Monday, June 18, 2012

Monday, June 11, 2012

Asylum


In so many words
you live up to your name.
Contrary lines border the heart
of this darkening discovered dusk.
And what, if I’m to blame you,
should I pack for the road?

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Touch


Eros and old wounds
gather on this cigarette
butt-laden balcony

***

Someone told
me to
calm down

Love Poem


please don’t

make me kiss you











Thursday, May 31, 2012

Beginning with a line from Leonard Cohen


From this broken hill
there was made a choice.
You’ve spilled chilled spirits
onto the dirt inferno
that’s built around me for years. 

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Saklas


Sing, fool, sing to me,
the shadow of the centrifugal
serpent. Angel to angel,
faceless face to form
and space, come with the fire
to swing the sphere into focus.
If in our song, you’ll permit
a field to crumble into weeds,
may the oil burn at midnight
as well as at the bloody sunrise.
By then, our shirts will be dry
and the cities will call to us
in shipless drowning gestures.
They’ll know then the fixtures
were never fixed nor stern.
Your motion is your negative
gorgeous twin vision of night.
For me, the moon unhinges
on the brink of demonic dispute,
something for my six lost sons
to pull towards their barren chests. 



Tuesday, May 29, 2012

You Know My Name In Secret


You know my name in secret. Upon the mountain,
you called as a single dove; above all else; all burnt
with flares in your feathers. Spare my eyes, I cried,
but don’t let me look away. The blossoming clouds
sent you away. Your voice echoed through the rocks,
and my short tale ended in fear, a wretching cough
for the time in the gaping, crumbling sediment.
Then a demon shook me from sleep, his eyes
red and human, his body in the armadillo’s
shape, crawling towards me with a deafening hiss.
Almost a voice, I yelped awake and ran to check
the locks. The dead meat of the fridge was gone
by morning after I fed the hounds and sucked
down alprazolam as if that will halt a vision.
A new bird crept on the branch when sunrise
came, but I refused to look. Leaving the door
unlocked, I jumped the train with unholy wine,
hiding in a corridor deciding what crumbles:
buildings or atmospheres? Who are you?
I hear a smoking voice pawing at the door,
as if my own baptism would bring quenching
fire that no one but my fellow passengers
could see. Come near, bring water to worship,
whiskey to emulsify the acids in your knees.
Stay for the rockets on this unnamable holiday.  





Monday, May 28, 2012

Cage


body is a cage and so it’s so
that all who descend to earth
find a speck of diamond
in their dusted arms

body is a crevice for
the eye that does not see
but knows where to be shut
to wait for the speechless All

Pneumatic Sandcastle


Thrill in exalts: a child climbs on the curving statue.
Upon the urns of the sand, a kite birds away
from the crowd’s hands. Mother Sophia smiles
at the paperbacks burning in the sun along rocks.

Blister, spirit. Call my legs to your front door,
towards the shipwrecks of passed sins and say,
“Take this, some of you, and know it. This is my
breath, which is flowing for all of you today.”  

All Steps Towards a Spiral Path


Of a ladder that descends
            into a Musikal book

is bound to the Sea that pulls me

Generated into the flight of blue jays
What great appointment for the age
Torn             and green            they play with
    themselves            while their apostles
push for an undefined hierarchy
of pain            O sister of the Wise
tired slurps of the Euphrates
           
I give time to you, in time

Fractured Hymn, #1


The shadow, Samael,
loomed over my mirror

and sought
my loins for replacement

I guzzled glasses
of the beast

It was then these
scriptures emanated
into a sophic prison:

“Obscured Apnoia,
steer clear of darkness,
find self-generated Words

so that the Paraklete
my penetrate us,
reach for us within

whatever Chaos
we rule.”






Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Flood


the flatfaced apocalypse sneaks upon our heroes
while they eat a modest meal of figs and club soda

flood, lake Michigan, bring the bay to a stop
and see your threadbare crowds at a standstill

the test has to be bodies drained patients
a kind of sample group that gives thought

less blood and we are still right here
waiting to be fed any sort of process meat

then no love is empty no touch is meaning
less no kiss is left without a true smell

right but look at the hemispheres there’s
a way to see yourself alone with stars 





Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Addition




hello [1]
come in [2]
sit down [3]
would you like a drink [4]







[1] A greeting

[2] An invitation

[3] A command

[4] A question following a command 




Sunday, April 15, 2012

Earth Forms


Good, he says, to be
here with you all
tonight             I’m

here to discuss
hieroglyphics
with you             dogs

often see signs
in the grass
circular            they

describe them
with cries of
derisive             talk

explosively
selling nighttime
sonatas                        hark

to loving stones
to altered tracks
to destruct            but

there is not one
of you who don’t
also feel            shrine



Saturday, April 14, 2012

Stuck


Sticking close to the wall. Day drags to snapping still stones. Welcome, Vertigo.



Friday, April 13, 2012

Winter canon


the wolf is my painting

the wolf makes my accusations

the wolf makes my midday meal

the wolf cleans my bedroom

the wolf lights my gnostic candle

the wolf crumbles my affect

the wolf crushes my mandolin

the wolf builds my empty parlor

the wolf counts my half-hours

the wolf dreams of my couch

the wolf burns my kitchen

the wolf hosts my fish frys

the wolf holds my teeth in a cup

the wolf asks about American sadness

the wolf prints my ticket to Peru

the wolf shines my filmy moonlight

the wolf stages a mocked march  

the wolf eats my apple in the field

the wolf bums my smokes to strangers




Wednesday, April 11, 2012

there it was not

There was a painting in the room I woke up in. A guest was just leaving but I didn’t follow them. I licked the wall and then realism went out the window. 





Tuesday, April 10, 2012

while cutting a curtain

I drank chocolate
milk this morning
while watching lake
ashes spray against
your window


rising

when she called
substance and
feet blew

away

Monday, April 9, 2012

an antifesto

Not attempted this in awhile, and my awareness of the internet's illimitable expansion and mixture of timespace leaves me at the mercy of unforeseen consequences. Writing is the distance between repulsion and compulsion, a cry from the throat and pared calculation of affect. The tension for the writer is the balancing act of freedom and constraint. Spirits wane, forms appear, power drains and regenerates.

So, perhaps this blog is an exercise in drains and regeneration. Studies in dissociation, you might call them. Whether poem, prose, photograph, aphorism, all trails between the real and unreal--now a shifting architecture for all to see.

This is an antifesto. Not a series of thoughts or artifacts, but the acute collision between object, sense, word, and the continuum of action between them.

If a voice, then a company of shifting presences and absences.

If a presence, then an unwilling misrepresentation. Who's there?

If an absence, then a vision of presence. Who's not there?


And who should be?