I Have So Much To Tell You

In a lovely rural setting under the roof

of  my bungalow tonight, dulcet you

dissembled our pride in egyptian night,

rubbing on with a lotion of emollient ether,

the shadowed smell of earth after rain,

with large fetching felicity of my compromise,

serendipity sparks the very smallest of everything,

my talisman has disappeared, cheering on

a dreaming dalliance, my elixir becomes a spoon fed

dose of effexor, forbearing fear I have

alone, your furtive discipline has taught

me well, I, an imbrication tangible

of all your affection, a vicious bite

slithering silent down the Susquehanna.


for the day you celebrated an adventure

of optimism for a lush face, forgetting

again to mention a soul to be the partner

in crime, decided to fight the stale

wreckage of semen in my room,

alive in the spiritless tangle of conformity,

level with a desperate need,

the taste of rotten

overcast serenades the city, and my

surprise falls limp on the tiled floor,

my nerves play about, at the moments

you left, the pure state of confession

I allow, to settle, to move on again

and deliver delight

the foreshadowed fear

I Want I Want I Want

on my guard the stills are quick…

I walk on by the sex with so much

gratitude, I beg for my line to

break the screaming amp talking

in utters, the speed going into

my mind with worthwhile

thoughts invading, the night

casting me here to hide, out

there the face turns corrupt

from out the being, where I

would be, where out there I

would attach a pretty tone,

with spines that curve around

our spinning mind, a voice

with tones fulfilled in lust,

we gave a crowd a mace can

shout, the breeze of their breadth

blowing over the cause I pity,

and turn around another corner

tonight, not past the house I shut

my eyes by, to repeat

the manner stated, an ocean

of only swells and storms, by

and by, the songs ask why



down foster ave, the casual

jinx of volcanic

bars, our hunger pulls in

reverse the sample, eating

the nerve and

following the sun to swallow, taking hold

the purity i awaken,

a doubtful indication traced back into those eyes, fixed for

me to hurt                                           a prepared incentive

with an anxious agenda, forming lips that curve into

our mind, one and together a kiss into the night

many tones fulfill lust, the fall of a gesture

i shall be, and madly run about

the streets of the city, but only drunk in

the skies of my sleep a tantrum,

my honest attempt,

my dignity

knee deep in murky thoughts

arousing silent

friends to explain, the resin

i come eventually to smoke, in

desperate moments handed, i

hope for good,

my farewell stretching,

in my head i wish, must

i surrender,

shallow myself,

i promised never

again, and again

and again

the pelvic pleasure of a good lay

i cannot bang around and mimic the need i have for another, this soggy texture and chewing made hard    comfort with the hands i wave, the beauty against my will, a true story made out to all critics who feed my opposition      i float around the neighborhood and calm my view    above i see down upon the crowds i force my face to see, and they who stare at the damage i label through years of error     in the yard planting white cells along the paths, a breakthrough in treatment comes to exist, my meaning a shade of difference on a signature let down    I remember the tracks on my arm that led eyes away vanishing thought judging an act that children fight amongst   i capture the chaos proceeding, i start a new page with a list of promises broken   i sign the bottom with painted fingernails, a real voice i have wished upon    the study of movement forges a remark i take to the grave/ too literal for understanding/ an art form in words exiting existence    a novelty never was a guess i recently had on the strung out corner of fremont         dividing my strength with and into negation   descriptions following all this sound around, the head of our god rejoicing in reality, the masses of code in any book or silence on any record, training american youth to figure the lost forgotten       themes of concrete subject bore me / i am not american    objecting a world forced to imagine, to that concluding fact is made beyond me    joint efforts condemn the weakness, leaving to whatever blank comes to mind    i try on the idea for once and trust the fall, vintage faith drags the cross, staggering east delaying the voice of a breathless moment, your face will seize that thirst to feel what i only am    an orgasm hidden in plain sight


love is a heart beaten

valve connected

to god, as melodic a rose

petal deathbed,

a moral intruded

upon, a moment

sitting alone,

pondering the



Little project I just did

The Little Book Of Cyclops



print this out and fold up accordingly. a nice little gift or something


the failing heart, mine goes out

to yours, my wonder at such in

your early age, the reason I could

not attend your funeral, I told you

this at the last one in my dreams,

a world I was confused to be in, we

were driving around too much,

too reckless too much, and then

we were in the beds our sleep was

to take us over in, I was made aware

of what was keeping me awake, how I

was so wrong, enhancing the suffocating

reality following me around even when

I am awake, off in places not 0ne knows,

refusing to reach expected depths, where

you must make up your mind, I cannot

balance on a heart linked tightrope

for long, my mind so vertigo prone,

disconnected from the meaning

of the beauty always surrounding,

that feels fine when I am numb

and able to whine without shame,

hands not covering my mouth, intrigued

by the responding fatigue, the reasoning

imagination, pictures in our eyes

reflecting upon the vast sight

presented before them, all

of your friends are now looking

over their shoulders

12 Sandy BLVD

toss remainders

across the overpass

with our ever burning sides

compelling our sole

city stumbles with vaseline

paths to slither

and slide/ I furnished frost

bitten majesty, subsided our trust

I own the one lie, comprehend

nothing of that

we find on

the east side.

The trench of Portland

night. Where my freedom


the fight of instigators

flavorless projection

of the neck

they bite

Morrison Bridge smurf sighting

10-17-08-Brian in fog - black and whitei miss that hat