Monthly Archives: February 2012

enter the fox


september 3, 2010

One more bend of the somersault and its a face full of grass, tumbling over and under the wave at the beach as a child, desperate to swim towards the gulls, feet rocketing a face towards the sand in confusion. I watch my cat uncoil her body enough freely enough everyday that she falls from everything, counters, the backs of chairs, intention. i’m doing my own stretching, i see you as i open the door, my bags are all packed and you wear your hair across your face just so, your skirt falls across your thighs just though, a light in spiral around you, the gold glowing. You stretch one heel, arching an eyebrow. The bags exude their heaviness, the suitcase is brick and lead, it expresses its tediousness behind your swans silhouette.

i’m watching every material made by man slide across your shoulders, watching the hem slide across your side, watching your legs move from border to border. for half a second i see all the world in you, and then i see beyond it. you are watching me and i am swimming in you. you are holding onto me, steadying yourself on me, and i am a pit of red fire spiraling into the sky

green green green stretches an immensity. gulls and blood and sand and wind are all i am thinking. shells and streetlights, trails meander my mood across the mountains back to you, like water rushing from a mountainside from the shadow and fern

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A Twinkling Shame


new years resolutions
are like christmas lights
and the shame of finding them
streaming proud before your eyes
in late july

these unending revolutions
and the speeches on streetcorners
angry squeak youth and the bearded barnacles
clinging to each lamp and storm drain
cobbled and stoned

these the visionaries
what with their megaphones
what with their microphones
with all their aloneness
their alabaster zen
and all the wind that blows

past the mowing man
past a tributary traffic
and the sidewalk chalk
screams, past beat COPS
the blind men sleeping
in newspapers dreaming
lampchops

the tropes the toads and gems in spat
the vowels that roll and mat on sky
the embers float and gleam and die
the 24 hour blink sun going by
down in a cistern, lying low

its christmas lights
see em streaming from eaves
in late july

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Curbs and Cul de Sacs

This gorged emptiness
the porchside purge
the rut and resistance
i watch you force
on these pumpkin grins

the faster they waste
a bracing strafe winter.
It turns and turns, a record reel
The feeling of worms monthing
stall and straw
Its the way a coin tastes

The streetlights rush in
and the rinds are kicked to the curb

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Boast and Blues

Got a postcard fetish
like the world is only real
when i take it in at a gallop
reaching past my waist for once
to scoop the glitz and gloss
from a revolving rack
and rickety tin

i’ll take ten i boast as
the gatekeeper counts my gold
and passes me adam and eve
the sword the famine the dragon. disease
the castle caste, tits and ass.
rome peru and babylon

ghost towns and phone stalls
gauzed in urine and spiders webs
with pies cooling on the ledges edge
paint sludged plexiglass in bends and bends
sleeping men sprawled in beards and smell
well

the day starts well

 

I been looking, for some love in my life
My girl she gave me a bumper sticker

I just wanna find some damn warmth tonight
but shes gone brought a shopping list with her

I’m dreaming of fire, its screaming red
But shes gotta go find a new sweater

I’m looking to make love tonight
If shes gonna go, I will let her, I’ll

Find me a new, new woman
Find me a woman body and soul
Find me a sweet lovin woman
She loves my arms she’s willing to roll

Well I played those games and walked that line
but this jailhouse bit is getting old

I’ll find me a new, new woman
Next to you she gone shine like gold

Find me a new, new woman
Find me a woman body and soul
Find me a sweet lovin woman
She loves my arms she’s willing to roll

I won’t spend one more night cold
I won’t do as no stranger told
I won’t wait til I’m grey and old
You gonna lose your hold

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dancing shoes


me and she are stretching out some dancing shoes
and the shadows and spaces
and the empty doorways
and the ceiling fans grumbling
and the tumbling laundry’s ink
and the slink of the cat
and the sink’s slow bloop & hiss
and the ark box gathering words
and the window seat gathering clouds
and the passerbyes gathering time
and stashing it in deposit boxes
in banks in sinks in highway tolls, foxes

run faster than these and those
the shape of your clothes
weighs on me in shoots and glows
i dunnos and barbell hearts
It starts these circles turning

 

the warmth its just getting to be enough

we have just crossed those magical thresholds

i packed up all the sacred letters, retwined them

THE PAST. it went like this, a letter from a girl

Mais le vent se dissipe, s’éparpille et s’endort,
Et le soleil timide revient,
Lumière, dans le gris effrayant du ciel débonnaire.
Et les femmes se recoiffent,
Et les hommes baissent les yeux,
Et les enfants surpris voient leurs corps retomber,
Appellent le vent encore, avant de l’oublier.
Et tout autour scintille, le gris redevient bleu,
Le temps s’est apaisé.

Mais, seule, une petite fille,
immobile et ailleurs,
Entend encore le souffle du maître danseur,
Elle voudrait danser encore.
Et si de ses yeux humides semblent jaillir des perles teintées,
Elle ne pleure pas,
Elle sait qu’il reviendra,
Elle espère.

