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Summer sun on blank paper tells the best story ever written * All thoughts are those of others, which leaves you wondering who thought about you or is that just a thought you were told to think by me, an other * A dog wretches while I carve your name into the bark of a … Continue reading
Butcher block boobs fall into my mouth and I lick the salt in sweat like an animal left by the houses of history to wolf down whatever comes and doesn’t which is meat shaking and dried because I’m told that I need to be softer so I let go only to experience the hardest thing of … Continue reading
be sad cry then in the morning when you wake up in tears that reflect you you’ll have to swim to survive and you’ll know that further crying will only add to your troubles that stop when the ceiling does * The fish jumps away from the fishing rod and the fisher who can think … Continue reading
All the streets are warm and the trees alive with dances that cool the sun-steeped and their shadows Love lingers like this for a long while Women wear flowers so they don’t wilt with them and with the soil where no garden grows Love lingers like this for a long while She’s draped in stripes … Continue reading
It is perplexing to imagine death as the end of life because death is all life is in its perplexing end * I can’t hear my poetry over the clicking of these words and of the voice that reads now which blocks me from me by being you * I am terrified alone and wet with … Continue reading
There is always someone more to know always someone worth always like her under the blue light who will always be there in your mind making you want to speak or listen or both until someone else unknown comes along who is more than always * Life is long but he died young younger than … Continue reading
As one gets older they learn to explain more to the youth and to tire of the explanation and youth who ask what it is like to be awful with age that only leaves more and less at the same time * I’ve said some awful things like admitting that I’ve said some awful things … Continue reading
The following was a bad poem written while reading bad poetry. * Who are the books the readers or writers; who controls which the text seems mightier even when blank or pressed and bound left alone to rot where imagination compounds but this is folly: interpretation dominates for the writer dies while the … Continue reading
We were kids playing hide and seek and he was it but not for long because he knew where I was for I always slinked underneath the lamp with a canopy of cloth and cookies that may distract others but not him because he was it and I could hear him humming some song about … Continue reading
I am filth I am sadness but I dress up superbly and shake hands firmly and smile on occasions that leave me filthy * Under the metal canopy of rain and dirt you read a Thai author who died when death didn’t have a medical definition and you realize you are older than you are old … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 