voyage of my house around the sun

Moving from the cardinal to the blue jay. Feeling like anything past 11am is late in the day; watching as the sun moves around the house, around from the one window to the back window (through which it shines now) and around back to the kitchen (never truly shining hard but lighting a little) and then the diningroom for the rubber plant who won't grow more leaves but also won't die, and then finally by 3 through the front window for the palm trees and the rooms I never spend any time in

I am obsessing over the sun lately. The dog (the pointer) lays in her weird jump-ready manner in the one bit coming through the back window, now. On the little brown cabin rug. She always tries to lay in a beam of light, I do understand. It's hard because it's now left the bed (11:53 am, no sun on the bed) and it instantly feels colder in here, and I also am at peak anxiety at noon on account of how many cups of coffee I've had & how many more I'd like. And the sun sets in 5 hours, this I know because I visit sunset park each day now and watch the sky turn pink and watch the electric salmon mirror metallic off the buildings of the financial district way over on that rock island that looks close, looks far, is close, is far.

give it a week

I'm actually wearing wool. I'm actually final, here. I am surrounded by the latenight drilling of the roads about. I was sad and awander, I fell into step. I felt time dally around. I make the most of it, child's bed. Make me. 

We picked up a hitchhiker, we were all going to New Orleans. Danny came back to the car and said, He's pretty dumb, but he's harmless. He introduced himself as Christopher, then interrupted himself to say in drunk drawl, But erryone calls me MISS'IPPI! Y'all mind if I DRINK? and I'm sprayed gently with beer. AW NO, this un's sprung a leak! So he chugs. He's made up a song he doesn't mind singing over and over. The chorus says, simply, and straightforwardly: Ga pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Danny says, Aw man, yeah I already heard this one. He puts his hand on my leg. I'm driving. Missippi ain't talking to me. He's not talking to anyone in particular. But I'm at an advantage because I've got the window down, and I'm smoking and drinking coffee. We're outside Mobile by now, Missippi HATES MOBILE, ALBAMA! MO-BILE ALBAMA CAN DIE, KNOW WHIME SAYIN?

Well, shore enough, he passed out for a spell. And we made it to New Orleans, Louisiana. Passed through & over Lake Ponchartrain and it began to rain a bit. We got rid of our traveler but he left in his wake a bottle of smartwater, empty save for the dip he'd been spitting. Bye bye.

I was worried three, four, five six weeks ago. Wondering, will I? I read aloud to him the poem I'd written, we were at the bar neither of us really likes but the one that's close, and always has an empty patio. At the picnic table. He was tired but I read it anyway. I was worried but I'm not worried anymore. I'm a weepless one, now.

I don't know you, let's hold hands
jump on a train
bergman, tarkovsky
popmusic
I'm young
victorian window display
person of the people
pidjin tongue
crescent moon
crescent city
dance to your neighbor's motown
sweeping glass off your bed
barracade your door
forget your keys
pockmarked
greasehair
mosquito bites
drowning cicadas
saving a cicada from drowning in the fountain with a discarded sandal
cicada makes a dive at my face
spilling a cocktail on my face
carry your groceries
climb through your window
fix a wound
sour shirt
fickle
ice cream
kissing
driving
sob
wash your pants
wash your cellphone in your pants
foodstamps
cheesestamps
grungey
asthma
little roach
singing
bulbous
hacking
husky
river bend
orange porchlights
magazine street
kitten
blue eyes
shower
sit on my face
beignets
dogfood
bruises
hydrogen peroxide
late for work
call me

screamy

for those of you writing, I'm suspicious
I have amillion miles long
I am waiting.
I'll sit with your body folded up in me
we're under them, dots con to each, like the pen drops
on your sheets
wish I could find an animal for it
but no matters.

I am growing, in & up too
I've
left, we've talked about it
I'm here for the 4 or 5
nickey britta luke river dad

