I was thinking today…

July 31, 2012

Thumbs enter wound:

Attempting to remove without rupturing,
the small bits that link the synapse.

The sheen that leads,
directly to the heart.

Cones and rods have misread and
there is no sun,
for the sourpuss

who putt putts from to & fro.

The one who seldom looks for promises made,
let alone the ones unkept.

A dead swan, pheasant, rabbit, grouse, finches and a basket of carrots and onions on a stone table


La Caballera

July 28, 2012

(For Cesar)

Maybe I’ll raise horses in the Manchuria,
and beat the dirt out of my rug in the open
Cracking my fingers and neck,
the sun kissed horizon bloodying the sky

Little parachutes of food,
and goods against winter:
bridles and bits and,
saddles and whips

The numb will lay me frozen,
I will be able to negate my dreams
and return to what I thought it would be,
raising horses in Manchuria

Where everything is indifferent,
any skin will turn to leather
And tallow becomes a denominator,
of whether you’ll get through this alive.

Click to enlarge

Soup for One

July 22, 2012

When you have retreated to the hairs growing from your nose. And sex becomes a dissident.

[It is far too safe to be alone for it to be enjoyable]

When laughter seems to have short-circuited. And you have forgotten the temperature of skin.

[Returning to patterns that do not suit you]

When the continuity of protection prevails, you lost sight of the forest. And your cheek is glued soothingly to a tree.

[To suffer with elegance is a gift from God]

Sitting with your spoon in-hand, or spearing salad from a brown box. And blocking out your memories and all the things you’ve lost.

[But stagnancy is far less stressful]

[cognitive dissonance]

July 19, 2012

if it all added up then
i don’t think it’d
matter much

there is fire,
where conflict signals

seed pods floating in the wind.

the light shifts.

i’d risk racing for the boat again for another moment on the bench, as the fog rolled in, and never hide my flowers, because there was something about you, and all your bad directions, and your quirky bits, that made sense in all the cracks, on a beach with a thousand stones, but only one that fits.


An Allegory of Caves

July 18, 2012

I am in the other compartment,
shadowed away, in a hidden space
that cannot be touched,
and less likely felt.

While you are busy pissing up stream,
I am pacing, I’m hunting reason.

“Never go to bed angry,
and avoid speaking of good dreams.”

The saddest part is that I’m open.
The other saddest part is that I cannot help it.
And finally that I am cursed with hope,
no actually that is the saddest part.

But all of these burdens you are blind to,
in a cave as they would say:

I understand why you avoid looking into the light.

Learning to love crows: crows are famous for their cunning


I love you like no other.

When shedding,
when molting,
I will pause:

And I will love you,
no matter what the matter,
dark is no decider.

Rather than another,
I will love you,
I will love you,
Till you trade me for some other.