young voice

The kids bang to the beats,
Skateboard to concrete,
Beer panhandle, land in on two feet.
Their wet ears can’t hear it
Rebound sounds of old poets spoken.
But I recognize that tongue,
My own mouth was once,
Young.

i find that this is the only pace:
aging bones and growing wrinkles.
a picture of the world upon a single face,
and time - the difference.

i find that there are many shapes,
 and many instruments that create them;
 fires for the forging make the dark a lesser place, 
never again so oppressive or binding.

sometimes, the people in my memories blur,
as if one could be another could be a third;
and sometimes, my memories aren't memories at all
but ghosts pretending, out of line with reality,
molded from formerly accurate shapes,
replete with embellishments.

i study these fictions as truths, 
the two now indiscernible like distant shadows ,
the rate at which they multiply absurd.

And ya see planes are coming down faster
Than I can catch em them.
Places I never knew the names to are smoking,
Smoldering, sweetly and then not
So sweetly , in me.
Leaving me heaving,
For once not weeping
Wishing water please, sweep
These trees into a cool sleep so I can speak
Freely.
Once again.

newlittledoeislove

Little Doe has just released there new lookbook for the spring season. Its my favorite combination of 60's bohemian and Native America culture. I am crossing fingers for one for my birthday but money is tight. Here are some of my favorite new pieces.

ongoing project not done yet

Gonna go months with a mouthful of gonnas,
‘til I get a good jaw on you.
I won’t even bite a bit of skin
I’ll just save it all for the mosquitoes
to tattoo their red map upon
and just gibber jabberwocky,
sleep softly

******

I can’t even remember my dreams anymore
And you look at me as though that is some
kind of problem
Well fuck you, okay?

I never was one for real words
So allow me to quit rapping that poetry pipe.
Lets just say your words make me wet


******

And oh the rusted tops of pick up trucks.
Musta been a hundred and one suns that day,
And you
all stupid in the eye with gold spun tales
of a thousand well worn punches where people love you so hard
they hafta hit you.


I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know

Y’all

******

Maybe all words are just a song:

If his is dee dum dee dum dee dum.
If hers is diddy dum diddy dum diddy dum.
Mine is dum dum dum.
A dull drum.

toomuchtohandle

ash

clinging to the sooty edges of the bridges i can't stop burning. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. cutting cords and weaving their frayed edges weakly back together, apologizing, apologizing. arguably manipulative. rash, impulsive decisions: drugs, sex, strangers at rock and roll shows, making out with the driver navigating winding back roads. chronic feelings of emptiness, sometimes briefly negated by the right compliments like a spell. recurrent parasuicidal behaviors, interfering with the healing of scars, peeling off the scab and letting you back in to infect me. idealization and devaluation, intense and unstable interpersonal relationships. telling him i hate him as i kiss, telling him i love him while i bite. markedly and persistently unstable sense of self. he says he's in love with a girl who's an idiot, who's hung up on some guy who doesn't want her. unrequited unrequited unrequited. i can't pick myself out of this infinite recursion, which is the real me and which are just mirrors, imitations like a comic book villain. which one of us made the other in our image?

cant get boots off the brain

these free the people boots are just everything i have been eyeing lately.

--

sometimes, the people in my memories blur,
as if one could be another could be a third;
and sometimes, my memories aren't memories at all
but ghosts pretending, out of line with reality,
molded from formerly accurate shapes,
replete with embellishments.
i study these fictions as truths,
the two now indiscernible like distant shadows,
the rate at which they multiply absurd.

i am the dream and you are my bird.

"Modernism does not always mean Minimalism"

This light fixture is the latest edition to my apartment. The piece is by designer Tord Boontje of the Netherlands.