Hungover (I Seem To Remember)
We were very weary, and not very wary—
We'd been harassed all night by a cop named Larry.
The streets were dark and dank; we felt unstable—
We began stumbling home to watch roller derby on cable.... more »
I Am Afraid Of Churches
I read the bible for the poetry and for
the love, or at least I did before
I became afraid of churches.
My fear of them stems... more »
I Am Not Pretty And I Do Not Understand Why
i have this new love, named Haemon.
he calls me Darling and holds me
closely as if i am his dear Life herself.
we met at a masquerade. while he... more »
I Want To Paint
I want my soul to sing
Like its been bursting too; I want to display passion
With a pulsing red, and color it with conflict
By adding a jolt of lurid green.... more »
I Will Be A Story
the day began as a mirage.
dressed in the garb of a wise king,
i dab frankincense on my wrists... more »
I Wrote Of Horses
and the smell of grain, a full-bodied musk
dull as sweaty leather saddles
but tantalizing as the taste of grass, fresh and
sharply saccharine.... more »
All I ask
is that a little
be available... more »
Walking, awake, I dream of burning books—
razing all records, shredding my stories—
of being lost in a lustrous orange,
freely isolate, speechless and drifting.... more »
Is Am Not I
(I withdraw so I can pretend)
the world is spinning
and of all of us in it... more »
Jane Draws Herself
... more »
Kinetics Of Self
this month I began a new cycle
who am I, and who are you?
if only I knew, if only I knew:... more »
Faded, beaten blue,
You’ve had your share of bruises
And broken limbs.
Once lustrous hair falls to the ground,... more »
I dreamt of standing
on a balcony, watching
myself jump, and then...... more »
outside my window
around an accordion,
carousers frolic.... more »
There is a bell tower in France
which seems to shift as much as I do.
In supine whirls of wet on wet, it blurs
heavy, half-formed pirouettes... more »
Life is art. I’ve seen lots of ugly art. Art which sole purpose is to be ugly,
to make a statement about ugliness.
My art doesn’t know itself.... more »
Maybe I Miss You
I think this as I step
out of the downpour into my body, a trough
where this yearning collects and solidifies
into something like a plea, an Eloi, Eloi stuck... more »
Meditation On Violence
when did these become sacred?
I think of paradox
and poetry—... more »
green and free and not like me
but just like me, thoughtful, felt,
absent of bursting beauty, turquoise-tinged
inertia, all qualities of anger, ambiguity, ugliness,... more »
My Sister As Myself
returning to my first home, it smells
like transcendentalism and THC, as if
the smeared memory of his green canvas coat... more »
All I am is in
& all the ins are out.
The annual dispunct:... more »
Ode To Job
Everyone can rhyme, but who has the time
to spend their days grumbling about the sublime?
Who cares to be querulous, who wants to be serious?... more »
Of A Forgotten Life
white walls in solitary halls utensils
clang doors bang open faraway
voices blank tiles whisper blame... more »
Of My Ego
I could ask what it means to be clean, to scrub and scrub
and scrub and scrub and scrub and fall asleep scrubbing.
I smell of machines, of wet droning plastic: staid... more »
On The Evolution Of Communication:
... more »