A collection of writing
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C4
She had gone down to the cooler.
A single lit bulb illuminated two cartons of milk, chocolate
Some people struggle to open milk cartons.
Little paper sounds tearing.
Give me one reason and I’ll
Turn, turn, turning to
open up the milk and I’ll
pour it in a glass.
It looked like the moon.
Indoors. underneath her. Chocolate.
Sound:
C4
you to understand all that is happening
you have to
Have you seen the scars beneath the eyes
The look that says “Make new sounds”
The debutante of page 39. An A1 story.
In black and white she took the stare up to the mausoleum and had a seat
The moon always looks better in another country
next to the rockstar’s headstone
The one they want to see
flash flash
can we take a picture?
You already did.
Save it,
Do you remember your dreams?
Only sometimes?
All the way through
or only snippets ?
Anyways we’ve given you the bottle
fill it with milk and everything about you
that doesn't stick, goes in there
please drink.
genie in a bottle
bottle blonde
blonde song
Frank Ocean and I frankly can’t understand why they enjoy it.
Do you enjoy yourself?
She wrote The Snakes That Live in Paris
and she shed her skin for a pile of green
With one sip of that jasmine nectar.
Chocolate. She realized the kitchen floor was cold.
Remember, more profound than a profound moment
is the ease in which the profound
is forgotten
and she went up the red carpeted stairs and turned
off the lava lamp.
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Five in Film
poorly painted jubilee
De plus en plus prés closer
mister more and more
He’s down at smilin’ jack’s fish camp connected to the Superette
dan la galaxie complètement blanche
into the galaxy pure white
crackling sun, pip pip pip
the radio snaps
June came as usual.
Seldom, seldom jewels
fluorescent fiction, strange substance
Popped open a lemon fizz to stave the melancholy
with an unusual dizziness
bubbling bubbling the troubling skies
June blossom
The St. John river, the singer, lure you, sink the fish.
the air boats skate the rink
but no one could put a finger on, put pen to ink
how, wow wow, pure
birth came as usual
with an unusual tide
des millions d’étoilés-flamboiement de lumi
millions of stars a blaze of light
l’épice, spice, spice, you are the spice of life
Star in the ink. Sign, sine, sign it
See the sign for Jack’s Fish Camp connected to the Superette
silly were the notions of this creature could be.
What a star.
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Triangle
Hell.
Seeing red-
soaked dirt and bile
7,000 terra-bytes of pornography files
symbols and numbers and whispers of doom
voices and judgement, predictions of gloom
Vomit
and burning
space weather fires.
black out scenes
nightmares and cold sweat.
Country music driving towards you at three in the morning
Feet and hands shaking
No one calls you or answers the phone
Every aspect of life feels unknown
lamp stands broken, glass on the floor,
darkness in alleys right outside your door
dogs screech in tin cans
and car bass that booms words of a violent clan
stains and pains and unwanted talking
tv screen actors of religious mocking
jello with ham and cold finger tips
the sound of your mother is only on voice clip
air and your breathing choked by a fog
and the body of love ones decaying like hogs
Soap in your drink glass
loved ones who pass
close your eyes
covered in flies
you’re not dead.
Earth.
God’s glorious green- but the smell of a sewer,
where He builds us an ark and constructed a dance floor
walk down a hall way towards a arched door
light are on and people are home
but they don’t have directions for which way to roam
Something unresolved keeps you waking up
your coffee is warm inside your tea cup
Sun creeps through window
The sense of self is in limbo
Your appointment with Jennifer only lasts one hour
The conviction you feel loses its power
You remember truth but your brain falls short
You forget you’re divine with one glass of port
Lillies bloom but are reserved for a grave
You have the power to love and go out and save
Electric light and diners
Fields with cicadas and the good folk gold miners
The store is still open
You write down the tokens
The person on the street offers a hand
Wells are build in desolate places and
when you look there are a few smiling faces
You build sandcastles and dress in laces
You have enough money but not for both
We all raise a glass but only some can toast
Babies are born with good parents
Cars go fast and for a moment you care’t
Let go.
Heaven.
