March 13, 2012

how funny it all is...

i smirk to think of all the things you'll appropriate this year:
other people's words, strung together, as your own;
in the morning reciting snippets of songs
to a lover
or whatever
some last ditch effort.
you've even started to smile differently,
like a faded postcard.
i bet they can't remember your name either.

February 20, 2012

the grace of the morning.

some mornings 
i am stuck to everything.

the effort 
of movement and breath 
is exhausting,
and the gravity of my own 
grey room is like that of Jupiter-
pulling me ever downward
(and through) 
layers of ether and soot. 


expanding ever outwardly 
at unfathomable speeds- 
i am pulled to pieces 
in the harsh gravity 
of exploding stars. 


concentric and aligned 
as usual
there is a singing vibration 
in your grace- 
the magical inclination 
of one who 
is ever seeking the end
over the means-
shifting slightly into posture
to begin.  

November 3, 2011

How to fit in:

Often I imagine my death
the automobile blindsides
an almost artful collision
glass sprays into the air
as I sway and stop
My gaze pans upward
the grey vaulted ceiling of my
attic room
One light in the corner
casting a long shadow
over Everything.

November 1, 2011

In spite of myself

I know how it is
to heave oneself from twisted blankets
in the grey morning,
licking at the window
for some new sensation.
Strafed by love
or lack thereof
you wander in and out of days
selfishly hoping to be stung
out of the thick static
into a new day
crystalline and distilled
harsh but not unmanageable.

September 30, 2011

Excuses et al.

Every time you ask me why
why I won't be out West
with you
and the cowboy hipsters-
I have no response.

I am rather stuck here
in some liminal space
that I had painted exactly
fif-ty per-cent grey
to remind me that
I am somewhere
between light/dark.
Unable as it seems
to make any decision-
I lie on the grey carpet
(which is stained and matted)
staring at the ceiling fan.