Saturday, October 13, 2012

Time Approaches

I will be your modest doll I will
be your false priest I
will be
your
holy ghost I will
be your tender nestling
gloved forgiveness I
will be your New York City I
will be
your
Sally Mann child I
will be a blueberry I
will be a
tourniquet  I
will be every liquor I
will be
cadence I
will be total and
whole I will be
some desert packdog spotted
fuck

I will be everything
I will be
every
thing

Tight Breath


 Deeply, profoundly struck with how incredibly unoriginal 99% of my experiences are. Anecdotally, perhaps not so, but thematically...

This fucking Earth.

Tribes

Warpaint palms downturned to drop ash and
some bloody trickle to the
Earth in some form of a
prayer to
Her to
say a thank-you and a
we'll always love you and then
dance and dance and always the night
dance and
I held an elk bone and it
contained the
sum total of
my people's history in cal-
cium and marrow and
also a wood be-
cause we all have
wooden bones around here and
hush because we wouldn't want
the
wolves to know that or

* * *

Soon after the baby boy was
conceived beside some
ageless river


Friday, October 12, 2012

Soprano

Woman found dead in
elevator, it's a
sad sad sad
Earth to be a bear in some
brawl to be a snail drunk on
some heart or some tune in the
back of His holy throat.
Who drinks His wine and
crosses three facets and who
eats fish on Sunday.
This Earth.
It's a hell of a thing.
My milk is too warm now I
can't take it, can't take a
baby girl in my arms as some
single father, she needed me, I
adopted her in some dream and
named her Francesca for
her dark young shadow who
beautifully left us too soon.
(I wasn't even born yet)

But who the fuck was she even?
One of too many to count. Another
face.
Another pair of lungs, a
heart, a pair of hands, the same,
the same the same as
us.
But different.

No matter how many
cans of beer I open, I
don't like us any more.
But there's always
more letters
to write.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Modern Age

My heart is firewood

Chest Pain

Pitter patter hyperpanic,
the sad Atlantic gushes,
more used Kleenex,
her makeup smears,
I have to get out of there,
she offers grapefruit,
I tell a story,
she begins to cry,
I turn into a cloud of smoke.