another from 2013

Put me in the stroller
with the bourbon and
apple juice sippie cup

Put me in bed
with that beautiful
woman...
the brunette with
perfect breasts

Put me in this bed,
with the heart mon-
iter,
clicking the rhythm
of all that was
arching and observing

With those collective
flesh memories
when my mind is gone

valium poem

love poem from 2013 (? pretty sure)


I had that seizure
from that too much Valium
and I looked
down, saw myself
on the floor,
writhing,
beyond alone,
I was my own company
beating against
the impossibility
of your love for me.

first new poem in a long time. very rough.

Did I tell you,
I wrote a book
about your hands?
Poem after poem
of lust and phantasm.
That book is there
for all time.
Beyond weather,
erosion or fire.
That book that
in some way, you
carry,
exists beyond
you and me --
even exists beyond
your hands,
who have held my
heart into
the beyond.

Stories about the apartment, 2009

"A Coney Island of the Mind" & lesbian porn,
it turns out,
segue perfectly
with Chopin's Prelude in E-Minor
(op.28 no. 4)

Did Frederic know?
The moans
and the crescendos;
Her tongue
and that piano...
~

Ceiling caved in
yesterday
Blocks of cement
fell, almost,
on our heads
 ~

Redwood--or is that cedar?--
I guess it doesn't matter...
I painted my nails, (Firehouse Red);
and there's Franzia Chianti and Patsy Cline.
There's a letter on some label,
saying keep away from heat and flame--

But, still:
singing out of tune,
Tennessee Waltz
means more...
I blew you,
and you left me.
There is more to this, there's
something outside this--
I Fall To Pieces.
Last night, I was
a great poet.
Now?
Franzia chianti,
and alone.
~

It was
that night
the ghost
turned the gas on
the front burner.
We were sitting in the
living room,
having a good conversation.
What was it?
We smelled gas,
and it ended.
Can't remember.
~

(New apartment--
not the next day,
but may as well be--)

New ghost--
the old one is
Ann's problem now.
An old woman
died downstairs,
it took days...

I saw her,
behind me
in the glass...

She didn't say anything--
What is there to say?

loss

I am terrified to write this post, but I guess I have to.  I need to talk about loss.  When someone dies, you say good-bye.  When someone is presumed-...what?
Arrogance and lack of sight.  And terrible friend. 

She told me that this was her last incarnation.  She was ascending.

She was better than me.

...think i might go back to this series - ink and wax on watercolor paper

walls in fishtown