No fear of outer space
Your actions and words are only grace
Living with curiosity, you are the star
You take the time to write a memoir
Its boxing day and a lull fills the air
Nothing falls out not even your hair
Your phone call is answered with a hello
The mood of your bones is mellow
and soft, rain falls just enough to lull you to sleep
the parties end and you don’t hear a peep
gloss print pictures
gurgling cats
no buzzing or creaking
Everything appears that you are seeking
You can read good news in black and white
Food in the oven comes out just right
You are surrounded with a soft pink light
people want to know you and you feel like you might
bubble up with laugher in perfectly cool water
there are fishes and donkeys and swimming small otters
You can’t fall off your bike and and the only illumination
is the positive spirit of every good vibration
the sum of the good, out ways the bad
and your only thoughts are of the the good times you’ve had
Safety and friendship, we care for each other
Every one treats you as if they were your mother
the vending machine has something good to drink
and every time you see a small sign you think
what a special vision tailored just for you
there is something good, looking out for you
The path that you walk is lit on your way
Every ounce of your being is certain to stay
Replace.
Three triangles make a point.
Where does your mind settle within the joint?
Sit quietly and ponder all the visions of life
Where does your mind wander, heaven or strife?
It is not somewhere leading, a lesson or tale
It’s a reminder for you that you are not in jail
Open your mind as wide as you can
retrace the steps and remember your hand
Good out weighs evil and you know the way
the way to have peace, obtainable this day
reverse and rewind
with peace in your mind.
Your heart pounding
is the sounding
you know the way.
You’re not dead, let go, and replace.
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Watermelon Pie
The mat said welcome
but I rang the bell
the door creaked open
and I let myself in
the tile looked like she had been smoking in the kitchen
and no one had ever opened the door
she said you are the first because she knew
and I averted my eyes from the
black roach highways
that filled in the porcelain
to meet her eyes
which did not meet
mine, but to the butt
of a green bottle. Shit it’s warm.
Yes, the rain will come soon.
The beer.
She looked like she had been sitting there forever.
She was faded like the yellow plastic around her.
She was dressed indiscernibly from the swag above the sink
and her slippers were the only thing cleaning the floor.
The traffic wasn’t bad, but I now wished it was
Anything, from God, to keep this short
Don’t touch her, don’t touch her.
She had fallen into the dark art of waiting and that is something any person can contract
The compulsion to wash.
So I asked for the restroom
a long way down the hall and she didn’t care about the time
or where the sun set for that matter
curtains drawn
Don’t reach out to find your way, you may feel the decline
no dawn
a single blue shell
smelled like talc
I cupped gingerly in the water.
Why don’t we want it to look used?
deny life happened here,
in the bathroom
the faucet shrieked
Let me continue my purpose
Let me keep going
It’s decorative
A decorative life
I returned to the kitchen
and the trophy was there.
here.
The introduction was sufficient
The tin matched her teeth and she smiled for the first time
It’s a watermelon pie.
Dignity struck her in the carving
The dixie paper was graced
And though the taste of cigarettes I never smoked
beat all senses
I found the July palm trees of Beverly Hills now
filled the window panes
Isn’t this your life?
Where your face melts
and the skin shleps off
and you wait for nighttime
to gather supplies
in your fashionable shoes
And you wait for someone to see you in your darkness
And you think yourself artless
And you let yourself waste and let others believe you are
Until you have a visitor.
She turned the dial on the kitchen set to Jeopardy
And I made peace with the available chair
And we had another piece.
Life’s a plastic beach.
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Shelter Island
Holy unit
this day.
Fractal clouds fill your eyes
Serious moonlight.
It is divine intervention.
little words
cut out of pages
Through it does not equal
the dismantling bed springs you rest on
Ten years of surprises you find
in your garden
insistent plotting and pacing
plots of fear mongering
Small flies, dead on the leaves that the spiders eat up.
What is this dirt that coats your feet
you never wash.
Walking into the water, you say goodbye
I’ll see you tomorrow
never to reach the bay.
I see you, walking dogs and reading the pages,
not looking up. Your feet squelched in the black paint.
I will follow the trances of you
through the small view of a telescope
Two hummingbird fly to the edge of the sea and I will follow.
I will cut cake and dance in rain
to reach you.
The message is not for me
for I saw the things I have written
be so true
for others.
He banged on drums, he hit his head
he bled,
He told everyone the truth and the truth would not do
and he longed for rest, on the broken bed.
He told me the trees were not melting, the willows
He told me blue light shone for safety in the night
Pain to be heard. He spoke to himself.
Don’t talk, rest your head on my
shoulders, such friends
holding hands and crying
bugs came out of the wood work
and he still longed for the place.
And I have found
this Longing
is a response to divine invitation
Louis Comfort Tiffany.
They came to him in a dream
to take him home. I was only the messenger.
the passenger
I lifted him up in sweet incense and offered passing favors
Only once more did he wonder.
leaving me
to wander, forever
Until I to receive such an invitation.
Through blackness, light is revealed
Taking root in a place in the sun.
Called shelter Island.
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The Spiral
There is a staircase that goes sideways.
