up

so many bugs in your hair to wake up in

a goodmorning place to be

shake the leaves out

shake the leggies out

iridescent wingers

green shine

morning muscle

in a back all taught with tough

morning tuft, curls
shake my halo

smoke hair halo

wave smoke, docile eyes

bee dance, twirl

such a shorty

mourning doves

all of the others in matutinal jam

singing for summer

and overcast under outside bedclothes

I can sleep through the night, now

I am a furnished hole

a piece of finish, sometimes

suspend it

not be disbelieving

some people think my blog is prolix

...and how can they be blamed? As a logophile, I'm obligated to cartwheel myself wordy word around the world, and I like it this way. Who's to say? The good news, the great news, actually, is I have plenty of sensical stories to tell. I had no idea that "sensical" is a neologism! News for me! I use back-formation constantly when using words unrecognized by our lovely friend, the dictionary. But now: to gather for the basset more water. A sleeping, sweating, feverish boy at my side, the bedclothes areek in his fitful outpour. The basset shuffles back into the outside world.

from cardboard diary: earth science

10 January 2008:

  The case of the ultra well being.

Never forget the abyssal plains and arrows for some reason forever pointing down

and we cry slender in the night, wildfire trapped omitted tenderly wrought against

old again & again. A spontaneous outburst of seeds exploding air all around

now simple soft withering twilight, sunstroke water dirt all betrayed now. Storm like it.

Iceburgs and volcanoes. Cries and whispers.

slow

Wednesday, 17 November 2010, Boise Idaho (from leather journal)


"I think that job interview went really well," says Brittany, reclining beneath the bedclothes.

-Build a diary
-Dylan & Nancy
christmas
             Aubergine

Brittany's house, roommates introducing themselves to love of life. To get good at writing quickly again.

             Great.

     What are you guys moving?
           A couch.

and later...
              Magenta sky turns lavender. Brittany tells love-of-life to look up... I want to give a love the same urge! Too bad to be loveless. So I send it to the first of whom I think: but remember, this doesn't appeal. And if it does not appeal to him, why does it appeal to me?
        I try to say, it's worth it. If you feel appealed, and if you urge towards response.
But madly you do not. Madly feel nothing. With all the passion drive to feel nothing. If I would keep my mouth shut, my fingers from walking honestly, if I could keep myself from fishing. But with he I'm asking for something, for proof that I needn't be gone. It is so apparent, nothing to do for fighting it. Nothing to change. Yours & your way and nothing else. Forever and ever.
        Oh, day. Coffee, and pot, and a bagel sand? And a cookiedough brownie?! Of which I can only eat two bites. And games of pool, a salty dog, and coffee with whisky & kahlua.

The money I have is for keeping. The nails I have are for scraping.

P I Z Z A ! Michael?
How should we make him pay?

         Look at the sky,
       ? I think I missed it

You most definitely have. So much cheesy meaty grease congealing in a stomach. Who finds this interesting? Brittany doesn't feel good. Her boyfriend isn't calling. The pizza crust sits uneventfully on the plate.

Why hang out? because you can't say no? Even though it's the most obvious? I know how I'd feel if I felt this way. I'd like to say I can relate. I wonder if I should go buy more poison...
          But my stomach is full and all that's left is a walk. To find something better suited for something else.

          "I like Magma Chamber..."


Don't be Molly Molly Maudlin


Have you found a place to keep your face? In a large frame, hazel blue, narrow straight a point. A real blonde, but dark. Mellow monotonous moderately-pitched. The lean height. The oily aubergine curls. Dark eyes framed as always. Lips showing behind thick varicolored beard. The voice of an excited teenager.

           Respond to me, because I'm dressed for 1996. Black little boots, navy tights, gray Paris dress, olive & gray plaid pendleton. The new mittens exchanged; thumb fitting perfectly and rest of hand free & open.

           Exceptional things are happening to us now. The first seconds of freedom. And forgetting and forgiving.
           There are many of us for friends.

          A pledge
                  to never, ever live love in a sentence.

pretty again, little again

pretty little, one


I remember now… I am not asleep and I am not aching; I am aberrant in my sitting tiny at the table. A white fog sits rightly back with me and, departing from accepted standards, we both exist meanwhile, cramped in an apartment. Anxious we seem overall; but inside we're something amazing, deviant, abnormal. There are doilies everywhere, conifers in the backyard… Maybe now to listen: it's atypical, anomalous, and we're talking over the television, over the whir of the ceiling fan.

Hill-less, the fog notes, sidelong glancing out the window.

The sunset is careless, without any sense of only four hours of red. The unpleasant brown cat is perched sometimes of sleep. We're entranced by France as a tiny situation. The time left until awakening is a sterile state delicately centered on yesterday. A clean bed is an ornately crocheted doily. One of those, feeling it surely isn’t.

Maximum homemade from pale blue days. Feeling like to die until I can find a way solemnly, turning pages, to be done for. Wondering softly, electricity. Wondering how, a belief about anything else ever. Today once more I’ll wake up, claim this voice that’s arisen. Grip on my doing & why.

In the morning, annul sarcastically important points: A grand way to meet those beautiful acidulous nonexistents.


Sleeping in any year, any day,
girls or women sharp-tasting or sour;
good to sound with someone
starts nice
I should say
pleasantly
In aqua remarks.

Even with the sounds around.

Then begins congested as
though the throat turned-up,
tone bitter, cutting
telephone rings
and the bedclothes beginning
to ache, orange-freckled and
bitter at caller.

Never is it pure
and shoulders

Typically
perfect beneficial, most simple…
tall of speech opportunity, just miss
(I don’t) a wide, skeletal
poem possibility.
treasured find
a body bag smile and a
danish accent.
Word and future.
sleep and soon, I’ll not know finally.
Puzzle shaking, annoyed
rye for a reason,
from Paris with the shaved composition in which possibility embraces
that there’s someone else.
Plenty inspirational.
Certain letters in each line might stir
something from within.

I miss someone. I wish eyebrows.
Form a word still looking when I’m sleeping.
reason could explain the latter,
or words at alone sometimes… this!
Oh, is my favorite, acuity. So there you have
but who, really. I just wish it could
(with uncertain English)
(and sharpness or keenness of thought),
this one example.

I want to be there
I know your name,
a shy sweet vision
on hearing.
Who is taken with me
because I read it,
from quality.

An enlarged mass of absurd.
I will and do fall.
a highly possible in love with urgent you,
layered, often obstructing
breathing, liking
to you. frequency paid
for one atop the other.
Through passages,

Ah but a memory.
(I am unafraid of french,)
It’s possible we could move in
together, being
characteristically pinched.
falling into that
particular abyss.
Flight as my dreams can,
in the features and the looks.

I am afraid that I’ll fall, matching true.
to make this seem
worth the while, in and not,
too beautiful a boy. Drowsily
I contemplate my own
quality, using words like Again & Again.