Crazy Girls…

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

I love the crazy girls.
They are more alive than giant
They possess levels of depth
that un furrow
Like blooming flowers of impulse.
Their words like throwing knives
non-sequential ideas that
entangle themselves
In vines of truth
And they area all mad
At least all the ones I’ve known.

If the entire universe was
careening to a halt,
and I could save but one thing
from oblivion
It would be the crazy girls.
I’d save them just for me
I’d keep them and I‘d
watch them
and listen to them
and hold them tight.
I would never point out the illogic
of their assertions.
Only pull them close in
when they cried
And kiss their mouths when they
It would be just me
and all the crazy girls
all alone
in a perfect universe.

It Is What It Is

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

I prefer that feeling.
That dried up feeling.
That spent feeling.
That empty feeling.
I dig it,
dig it hard,
when people are the worst to me.
The cruelest.
The most unkind.
I like it best when I
know it’s coming
like a familiar tune
like train cars
like regret.
I like it most when
I stick it out there
and am foolish
and it gets cut off with lazer precision.
I like it this way
because it’s comfortable
fucked up
I don’t like it when there’s attachment,
like quicksand,
like chattering laughter
like clouds.
I don’t like it when it seems like
a corner might turn
like time is a top hat
like Santa Elves and Easter Rabbits.
I hate it when the asphalt
slides away like cotton candy.
When sweet dreams spill over into
dark afternoons and solitude.
I hate it most when nothing
pretends in my mind
to be something.
When bees sting
and rain dances like a bugles mourn.
I hate it most when I care about anything
or anyone
or anywhere.
When days run away and
fingers snap like bowling pins.
I love it when
I fuck it all up.
When I’m blank tablet.
When there is no one.
When bells ring
iron bars clang
and words dance on paper.
I love it most when I’m alone
when I’m empty,
when I have no attachment.
when I’m burning like the blistering heat of
tomorrows melancholy sun.
I love it most when I’m empty,.
un dissolved
I love it most
when it’s over,
all said and done,
when I’m pounding like a hammer
deafening like a broken heart
sworn in like an imbasil
I love it the very very best when I hurt
because it’s a recognizable thing.
It’s something
It keeps me in line.
Keeps me from escaping wrongly,
strangling circumstance
becoming a butterfly
embracing civility.
I love it most when I’m in it
fucked up broken down
not surprised
I love it,
love it best
when it simply
is what it is.
is what it is.
is what it is.

On Fire

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

you’re on fire
you’re on fire
you’re on fire
everything about you is on fire.

your eyes are on fire
your eye lashes are on fire
the tiny edges at the corners of your smile
are on fire.
your lips are on fire
you hips are on fire
all the lines that come together in-between
to create this amazing being
are on fire.

your heart is on fire
your soul is on fire
your mind is on fire
your voice is on fire
your words are on fire.
the feelings you feel and
the thoughts that you think, are on fire.
your laughter is on fire,
especially your laughter is on fire.

your dreams are on fire.
the compassion of your actions is on fire
the places where you get occasionally lost
inside your hopes and memories of the past,
are on fire
everything inside you is on fire.

the air that surrounds and slides around
your burning form when you move through it
is one fire.
the infinitesimal empty spaces burning with desire
that come together to create the matter
which manifest your form and being
are on fire.

you’re on fire
you’re on fire
and when you look at me
and when you speak to me
and when I look close at you
and when I listen close to you
and when I feel close to you
and when you open your heart
for tiny fleeting brief moments to me
I am on fire. I am on fire,
and it’s your fire
and it doesn’t go out.
It burns.

you’re on fire
you’re on fire
you’re on fire.

Spiritus Veritas

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

I just want something real,
he said
I just want something real,
he said.

This common experience.
This shared suffering.
This birth into tragedy that
has shaped us so.
Demented us so.
Made us artist.
Let our spirits soar.
I just want the real experience now.
The authentic.
I suffer for it.
I await it.
I yearn for it.
This is the truth I toss about in
meandering lines.
We are in a space outside the tribe.
We are the neurotic episode.
We are heaven’s offerings unto the dirt.

I don’t want
the ones who hide from it
wearing the hiding
like a mask.
I don’t want the ones who
fester in it
wearing the festering
like a mask.

Let us transcend it.
Let us overcome it.
Let us be all at once above it.
Let us enlighten ourselves with
the healing of it.
Let our spirits sing.
Let our words be divine.
Let us be more,
more and more and more
than the circumstance of it.

Faith faith faith faith
faith faith faith faith.
Goodbye to being,
hello becoming.

I just want something real,
he said.
I just want something real,
he said.

I’m not sure what I want
she said.
Something altogether different.
I think.
Come and be
with me