains so much. it tells me so much about you.
I touched the part you were talking about. I didn't feel it. It didn't feel like anything.
It felt like skin where skin was supposed to be. there was nothing secret or magical about it. listen. you said. listen to me.
you put your ear on the dot and listened as if you were a lifeguard and my spot a heart that might stop at anytime from inhaling water or from loving too much.
please stop trying to convince me that it will not be alright; you say, as you kiss my spot. I didn't feel them--your kisses.
I held them apart. The spot was not a part of my body; it was a part of a different constellation. It belonged to the sky, to the big dipper to the comets, to the dancing clouds.
why do you kiss me so softly, here? I point to the spot. I hate it. I HATE IT. You kiss my hand. I feel it. It's bold and wanting. you leave me wanting more kisses. I love your mole; it's wise.
WISE? Is wise sexy?
yes, darling. yes, oh... you don't know why? You smiled at me and I couldn't help but feeling like i missed the punch line.
I couldn't help but notice how you still probably bit your nails even after you promised me--over wine no less-- that you would stop.I acted like a scientist by using my deductive reasoning; my abilities to use logic like a =b only if b=a were well up to par and were in fact brilliant.. This made sense to me. I thought about work and history. How do we learn things about each other? An Archeologist would examine teeth and bones to identify the cause of death and the purpose of life, of a civilization's promise and of its downfall-- it's ancient lifestyle. All lovers are archeologists. They dig through the dirt and memorize the indentation of bone and the peaks of the teeth.
Your black nail polish left little black chips on your teeth. I notice this when you smile. Oh, that smile that changed my life.
the first time I saw you; you had smiled so giving and bright.
I see you, holding the camera. the tripod sits empty. you'd rather hold your tool. because it is more personal this way. more loving more feeling more blah, blah, blah, blah.
I feel like houdini and I am performing the chinese water torture and I can't find the key. The audience believes that I am magic but I know the truth; I am a joke. I am funny ha ha.
I say all that I can think to say. I say:
I don't know why! Just take the picture. I am still sitting by the book stack in between your first love Nabokov's "LOLITA" and collections by your favorite poets: Lorca and Neruda.
Take the picture. I think Take the picture so you can capture my soul and then I'll be yours like the couple in the picture.
I'll be yours forever. Start counting, you say. I start counting "one locomotive, two locomotive, three" Then finally, I see it. it's what i've been waiting for and five locomotive and FLASH!
Well, I don't think I am.
then you found what you were looking for--a real solution to the problem; my mole above my left breast. You said look darling it breathes like you do. it smiles and cries. it's a dot of life. it contains so much. it tells me so much about you.
I touched the part you were talking about. I didn't feel it. It didn't feel like anything.
It felt like skin where skin was supposed to be. there was nothing secret or magical about it. listen. you said. listen to me.
you put your ear on the dot and listened as if you were a lifeguard and my spot a heart that might stop at anytime from inhaling water or from loving too much.
please stop trying to convince me that it will not be alright; you say, as you kiss my spot. I didn't feel them--your kisses.
I held them apart. The spot was not a part of my body; it was a part of a different constellation. It belonged to the sky, to the big dipper to the comets, to the dancing clouds.
why do you kiss me so softly, here? I point to the spot. I hate it. I HATE IT. You kiss my hand. I feel it. It's bold and wanting. you leave me wanting more kisses. I love your mole; it's wise.
WISE? Is wise sexy?
yes, darling. yes, oh... you don't know why? You smiled at me and I couldn't help but feeling like i missed the punch line.
I couldn't help but notice how you still probably bit your nails even after you promised me--over wine no less-- that you would stop.I acted like a scientist by using my deductive reasoning; my abilities to use logic like a =b only if b=a were well up to par and were in fact brilliant.. This made sense to me. I thought about work and history. How do we learn things about each other? An Archeologist would examine teeth and bones to identify the cause of death and the purpose of life, of a civilization's promise and of its downfall-- it's ancient lifestyle. All lovers are archeologists. They dig through the dirt and memorize the indentation of bone and the peaks of the teeth.
Your black nail polish left little black chips on your teeth. I notice this when you smile. Oh, that smile that changed my life.
the first time I saw you; you had smiled so giving and bright.
I see you, holding the camera. the tripod sits empty. you'd rather hold your tool. because it is more personal this way. more loving more feeling more blah, blah, blah, blah.
I feel like houdini and I am performing the chinese water torture and I can't find the key. The audience believes that I am magic but I know the truth; I am a joke. I am funny ha ha.
I say all that I can think to say. I say:
I don't know why! Just take the picture. I am still sitting by the book stack in between your first love Nabokov's "LOLITA" and collections by your favorite poets: Lorca and Neruda.
Take the picture. I think Take the picture so you can capture my soul and then I'll be yours like the couple in the picture.
I'll be yours forever. Start counting, you say. I start counting "one locomotive, two locomotive, three" Then finally, I see it. it's what i've been waiting for and five locomotive and FLASH!
Work for This
Listen to me.
when you have the time.
take it easy - bright eyes
megalomaniac- +/-
the book of right on- joanna newsom
where's my mind? - the pixies
homesick - kings of convenience
hong kong garden - siouxie and the banshees
loose lips- kimya dawson
you wouldn't like me - tegan and sara
what's the word- we are scientists
keep me- the black keys
when you have the time.
take it easy - bright eyes
megalomaniac- +/-
the book of right on- joanna newsom
where's my mind? - the pixies
homesick - kings of convenience
hong kong garden - siouxie and the banshees
loose lips- kimya dawson
you wouldn't like me - tegan and sara
what's the word- we are scientists
keep me- the black keys
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