my heart is chewing you.

crying from the back of his head
the last one left in some war
his fists felt the same
sideways thoughtveins

pumping uncertain terms

I found the rug
and replaced the key
with what i found on the roof of your mouth

intuitive orphan
homesick for his foreskin

shaking, life-sized
everything is in tune with
your forground is my
background

your cellphone arm is my
more than unlucky

I should have called your thoughts pythons, when you caught me loose within my soul.

one you love wanders
wonders

.building up is not just for the living
dead the for just not is up building
building up is not just for the living
dead the for just not is up building
building up is not just for the living
living the for just not is up building
building up is not just for the living
dead the for just not is up building
building up is not just for the dead

I built a pile of twigs
And then I took it down
I built a pile of twigs
And then I took it down

And like a black yellow buggy
I got stuck in the honey

And mama said,
“It’s okay, babe.
This is what we do.
It’s okay babe.
This is what we do.”

I built a pile of twigs
And then I took it down
I built a pile of twigs
And then I took it down

every time the thought changed
his fingers felt the same
but they looked different to us

a little less than misplaced
a little more than unlucky
pumping uncertain terms

when I plug my eyes I see
guls behind my eye
lids

While you were writing your poems
I was digging holes
Deep in backyard dirt
Waiting for the sun to peek
From the other end

You were ready, so
I popped my head out from the hole
You sang with a voice like an orchestra
I was crying, I was spitting up dirt
Somehow, so were you

Yes, I’ll stay there with you
So long as you keep your voice ringing
In perfect harmony and rhythm
Like seven playing trumpets

Each of us floating in storybook-type something
Looking for a new one
To swim in and drink

the first time your child says "fragile", you:

I would sit in the forevers, but mornings come between my ears.

How many different people are you?

somewhere in your home is a house
where you keep the list of things you left behind
when 'wait' was the loudest thing you'd heard in a long time
the difference being:
the Difference Being

Piles of pages sitting heavy on your chest Like a mean older brother cutting off your breath All of them waiting for you to cry "uncle" Kicking up your knees, you only want to breathe

Not wanting to die under the backside of truths Arguing angrily over who's heavier ink
And all you can do under little puffs of chest Is think how desperately you want to move As the chatter of ink slowly kills you

Clearly, you know, the only means of escape Is something hardly ever uttered in games An Expression of humourless pain And all the pages fall to the floor

A smile comes to your face When you repeat your redeemer: "OW! I'M SERIOUS!" "OW! I'M SERIOUS!" "OW! I'M SERIOUS!" As you drool and play like a child

when your ideatop found out it was running out of things to forget
a list was created
maybe divine
incredibly accommodating

in the beginning, you blow kisses to inanimate objects
later on, you wonder if you meant them
and near the end, you start over.

somewhere in between, you wash your intangibles with delicates, fold a few together in confusion and

?

when you turned the corner, your frontside in the sun was enough to start fires
somewhere near, a mother is settling, and you've learned how to feel like you can save her
So why are you still setting fires?

you go looking and can't help but feel your geographic immunity being compromised

warmer
warmer and
warmer
bushes ablaze remind you of dreams where you lay down and become trees
your roots are still warm this way
your roots could carry what this woman needs
So then why was she settling?

some cherries grow
and others, they'll burn
through fabric and hearts and
homes made of wood

This was never your fire.
You measure them incorrectly.
Can I trust you to remember soft?
For when they ask us to believe?

Head up, eyes closed, nose toward the sun;
you can find you can find you.

with walls like these
concrete like this?
It might not matter how hard we are trying.

oh, there's a widow in our windows
You laught because you're still afraid of home
draw graphs.

leave charts in alleyways
behind complexes
to prove to transients and garbagemen your ideas match what you think pass as actions.