I like to look at what the others are doing.
I DO not like to think about what I'd be doing otherwise.
I keep glancing out the window for your
spiderlong
and I am wondering, where did you,
& I fairly shed on you

garbagepail

so many Gs in the bank
I'm listening to the neighbors party
someone just walked out of the house saying,
Party tiiime, gurl
and I'm like, Hella! I'm alone in pretend house, the dog isn't barking
another guy just called out, Text me in 2 hours to find out what I want from Jimmy John's
and I'm all, Helllllla!
one of the neighbors is a super-puker
he superpukes really loudly in the mornings
right outside the window where I'm waking up, and
rubbing my eyes, going, Hella
Hella puke it OUT, bro
get it
another guy who lives in that house is the breast marauder
the tiny razor pube man
it's a gross story
but he doesn't remember me, so
I'll underbang glance grimmace at him, like, ohh Hella
I never have to remind him
that that's not the romantic way to fingerblast a babe
that he has a million too many identical sweaters
that ripping off a hot babe's nipples isn't the way to get
your sharp little penis inside of it

sorry, this was a bad one
but I'm alone, and feeling proud
of life, of brain, of heart & future
  for at least the next twenty minutes, or so

equanimity in allthings

two women came into the coffeeshop
one asked, which of the green teas is less "greeny"?
I asked her to repeat herself,
  I wasn't sure if I heard her right
  and I wanted her to repeat herself so I'd know she'd heard, too
she doesn't like green tea but wants the health benefits
  Nathan refers to the two women as the Brain Trust
  I think Nathan says it right, sometimes
like when he referred to you as a sad husk of humanity
  sounds like something you might say, no?
  I am not a patience today
  not a temperance
but I am learning.
  I am leaning out the window towards it.

poem(s) for the mind

from crepuscular orations

My body is too old for my mind.
It brings to mind Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde.
My mind turning to compost.
My eyes are dry, my mind is tired, my body needs more movement...
my mind is not the adulterer.
Gaining weight in every part but the mind & the heart,
with all my mind & able body
If I could kill the internet of my mind, we'd be on to something.
This is the most boring thing one could write, mind you.
Avoiding my mind & body, too.
he is so powerful in my mind.
I couldn't mind if they don't
keep in mind,
my heart is more awake today, my mind is more.
I kissed him after he read my mind
on behalf of anyone who is involved in the pathetic game of a weak mind,
he rarely walks across my mind anymore.
In my sick mind.
Willing us in his little boy's mind
and never was sex on my mind.
Can I use it to fill my mind with passion?
The songs into which your mind sank.
My mind was filled with beautiful things last night, I was a true romantic genius.
wouldn't you mind
plays are on my mind.
Blew my mind over.
It would take my mind off sex, but my mind wasn't too terribly on sex;
to get my mind off everything.
I didn't mind,
the last cock on my mind for an eternity.
It is better to get out of here so that my mind is completely empty.
I won't mind once I'm there...
And I won't mind one day meeting the next!
My mind is fresh & pungent & accepting.
Mind is quick & thorough.
I do not only exist within my mind.
I don't even mind at all.
He doesn't mind.
Why can't he just give me a little peace of mind?
and he's on my mind...
all I can do for the sake of my right mind is to behave exactly the way I can & do & tend to want to.
it'll blow your mind.
Even if I love his mind and want more of it,
even if the love of his mind is juice.
I love his mind, yes, it's so curious and I want it,
my own laughter at my own hilarious mind.
Excepting his mind I want to hear and experience.
I don't mind never touching him or kissing him again.
But my mind was and is the deadest.
that will blow my mind.
my mind is over.

from momentos preciosas

If he'd mind, could I?
They wouldn't mind.
I felt my mind's eye wander back and behind me, through the open window
as my expectant mind was, just then, in the walkway south of the window.
My problem is not just dilation of the eyes but the mind, and my mind's hand in my life.
My mind dilates, contracts.
In my last mind I said,
narrow minds abound.
mind-blowing
and to softly let my mind spin webs of ideas and escape-feelings.
Just as the wind moves, so does the mind.
If my mind wasn't blank I could reap so dear and clear and bestow my benefits to everyone.

when the seasons are falling in love

the pink reasons falling in love

My head explodes and mine mouth burns. Here, in the kitchen at checkerclothed table I sit trying, typical typing. The dog collapses beneath, only a crimped & done-up tail to see. The remote sounds of jazz, the behind-me tweet of a housefinch no doubt swaying on the windblown line just outside my attic window. They fight, the finches, and the red breasted nuthatch swoops in with its little tubular stone of a body, beak apoint like a needle, to chip away at the black oil sunflower seeds. I hear the wind in the trees & the sun is hot on my bare neck, just visible over the horizon of window. The pink rose from another day still perfect in brown medicine bottle- still insane in its perfume, enough do disbelieve a smell like could be a natural one! and if it wasn't we'd shake our heads in revulsion at such a saccharin scent.

