six percent of full

body bags
are stacked head high without
a star in sight.

alabama's fine

this is one of those
mornin's i don't need to go
nowhere cause yer here

his
procellous
smile
looks
like
evil
on
an
upswing

whipping cream and jesus christ

southbound in six's
assurance denied
repossessed fatalities
along for the ride
come
on
down
we'll make it alright
grab some strawberry pie
and yer butcher knife

6.15.11

When I shoulder this cloak
You'll forget what you've seen
The looking man's lost
His copper coin costs me nothing
I am invisible
No longer shaped by your perceptions
Of loveless identity

dirty knees

honeybees
come
calling
when
Iris
pulls
down
her
panties

did you ever watch orange funeral flags
free themselves in the breeze
til the soot scented man
put them back in his drawer
a lucky man
with a golden key
to lock all the open doors

may day

a
yellow
injection
makes
new
babies
with
blue

mother noose

little girl sue, yer dress is torn. there's blood in the meadow, no seed fer corn. where is yer daddy? why do you weep? "he's settlin' scores whare my kisses won't reach." cain't you holler fer him? "no, i've tried. and his bullets scare me. what if he dies?"

3am bells

what if i
borrow a needle and
make my hands a machine

screech owl

when you swirl the crush
of distant screams in the
slightest sway of her hips

home

i thought you
might want some woman with
yer whiskey

pooled
water
adds
weight
to
a
stones
hasty
incision

love. a day later.

your
accusations
shackle
the
sun
for
sleeping
on
snow


If it could just be a hell beyond that: the clean flame the two of us more than dead. Then you will have only me then only me then the two of us amid the pointing and the horror beyond the clean flame.

-William Faulkner

she
knows
that
you
grow
rainbows
around
heavens
rim

the
impressions
of
four
crescent
moons
on
my
hip

electric blue lasso

why do you forget
the painted ladies
who lift up their skirts
to scatter
yellow
ashes
in
Gethsemane
?

the shadows
of a conclusive swirl
lost at sea

"cigarette, madame?"

carnivorous angels
with blood on their
apron strings

pumpernickel reprieve

so you want happy?
open the big top door and
listen
to the lubricated purr
of tamed violence
and caged whores
selling eve's candy apples
to settle the score.

men and gentle ladies

bloated condolences
marred by a parasitic memory.
leave before first light

\pir-oh!-wet\

just a drop
to show me that you do
it kindly

when each loop
becomes a noose around
i love you

i could sew sequins
on your slippers but that won't
bring you home tonight

black sabbatical

this
here's
the
bell
that
i
jingle
when
i
cain't
find
myself

see the stars

streetlamp regiments
marching to Bethlehem in
search of a savior
pause to sip Mary's blood
in a sidewalk cafe

i write my own confusion

you talk to me in your head but i can't hear you talk to me in your head but i can't hear you talk to me in your head but i can't hear you talk to me in your head but i can't hear you talk
to
me

black-eyed susan

she sat up
and blew kisses amidst
her own death

twilight slingers

swallowed the sun

how
does
her
honey
slide
off
yer
spoon
?

i licked your
tears off my shoulder to
keep you here

postcards

gathering stones
for
a
cemetery
child
to
call
her
own

liquid applause(refined)

yer
knees
will
be
slippery
by
the
time
that
we're
through

abducting persius

you sink your fences
into sand and clamp down on
nameless lovers reckoning
with your blind ambition
sharpening swords
to hurtle across aboriginal plains
for the glory of pronouncing
yerself a man, a god, a king
of a crumbling facade
but no stars will bear your name
when the silver slinging fairies
wipe the swollen tears of bleached centuries
from the original face of eve

three sheets of ivory kin

them thorns and
this hammer are worn from
wearin' you

three flights of whipped cream
swallowing blueberries
on Tuesday

early bird

umbilical crimes
harnassing the moon
with a magenta smile

lemons to aid Evan

translucent
graffiti
is
lining
your
cheeks
with
forgotten
angel
speech
that's
tangled
in
an
abandoned
web
still
sticky
from
the
sugar
in
your
sweet
and
bearing
down
on
gravity
with
the
ease
of
a
poisoned
lasso
murmuring
to
a
significant
breeze

feeling time with butterflies

first quarter prophets
filling their pockets with jewels
siphoned off teardrops

no
father
to
figure
this
Tupelo
suit

lcd soundsystem

blossom

what
language
failed
to
mention
fell
on
the
precision
of
her
rotating
inclination
to
murder
the
hard
boiled
bastard
with
a
satchel
full
of
abel's
screams

buttered clouds
is breathin' in them
framin' papers

consum(H)er

ozomatli

the
ribbon
that
you
wrapped
my
sugar
in

twenty-six tears

there is no light in your eyes
mercy has no perimeter
no decency
no design
just a bag of centrifugal absence
littering the roadside void
with cardboard credentials
dipped in the purring kettle
of a no vacancy sign
catapulting memories of
a graphite sky pinned with valiant medals
into the sleepless concoctions of infinite demise

suicide insid(H)er

they's
peach
juice
on
yer
tongue
indecates
that
woman
done
been
out
tendin'
t'
her
gardin

affliction levy

White Denim - "I Start To Run" from Downtown Music on Vimeo.

