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Wednesday, December 30, 2009

New Year

blood will be spattered on the wall

by the second paragraph

with a broad brush…

before it dries

the light without you stays within…

tired and worn out rose hips and tulips

glow in the brown aftermath of playtime

around a kiss in the sand box…

hard and cold now

remembering when

the totemic twist fetishistically touched

its shadow lips with a number…

telescopic tred walks into the trunk of a tree

with gray hair in its vice…

and the relics of recall stitch the pink fingers

with Braille…

Monday, December 21, 2009

So small

why does everything suddenly seem so small

my hopeless hopes

my finger's breadth

the palm of the martyr

the synonyms and their relationships

once a family

now the solitary vocable

muffled by rain at 3am in

the light by the door

why so distant

when I stand under it

why does everything in my anything

my always and my diminishment

last so long

when life is short

what is it that is so tiny

that it needs to be reduplicated


this unspoken question that wants

its words

what is it that is so small it fits me




you fish

walking to school

that cold tree in winter

born to learn outside

on a windy night


the sand colored pyramid

to be is a self portrait

built of reptilian modesty

it is Christmas

without Christ


the wild December substitute

breathless puppet reading a black dog

sitting on his shadow

the fence jumps for joy

as the tender moment's apprentice

snows over the brickwork

her heart is featured

in the future rose

that sentinel

at the edge

of perception

Sunday, December 13, 2009

The Perfect Mask

the perfect mask easily covers my hands
those withered digits on the floor of numbered days
that pick me up as I head
for the door
once they were the size of silver dollars
made for making change
they were gloved with veils
like those over my eyes
and a hairstyle that spoke softly
of an unborn elegance
bones were blooming in a mirrored stare
here and there
I saw a lake beneath the mirror’s surface
and a window
hung up in a net of blue veins
I opened that sigh that bridge by the water
for the words
and the refund in scarlet fairytales
in dreams I could fly
by day I forced the sugar past my lips
with a happy sign held high
above my head
the night’s little arc made huge
by dawn even with the one way sign
on the one street
where the messenger
number 2
or ten thousand said
there was no one who wasn’t nobody
as if somebody could be
I argued with pain in the empty park
sleeping under yesterday’s news
but nothing gorgeous was hunting me it was winter
it was always winter one way or another
dazzle me said the oldest eyes imaginable
I dare you
unleaven another empty century of its solitude
what won’t you do?
what haven’t you done
with the doll and the gun?
under the face shell in the afterglow?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009


The Definition of Globalism

"the poor complain

they always do but that's

just idle chatter

our system brings rewards to all

at least to all that matter..."