It is invisible to those who do not seek it.
There I found the traveller that passes in a linear fashion.
I saw the embalmed bodies he rations.
He is the dream catcher to those unknowing.
His life line to God is showing.
I took that staircase to the center and I made it my home.
Four years since you said my name, fly
three years since you came up the hill and died, fly
You gave me no glance, but you did
bring me cake, fly.
I can feel you quivering, I sense the fear.
In the sun, when I was not weary
I looked upon your illuminated face,
shrouded in shadowed disguise, still leery
I reached out, I sent out a line
yet you were consumed by it
I picked you yet it was I caught by death
I quivered in fear.
In the earthquake I died, but I saw tapestry
I was married to it, til’ death do us part
I was put there in the weaving of God
the soft silk of a great meal.
Go out into the forest and find yourself a web,
in a tree filled with pommes, you have found my home.
Count the spirals, follow it closely.
Look at how it is all connected.
He will removed the flies that dance on fruit
for your feasting.
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Disco Being
Welcome welcome, children from the black street,
who wear colored revolt against the dying city,
hear the gold cymbals that gong, step inside.
Mirrors magnify illuminations,
moving light, red and green jubilations.
Let sounds of celebration sings to your soul.
Rhodes reverberation that echo sonic,
this psychedelic space is a tonic.
It is affluent to come together in person
to not ask what it is you do for a living.
To listen to the music, not making
it about your grandmother’s generation
or the man playing the fiddle.
We enjoy the pied piper in this place, bees.
How tasteful you look in silks of pink, honey.
In good taste you move yourself to the beat
like green parrots nibbling at your feet.
Jewels are in the eyes of all the strangers
and a man who’s shoe cost three thousand doll hairs
means nothing when you come inside off the street.
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Boy Named California
One foot forward with eyes on the back of the head.
You are just a child peering through the peep hole.
You do not know what is coming.
And perhaps, if you just look behind you you would see the palace
Your toes touching marble and alabaster
And perhaps, if you could quite your mind you could remember the ride
Your eyes blinded by the light through the fruit trees
The childish dream you were taken out of
it was your destiny
to wander back and to be glad in it.
Perhaps it’s best that you don’t look behind you,
Perhaps it’s best that you call wanting at the door.
If only you knew what is right around the corner
Your heart would be as small hands squeezing
a fresh peach
It is good you are at the door, all the faster you can leave,
so that you may see down the hall way, just enough
to realize you’d like to go back.
Backwards, forwards, upwards, always
your destiny, you will surely reach.
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Man Named Florida
And he said give me one reason to leave the cave
and we will have an adventure to pave:
Look at the seasons changing in view
Look at the birds coming to look at you
Don’t you want to come out and play,
Don’t you want to see a new day.
We pass through the land but you stay in the ship
Don’t even miss the signs of your trip
We left the land of our fathers just to return,
just to feel the desires that burn
To breath in the air and wish for a change
when in reality it is all quite well and maintained
The gifts you’re rewarded they’re already in mail
Not matter the winds, brute force, high gale.
We follow the river that flows, charts a course
and with each new day we loose the sense of remorse.
I declared.
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One Day in May
Two red tail hawks flew circling each other.
High noon and the sun was framed in feather
better than any showcase at the MOMA
My car looks fast. It is fast, but I’m looking at birds
and people have expectations, so I pulled into the station
The paper has gone up three dollar.
It’s Sunday so I buy it.
Do you believe in horoscopes?
It could be an excuses for a lot of things
I find it enduring, the one who believes
we are caught in some net
and our placement determines
which fish the captain will fry.
He was swimming too close to the surface
they say.
The hawks are my halo
But I am always alone
so there is no photo.
It took me four hours to get Malibu.
The movies disregard other people are living
driving their dirt cats up the hills and nearly over cliffs.
I saw a solitary woman waiting at the at the bus stop
she took the bus out of Malibu
Isn’t that fitting
to go into glory and be humbled by it.
I read a list of perfumes
and forget the woman.
I disregard the entertainment section
the child departs from the journalist that judges art
it makes a perfect seat
The many children of Moses become distracting
when there is too much accumulation in ones dressing.
I am crashing towards the moon.
The appropriate speed
Some of the paper flies out
and the light turns red to ask
if it wants to come back
and to my front window comes a dove,
white and round as the moon
displaying his snail
He must have gone to Pasjoli
Glowing red evening wear.
The stars in the sky resemble the sand in my shoes
nearly none
and the owl on the lamp post says nothing about my appearance
when I stop at the store.
