- Poetry under the Influence.
How the hell, is this person and
How did this one - find me, I should delete this account
Let me stretch the truth and
compare
The Sun
Workdays, Anyday, I feel like the sun is a neighbor I don't want to talk to
he always has good news
trips he's taken, i want to tell him to go fuck himself
Health
Health is word cyclists in tight advertisement-riddled clothing use in the park
men with ipods ; like a bright yellow ball a child would delight in
don't feel words like that today
i just ate an old blueberry bagel with butter and didn't leave the house.
Moon
the sublime mellow silvering slice of the moon
just reflects
On Painting
Desire and Skill, married for the market, take a welcome holiday of perfect freedom
Hebrew
Hebrew looks like tongues of flame in the desert
Peace
Slipperiest, it defies, runs, hides, gives chase
The Rosary
The Rosary is a perfect circle like two hands clasped in prayer, reminds me of french cathedrals, light incarnate, it just makes your bones ache thinking about it - I want to fill my nostrils with the air of those places, satisfy that thing i can barely name oh, hail hail.
You Are Here
Look at any map, and you'll get the idea very quickly - you feel the weight of what's left out
immediately
points of interest, roads, symbols! (to denote function)
a semiotic soup of bland possibilities, you are here (red dot)
no surprises [for fuck's sake]
who you are is someone that's just here, here at the snack bar, eating a stale pretzel.
A Moment of Clarity
the mad drunk cowboys of my imagination are pissing straight whiskey on my cerebral cortex right now.
They stumble out of the subconcious corrale like half-starved wild dogs when I'm drunk like this so they can insult my manhood and steal beer.
They circle me in a mad-frenzy and kick up plumes of memories like the peacock feathers of some unholy fowl.
"where ya' goin' dan?"
she breaks in before i get there
Huh.
Yeah.
Where are we goin' [the accumulated bitterness of a young man obsessed with memory]
"dunno anna, dunno, sorry - you hungry?"
where are you going?
huh "Quo Vadis Amigo?
Nobody bu the misbegotten, the heartbroken, the poets, painters, priests, monks, mystics, forlorn, forgotten, forsaken, the sad, sorry and rejected are wondering that.
Shit, as tom says, i learned more from the books of sorrow than the pages of joy.
bartender, the cowboys need another drink
Meaning to Say
Know what I mean, he didn't mean it, that's not what I mean, Meaning? What I meant to say.
All we can hope for is the proper calibration with these dead things, these words.
I plane the wood to reveal
I'm aiming these things right at your heart, I pick it up out of myself and shape it with my best instruments, the patent words for the perceived intentions, i know you know what I mean.
nobody knows exactly what i mean, meaning has gone through such a hazing these days.
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