The dog woofs low and emits habitual growls. They're like hiccups, they can't be helped. The yerba maté chai + peppermint still warm and thoroughly enthurmosed. My ankles and cheeks & everything inbetween, enthurmosed.

purple find me

pretty little, 33 to 40

An array of purple comments to which I replied, domineering: "I only had an instant."  I couldn’t know avarice. Between the tap tap tap of fingers I’m on him. "I adore you," I say. He sat for wealth of my finger rubbing against his. You, he, she & I, the four of us there. She replied that I held the most interesting avoirdupois on his shoulder. A weight to keep him sitting. His hands rested still, beautifully (before I interrupted), yet bacchanalian. I could tell by a glance, the shaky intoxicated movements of knuckles, metacarpophalangeal joints. She held herself in the doorway and uttered. His turning around to greet unimpressed, and her walking through the door... his response was characterized by you. And my ass, I guess. He brought me to drunken revelry, so I’m gently feeling. It's wearing off now, and riotously. The backs of his upper thighs already in view, he's standing. Defense with wide-open eyes. He barely lets felt how I’ll feel.

I showed him my city, looking serious... a sigh, not a smile. Though I no longer speak, he is especially serious. For miles open-eyed. Uncomfortably speak to us, tower above, shocked. Kissing unacceptably my drawbridge. I was, and he looks beautiful now. This makes me feel particular. So I was, in the up-close dark. Communicating uncomfortable, and at a southern meeting, too. I try my idea, I stopped being pleasant. Bedlam, it would actually happen.

To kiss all over, to have our presence, to have uproar. I went to his face, sex and confusion. A big hotel with themed rooms. It doesn’t matter, there’s nothing because really she just wanted nervously. Recall, surround rooms for doing, happening here. I try, and I thought he might have said bemused things; for instance there was something: he’s perfect to scare. Puzzled, a room called out to him. Now I’m angry, the boy confused. Another pulled his penis satisfied and he then went on, bewildered. One for free, probably to accuse me absent. Abstracted orgies, and a room, it’s ash-grey. I think he was claiming distrait, faraway and relaxing. Cotton restraint right. Being evil and preoccupied, that one had quotations around it and pushes my wish.

Macabre when I was bibulous marked. Everyone knew that all aside. As usual he’d remain only reacting. Given to the consumption of the rooms. Someone attempts to enter me completely; unsatisfied, his hand squeezing of alcoholic drink, readily absorbing for intercourse. I climbed an abrupt. Suppose my special thigh.

Fluids up the manner, I allow it for moments so. I wish I would, I told him so, and that I was assuming moisture: absorptive, round as if to say, at least he squoze my thigh. Assimilative staircase as he does, and I say sickens. It meant biddable couples walked up and down, and he, I hope he hasn’t tainted, that he’d like to. Obedient, past me, all women says he has perfection. I was amenable to the top, then he says the sky once more. Have sex with me, a statement compliant. Docile, behind a wall to wait tired as seems the habit of late. He didn’t deny or agree. He apologized, submissive. I was and he says he doesn’t care. White and perfect claiming. Supple, you remember, suppose air below.

Only meant it, the division I used to know. Of course ideal music in my presence. Something into two. So I went shocked and willing. Hot dry air fingers the truth. Branches, or parts relaxing. Spontaneously into his, nearly bloodied. Uninterested in consequence, radiation, two women had me. They and the official, and I’d like only to offshoot. In one room from either side I’m afraid I must speak with nonsense. Any I’ve seen, laying in between, looking never and to not talk.

This mattress on the floor, a window, another I accepted. A person and I sat at the sky, little, last. His apology, and a man who behaves around. A lot lighter and lighter as night I was handed. We left then, taking dishonorable for the seconds pass.

A pomegranate, a lovely blithe showing into events of the night. An apple couldn’t readily have made me casual. And then I as usual found and asked. How old he was, cheerful, naked. Consistently in role I replied, indifference considered and covering myself. The shower, now I’m devouring badly, callous. I told him as I dress life depends on lying convivial. He couldn’t, and while last night I was, he drunkenly began mirthful relaxing, and I attempt adorable.

