Oh the first
bicker first then
what would Jesus say
now It Is
a little late
to be raining
to game about
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
practice
If anything’s a game of every ticking tocking gear shift twist how will we make a thing come
how will we make a tensing of muscles inorgasmic-incapable.
Culpable. Please take your Tussin. I’ll rub you
Maybe
You’ll rub me
If anything’s a game of parts of everything
and how to lock how greased up. Why shouldn’t that wall connect
To that once down the hall or over or under. Three arches.
A portion of chiming - what gets you. What gets you and grows. The moon is sometimes scheming, sometimes laughing. Mostly just moon.
Some sort of medicine you have.
To take with the curtains.
Take down. Down
is the out of this portion.
When you out-plug from the metal you’d been in - you tip. Tipping causes spinal somethings. Somethings on the spine are never good. Or hardly. Scrapes cause pain but not the spine. His arm is showing red and lines – has been rubbed - was raw already.
how will we make a tensing of muscles inorgasmic-incapable.
Culpable. Please take your Tussin. I’ll rub you
Maybe
You’ll rub me
If anything’s a game of parts of everything
and how to lock how greased up. Why shouldn’t that wall connect
To that once down the hall or over or under. Three arches.
A portion of chiming - what gets you. What gets you and grows. The moon is sometimes scheming, sometimes laughing. Mostly just moon.
Some sort of medicine you have.
To take with the curtains.
Take down. Down
is the out of this portion.
When you out-plug from the metal you’d been in - you tip. Tipping causes spinal somethings. Somethings on the spine are never good. Or hardly. Scrapes cause pain but not the spine. His arm is showing red and lines – has been rubbed - was raw already.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Let's move
around. Go
places.
Many of these poems are not poems.
What's in a poem.
I don't write poems anymore.
I don't tell the truth.
What's truth. And blah blah identity crisis (not really).
Lately I've been really interested in sustainability/making the earth a healthier place...everything seems to turn into a clusterfuck though (?) You think you're making a difference and the big interests are in front of you everytime influencing you (?) The sugar council (?) I don't know, folks. Don't eat anything that contains more than five ingredients. Unless they are actual ingredients and non-hydrogenated at that. No high fructose corn syrup, thanks!
places.
Many of these poems are not poems.
What's in a poem.
I don't write poems anymore.
I don't tell the truth.
What's truth. And blah blah identity crisis (not really).
Lately I've been really interested in sustainability/making the earth a healthier place...everything seems to turn into a clusterfuck though (?) You think you're making a difference and the big interests are in front of you everytime influencing you (?) The sugar council (?) I don't know, folks. Don't eat anything that contains more than five ingredients. Unless they are actual ingredients and non-hydrogenated at that. No high fructose corn syrup, thanks!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
And the weather. And weather eye open.
I've noticed I get pulled into tendencies and patterns which I notice as they are changing without an ability or care to stop them though I think "hey. this may be a new one."
They always seem eternally *me* while they're happening, but I think it's a mix of the pesticides and the exercise and the job market - the impact of all the external on all people external to me and how all this, in turn, effects me and my patterns.
I had fun last night. Even though I passedoutfellasleep and woke up carsick with the CD over and my lately favorite song overunsungalongwith.
Mmm. Think I realized one reason why feeling so pleasant this morning. Dream where the tailor turned into a bakery owner in Amsterdam. They were out of the pies and the chinese food and the gyro kits, so she said: I will give you a pass, pick out $50 worth of merchandise. I proceeded to the back where the vintage shoes fit me and were cheap and plentiful - and circus peanuts also abounded! No bottle or box of wine was under $90 dollars, however.
They always seem eternally *me* while they're happening, but I think it's a mix of the pesticides and the exercise and the job market - the impact of all the external on all people external to me and how all this, in turn, effects me and my patterns.
I had fun last night. Even though I passedoutfellasleep and woke up carsick with the CD over and my lately favorite song overunsungalongwith.
Mmm. Think I realized one reason why feeling so pleasant this morning. Dream where the tailor turned into a bakery owner in Amsterdam. They were out of the pies and the chinese food and the gyro kits, so she said: I will give you a pass, pick out $50 worth of merchandise. I proceeded to the back where the vintage shoes fit me and were cheap and plentiful - and circus peanuts also abounded! No bottle or box of wine was under $90 dollars, however.
Monday, June 1, 2009
I used to write a love poem
every time I had fun with someone. Then
she'd stop talking to me. If she knew or not she
might have. I used to write a love poem every time
you broke things. Had teeth. Rested.
Would you eat the food/if grown there?
Would you taste the food/if groan?
Would you sweet the wood---what toning.
And the sweat of the red of the rhubarb
the plan.
What was that lightening last night - was that heat lightning?
The half-moon about to be shut off by clouds.
What to do about a constant---pain if itching---white?
Don't catch me on your camera.
i wasn't talking to anyone! but they
and a vest and a beaded dress and
a lapdog
space it off apart from the fire it's too hot
no hot no it's cold, blanket round
i never thought i'd see you again
i knew it was coming if
the hug there
you were the way you is
the condoms in
the creature
it made me think about semen some
more gravity there
who is coming? who has already
shown? proper dressing?
we figured it out together i don't remember
what we talked about only
listening to you - convince him - that first
night that night with my hair short i wanted
no matter
and firewood
and good dry
firewood
and sparks and the woods
are burning the wood
is burning the sparks
are all on your foot
she'd stop talking to me. If she knew or not she
might have. I used to write a love poem every time
you broke things. Had teeth. Rested.
Would you eat the food/if grown there?
Would you taste the food/if groan?
Would you sweet the wood---what toning.
And the sweat of the red of the rhubarb
the plan.
What was that lightening last night - was that heat lightning?
The half-moon about to be shut off by clouds.
What to do about a constant---pain if itching---white?
Don't catch me on your camera.
i wasn't talking to anyone! but they
and a vest and a beaded dress and
a lapdog
space it off apart from the fire it's too hot
no hot no it's cold, blanket round
i never thought i'd see you again
i knew it was coming if
the hug there
you were the way you is
the condoms in
the creature
it made me think about semen some
more gravity there
who is coming? who has already
shown? proper dressing?
we figured it out together i don't remember
what we talked about only
listening to you - convince him - that first
night that night with my hair short i wanted
no matter
and firewood
and good dry
firewood
and sparks and the woods
are burning the wood
is burning the sparks
are all on your foot
Friday, May 29, 2009
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