and buildings bend when she walks by (2002)

something leaned to tell me
teach me, teach me
is all i heard
and a sixth of the dream i
spilled last night
confirms-reassures that i do not know.

what i have learned is i want.

and a farmer digging earth
as
nails fall back and
sun just burns, mail not sent

mouth yearns
something warm -a misty swarm of
droplets
too cool to work it
and too heavy to be rain
three times again
four times again
what i've learned is i want
and twist myself to think i need
but the want pays the bills
and the want burns soil

and buildings bend when she walks by
her eyes painted by this cloud
-me
the dream that spilled is splintered now
but tired hands remember
as earth grows high around
mixing colors.

en silencio (2002)

in ten seconds i
scratched out five pages last night
and for the next five minutes i
felt it leave me

wandering through a garden
she told me of the
loathsome
through the blackened valley
the garden grew to
pastures
and as the foothills rose
he found the mountains
and clay castles

he found the walls the men had
made

he bowed down to pray a spell
and his deliverance and his shadows
all joined his eyes
the sad clown bent to wonder

and sometimes when the
sun don't shine
we find comfort as we hypnotize
our heart into loving our surroundings-
finding a reality that is drowning
-cult affairs and three more rivers
dying.

the first which flows under
my feet
and cools them enough to go
is drying as it spawns the
second flow. -the next,
crests, washes hate with tears
and recedes to leave the
simple salts
which blow from drought-gorged eyes
and land upon the third
which begins where reservations fail
and oneness allows the silent
pass to somehow, quietly do.

the last dying river which
cuts my cheeks as tears
of glass stream naked
from behind my mind
and to a cold, wood floor,
mixing with the rusted alloys
left for future noise.

en silencio por que quiero,
y quiero por que no tengo.

still moods in blue (6/02)

softness shines
still moods in blue
and red, yet
the hours roll off the wall
slowly while inside this;
too fast in replay

anger stews insomniac
to staring while
self-intoxicated,
the artist with notions of
falling down stairs...
then reprieve.
waiting for the flood again
waiting, for tiny ears
to warm sandy cheeks,
and fairy dust.

lavendar and chamomile
steep cool vision in
confusion and warm
blood water
birthdays for southern mosquitoes
which cannot feed here
tonight.

waiting for that love to call me,
find me here, waiting
as she knows no number to call
no address to find;
waiting for her to pray
for that miracle then i guess.

iced coffee and warm
berry pastry steaks stare
tauntingly through northeastern
junk shop windows.
i walk the cavernous streets
of just another asphalt black
and tornadic sky grey downtown
that does not know my name.

would-be employers offering
in guardian-like tones of
reassurance..."take care"
who only hope this nobody will
return tomorrow. wondering,
for i have left my legacy in
some other skin and
scum-drenched downtown
pawn shop.

i hesitated, thought very little
(and as much as i could)
and threw the claim ticket
in the trash can.
then i drove away fast,
sniffeling, numb and
thinking about going fishing,
and rest.

ensalata del mar

i am the solitude
stripped...not solid
i am the song
of the expiring bleached
child
hair blown like hay
tied down with sea oats
and rabies foam...experienced now,
i am the drunken prophet that
i ran here to die
-to leave behind in a hail of
levi commercial gun battles

i write because i can't sleep
i stare at this page
curiously
expecting to read the lines
the inspiration
that my season should be afforded

i expect "apocolypse now" style
symbolism but
i have only thoughts while drinking
and in the morning there are no
words

the rest of the world
continues with tomorrow
thinking that i'm still here.

unconsciously
i scratch down the biography notes
of a dying man
hurling headlong through
the fables of insanity
funny though...
i hold it together as if
observing some grand experiment,
unaware of what the consequence may bring
unaware of any damn thing

i think it might take a job
riding rollercoasters
to save me

a good laugh is like a
good cry anymore these days

i think of my mother burying her mother
and i long to be with them soon
in their collective and sweet
hereafter

but i have the junkman's work to do
the thrill seeking life of
a junk addict glutton
is a fiery suit to wear
-a cold cross to bear.
leaving me staring down thirty three
wondering

what more
could be left
for a lover like me

if this mind's cliff of mine
leaves your fair maiden dangling
and you're worried 'cuz you
think you've ever
known me
then you should be

if you cry in the night
missing something because you
think you once loved me,
then you don't know me. pity.
i, once dreaming
killed castles housing dragons
to display my faith in thee.

holdin' (2001/02)

just holdin' here
where drunks go to die
like dogs run down by
minivans
on this country's sub divided
roads and plots of nothing
that have been mapped and made to
look
like something worth the savings
of those promised a life

hot and half gone on her vintage couch (9/2001)

i like the way
my dirty clothes smell
i am a man

i like the way
she moves so softly
and cautiously sure as
i love even more

and the words get me in trouble
wish for my muted double
enjoy the fruit with no seed
nurturing my every need

i've been a love so long
she's been along for novelty
to seem the best way to address
the need to reject my caress

two beers- disappear fears
and i look into her mirrors
and i see me smiling blindly
i'd like to take her home
to meet my mother
floor my peers
but i'm content to lay alone
hot and half gone on her
vintage couch

i say the wrong things.

i say what i feel and
it scares her while
it drives me insane

one more wrongful medicine
make my waking feel good again
at four at six and seven a.m.
it's fine 'till i'm forced to rise again
the talk 'till i'm forced awake again
when spirit guides they hide again
i need the answer from my closest friend
erotic then hot then cold again

message to the living

i don't know the night is over
until i puke
then the dreams begin
frustrated self-mutated
when i choke
sea water themes
again

the times grow subtle as
the envy
leaves and i attend the
lessons in my mind
just briefly
then the stars fall from
the
wonder

will the never-ending seem
a day too long
like lovers on the sunday
-friday night seems
dragging through the straw
never seek that place
again
but given that will-time
will you won't
look into his face again
or bury in her
shroud
that pride you flaunt
message back to
the living
message says it'll all just
be okay
message back to the
living
words struggle concieling this
bold shape
nothing new but starbelles
neck breaking and all
just bend to find
the heroics left sea shells
sand and lightning strike
birthdays and gifts
behind

come see 'bout me star shine
your mother's infantile
glows and grows a
year
since we buried the
life line
telephone and adder
attic stairs
'till we smell
the roses in the
spring time
-the spices in the
mean time we'll
make the most of
dream time
mosquitos and the
moonshine

painted black again
but as the song
cries
not for long