Sunday, September 30, 2012

mas. (from Beaverdam; nudes 2001)

struggling
to find a pen before
the sounds leave me

inspiration from this
dirt seat
rock pillow shared with
lady bird beetles
and ants

old men holding hands
walking to
free coffee church
look to save me

annoy me

my ride is sure
to pass me by
in one of these
white foreign cars

blue hair and still
drunk left over
from my one
night gone (
my one night hotel
out of my
ninety hour prison)

-my surest sacred dream

my partner sleeps
soundly-
surely, in a bed alone
which i can not find
and
i have found
heaven alone in
this disguise of
street urchin flames

scabbing- mostly healed
ink
it tells the story
of how to find me
-bending
the eaves of the gate
and leaves on this tree
drop one, every moment
to remind me
___
every thing i wish
to spill in thoughts
so subtle
while i am too bored
or happily rested
to scratch down,

i am the few
the proud
the bird
the stop:sigh
and green sign
hanging from
the border of this
picture-framed
small town in
big city mama's clothes,
i write one last farewell and
blow my nose.

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