Sunday, December 21, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
The path is a weeping god and she curves inward.
My heart whispers something but fever makes the words a blurry mess. In a single breath it implies some new universe and each of its molecules, a slow melting wisdom. At town's edge a wild dog is bleeding. It's a black hole that fits in the pocket of the poet.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Bones shake one by one until my basket's empty.
(I hope it makes the gates of heaven shake)
My mouth is the nude in the desert. Open it, and a song of the catechism and scorpions pour out.
On the window someone has written
EVERYTHING IS IN THE BLOOD
in crooked letters. A warning bell.
Crazed animals pace behind the closet wall.
The jailer with the long black coat is the artist of my destiny.
This is my extreme labyrinth.
open the window and nothing holds me, palms up, roses in hand.
I'm out out of the world.
Monday, December 15, 2014
is familiar with the moaning and flailing. From this side, from the other. Bloated skull face. Jail tattoos on her big hot chest, worms waiting patiently beneath.
A language nobody owns.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
It’s so the world.
A mosaic of floating thoughts in the brain.
A new direction, but all things that die.
Never too clear, peculiar.
A magic leap forward.
All the poems.
Here in a theatrical reality.
What is really going on?
How to lose?
How everybody passes it up?
Will truth shine thru?
Will it be real or just another slide toward heaven?
Clinging, I cannot speak. Clinging I wish to peak.
A shiny uncertain moment.
Can it be curse?
How will it be found?
Who will feed the swans?
Who will wake up?