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Tuesday, 20 July 2021

half awake in a fake empire

pickin apples an bakin pies 

Still it comes in the white day 

over yield signs, highways -

from the insomniac magpie's 

botched theft of balcony almonds. 

Who later get rundown by casual traffic, 

pancaked feathers swept to the curb. 

Something raps the sliding door 

but, isn't there anymore.

Still it comes a black eyed dog  

whose saliva incisors bear the name 

on your documents. Having your current address 

some trick of the light. Slide down the tub 

and plug your ears for sinking.

This change won't come free 

from the pocket of your jeans, it's a fight 

to spend the time you take it all in - 

and still it isn't yours. 

In this bricked hovel of a nave 

a statue of mary is missing an arm 

and the wind in the ivy goes hushed 

for the high laughter of children 

an alley over - still it comes as a reflection 

on glass. Whatever's behind rendered a dog's breakfast: 

a palm, a mug, a magazine half opened 

to a photo of the sea.

It comes 

breaker after breaker redefining the shore. 

A collection of offerings darkens the door.

Seeking your saving, your lust, after more. 

A blacklight and white darker than before. 


Friday, 19 September 2014

Knights Inn

It's been just wild since midsummer. I haven't even really been posting like I used to. Sometimes life gets hectic - and so fucking interesting. These past few months, man. I can't even wrap my head around them. Plus my book's coming out this month, and on top of that I'm covering mad events for FTB. Shit is crazy. And we did do this dawn mission to an abandoned hooker motel. I've come to a much finer balance within myself, climbed the mountain and come to a deeper understanding of love; whatever that means. Here are some pieces from my new long poem which are comprised entirely of text messages. You know who you are - on some whole other shit rn...

So beautiful a blue rn

Should I walk to meet you

In the little park by the tracks

So many motel dreams

Mirrors on the ceiling?

Like bare white limbs and just going down

Some lucky pale thing


The fingers in the mouth

Just them socks

Artful, no? In my head

So fine an operation

So conflicted rn hahahaha

Everyone there was d

I’m almost home I had to bail on that

Thinking about the full length mirror

I love the fall

Saw a chain of dried lantern flowers

I’m looking at wigs

Slamming mad fantasy type

Which one is your favorite?

There’s a dark bob I’d like to scissor

Got the lanyard, too many peeps

Should I bring my items?

I thought an annotation

Belle Pro in a sketchy hood type

At Lionel Groulx

Love that there’s a signal there

Spanish guitar maybe