It's not just your feet that are wet anymore;
You are not almost there;
And you should be scared.

the first time you get lost

you are almost there

Human
Human
Human
Human
You will call yourself, see the stars below you.
Human
Human
Walk in the dark, count to a thousand.
Human
Human
Prowl at night, find the infinitesimal caress.
Prowl at night, find the infinitesimal caress.
Prowl at night
Find the infinitesimal caress
Call yourself
Find the infinitesimal caress


the last words we heard were attics, so
now we are climbing.

there are neighbors
some have guns
in time
for when we're out of trying
but still in line
stuck,
spinning slightly.

so take their thoughts
and run with them
take their fights
and finish them
it's okay to be shy
but only some of the time
and it's okay to lie
if it's beside your lover

bail the rest from the well
since each sunset is so lazy
tracing another outline of your faces
fooling no one but you
We see you.

and

only some flowers bloom
so fireflies don't have to learn how to fly
take their fires
and finish them
and most of the time, it's okay to cry
wolf

I knew eyes, with a girl like sockets drowning themselves
and I met ears with a coyote, over coffee;
she told me,

"We're just as lonely."

the trouble you got yourself in
trying to smell for each blade of grass you knew couldn't

On Gravity

I was born to be a runt
Of gravity's great pull
No planet's massive mass have I
And so my days are dull

there were lawns
making my ideas green
and when they came out
I would keep them clean
but I couldn't speak for them

Not the way they spoke for me.

fruitless movement of two conductors
who remove a platform from their feet and
leave their bodies train bound, proving together,
within their reflections
and their jewelry shadows
hollow outlines in the sunset sit not too far
from those just as neatly bound to or toward
familiar distances
some humble, others peregrine
both the distances, and the people,
that is.

doors separate periodically and it would seem usual
discourse could be heard delicately dissolving into upward blues and greys
and in a better place, each person on this train is a protagonist
and though some will argue that in one way or another, we each are,
this train car in particular would struggle.

stepping like she would were she struggling to notice herself
or not so lightly among a station's advertisements
at younger ages she could conjure rides home and
various methods of pavement
shot each in just a different amount of daylight
to be construed every time as a new experience.

(interestingly enough it was now the ride away from home
that offered her this feeling.)

with an almost off-white, blackwhite wall
paper told eyes, still human eyes, eyes
that had seen but not heard what it meant to be seen
that for every winter swallowed, a reborn would find it's way

whether reborn or stillborn, you were still born, they will say
and upside down or right side up
either way
you'll roll past their newspaper noses
each and every one popping your qwiffs
your waves becoming linear
(And now they can trace you)
(something even your mother struggled)
and since lucky ears stay shorelines when other waves, noises,
stumble upon them,
they'll argue, 'when they entered, those too became traces'

they dare you to find them, and you close your eyes for what feels
like the warmest amount of time
until everything you can taste is pink
and everything you can feel is white
and your only smell peptides

four stubborn campfires struggle in your lungs,
your veins are branches, you see?
have you ever started a fire you couldn't put out?
ever had to dig so deep?

your lover's prayers have left puddles and some
stumbled through with bare feet
and maps stretched across far-fetched footsteps,
to pick them up and drop them on me.

from here the sun plays the role of hardly a friend
but not so much a mother
as a sister, or a brother, hiding thoughtlessly

but since she's here for now, stick your tongue out,
take in as much as you can
swallow as often as possible
because your campfires are spreading.

Maybe a riddle, a joke

How do you survive in a cheap motel room with only a calender and a mattress?

Answer:
You eat the dates from the calender and drink from the springs in the mattress.

but I'd never known leaves as pages
not this way.

Eden spends her time writing about the sea
And how it might taste
She is all hair and skin and teeth
A beautiful thing
WIth soft nerve endings
Hardly a poet, more of a poem

Though I have never tasted sea
I have tasted the gloss from the pages
Of magazines
They cut my tongue and my fingers
And if you were wondering
It tastes like glue and copper
Hardly like anything you'd imagine
Salty water

I imagine is sour
like a lemon
And sweet like a pear
And smells like dogs
And feels like skin
At least that's what I gather
From the stories we've all read

Our eyes are made of paper
All we really have are our fingers
And the spaces between our toes

There are things
that I cannot tell you
because
I am you.

