November 10, 2010
11/10/10 4:44pm
has no traffic pattern
not like some carefully
in tune migration pattern
warning signs flash repeatedly,
a loosely roped mattress
slides on acceleration
where the next in line of succession
may sleep comfortably
unkempt and uncared for bass lines
tremble against the air,
glass and essence vibrate the echo
flashy accessories, uneducated words
grime from the street following tire lines,
deep in the tread it builds
and flows. love,
given the go between drivers
has directions that
did not include the previous
stops.
11/9/10 2:33pm
a soprano effort in those too young to sound ethereal
just screeching and squawking birds
more like
aggrieved by infancy.
no legs to say the things we shouldn’t,
concerned stumbles, fumbles
of general malfunctions.
The floor seems a good place to crawl –
a gathering place of the less comfortable,
slouch back, no muscle strength;
sit, collect . . . meditate the day
November 9, 2010
11/8/10 6:43pm
a larger split than
yesterday – middle of the living room
a hairball stuck in it,
cat swats
drag claws down the open wound –
wood floor older than me,
vehemently carrying the strong
grain
of my birth, locked in place
one in to the other,
side
by
side, carrying the un
bearable load;
a weight in life
bending,
bowing,
slamming on the shoulders
all the shit from hours before,
from years before my existence
leading in to moments beyond life –
beyond breath
beyond blood flow.
1981 was the year, little lung
little heart.
November 8, 2010
11/8/10 1:04pm
earlier this morning, a loose
cooler air
taking steps with me to the car door
time change and rearrange,
i start the engine
and everything sounds fine. the tree
planted nearest the corner
is still in place, still unscathed
though nature has shook and dried
most leaves from it. the car
begins to heat, i forget how
the brief walk made me sniffle,
slightly, this luxurious comfort
canned me in and rid the windows
of the condensation i so fondly
drew figures in to as a child;
it’s too early in the season for
there to have been ice on the glass.
turn, construction zone
breathing debris and rock dust ,
the corrosion of the air itself
around me,
i breath like a sat frog;
GULP, GULP, GULP.
11/7/10 5:01PM
reeking fiercely
of the deepest circle in hell,
faces of eternity
bonded together
like blown glass -
swirled and colored
sin physical art.
awake, alarm clock
blood and coffee,
better than creamer -
digging graves
on the sabbath,
heel gripping to death
grip and dig
shovel to earth.
the smell of bodies
on sunday morning
(god, the stench),
life decaying in imagination.
the damned.
the fucking damned.
my foot exposed
from the grave,
footless, i stumble
staring at my own burial,
shovel and intention
in hand
i etch on stone,
"here, i mean nothing.
here, i mean everything.
this is not my stopping place."
not even the last words
of the world, my world
i've died more than once,
i'll die again.
same shovel
and pen to tell.
11/4/10 10:44PM
north side navy pier,
repeating patterns
spraying the cold
stale air -
the mist
and that bright wheel
speaking in revolutions;
LSD creeping of slow drivers
and unfamiliar destinations -
i grip the wheel
like there's someplace better to be,
a lane change
losing the city behind me
with a turn.
before the wind
got angry
there was a conversation
about god and hatred,
they came together easily.
i laughed it off
looked to the empty seat
and for some reason,
questioned why garbage on pavement
is considered to be litter.
October 13, 2010
fake out
tiny
space,
small creative
etch-
ing
the nice words
the fine words
the sufficient
word
S.
art house
play afro jam beat,
my foot
is the only
synchronized rhythm
the laptop
typing is all off;
white noise in
between
the beats,
fake apples
fake lives /
our dark side, the
internal side, the
non-spoken.
startled by
fake windows,
to look
through
is paint.
no street
no traffic
no absurd parent
with a thousand
dollar stroller,
just the other
side of
Nothing.
September 27, 2010
pink and gray – for katie
she stares above the cloud
platinum
and lining the familial distance;
painters pallet
hosting platform for brush,
stir and echo . . .
stroke and resonate . . .
torture the smile -
leave hesitant hair
shading the eye from night complete
the pretty head tilt
submission, there is something
else not lost ,
not taken over, not ambushed.
an amalgamation
time and sight,
it works that way day and night.
September 16, 2010
there was no recognizable temperature,
no flaw in the air;
comfortable . . . tiring.
the L rumbles,
SHAKES the inside of my car
giving vibrato to scriabin
and in good time.
it settled,
the train passed and . . .
there it was.
knee high stiletto boots over fishnets,
a mini trench, ass high,
dark brown, lengthy hair
to blend,
pushed up tits for show.
it was a moment,
nothing could really be said
or commented on at the time.
the weather nothing to argue about
and this woman was
as outstanding a whore i'd ever seen;
an easy presumption to make
in mid september
at irving park and sheridan.
August 17, 2010
roosevelt and 1st
May 14, 2010
fruity pebbles
i, occasionally, read nutrition facts
and see the fat lady,
avoiding her.
in aisle 2 . . .
i avoid the awkwardly
thin girl in aisle 5
in aisle 7
they stare each other down
THIS HATE
in front of fruity pebbles . . .
spilling blood on a rainbow
at the register
they were both ahead of me
and hating each other
i grabbed a pack of gum,
destroyed the fat and thin
words from my mind
and their hatred
and hummed a melody.