1148 0 0
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1147 4 4
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Hanging out at the
Imaginary Friends Café
with all my imaginary friends,
poets, itinerant musicians, etc.
Writing close to nothing.
Can’t finish a thought,
so I’m composing a book called
“Not Quite Haiku,”
which is unfini
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I never thought that I would be
here
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“the calendar of my future was in there!”/
yes: all tomorrows belong to the dead cats,/
their decisions relinquish one day per day.
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Heading for the fields one morning to paint haystacks, Vincent noticed his neighbor’s house ablaze.
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From the parking lot to the stadiumdown town waiting for the crossinglightthere are a few others in jerseys but not manywe are too early for that.Desert gravel crunching scuffle of canvas shoeskicking granitehop along wobble steps and I turn to seewho's off the…
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Bum on a Parisian stoop begging
with his big Jackson Pollack
bare head in the rain
The water running in streaks
all over his brain
Reminding him of a painting
He once thought of
Keep going, you’re coming back
again. Get out of the car wrec
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Alas, the wind, the rain/
and plate tectonics take temples,/
fire and sediment papyrus and clay,
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The fine blond hairs lift slightly along the skin of your arms
As you nod, listening to him. The veins
On your arms standing up as well
I was caught in an off moment because of your skin
Because of the way moisture beads up on it
The youthful fi
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1. So this is how the Western world ends, with a shrug:Great lanes extinguished of the lamps that yearned Once for tomorrows turnstiled as agog We watch you, Paris, long rejected, burned- If without flame from exiled …
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I am an animal on display in an old fashioned zoo - trapped & violent, violent, violent
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I leave you because
you violently told me to,
I still love you because
I told you I always would.
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The sirens didn’t eat the sailors
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1146 4 1
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Her heart is the color of fuck. Not the color she'd imagined; the soft pink of parting lips, the fading hand print on steamed—up windows, like Leo and Kate in that fancy car the night it sank. His car was a dented jeep…
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What will become/
of the resource-sucking poor
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The tuna fish sandwiches were laid out the way they had always been; they were cut into triangles, with wet paper towels between them. They stayed that way over an hour, untouched, aside from a dimple the size of my cousins finger to test the softness. …
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“Can I get apple juice and milk?” “Yes.” “And a chocolate shake?” “Will you finish all that and your food?” “Probably not.” “Still yes. Get whatever you want.” The waitress took the order. Along…
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Ben did not respond, but sat staring lizard-eyed at the shattered remains of his glorious musical instrument.
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and I revel in the fact. There are other facts at work and play, but I'm hanging out with this one because it is my day off and I'm listening to music and writing poems. I like the bright appearance coming from the bedroom…
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Here in this land of cannabis...
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I will miss you, sure, let it be known. The memory, and the dream, both. That familiar smell of Old Spice when someone wearing it comes near. And the smell of Coppertone Suntan Lotion on the beaches of our youth in Chicago. And the pressure of your fing
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As you can see, egotism forms at a young age for people who end up in this industry.
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A horn blared behind him. Dan put his Corrola into drive, and began inching forward. Something colorful passed on his left and abruptly pulled in front of him. He slammed the brakes, nearly ramming into a bubblegum pink three-wheeled motorcycle command
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Let’s just say I’m pissed. Indignant. Angry about living in a universe that appears to be utterly amoral.
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I didn’t know how to find the gold-capped ocean. How was I supposed to know where it was? I only knew you did not want or expect me to follow you there, where the orifice to everything withers, including my heart. Openings from the rivers drying in the
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At the house one night we were all sitting around at one of those infernal communal meetings that go on into the night full of pot smoke and red wine, when the door was nudged open and a stray dog wandered into the living room. It was a strange coyote-l
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It all had to begin somewhere; some moment of time and space which arose in perfection- and dissolved into the now. It was a beginning he couldn't quite remember, couldn't grasp onto- it simply sifted through his fingers, sand floating away with the wind. That's not to say…
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Bloggers venomously characterized Mitt as a "bumper sticker Patriot", the kind of coward who wraps himself up in a flag, puts a bumper sticker on his car, sings the national anthem at the top of his lungs and is the first person to yell out "Freedome Isnt
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