Your shower curtain told me,
"The man who sold these faucets-
bought his daughter a dog and killed himself-
but that was when there were still toenails in our carpets"

You'll probably start at the beginning.

i keep my company before the flood
i heard the water in the shed
my mirror face follows my mirror head

my hair is long and i cut it off

We are the new Babylon, aren't we?
But never near the sun
Not a finger touches trees
The only common tongue we shared
Was the stale sound of air
When we breathed in the room
And I knew that it was true
The day mother's sigh made the quiet, pretty noise of grass that grew
In the sun

I couldn't hear it any more
I had to feel it
Mother called me
To let it stain the soles of my feet
And my elbows and my knees
And make my throat itch

So I abandoned that world
Clostrophobic, naked of poets
For lemon trees

I lie prostrate in their leaves
Blanketed from rain
I hardly speak
But when I do, I sing
With sour breath
"La la la la la"

I opened the curtains just long enough to let them know
about the shape our regret makes, jumping from cloud to cloud
There were lovers somewhere, calling that lightning.

Slowly the sky had been learning year after year how to set without the sun
so here’s a meadow, and it’s empty in human senses
an obituary for the one who'd written them all along
Can you hear the scarecrows preparing?

I told the crows, "some protons rise"
"crowded nuclei"

maybe lovers were on to something.

So this is where you prove to your right eye that your left one has nothing in it.

the first time we rode our bicycles underwater
the trees weren't moving
and our parents still made love

now the trees move themselves
(water is something to be afraid of)

Quote

Quote

How can I sleep when what doesn't wake you wakes me?

Haunted by the sight
Of silver turned to grey

And the visits
Of what you and I
And our parents ate

Brother,
You would be a poet
To say, "I've seen it"

I would say I've heard you

You would be my poet

I would say I've heard you

I couldn't see your faces
Or smell your breath

The smell of bleach, flesh and something more
All holy white walls glow, but one, a mirror
Where meat is torn, belly filled
No sound but forks on plates

And small ,small, small
They are not so very far away
Content around the table
All but sister, full plate

Seeing in the other wall
The small folk and
The shit that drips
Watered down from the upstairs room
The other room where the family sits

Sister:
“What is this mother, dear?”
Family:
“Oh, that is just the mirror. Now finish up so we can go to sleep.”

Her plate is finally cleaned
But the smell won’t leave her nose
And the promises of windows are nothing
When you can’t even look out your mirror

I spat deep into that cavern
the echos never sang back
you never sang back
and for a second I thought I caught your spiteful eyes trying.

we stumbled upon a field of fingers
hidden like prarie to occupied eyes
caressing softly our middle places
we were so safe in our middle places
I couldn't tell if you were just playing
you had a look, you wanted to get hurt
not a single one wasn't moving
a new finger for each heartbeat, skin slid further
you wouldn't know I was hiding soap behind your ears
for moments like these years
so we close our eyes to discover just how long "we" is.

and for a second I thought I caught your spiteful eyes trying
but we were shoveling dirt into our faces

I should call your thoughts pythons
when you caught me loose within my soul

I should have called your thoughts pythons.

I was closing my eyes
I am soap behind your ears
mixing with the dirt
but I was always there
so safe, in our middle place.

Every demise is eventual.

Quote

"'A penny saved is a penny earned' Benjamin Franklin."
-Albert Einstien.

Quote.

Perhaps nature is our best assurance of immortality.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

some searchlight is screaming:

"a boy rode me into town
found the profiles of our gallows
there's a second or two before he
lets someone know"
if the noises my nose made
could save even one of us
I would blow
and blow
and blow
and blow.

most of us lose our breath in the best case scenario
some gavel as waves is rolling further than usual
there is a man pounding his feet into the ground
he is about to hear you drown.

how could he have known?
lazy eyes left in pews
struggle without their toes

if this was the last morning
that same boy is sliding
his hat falls off
the clouds are getting nervous
and my heart is chewing you.

if this is our last evening
some boy was our sunset
caress worms like lovers
as you dig your toes deeper
you are watching me drown.

