| backseat passenger. |
[13 Nov 2003|05:20pm] |
hair-ends straying near
my eyes: gusts of wind from the
open car window.
|
|
| observation (not quite a poem). |
[21 Oct 2003|06:12pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
piano man - billy joel |
] |
and it's your hair
which reminds me not-so-vaguely
of dalmatians.
|
|
| fragment (edited). |
[21 Oct 2003|06:09pm] |
understudies in staying still
as unlit candles, ripping
sounds of paper.
of limbs.
of heads torn off, screaming.
|
|
| snatches. |
[21 Oct 2003|05:58pm] |
01.
innerstate churning
into spinal bogs upside
02.
today i coughed
into neatly-arranged rhythms:
fits arranged like autumn
winds. each burst
a falling leaf.
each instance suggesting
thunderclaps
and multi-orgasmic sex.
three in a row is a sonic
ellipsis hinting what is
there, follwing
spasms
and itchy throat.
- both written at the back of an electric bill.
|
|
| taste test. |
[25 Aug 2003|04:49pm] |
i will show you what bitter ire,
twenty years percolating,
tastes like.
a knife.
a gun.
a full glass of Scotch.
the knife goes into my pocket: just in case.
the Scotch i drink in one gulp.
the gun i will fire, pointing
at the roof of your mouth;
careful not to damage your tongue.
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