 

Far away from one another, the stars each stretch towards their new courses,

unaffected. unclotted. but what a riotous and wrenching affair it is, the birth and death

but here we are, in the new kingdoms

 

taking the morning air in full stare

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Coucou baby

♩♪♫♬

coucou honey baby- heard
you slew that last night stand
and blew that ol bailey building
let the cold night air come on through the land


♩♪♫♬wake up in the morning

in lieu o some highstrung feelin
you were seeking somethin true
news that you been standin around waiting
to change your views
broke your shoes, yes
you let your hair loose

won’t lose nothin in the askin
won’t lose nothin in the take
we aint nothing but the love we make ♩♪♫♬♩♪♫♬

Its that same predictable delay, the sway and lurch following on the hunch of a bigger realization. Stop. Stop. Commas and eternities. How many bookshops have i walked into, cafes, life stories and watch-pieces. The whole of our brothel culture, our buzzard mentality, our fetishization, federalization and fashion, an internet chatroom, a forum with a scroll down searchbar, tasks and triumphs on a par, the fountains of youth, cortez and the curmudgeons, the cyclops and the catheter, calypso and carmichael, caring and concern and connubial bliss. static and spill over the sill of a something we so hoped to seal. theft and thunder. beings and bedded beauty. berate me degrade me and don’t you dare change me, the soup seeping from eyes and a finger flesh

Woke up after four hours of sleep into the chilly morning and the messy house. I’ve obscuring or ameliorating the one and embracing the other. For once its the weather and the open windows I choose, jack the frost creep in like a spiderweb burglar with his brine crowbar at the ready to fight off the police. Polishing off the shell, demented sediment from the window ledges, desperate scrawled manifestos from the panes themselves. Two million portraits scrubbed gently off the mirror muck into rags and reflection. Bulldozing pine tree groves shot from the unwashed laundry, battling the brackish and crayfish sprawled sink. Watching my skin spread.

I’m reading all these sundry voices of the young american poets cabal, thinking maybe its time to focus on this business of interactively introspective extended metaphor instead of half allusions and polyvalent intimation of implication and supplication and gristle and goop.

now the blur days are resolving themselves

into a lurch and lull, i’m rediscovering

all the songs to a seagull and the

composite reagents that make

the monster in me manifest,

the writing beast. these things

are coming to a head, the pregnancy

beginning to show. minerals and meter

dancing towards lodestones,

logic fleeing into fairytale and

a fairly unobjective account

of something not that unlike me

(…one of these days my creative writing solution is going to have to be something better than ” well first i will rest a few hours, and then wake up in the morning, brilliant productive and energetic…”

waking up 14 hours later in a langor hanging like swallows from the baggage at my eyes …surprise!)

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February 27, 2012 · 2:06 pm

agenda

 

agenda dec20

 

things extremely high on my priority list

sketching a million concentrated glimpses of myriad leaf angles on branches, a “realist” exercise, schematic and symptomatic of ambiguity & its things, a goofy meditation on infinite forms. Fibonacci, ratios and harmonic theory, entropy and the limits of patience, empathy, observation ,perseverance, singularity, appearances, plenitude, powers of construction and arrangement. the exercises will lead towards a series of paintings of longlaned treelines under lamplight, with only tiny segments of the trees highlighted bursting out of the general silhouette pirouetting into the dark recesses of sky, imagination, dreams, song silence

light glimmering on tiny sections of otherwise obscured bridges, where would it fall and why, where the streaks decrescendo and silently continue along their own route. rail tracks, tiny shacks shrinking against hillsides huddled for warmth, dogs and cats in truce for warmth, crickets singing into megaphones and mirrors, no loneliness

cast light on extremely slight silhouettes over almost black backgrounds, or just the hint of a color spectrum with the last lights of a falling sun behind the horizon glowing orange greens beneath purple blue and a seasick charcoal a la whistler, edward hopper, to a limited degree turner. obscured things skulk in the foreground, tropes and gimmicks, ads and food wrappers, condoms and conch shells, symbols and religious trinkets, money and hairnets, shoes and diamonds, dewdrops and rusted tractors, barnacles and telescopes, tree branches and sawed off shotguns, ice cream trucks and tied circus balloons, stray dogs and television remote controls, perfume bottles and used diapers, pencils and cornucopia. these should be largely imperceptible, imperturbable, just hints and shadows, echoes of subconscious, subjective

melody lines accompanied by incredibly sparse arranged harmony usually following 6ths, reincarnating crosby’s “where will i be” in a new context, new divergent melodies spring off along with unrelated harmonic fields gradually drifting into silence or dissonant waves which resolve themselves abruptly or amplify and amplify until unbearable

stories reevaluating innocence as a concept, what it is, where and how. temporary blindness, sense and sleep deprivation, reappraisement and defamiliarization, hallucinations and premonitions, depolarization of superstitions and intuition, the rustle rules of fear and ears before a fingertip mystique

space, rush and hush

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