love vs abstinence

i make music on the frigid steel with my sandy feet that havent been shoed for days.
the clock is my metronome

you could at least pretend to give a shit about my condition

eveything blares the name of its distributor
from Dell to Kimberly Clark.

there is a plastic case of magazines
muse, parents and the invisible moose by dennis haseley
illustrated by steven kellogg.
everyone should have something to pass the ticking

the room is cream and blue colored, predictable and drab
to blend in with the nausea and inflammation

the pink scrubs are disturbing and i wouldnt mind waiting longer
simply to keep that rash from being around

my legs are unshaven and i feel a little embarrassed
i smell of hard work and no antiperspirant
and have forgotten that somehow this is abnormal

toilet seats need covers
and coffees come in containers we'll just continue to pile onto landfills

who am i to complain? -- I need my Orange Juice in the morning and although Tropicana is relatively local
its in a waxed carton that I cannot burn to keep me warm

I like driving when I need a break
and dont have no veg-oil chompin' diesel tank

I am still waiting as the hand continues to cycle
i might as well pick my nose in the privacy

the doctor's wooden cross thumps against his heart
and he shakes his head when I answer yes to having sexual relations
and am not married
"if you hang one hundred condoms from a laundry line, twenty of them will leak, kiddo"
he scrubs his hands when he is done with me

"we'll have you out of here in no time, kiddo"

p.s. it's out

mi amore

how can i describe
when everytime you are here
i feel you so much
and am affected by this presence
so what is is tailored.
like in a dream.

what words like gratitude, love,
could make you understand
and not query anything
but trust
and be
and love me.

Nation's Oldest

Purple dehydrated corn
and pink himalayan salt
line the sparkling shelves: a market as you come out of the bathroom.

7:10 scraping the crystal boat
that moments ago heralded
a raw catamaran of cocoa-creamy heaven,
almost impossible.
Leonard Cohen hums
through hidden speakers
and i am everywhere but in the present moment:
in memory, in sensation, sound.

this type of vacation cannot cost what we're paying
and if anything just who we can tolerate.

Juniper berries and unwoody sugar cane lined our over-walk
of dolphins and health-food-store co-ops.

I watch double dates and judge the wives
in puffy shirts
watching their husbands engaged
and nibbling on appetisers.

San Sebastian offered dessert port and a roof top
bar in the pouring rain.

The credits rolled and a lady asked if we wanted anything: wine, a beer,
popcorn and those jujubes that cling to your teeth.

Another cardonnay clove and snuggle on a bunk bed
to a snouted biker and his beer gut
and a troubled wall unit on seventy six

dripped

i love it when it rains
and everything is translucent
and fed
and the water bounces off the ground
so you can almost hear it giggling.

i love the dampness
after running through the drizzle
with my shoulders clenched
and my eyes squinted

indoors seems warmer and graceful
and we get to snuggle

broken swing

sometimes i feel entitled
to just scream and pout
and think that i am the only person in the world

and take my space and time
and be happy because i am
not because i have to be.

brushing things off never seemed this hard.

i have too much intention and sometimes its thwarted
analyzing and realizing too much

if this is all an illusion
get me the fuck out of here!

the island

they all know each other
its too small and too pretentious not to
and so they know im not from here.
in my pocket i am
and i get to watch the tuxedoed mourners ride in stretched limousines
and the loafered manicures buying wind chimes and lawn chairs.

the server at the coffee shop that wears the red beanie in the southern goergia heat isn't working today and i wanted to finally tip him
instead i throw the change i have in the overflowing basket as i grab my latte with soy milk. this makes it fifty sense extra. for love i guess.

i found the back road behind the airport and waited hours for a plane to take off.
instead i examined the old military cruiser covered in rust and for a minute hoped this meant the war was over.

so many smells rush through my mind and only when i start sipping in this bitter condensed gift can i reflect and think of everything that is sprawled and so concentrated at the same time.

my mind makes poems as i drive and have nothing else to think of. these have dissipated as the screen waits in the cool of the caffeine cafe.

what am i in this very moment?
am i the memories that i can savour and close my eyes relishing thanks to the individual games that made life so full?
am i the love that wasnt returned because the soil wasnt yet ripe or my imagination was overripe?
am i the duck rotting in the compost pile who wouldnt take my healing hands? RIP Feodore.
am i the empty bottle of wine
these photos you took
or this who sees the shape of the revamped cabin, covered in kitch art and rich islanders?

monogamous

has interest stopped?
why relationship, what need
do we fill?
commitment is not appropriate
anywhere else.

deeper satisfaction is unmet
anywhere else.
in now is else.

i am peace

in the midst of your day
do you think of me?
what do you think of?
if my thoughts come into your stream
does it change your mood, neutral, negative, trigger?

11 + 6 = 17

Umlike
this is who i am

blue moment change everything
a black imbalance
decree of true infinite heaven
and core.
so much again
so now again
getting the stage now
creates mornings you imagine
or expected greyness. the chance
is always yours, mine.

who am i writing to?
but only in rhythm
i shant understand in the morning.

02-15-09

somewhere beyond farm
a longing lies dormantly
until stimulus ignites to surface.

this space wails open
for perfection to fill
that is resonant one.

here is where love is felt.
see saw balance of heart
of color in harmony.

respect this song.
this fragile game
and spread watered seed.

the tides of saint simon

she wanders on her own.
she can.
she has been free for seven days.
she is the mermaid froth silhouette
and the guls explore at her feet.
they walk as if they have known one another
and i am not sure whose sake this is for.
the sea grows old with them.

i knew her footprints.

i touch home in the ocean.
i love moments of profundity like this.