A man looks at bread
I look at bread
The man gives me his gold business card
he likes to dance
I say disco, he says ballroom
should I think of dancing?
It is only the clinging of heels on the earth that consumed you.
I went home and listened to Alvin Lucier
And tried to breath all the air
We used to look out the window and see a pair of doves
but then there was only one because you were gone.
I know it
On this night
they came to my window,
one ruffled their wings and
left me a feather.
October second
Waxing gibbous
eighty-eight percent light in the dark
I never saw you again
There are many things to be done when it’s a Sunday
and your lover is dead and knows you love birds.
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Black Sidewalk
I did not
forget
deep in the river blackness
lifting soft seconds
to expose the shape of
what this is.
I could not breathe
I went back down
I did not forget
cold as knives
the silent air.
the deep dares not reveal itself
yet every synapse says this is living.
this heavy thought
through the water of night.
some amber prize.
so many moons
could days be passing, these small moons that line the street
I did remember
but I cannot drown
in silence, returning.
a blanket of silt
to mingle with dreams
I will not
share tonight.
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Bed, Time
Hail, there is solace from the orange rind, the pith of your face
in a place where the waking give themselves to the night and awake
in new dawn, where they no longer touch and no longer will pace,
here, yesterday's tomorrow is just today’s flight, whatever you make,
it is place for those who have nothing, that they may build new timber, a work of art,
true, that one strawberry seed inkling can give a tired boy new life.
It’s not for you who dwell or whose who wish to remember, so depart
from darkness, to the world you live in before the afterlife.
If you believe in yesterday you cannot be here now.
You must let your cage be a stone and know that it's over.
You must give name, a new meaning to the sound.
Your light must be crimson and visions, of clover.
With your wide eyes closing you could join me, it would seem,
to a place I know, so close to heaven, it is a dream.
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Truman Show Me
As if writing this letter to you would be something new
As if the smoke from my cigarette is changing in color
And this is true
Frightening
I’ve given in
Let my eyes see as they must
I’ve let out
Everything that kept me in this state of trust
As if living so long could tell me some secret
As if some new day I wake up on
Was actually new
As if the lines in my face weaved me shelter
As if I could open my mouth
And it would happen
I do accept this dance
I do ride on through the night on the back of wild wind.
Is the sand that blows up, of importance
No
But I read it like Braille
And if I did in fact have anything to say
It would be that I saw every single star converge to this point
And I said nothing
Yet I have been recording.
Not with anything touchable, for that is the egos job
I have sent you messages. Time and time again
But they do not touch the earth
But they do not kiss the forehead
In gentle motion
It is you that told me this was real
You by sheer action not word
You told me that you looked out the window and saw some strange thing
You hold everything so tightly
Your gun
Your lips
You let out cries of lead
And kill with the ash
I sent you some strange thing. I made this nest
How dare you rob me blue jay
I have buried good things for myself
Yours truly
Mirror
I’ll show you
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coiN
Waving light of yellow and pink
Conductor with two wands
Weaving song heard through graves
To everyone you lied
Sickness oozes from you like tar
Sweet smelling though
You dug a hole deep for three
Boat with broken bough
I can hear you hissing now
High on some blackness
Cloaked in another man’s jewel
Hide your ugly darkness
The coward found me in dreams
No record taken in night
I’ll wait, tell you with words
Truth, sky blue, to light
Hot, bright, technicolor demon
I am the dragon slayer
I await to see your billowing
I am the dream warrior
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Performance.
(inspired by 1970 film Performance.)
Enter the casbah through beads
Precious peach face
I take his hand, he leads
Curtains silk and lace
Rest on velvet pillow
Come to this communal
Light candles with us
Relieve yourself of the banal
So I hear you through the smoke
Have this chain of bells
I see your eyes, don’t close your eyes
Listen to the words
Sitar and guitar and drum sound
Here take this cup
Light dances on red glass
In mirror image hands grasp
I am in the casbah dancing
I sense my reflection
Leather pants are skin
Succumb to the beckon
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Lyman Apt.
Walking down the hall, getting closer to the door
Through the yellow archway, a light is seen
Pace is quickened reaching forward, ever more
Past each knob and peeping hole, I hear the score
Electric waves, vision of the silver screen Walking down the hall, getting closer to the door
Cowboys and Indians fight ahead, behind the wood there’s war
Walking quickly, velvet slipper scuffs woolen rug sage green
Pace is quickened reaching forward, ever more
Hermits and heiress, bone and feather mix, a place of lore
Red light under door way, Palo Santo serene
Walking down the hall, getting closer to the door
Paint hides screeching, coos, and clanking, glowing life galore
Music and steak and knocking, seeking a small brass fourteen
Pace is quickened reaching forward, ever more
The light ahead, the destination, the feeling is j’adore
Take the key around the chain, announce it’s me May Queen
Walking down the hall, getting closer to the door
Pace is quickened reaching forward, ever more
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Diner
10 p.m, going to the all night diner for a cup of coffee, the neon sign says open.