Quote.

Lost time is never found again.

-Benjamin Franklin.

oh insect
tiny explosion for just us to see
we step so carelessly

all our dogs are dieing
and they're leaving us behind
we walk into oncoming traffic
cars are swerving appropriately

sometimes I feel like most of us deserve
so much worse than hell

now the clouds are getting nervous
taking their chances too late
listening to our oceans
building new beds to mess and make

so what will we scream when we're just okay?

There is Mother
There is Father
There are dogs
There is worn in grass
And you knows whose names you will find
Under upturned stones

Tomorrow, you know
Your eyes, awake, will see sky
Your eyes, closed, will see wallpaper
Your eyes will be warm
Your eyes will be warm
Both will see her thighs
Just as warm
Just as loud
Just as white
As you thought
As you knew

So now
You know why Angels sing
You know why Henry sings
Well, then who else sings

Quote.

As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.

-Henry David Thoreau

On when to wash.

They that wash on Monday have all the week to dry;
They that wash on Tuesday are not so much awry;
They that wash on Wednesday are not so much to blame;
They that wash on Thursday wash for shame;
They that wash on Friday wash in need;
And they that wash on Saturday, oh, they are slovens, indeed.

Quote.

You gotta have a swine to show you where the truffles are.

-Edward Albee

Quote.

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.

-Dr. William C. Dement

I saw the pope in a drive-through and when his gaze met mine he said,
Son, isn't it funny that you can buy a 'happy', meal?

and I said,
Do you think it makes it's easier on the animals when they die?

and he asked,
Which ones?

and I said,
You and I.

Later that night I had a dream, Martin Luther King Jr. came and spoke to me.. He said,
Son; foremost beloved be the one who uses their eyes,

and

The pope is just some guy
Your father is just some guy
The president is just some guy
The dali lama is just some guy
I was just some guy

And I was just some guy.

Tour of rooms.

I have put these things on the table.

The table is meant for these things.

These things are supposed to be on the table.

The table is a good place for these things.

The table is good.

These things are good for the table.

These things are good.

I'll do anything to live again, Clarence.

You're god damned right I'm the god-prophet man
I'm the Mailman, the Friend
I'm the unemployed Wino with a case of the bends

And I'm Jesus and I'm George Bailey too.

Beloved Be, Our

Beloved be the one who recognizes themself in another,
the one who sleeps under the stars
the one who stubs their toe
the one who forgot their dreams

Beloved be the one who stands up,
the one who marries and screams
the one who sneezes more than once
the one who emerges from the deep end

Beloved be the one who has eyes,
the one who makes their bed
the one who hides
the one who has regret

Beloved be the one who will not salute
the one who cannot afford taxes
the one who took their thoughts and ran
the one who bailed the rest from the well

Beloved be the one whose story ends when the alarm clock calls
Beloved be the one with infinite loneliness
Beloved be the one stuck, spinning slightly.

Quote.

There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.

-Robert Louis Stevenson



Today we hear because we're listening.
Peter.

A Gift From Mr. Trout

What We Are

Well boys, it sure looks like the sun's a comin' up don't it?

Green and sparkling and painted in the sky.

Giving light to all of us who just want to get back to Kansas.

Frankly, with that god dammed castle in the sky; I'd be a dumb, heartless coward too.

Recipe for Longevity:

Best Rhubarb in Powder - 2 1/2 oz

Salt of Wormwood - 1 drahm

Orange-Peall - 1/2 oz

Grated Nutmeg - 2 scruples

Cochineall - 1/2 drahm

Infuse for 48 hours by warm fireside, in a quart of true arrak; put in a well-corked bottle for use. Of this, two or three spoonfuls may be taken two or three times in a week, or at pleasure, with great safety and benefit, with or without interruption of business or studies, and continued to manhood or extreem old age if necessary.

-Dr. Cheyne's Receipt for a Long Life, circa 1760.

We should live forever more.