Saturday, February 28, 2009

on the nights when the moon is like the sky's brain thinking too much

you wonder. you wonder what the hell happened. you wonder how the tumors and the ice bergs came out of nowhere. the sleet sticks to your face and it burns like goddamn. you sit on the front stoop, while all the illusions drain themselves from your head and go swirling into the night, and for a few brief moments you are empty and you can see the world for what it actually is.

Friday, February 27, 2009

you, in your new boots

the sex is amazing. it is a storm licking the ocean. it is a lighthouse burning down in it's own ecstasy of light. it is film run too fast, melting on the reel, all emulsion tongued, bright white resonance, bursting onto the screen. we are just a couple of farm loving, punk spattered, academic rogues, turned loose and let be, burning down rooms with conversation, blaming the media, with pockets full of excuses and hands full of fingers ready to push any button we might encounter, yes, the sex, it is amazing.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

too much coffee

the city swallows up the days like a dinosaur. it is an endless haze of humanity, bubbling over, wondering where it all went, ticking off the seconds. there is no right way to bleed, you just do it. these are the rules. and when the garbage and the graffiti are strewn across every empty space, there will be peace. when the blank walls are filled with art, there will be peace. when money stops mattering, there will be peace.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009


don't fire truck me, son. i been all through that bloodstream and it's built like bricks. no amount of fisticuffs is going to paint that place proper, so just set back and stir yourself a bit. the swirls, they come and they leave, it's just nail polish on a pretty girl's toes. what i need to know is how you can just couch it? i'm tearing up roses over here. it's a regular candy apple parade. come on now and drop that curtain down, we're all just tossing rubies anyway, and the front and the back of it is a rather bleak blend of the good stuff gone bad, so don't go all volcano on me. i'll need you on this before the end. we'll get this thing fixed and the maple leaves'll glisten like cherries and that red jello sunset'll tear down the sky at least one more time, so we might as well shoot these shotgun shells while we got 'em. you never know which robin song will be your last.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

tampering with the mail

cotton hearted and polyester-veined, i was staggering, sweating some sort of wool blend. there were hookahs, guitars, and houseplants strewn about at random. the big, thick wrinkles on my forehead were all bunched up and scrunched together like a five-car-pile-up, my crow's feet were dancing, the smile-lines were frowning, and the rest of my face was just rubbernecking it at the carnage. what caused it, though, was the letter. when i read the letter, i crumpled up on the floor like paper. then i found the gas can and the matches, and after it was all over, i didn't have to think about it anymore.

wish you were here.

the last twenty five

the roof keeps letting the rain in. i think they have made some sort of deal. so we sleep together in the same bed, the rain and i. it is a strange love affair, very serious, like half a funeral. i awaken suddenly in the early morning to a damp pillow, and for a moment i think i am crying. i squint at the grey sunrise, laden with the feeling of train stations, my dreams still pawing at me from the purple. not entirely myself, and not entirely anyone else. and in those spectacular, gloriously bleary moments, peering through a haze of sleep, out the window onto a world that is half made up of dreams, i am a little bit sad and a little bit ecstatic and i don't possess the proper machinery to process the feeling, so i nudge the rain over, lay my head back down, steal back some blankets and fall back into sleep.