People peer out the foggy night windows from their booths, the door bell chimes when I open.
The waitress comes over, red stained apron, I ask for coffee.
As I wait for my order, I see a truck driver left his door open.
She brings me my coffee and asks if she can get me anything else.
I order two eggs and try to get the foil wrapped cream open.
I sink into my booth, I hear the tune Be Bop.
She brings me eggs quickly, I see her come over, her eyes half open.
There is a song this moment reminds me of, I can’t remember.
Salt and pepper, my mouth is wide open.
When I am alone in the diner I am very happy.
I see people who have been traveling, the world feels perfectly open.
Stirring coffee makes a nice sound.
New things to hear, the man talks with his friend in the corner, my ears are open .
I think I will stay here a while and think. No one is calling.
After all the diner is always open.
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Statue
On her forehead she wears gold stars
The strangest eyes cast icy hues of light
Soul enslaved, in veins of mineral, a precious stone
A whirlpool a tide sway in the gut, the pull of water
Footsteps are not foot steps, a curtain of mist
It is the edge of everything that is earth that she is touching
She meets cinder blocks of tepid water
She meets dark, red heat, venom of burning stars
Voices speak and pedal their goods in the cloak of mist
She passes door ways of stone
The vibration of all things dying she is touching
One unbroken boulevard of green lights
Looking up, how sweet it is to know you are like me, eyes mist
The knowing of death, a tombstone
Fading sounds on wind through metal ripples the water
With her mind, the sounds she is touching
This motion is seen in the night by stars
Plunging into the sea, the way up is by star light
It is her hands, the dirt of forever, she is touching
Speaking song birds sweetness, words are guiding light
She is telling the nothing to the stars
Bathing in the tide water
By the moon, form a spear of stone
Floating to heaven the pieces turn to mist
It is good to wash away disillusion in proper Light
It is necessary to know your enemy by touching
It is comforting to shadow your track with Mist
Carve the limbs of nature in stone
1 oz of myrrh, fine powder, mix with water
Set flame to sweet medicine, send messages to the stars
You can find this woman, her effigy in stone
Cross the Mediterranean through the mist
Where the sun falls in the evening, the earth where it’s touching
Purple skies will paint the single lantern, green light
They wrote about her in the Stars
And now go see her by water
Do not delay, light is fading from the stars
Divinely blessed water erodes the stones
Paint the physical happens on stone, put confusion to the mist
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Rose Colored Reflection, Sonnet
It was the sparkling sound of an infinite beginning
He prances and I want a part of him to be inside me and seeing it does so much
Louder noises drowns the sinking, yet I can feel the spinning
I breathed it in and all at once and was full of fire I could touch
You handed me a torch and I kissed it
Only to leave a coffee cup of mothers milk
As it was you little prince, I hunt your exit
I believed I was your special rose made of silk
I eat the food and walk the our line, but it is not same
Alchemizing what wounds me into art
All these good things are now things in vain
The flame is half as bright, but twice as hot to be apart
I tell you these thing through the gape in my skull
You made me you and so now the same rope I pull
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Mother of Iowa
In the winter of sixty-five, a hearth was glowing
A baby was born in the dead of night
The town was asleep, but the cattle were lowing
A phone call was made, o what a sight
A baby was born in the dead of night
When the sun rose, the farmers were sowing
A phone call was made, o what a sight
First harvest, first child, mother was glowing
When the sun rose, the farmers were sowing
Both man and child sighed with all their might
First harvest, first child, mother was glowing
It was all of their struggling in winter light
Both man and child sighed with all their might
New ends, new beginnings, all of it flowing
It was all of their struggling in winter light
Gathered milk, corn; true gold, treasures they held knowing
New ends, new beginnings, all of it flowing
Newspaper by the mantle called for a moon full and bright
Gathered milk, corn; true gold, treasures they held knowing
With silo and new baby, their lifetime would be right
Newspaper by the mantle called for a moon full and bright
Soon springtime was coming and all would be growing
With silo and new baby, their lifetime would be right
Sunday, they went to town bringing baby to be showing
A carriage full, the people stopped to see the stowing
A phone call was made, o what a sight
Corn for sale, praise the Lord they heard papa crowing
A baby was born in the dead of night
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