mutual
confessions
will
keep
the
water
murky
enough
to
sink
your
candid
smile
switches
into
the
intentions
that
are
waiting
for
conciliatory
satisfaction
from
behind

LONESOME
DISTILLER
OF
AMBIENT
SMILE
FRAGMENTS
AGED
IN
AN
EMPTY
DANCE
HALL
FLOURISH
WROUGHT
WITH
A
2/4
PSYCHOSIS
DRIP
THAT
SWOONS
AT
THE
THOUGHT
OF
CAROLINA
TRILLIUM

below jellico

mama said
thet yer burnin' in yer
own disease

don't ask, don't tell

a shot of sugar
before the guillotine seduces
yer threadbare liberty

house call

apothecary salve
splattering my back
with a string of saturated pearls

please give me
back the breath that death stole
from Thebes deceit

"Blessed is he who, being fortunate and knowing the rites of the gods, keeps his life pure and has his soul initiated into the Bacchic revels, dancing in inspired frenzy over the mountains with holy purifiications, and who, revering the mysteries of great mother Cybele, brandishing the thyrsos, garlanded with ivy, serves Dionysus." (Euripides, Bacchanals 73).

clinical daughter
accumulating treason
on her inner thighs

bakers dozen

Mrs. Bible's regret
swingin'
on
the
arm
of
a
segregated
mimosa
tree
with
a
blue
ribbon
slit
carved
in
his
belly

watercolour

mourning light
sucking crematory smoke
in silence

sample sale

the
bodice
of
her
caress

unbuttoned

rolling
on
her
hips

cast iron skillet color
in your heart

the fires burn
brighter on the sunny
side of hell

now thare's a sight worth seein'

I'm
listening
to
you
breathe
turquoise
river
relief
with
sentimental
razors
dipped
in
Cleopatra's
folly

white sheets of
paper to get dressed up
in heaven

carry on without a(b)solution

exposed bone etching
immaculate revisions
back lit freezer burn

La Francesa

An intelligent woman.
A beautiful woman.
Knew all the variants, all the possibilities.
Reader of Duchamp's aphorisms and the stories
of Defoe.
In general possessing an enviable self-control,
Except when she got depressed and got drunk,
Something that could last two or three days,
A succession of Bordeaux and Valium
That would give you goosebumps.
Then she'd usually tell you what happened to her
Between the ages of 15 and 18.
A pornographic horror movie,
Naked bodies and business deals that skirted the law,
A vocational actress and at the same time a girl with
strange strokes of greed.
I met her when she'd just turned 25,
In a tranquil period.
I suppose she feared old age and death.
Old age for her was thirty,
The Thirty Years' War,
Christ's thirty years when he started to preach,
An age like any other, I told her when we dined
By candlelight
Pondering the flow of the planet's most literary river.
But for us prestige lay elsewhere,
In bands possessed by slowness, in gestures
Exquisitely slow
From dishevelment
In dark beds,
In the geometric mutliplication of empty shop windows
And in the grave of reality,
Our absolute,
Our Voltaire,
Our philosophy of bedroom and boudoir.
Like I said, an intelligent girl,
With the rare virtue of foresight
(Rare for us Latin Americans)
So common in her country,
In which even the assassins have bankbooks
And she wasn't going to be any less,
A bankbook and a photo of Tristan Cabral,
Nostalgia for the unlived,
While that prestigious river trailed a dying sun
And down her cheeks rolled seemingly gratuitous tears.
I don't want to die, she whispered while escaping
In the shrewd darkness of the bedroom,
And I didn't know what to say,
I really didn't know what to say,
Except to caress her and support her while she moved
Up and down like life,
Up and down like the poets of France,
Innocent and punished,
Until she returned to Planet Earth
And from her lips sprouted
Passages from her adolescence that filled our bedroom
on the spot
With copies crying on metro escalators
With copies making love to two guys at once
While rain was falling outside
Over garbage bags and over abandoned pistols
In the garbage bags,
Rain that washes everything
Except for memory and reason.
Dresses, leather jackets, Italian boots, lingerie to
drive you mad,
To drive her mad,
They appeared and disappeared in our phosphorescent,
throbbing bedroom,
And quick strokes of other less intimate adventures
Flashed in her wounded eyes like fireflies.
A love that wasn't going to last long
But that by dessert would have become unforgettable.
That's what she said,
Seated by the window,
Her face suspended in time,
Her lips: a statue's lips.
An unforgettable love
Beneath the rain,
Beneath the sky bristling with antennas in which
17th century coffers coexist
With the shit of 20th century pigeons.
And in the middle
All the inextinguishable capacity to inflict pain,
Undefeated through years,
Undefeated through loves
Unforgettable.
Yes, that's what she said.
An unforgettable love
And brief,
Like a hurricane?
No, a love brief as the sigh of a guillotined head,
The head of a king or Breton count,
Brief like beauty,
Absolute beauty,
That which contains all the world's majesty and misery
And which is only visible to those who love.

