Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the earthbound
crawl & scream
until their limbs
& words are spent

this is all

we admire about
the confusion that
links the beginning
to the end

in the confusion of a lonesome valley
or a wine dark sea
we got to walk it for ourselves.
that is on the good days
other days we have to crawl and scream

always a good day when I write.

a good poem for a good day.

i've seen the end
and the beginning
but not the rest

writing desire ---e-dog

Mischievous spiraling atoms gorging on my belly
Malevolent moods drag in dazed hesitation
Waiting the walls a ticking bomb
Deeply quiet is the nymph that times the clocks
She’s precise about never telling the correct time
And issues subpoenas for tardiness
On this day I was issued three citations for jumping the gun

brief
her stay
climatic graves
deserve their
ounce of
affection
I feel it...
your tired
excitement
how long
can we
go on
this way
pretending
the end
has happened

she stands
open armed
with naught to lose
but i
question beginnings
i know i am hers and she is mine
and only the infinite lies between
we are the alpha
and the omega

shroom dellirium
leave me cold
absolute zero hearted
and calm
expectation of death
knowing
"even in your zen heaven we..." lesbos

i must close the books
and breath the last breath
everyone is dead in their living
its 2012
the end of man
or um
this planet
how silly it is to place it so
close to the end of
george bush's tenure
fucked up shit takes time to work
its way up inside you
we need atleast another decade
so i vote 2018
hooray for deadzones

"there is no empty space"
that's a koan if I ever heard one

I laid down to die
or at least to bleed awhile

is it dark in the womb
are we born into light
between feces and urine

it is 1948
in non standard time
and I just tried to hang myself

it is 1968
and I am as crazy as I have ever been

it is 2036 and another Clinton or Bush is president
FDR is still dead
And I am still reading Gibbons
"song song of the south
sweet poatato pie
and shut my mouth"

Simply and again something... What thing? And what some? There is this distance that I want to keep for my own sanity and this things, though I can say hello without adverting my eyes I want to throw up my hands and push while it gently embraces. This thing is different. This thing I’ve been examining is organic and smooth without the sharp edges of previous things. This, this has not been hiding and won’t even say the word hidden only ridden the vehicle parked waiting for me to turn the key and go and go and its up to me to come as fast or as slow or whatever the some of the thing it brings me to riches I will not be miserly with the sum of things sharing and yet I shall come and go as I please because something pleases without begging for coming and going to occur, something is happening come or go or something simply traveling.

I keep my sanity in a smooth round skull
it sits here and types
bits and pieces
of remembered poetry
that connect not existent dots
in my fevered brain

"By whatever these pink things mean
not you nor him"

Clueless
I keep my rage at a safe distance

friends come and go
lovers come and go
Michelangelo comes and goes

I wish I knew but i don't

I just feel better
when I know
you are still kicking

December mourning

Frozen is the pace
Of our rising
Connections are stifled
In the ice and cold of
Anticipatory December days

Recent gray days speckled white
Have with confessions brought
A brightness to the day that
Rivals the light of summers past

Still the cold elicits slow responses
A chill of fear holds steady our thoughts
As the trees are covered and heavy so to
Am I

In wait of the warmth
your springing into action May bring

I been waiting for k to write something beautiful to you
two days now
but connections are slow this time of year

My Days of malaise
and rage
Passing away

rising to a calm
awareness
of myself

Fear comes and goes
the seasons turn
I'm just waiting for a friend

To write something beautiful
Long time ago

Yeah. I been waiting on some of K's action too.

How is it everything I say sounds so dirty?

Dirty as in sexual?

I don't know
I guess I missed it
Double entendres wasted on me
Sex for me is an eighty ton truck
with a blow out on the steer axle
Coming at me sideways in a jack knife.
I will never be rid of it, my rage is sexual frustration I have heard
But I have never harmed a woman
If you don't count Silent Woman's abortion
And me pulling her pig tail once
And only trying to kill my mother once
I could be the poster boy
For national suicide prevention month.


I was thinking about December's fading light
The nights grow longer
The darkness keeps coming
But the nights are still warm here


I was thinking about February
The dead of winter
An apartment in London with no heat.

A freezing bed room in Virginia
Me with goose bumps naked
trying to fuck with a shriveled dick

Sorry amiga
I missed the dirty parts
But I am working on it
Aware my fly is open

oh man, I hope you know this by now

I love you!

be back in a few days to action off what you wrote
i'm painting right now and need to be calm to pull that off
writing is only done when i'm wired

unfortunately in the cold the ups and downs are slow
or fortunately for painting anyway