you want so badly to be noticed
that you'll do anything in silence
you'll think any thought that hates you
you'll drive through any nightmare
and still are the voices behind your eyes
the ones that have lasted and lasted beyond you
wait they say another day it will
outlast you these voices and you
will be alone; the want and the pictures
they connected you to your loneliness
which amounts to one simple friend
who cannot understand you
the same way that you selfishly
can understand no one and nothing
but the loneliness that makes you unique.



i am happy
because life exists in an egg
swollen and brittle
as a new house.

I see colors as numbers
and hear numbers as voices
I forgive outlines
for being more than myself


parts of my body
overlap in time
and time
edges along me
crushing each component
into recognition or dearth

only in a lack of color
do i identify
with swimming color
the mind borrows from day

and only in the morning
in the neutral heart
is fathomed the richness
in being able
to forgive itself for being broken.

weak coffee
in the morning
i listen to
music videos
i type about
these things and
the fingers they
connect to me
there is heart
there is a light
that comes through
the white sheets i can
see it through
my eyes but also
other parts of me
that see they see
it too and the music
it hears and i hear
at the same time
we hear


will my number come up
eventually
like love's some kinda
lottery
where you scratch and see
what's underneath
its sorry
just one cherry
play again!
get lucky.

wishing is not right
when i have tenderness
reaching its orby nuetrality
down my useful throat.

oh to love again--to bring
heart's worship to peace.
takes broken backs and
tipped over dreams, i guess.

i want to know: why in love
do we find so many parts
of the unloved self come
buttoning up for the cold.

and i need to know: why
can it be that way, when
earth has green cold silver
turn and turn with nighttime.

who told me i had to be false:
that love couldn't be cold and
graceless, that love had to snag
its shoulder on the plug of night.

i admit i spend most of my time
questioning faith and love
what matters i guess is the ordeal
i surround myself with.

ruined, i am ruined, only to
back up again, into an empty
space i have never collected
and it is new to me.

i ask myself why did i never know
the part of me that could truly
give love? it was because
it goes beyond knowing.

Alone and Not Alone

You lay in bed you
Watch TV.
The color of his clothes
Does not matter; but how
Does one remember how to see?
I alone I not alone.

Last comes the white night
Under me breathing steadily
Something groans and I sink
Laughing into its green net...

Oh, wake up in the middle
Of the night, to feel less
Alone. On the computer
Feeling less and less and less
Of yourself, less alone of course.


Create and the night comes frothing.
Mix up labels and dreams
Come fighting. Take
A little time to scratch out
The leftovers, of time, forgotten
You have forgotten all of yourself.

Remember: the option of refusal
Does not belong wholly to oneself;
Remember: the sheets the bed nagging
Oneself to get inside. A nightmare
Claws with mirror-teeth, a seething stupidity
Reserved only for your legs
It rides and cries in silences
Alone you are not alone.

Yes, I have cleaned the beaureau;
I have holy notes of winnings
In my pocket; pockets
That offer simple dearths
To be filled by what was once
Easy and is now an option.

Alone I am not;
Agree with me night;
Face the turbulence of unwritten air
And blank the faces in this game
Which move steadily in single
File lines groaning, O
You are not alone like we all are.

time can never erase time

see if memories wrap around you like this... they stand up tight and singing, next to one another. i lay in bed next to old memories and we wrap our little legs round one another and then the silence pricks me and i suck down and out of myself... and in my dreams, yes, yes, that is the only word i know how to use. there is something strange alone my spine as i drift in and out of myself--it is a knowing how to unknow and a being unreligious and unwanted and unnatured. i was looking at my hand today--together, wrinkled hand, the low and the dark and the filter of it, its color groaning, and i thought, wow! this hand this very hand has been with me since i was born, this hand will be with me when i die. this hand is not going anywhere--and even now it has to be repeated, this hand will not, will never leave me.

aubade

living in
and then i walked
to the and then i no shit dude?
demon sailing and cool numbers
the sound of couches sitting
and a scraping awesome here he goes
morning evaporates
what time will he figure this later than so i day
and there is
there is a meeting i have to meet
all of obviously
nice and surely certainly pencils of notes
what morning level headed stink of insanity i have hear
hear here wonder wander
and i have
and i stop in dreams.


aubade listening to brian on the phone and i have
no thoughts of my own and the music
revolves around stomach lining
wonder what he is thinking
wonder what my stomach wants to say
wonder what this pen is thinking
wonder how long time will last today
the music speaks of old old