-Roberto Bolano
The Romantic Dogs

passport

rig a mortal wire
so that death delivers warm
mother milk, not fire

senile evidence
reaching for a full cup of
blue truth medicine

The fields, the floods, the heavens, with one consent
Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour mine intent.
-Edmund Spenser

jaws of life

black
ice
at
the
intersection
of
Disarray
and
Isolation
where
screaming
sirens
surround
metallic
visions
of
Saturn's
misplaced
wedding
ring

legs spread in a sanctuary

that
human
condition
when
grace
reveals
genuine
affection

lot and his wife are here

in a root cellar
beside a preservation sea
a (her)ricane is weeping

Maruch Méndes Péres

"I am giving you your food
I am feeding you with candles and poetry"

penniless revolutions

ripe
persimmon
sun
greeting
new
factions
of
copper
chrysanthemums

slippery
salvation
cup
brimming
with
magma
daughters
wet
fire
sunlight
syrup
drip

i love mountains

alabaster screams
wet with opium honey
your sound inside me

windy city

foolish girl
done
blew
past
her
breeze

voices wrapped in rainbows

oblivious

a manufactured smile
perched upon a ten carat canary
in a tin cage
just
before
carbon
monoxide
is
detected

and the gasping sunlight is a mile away
tying ribbons in Delilah's hair

mmw

"Amber Gris" Music Video from Medeski Martin and Wood on Vimeo.

laguna waves

suck on the pelvis
bone of neptune's authority
seething beneath me

400 units of pleasure

tell me again how
the colors bend when sailors
kiss the horizon

es su lugar
continuar

dance with them
rhythm
will
cauterize
the
tears
spattering
the
traces
of
these
phosphorescent
ghosts

approaching april 1

listening for her
heartbeat six feet above me
crocus weeps for fools

high coo

draw back the curtains
so they can see what it means
to love openly

boggled by the minds
of frenzied cherry pickers
who don't taste the fruit

homespun
honey
on
a
patchwork
quilt
satisfies
the
bare
floorboards
just
before
sunrise

ramblin' man's moderation

six words in Ernest

Noises. Curious. Door. Daddy fucking George.


Nobody home. Garden hose. Cemetery rose.


Girl. Thirteen. Mommy's lipstick. Bloody sheets.


caught in the crossfire. My child


Family. Tent. Music. Bread. Tea. Hashish.


LOST: Mind. Last seen with LSD.

valentine for his psychotropoetic desire

wednesday's kin

high strung crows
harness the frozen dialect
of self appointed mockery

human belly fire
Pound(ing) heart
bequeathing fertile woman
with phonetic vibrations
upon consummation

honey
drips
from
a
queen
bees
hive
when
her
keepers
instinctively
caress
the
garden
with
their
pollinated
fountain
pens

round the mountain

twenty paces

thare's no sense in squabblin'
'cause Tenne cain't ssee
that i ain't got no use fer Dixie

dream

would
you
take
your
fingers
from
the
inside
of
me
and
slide
them
across
your
guitar
strings
so
that
i
can
come
when
you
have
to
leave
?

tremor

sanctions
our
ability
to
cleave
to
essential
vibrations
beyond
the
plastic
bravado
of
the
societal
antichrist
pandering
his
wares

a
trickle
of
water
from
the
tip
of
an
icicle
wet
my
tongue
with
enough
soluble
truth
to
remember
him

Rheta

scent
succumbs
to
wrist
on
the
days
you
come
to
visit

impression

ten
thousand
years
worth
of
free
flowing
current
coaxing
and
nurturing
a
shadowed
canyon
wall
with
a
bourbon
laced
kiss

unrestricted access

N a b c d f g h i j k l m YES p q r t u v w x z O

for my burroughkowski

feed
me
your
brutality
and
your
adoration
of
innocent
daisies
so
that
i
can
examine
my
heart
with
the
piety
of
a
forsaken
child
making
love
to
her
father

changing of seasons

misplaced dreams

and

mortality

when green falls asleep

*

fragility
inhabits
powdered
sugar
paper
kisses

when snowflakes congregate on the doorstep

*

rosy cheeks

and

Bukowski

when the tea kettle whistles