oval yang

and when the night comes
who do you become
where are you called
and what craves in the still?
the lunar-nescence pulls
and strips across the sky call for embrace
a gasp and a telling.

god waits for your questions and amazement,
and slowly sips on a glass of wine,
knitting winter's wares.

boxes blare blue to keep us quiet
and the wood pulses with night eyes
hungry and hidden

the mind will draw pictures for you
until you understand

and here i lie waiting, restless
your smell no longer lingers
memories blur
and the waiting worthy

navy dampens the sheets

swallowing silence

i was in the kitchen stirring dinner
it doesnt matter what i was cooking

he was tripping on a concoction of lsd and mushrooms
maybe not mushrooms

and staring at a poster of john lennon
for over half an hour

he mumbled: man that's me
and stumbled out of the room


i have found this in silence
and in knowing you

job hunting

and a job is?
to pick up someone's mess that they havent been able to manage
ive smoked all my life...dying of emphysema. save me doc
no time for the kids. watch them...no sugar after six
i dont want to be outside, too many good shows...here a twenty, mow my lawn
wash my car, grow my food, help me relax, entertain me

well, fuck you

i'll pay myself to take care of my own mess

and thank you very much for your time

yours is the earth and everything that's in it

if i am off when you are on
and i am on when you are off
will we ever meet or simply wait forever
till we coincide

where are we safe / what must we hear?

i have never heard you yell like this
so close
so blistering
and constant thud thuddering on our palettes
like celebrity
constant capture
creatures hiding
rolling unfolds into far
but here, here it is so electric
my heart pounds electric
and i have never heard you yell like this before

entrance road

i wonder if the fox sees what is there
the trees wiggling in a rain-filled pothole puddle
the falling leaves, reds and yellows
strips of sun, like god, in rays

if he hears the birds or the drowning engines
or my footsteps coming up behind him
my gasp at his greyness, his mustard brown

does he smile at the grey mushrooms springing up between the planks
or squinch when he stubs his toe on a bridged root

does he know that this is all his?

parking lots and capos

the two: one slick, slim, ice-tea
two potted, pepsi'ed
swinging keys, slow parting
sparking engines and away
in opposites
into the shuddering night, navy
sixth fret.
thinking in their own worlds
creating prisms in each other's
like a photograph
in sepia
referenced in loneliness.
the rhythm changes -
lyrics blur -
the sighs carry large bits of worry
and perfection into the summer night
everything lies potential
and thoughts, murmured, regretful
pull the stage into single-file packages.
the city sleep at dark
the lot buzzes

glynn

paper or plastic
as if either choice isnt wiping a green somewhere
unpronounceable

it's appetizing and the mind wins with this
without any question of need

the line moves slowly
and i can think of nothing
nothing else but the time
tapping

morning

and it is like you never were
you were
here you were
and we were
and the nights were fluore-scent and melodical
and never truly wanted to end

and it became closer closer as it does
when we play together
and then it is like you never were

and it is morning
and the space is empty
and plugs rip through my soaked-sweat tshirt

how am i?

in response:

well, im reading a lot about god, and it hasnt rained in weeks here. my heart is much stronger, and im eating as well and as full as i can. ive met such nice boys and girls who are brilliant and play all sorts of things and make me laugh and cry but i wont see them after three days. im wearing skirts and i hope im praying. i think a lot and ive learned so much, too much, that i hope is relative and that sticks and stays and plays out. i'll be glad to see this follow me. i am so grateful, knowing, giving thanks, learning the balances of love. i hope this helps...tag youre it.

taste the rainbow

you think youre hiding
but i can see you filling your mouth
with the rubbish of our generation.
reds and yellows and beetle shells
and i love you behind the flowing shirt
and your soft eyes
and the frothy drinks that coat your thoughts

i love you and i see you in everything
mystic magic master
rider of song with me in this truth

let us eat together and watch the sliding of abundance
into our gullets to recreate the light that we are

i wake up and think only this

dream of wonderful things

this is for you to read
before you go to bed some times
in the crickets and the moonlight
depending how far we are
and for stanley meyer
who did what we dream
with water, water!
and the water sea across a rift in time
and ive spoken of this before.

stop.

and again the fire that moves when you are there
with them and they see your smile and hear your epiphany
and your twirling curling lippage
that mine miss so, so!
and you hear me crying 83 miles across the savannah
at midnight
and deep sigh we have chosen this intensity
we are insane, beautiful, lovage
conglomerate of everything we've ever known and which we bring
to the table - a round table made of wood
that you built and i painted
and children
we will be the children.

two bears holding hands

the future feels sweet as it does in its syrupy masochistic sadism. ah, it is lovely playing with the powers of pre-manifest. it could be anything, goddamn it, anything, and the genius who understands this are either lost in a list of the insane or are driving themselves to hell being driven in the streets of the city purgatory.

help me make this into a song, we'll never get out of our heads, our heads, pillowed, staring depths into the worlds of eyes upon eyes, clear glistened.

what do we need? let us re-ask ourselves this every moment of every moment of every moment of every day - challenging our egos to nothingness

what else is there? there is a perceived dire hunger but we are stewads, genius, magicians, warriors

and what else?
really.

its the revolution...watch it unfold amigo
with this hope
and others of pure

who have we decided to be in this life: happy magicians of a putrid unfolding destined to admit that the trees dance and we are nothing but the imagination of an extremely glossed ventriloquist.

if i know nothing other than the wind then i have wealth and will share this gold wih every wanderer
suit laden smoke, decaffeinated, i love you so much that i run from you so far into the forest that the dandelions have forgotten my scent.
this is the music we play and it is our string symphony taking the world to sleep. did you know that nothing else exists and that is the secret. period.

typed

love is all i have
and that is it
recycled intention
with your names scribbled
thinking in such gratitude
always
and this love is everything
and i intend it to take me
everywhere as it does
and i will make paper
and send letters home
saying thank you and telling
of the love that i have found
because i am an explorer
with land always in sight
more love always to plant
more fruits always to rift
to send love in letters of gratitude

xoxo

fraggle

twine turning trying to be where i should
shattering glass of pennies, the winding wound

all i can think is that i wish to bring you here
here with you
without the drunken, cracked stupor

this place takes me over
butterflies upon butterflies
there is something here
like anything there is something
but we have chosen THIS now

1927

the hallway streams like a mirror's opposite
red velvet, hidden cockroaches
and a three-fifteen that won't unlock

nothing
but a bed, window unit
i unplug the television
the toilet bruises my knees
the shower hums

the graveyard smile should be watching cartoons
and wearing thick rimmed, thick-prescribed glasses

my music sounds thud hollow against the white wash
and the ceiling bores me

silence - long lost, friend.