When I went, vigor always tears fairly & perfect. I wanted to stay for my vivacity, actually pulling successful. In the night forever he aged me of style. Back and forth between us while I produce, nasty tongued. Smelled of sweet bromide still abruptly. Days ago turned sour, trite and cold. Down to the evening spilled unoriginal, broken hard and saying moving. Dancing typically, sighs, and I’m not nearly falling intended. Loudly I’m smoke and anxious about arriving. Ask me to soothe visibly, try to find me.

beaver moon

and we wonder to see it through the grey, tonight. The air is colder and the rain comes down as if in prophesy. And I'm going there in gulps/ \just accidents. The sky from a window view from sitting here crosslegged with the left falling into a deep sleep on the beige sheets of 500threadcount egyptian cotton one lighton, to the left illuminating otherwise just that window in me, the textured sky now because of rain like a fuzz on a screendoor, mini webs built by mini spiders, microscopic chasms filled all-ways with silken threads too small to see or touch or be swept by...... The creosote in the windowbars, tree leafless for Autumn and nearing to december closer everyday. A horn beeps just once below, cars splash the walks, I anticipate umbrellas, even those of a lepoardprint persuasion, and then in later dates of future the songs I will write sadly to sing whilst idly a keyboard is touched, and training my own throat and hair and instruments. Only the warm keys beneath the heels of hands and pads of fingertips. My water is full of waves like the messy ones, ones which capsize a floatboat at the laziest overestimated swash, swishing it over upsidedownwards just because of confusing spell, slepp slepp slepp.

ringlets dripped down of wind

& the hot spicy tastes lingering awhile down my throat. This morning was looking too good could be true, I saw through dizzy fogged eyes out a window and through a fan, the orangeyellow leaves fluffed out a bit now, not drooping sad in the view. The sky a perfect ocean wash; I could see the tides breaking from where I sat squinting. Like a to be hot day on the coast, but during that time of pre-heat, (though in truth I think proves perfect out, and oh such fall. Autumnal in all its obviousness. I will never close these parentheses. My hair has little knots at its ends. I let the fan blow no matter the temperament of day. I like the slow accordion sound. I like the spicy herbs, dandilion leaves. I like the cold ankles, the anticipatory shower, & poems written for you, & the little documentations of love, & the secret smile at corners of my mouth (in regard), And those trees everblowing more and more orange everyday! Like to change the seasons, already! And the full hunter's moon, tonight, which is why then I stopped to bleed, which is why I urge vocally in silence for you to return to me, this subtle soft sour I have for you, to glean in these bright fields, to roam among my fattened deer. & something about the excitement, feeling heartbroken when hearing a peice of music or reading something tantalizing, and falling in love & dying in the same moment at the fear awe of something so bewildering, so great; and this all of this is a bit like that but without the right words to describe. Every minute & then again every week-end. But my moon is bright and my deer are fat. And my arms stay open late.

- mad projection of a fulfilled future

The summertime monsoonwind in an effort to blow down the outside my bedroom window tree. Those green fronds rattling visibly now: I've taken the fan from blocking it, turned it off, and so live in a quiet new york, just the papery rattle of leaves blown, and a subtle endless siren not so far away. The grey and the wet and the sirens closer now. A thunder struck, and I here, happy, wishing not in the slightest to move away from this little bedroom of mine, moistly breezed to perfection, drinking cold coffee from a little mexican cup and reading of course a lover's discourse. o kind oblivion.

for the ones I didn't forget them

& never will! Luckily I've tightened myself into a spot here, so no matter what happens I can't forget all the everythings. I've ever done, and in particular the everyones. Is to say I kept a record of every second of my life (in offs, and ons of course, for whoever is truly there always & all at once??) So celebrate yourselves. Prettily I try to justify you. 

for #17

perfect examples

coincidence left obsessed,

kiss abyss wanton.

for #10

scent of wind behind

your woolen collar whispered

ignominies in me

for #21

past tenses   again,

fortunately remembered

left to sit dumbly

I can't, for the life of me, contain such elements as are throttling around rasping for grips of air and wanting solace in their solitary existences- all within my little tunnelroom of a brain, so how can I placate them? Am I expected to. I don't even want to know the answer to this question!

words I hate:

silly

belly

grownup

bum

a sip of light / heroic branches, lateral

A sip to sway

something light, the mood

A slip a shine

just simply shorn, of bright

Metal off a window glittering

Shone interstices form

metallic words

Sentences like shards

for instance, of light

18 s

[ 1=2, 2=1, 3=2, 4=3, 5=0, 6= 4 {c=1}, 7=1, 8=5 {c=1}, 9=2 {c=1} ] = 18 s sounds

A heroic instrument, a tool of terrorgrip

........................

Rent for the entire brownstone is $10,000 per month – Firm. The brownstone consists of a 9 room triplex apartment and a 3.5 room garden apartment and a full basement. Total 3510 sq. ft. plus 810 sq. ft basement.

A young shoot; any sympodial inflorescence, the main shoot ending in a flower, the subsequent flowers growing on successive lateral branches. (cyme)